Rumon too was silent. For an instant he shared breath-cutting awe with the others, hypnotized as they were by the shining crucifix from which came this actual Voice of God. Then he chanced to look at Ethelwold, across whose gaunt face there
flitted a very strange expression. Of sardonic triumph? Not of amusement, the Bishop's face was not formed for that, yet of something akin to it.
When the Witan had voted for Edward in a chorus of subdued "Ayes," the Voice spoke again from the crucifix, saying, "It is well. I am content with you."
Rumon thought of Alfrida, of the maternal hopes for Ethelred she had confided in him. Hopes now so conclusively ended. He thought of her soft wooing ways, of her pleading violet eyes, and the fragrance of her body and shimmering hair. They had not touched each other during this month of mourning for Edgar, not so much as a handclasp, yet each time they met their intimacy grew, and Rumon knew that he loved. The thought of the cruel disappointment she was soon to know, roused in him a passion of protectiveness and anger.
The Witan, after prayers of thanksgiving led by Dunstan, filed out of the Chapter House, solemnly, whispering to each other about the miracle. Rumon hung back, making pretense of fixing the cross-gartering on his legs. Soon he was alone except for Bishop Ethelwold, who stood watching him.
Rumon saw that he was not to be allowed solitude, and moved fast. He ran to the silver crucifix, and swung it aside, swiveling it on the supporting peg. Behind in the painted wooden wall, there was a slit, as wide as the Christ's head. The sht was funneled to the outer wall and showed a glimmer of daylight. Rumon knew that the fight came through from some hidden angle of the cloister.
Ethelwold did not move. He continued to observe Rumon steadily.
"How simple," said Rumon. "How extremely simple it is to impersonate the Divine Voice! Which one of your obedient monks had the honor?"
"There are many ways of expressing God's manifest will," said the Bishop. "It is not for you to judge them." He walked over to the crucifix and replaced it to cover the slit.
"Trickery!" Rumon cried. "Deceit! And not for Edward's sake, I vow. Done solely so that you monks can keep your stranglehold on England!"
The Bishop refolded his arms into his sleeves. "That is a strange remark from one whom Dunstan trusts, and whom he considers almost one of us."
"Dunstan!" Rumon repeated uncertainly, remembering the excited joy on the Archbishop's face when the crucifix spoke. "He cannot be party to this shameful fraud! The poor old man is gullible as the rest of these dupes you had here."
The Bishop compressed his pale Hps. "He has certainly been gulHble in respect to you^ Lord Rumon. Your words are obnoxious. You will leave my Chapter House at once!"
Rumon tossed his head. "Ah yes, I'll leave. And I shall tell Alfhere, and — and the Queen exactly how the 'miracle' was worked to insure the ends you wanted. I shall tell everyone'. They shall see the proof!"
Ethelwold shrugged. "Rash, foolish youth! Who will believe your so-called proof? I admit nobody to the Chapter House I do not wish to, and in any case you have had a hallucination, brought on no doubt by the excesses of wine in which noblemen indulge. What did you think you saw behind the crucifix?"
The Bishop reached out his hand and pushed t'he heavy silver cross aside a little. The w^all behind was whole. The even lines of painted boards showed — at least in the dim Hght — no signs of having been tampered with.
The Bishop drew back and hfted his eyebrows. "Another miracle, you see. Lord Rumon. Now relieve me of your unwelcome presence."
Burning with helpless rage, Rumon went. He went to the Palace, and directly to the Queen's Bower which he had not approached since the day of Edgar's death. Merewyn opened the heavy plank door to his thunderous knock. Her sea-green eyes widened as she saw his face. "Oh, Rumon!" she whispered, touching his arm in quick sympathy. "W^hat's happened?"
He Stared past her into the Bower where two of the ladies were embroidering, another folding linen, and Ethelred was curled up on a cushion cradling a shapeless straw doll and nervously watching his mother's white cat devour a mouse.
"Where is she?^'' asked Rumon hoarsely.
"Gone to the chapel to pray for victory in the Witan," said Merewyn after a moment.
"She may save her prayers," Rumon said. He turned and as he hurried off, Merewyn distinctly heard him add, "My poor tender, trusting love." She slammed the door hard and walked towards the little window which looked down on the privy garden. As she passed Ethelred the boy looked up. "Play with me. Lady Merewyn," he pleaded. Often she did so, and also made up stories for him. But now she gazed out the window. The roses and gillyflowers blurred as she stared down at them.
Alfrida was alone in the candlelit chapel; she rose quickly from her knees when Rumon burst in. She stood there, swaying a little, one hand on the prie-dieu, her favorite white gauze veil covering her beautiful head. "We've lost again?" she whispered. Her pink underlip thrust out and quivered. She put her hand over her heart.
"Wicked. Wicked," Rumon cried, hardly knowing what he said. "My darling, I can't bear to have you hurt."
"I've not been sure you were on our side," she said dully. "You're a friend of the monks, of Dunstan."
"No more. Never more! The depraved hypocrites! I want to help you, Alfrida. I love you! / love your
His vibrant young voice echoed through the chapel. She glanced around quickly. "Sh-h . . ." she whispered. "A priest might come in."
"No matter!" he cried. "Edgar, God rest him, no longer stands between us. I want to marry you, my love. To live with you and protect you, always!"
Alfrida swallowed, she glanced aside as she considered rapidly. She had, of course, known Rumon's passion for her, but barring
the ill-judged episode in the graveyard, there had been no more awkward incidents. This last month while she had been influencing him to her course, his decorum had rather amused her. She had put it down to his monkish traits, or to youthfulness and lack of the sort of forthright vigor she admired in Alfhere.
Yet Rumon showed no lack of vigor now, and the proposal of marriage was interesting. Not impossible, in view of his rank, yet one couldn't be certain how useful it would be. These things must be thought out.
"Rumon —" she said softly. Teardrops sparkled on her lashes, and her smile seemed to him like that of the Blessed Queen of Heaven.
He fell to his knees on the chapel tiles, and kissed the hem of her dark blue robe.
chapteR five
Edward was to be crowned immediately at Winchester, before the effect of the miraculous crucifix could dim, and the opposition again rally its forces. There would naturally be no elaborate ceremonies, nor the priestly consecration Dunstan had instituted for the boy's father. The two archbishops were to follow the older simpler ritual. Yet Edward, on the Coronation Eve, acted very much as his father had — pale, exalted, and tense, praying constantly in the chapel, refusing to eat or drink.
On this same Coronation Eve, Edward's body thane, Gunnar, arrived at Alfrida's Bower, bearing a poHte and searing message, which he delivered with embarrassment.
Gunnar said that Alfrida's presence was not required at the Coronation, since women were not expected to render homage. A widow — who had no blood kinship to Edward — was no longer officially dubbed "Queen." She would be called "Old Lady," the immemorial and respectful title for the widows of kings. So would the noble "Old Lady" now begin to consider her retirement from the Court? To whichever of her properties she selected for a Dower House. Edward knew that she was
well provided for. She need not hurry herself unduly, but Edward wished to dispense with all women in his palace. Until, of course, he married — which event was not now in question.
Alfrida perceived that her prestige had vanished as quickly as she had always foreboded, yet she showed remarkable control. "These are Edward's wishes?"
"Yes, lady" — which was true, though Edward's wishes had been much influenced by Dunstan.
The delicate rose deepened on her cheeks, and she was aware of possible advantage to be gained by winning over this young thane so close to Edward. She smoothed one of her golden braids, fingering the intertwined pearls absently, then gave Gun-nar her softest glance through her lashes. She bowed her exquisite head in sad resignation, murmuring that to be sure the new King's wishes must be obeyed, though they burdened her heart and she had so hoped that he would consider her as his mother. Gunnar, who had never suspected her of any such hope, was puzzled, and wondered if Edward's antipathy to her were quite justified.
He looked uncomfortably towards Merewyn, who had withdrawn to the weaving comer with the other women.
"My dearest Merewyn will share my banishment, I'm sure," said Alfrida gently, having long ago noted his interest in the girl. "You must come and visit us at Corfe."
^'Corfef" cried Gunnar. "Corfe Castle in Dorset! That ees far, lady."
"It is the best of my properties," she answered sighing. "Poor widows cannot be particular. And my little Ethelred will be strengthened by sea air. We will leave tomorrow morning, since we are not wanted here."
"Tomorrow!" Gunnar flushed with concern. "That ees the Coronation, lady! Ethelred must do homage to hees brother!"
"Quite impossible, I fear," she said sweetly regretful. "The child is too nervous for the strain of such a ceremony, besides he's feverish. You see —" she gestured towards a silver cup on
the table, "I was preparing a draught to give him when you came."
"But lady —" began Gunnar, not daring to ask how Ethelred could be well enough to travel if he were not fit for the Cornona-tion.
"Say no more, Gunnar —" she interrupted with a pathetic smile. "Tell Edward that he will not be troubled by the unwanted members of his family, and that I forgive him."
Gunnar bowed and hurried down the winding stairs from the Bower. Perplexity and dismay were stamped so obviously on his broad honest face that when he bumped into Alfhere outside the Great Hall, that Earl caught him by the shoulders. "What's wrong with you, Gunnar? Can't you look where you're going?"
"Sorry, my lord. I've been with the Lady Alfrida. She ees taking Ethelred to Corfe before the Coronation. I don't know how to tell Edvard this, it vill upset him much."
"Oh," said Alfhere, chuckling. "Alfrida's in a temper, is she?"
"No. No, my lord. She vas so sad. So regretful;"
The Earl chuckled again. "No doubt. I'll have a word with her myself." He turned and mounted the stairs.
He burst into the Bower without knocking, and found Alfrida standing in the middle of the floor panting, hands clenched, eyes blazing, underlip thrust out. "I thought as much," said the Earl. "Though you certainly diddled Gunnar."
He looked towards the ladies who were huddled fearingly behind the loom, each one — even Merewyn — knowing that at any sound from them the mirror might be hurled their way, or the brass candlestick, or a stool.
"Clear out! All of you!" said Alfhere to the women, who sidled thankfully out the door. "Noiv,^^ he went on, grabbing Alfrida roughly by the arms and shaking her. "Sit down!" He pushed her to the ermine-covered bed, and sat beside her — a bulky man in wine-stained crimson velvet. His bold prominent eyes contemplated Alfrida before he said, "What's all this I hear about Ethelred not being at the Coronation?"
"He'll not go," she said through her teeth, still panting. "They've insulted me."
"He must appear," said Alfhere. "This isn't the moment to call attention to our future plans. Also the crucifix spoke. I heard it."
"Oh, you coward!" she shouted. "Surely you will not render homage to that stuttering bastard — that usurper!" She had begun to tremble violently.
"I shall," he said shrugging. " 'Tis only a mummery, and don't you see —"
She saw nothing but a flash of red around Alfhere, and she struck him in the face with all her force.
He reeled, clapping his hand to his jaw. "You bitch!" he cried. "You stupid bitch! Only one way to deal with a wench like you!" He ripped up his velvet robe, and before she could move he hurled himself on top of her, pinioning her arms, biting her breasts until she screamed, and finally slackened. Then he raped her brutally.
There was a silence of some minutes, broken only by the cawing of rooks, and the distant ringing of church bells. The Earl rearranged his clothes. Alfrida looked down at her breasts, where teeth marks were bleeding. "It hurts," she said in a small voice.
"Ah, but you liked it." He smoothed his brown mustache, got up and drank from a flagon of mead on the table. "Now, perhaps your wits are clear enough for reason." He glanced rapidly around the Bower, and lowered his voice, "Have you been to the witch?"
"To Gytha?" she whispered, shrinking. "No."
"Then you must go, at once. Her — shall we say arts — have much helped you in the past. I think of Eneda's death, for one. The puppet and the pins, I suppose, much safer than something unwholesome given in a drink."
"You mean Edward . . , ?" she breathed.
The Earl assented by a nod. "We may still have to wait a
while. You must learn patience. But you see how important is the Coronation." He looked at her face which had regained its luminous beauty. "You and I, eh, my dear?" he said, putting his sweaty hand on her neck. "Godleva can't last long. My physician says her lungs are rotted. Then we'll wed, and rule England through Ethelred."
"Ah — h," she said on a long sigh, and added half smiling, ^^Rujnon wants to wed me."
Alfhere laughed in perfect confidence. "That dreamy, bookish foreigner? A bit young for you, my girl — ten years, is it? And he'd bore you to death. Amuse yourself if you like. / don't mind, but I wager you'll find he's a timid virgin, and he'd never understand your nature as I do. However, if you've detached him from the monks, that's one in the eye for that wretch of a Dunstan, and it won't hurt to have Rumon on our side."
"True, my lord," she said softly. "We understand each other well, and I shall go to Gytha this very night." -