Orm compressed his lips between the silky gold of his new mustache and beard. He sat fuming and silent at the steering oar, while his mother and Thora were greeted by Odo, then disappeared into the muttering crowd.
Merewyn did indeed know how to handle Odo. She had met many like him during her time at the English Court. She flattered him a little, yet was always faintly condescending as befitted her role of aristocrat. She told him truthfully, though vaguely, of her capture at Padstow. Odo remembered hearing of that raid when he was a youth. His wife, who was a mousy little thing, listened avidly, and sniffled sympathy for Merewyn.
Soon Merewyn and Thora were offered a bed in the Thane's own manor house, which was luxurious, timber-built, and remarkably warm. There were trees all over the manor. Great big oaks, elms, beeches.
Merewyn stared at the trees and sighed with pleasure. "Look, Thora —" she said to the girl, who was now silent and bewildered. "We're home — and over there is a rose garden. Do you see the beautiful roses?"
"Roses," Thora repeated carefully.
"Oh, my dear heart —" whispered Merewyn, kissing the girl. "All will go well for us now — you'll see."
All went very weU at Bristol. That night Orm and the crew were permitted to land. The Thane ordered the townspeople to provide sleeping places for the crew, and his orders were
obeyed though many of the households were suspicious and resentful. Their worries receded by morning, for the various crewmen behaved gratefully. Old John at once found a man he had known in childhood, and they spent half the night reminiscing and drinking. The news of this spread rapidly, and the townsfolk decided that the Thane was right. This ship at the dock might look Viking, but there were English people aboard, there was even a great lady who was a granddaughter (it soon became a granddaughter) of an old-time king whom the bards sung about on twilit evenings.
Orm kept a rotating guard on his beloved ship, but after three days of the Thane's hospitality, and of enjoying the soft, fragrant English countryside, and the bountiful food and drink Odo's household gave him, he was not so truculent.
At last he approached iMerewyn thoughtfully. "WTiat is it you want now. Mother?" he asked. And added, "I should say 'My Lady,' I suppose. They all do."
Merewyn considered her son, and answered, "Sell the Bylgja. Odo himself wants to buy her, then we'U have plenty of money for our needs."
Orm started. "Sell the Bylgja/ Mother, you're mad. I never thought you'd act like this!"
"The ship has served her purpose," said Merewyn inflexibly. "And I never want to see her again."
"I DO," cried Orm though daunted by the look in his mother's sea-green eyes. "She's mine/ What else have I from Ketil and my father, though you seem to have forgot them both!"
"There are times," said Merewyn, "when it is wise to forget the past, yet I do remind you that you swore to Sigurd that you would care for Thora and me. I have plans for you, Orm. You can be a great man here in England — a thane at least. Do you want to go back to the barren cold and the sicknesses of Greenland? Remember our dark smoky little house at Ketilvik, then look at this." She indicated the tapestried walls of Odo's manor, the cushioned benches, the flagons of wine and mead in
silver ewers, always in readiness on the tables. She pointed to the wooden floor which was strewn with rushes and thyme and gave out fragrance.
"How could you make a great man of me, Mother?" said Orm uncertainly. Merewyn immediately thought, with Rumon's help; but she said instead, "I've known King Ethelred since he was a child. I know Court life. Queen Alfrida is no friend to me, but I understand from Odo that she has retired to her convent at Wherwell, and is HI. Ethelred's wife is from the Danelaw up north, and will not mind that my two children have Norse blood. This I cannot hide, though it seems Ethelred is terrified of the Vikings. He is a weak man, and I think I can manage him."
"As the Lady Merewyn of royal British descent?" asked Orm after a moment, torn between sarcasm and awe.
"Just so," said Merewyn coldly.
Orm bit his lips.
During all the years he could remember, he had never seen his mother anything but quiet, and anxious to please his father. Now she expected to live a lie. One he did not understand. Nobody had ever spoken about Merewyn's youth, or the circumstances of her capture at Padstow. But she was certainly Ketil's daughter. It was through the mother then — that Cornish grandmother of his who was never mentioned. He was puzzled, and his anger drained away.
"As you hke. Mother," he said haltingly. "I'll sell the Bylgja and we will do as you wish. For now. But I don't understand."
Merewyn gave him a smile. "I don't either. Since I've been on English soil, I feel very different. May our Lord Jesus Christ help us. And you, Orm, shall be baptized. Thora too."
"Thora — perhaps," said her son. "Me never! My father forbade it."
Merewyn turned away. Sigurd — his memory brought pain. They had loved each other so passionately for years until it dwindled on that accursed Greenland. And where was Sigurd
now? Where could a heathen be? I'll pray for him, she thought. There was a chapel on the manor. She had gone to Mass each day since their arrival. But she had not yet prayed for either Ketil or Sigurd. She had not thought of her former life, her prayers had all been for the future, for the success of her plans. For reinstatement at Court which would help Orm to a thane-ship, and for Thora who would surely grow up at last in this gentle country. Especially since Freydis was left so far away that her disgusting spells could not work.
Every now and then amongst her prayers, there floated an image of Rumon as she had last seen him at Langarfoss. She dimly realized that she thought a great deal about Rumon. It never occurred to her that she might not find him. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, she bitterly regretted the way they had parted in Iceland. And once she dreamed that she and Rumon were married.
chapteR tliiRteen
Odo, the Bristol thane, paid generously for the Bylgja. And in exchange for the narwhal horn they had brought (the horn was a renowned aphrodisiac and supposed to be off a unicorn) he gave them two sturdy horses. Merewyn negotiated these barters and managed deftly to evade Odo's lust to bed her. She said that it was the time of the month when such a thing could not take place, and when he turned his attentions to Thora, she said that the girl had a secret malady, which might be catching. Odo was alarmed, and solaced himself with one of the maids.
He bore no resentment. He was pleased to have entertained some members of the Royal Court, however remote that was — nobody in Bristol knew where the Court was at the moment — and he enjoined Merewyn to tell King Ethelred of how well she and her family had been treated at his Manor.
Merewyn smilingly agreed; and they left Bristol in a haze of good will.
Now that the Bylgja was definitely gone, Orm felt for his mother considerable admiration. She had certainly managed to get more money than he had dreamed existed. He had a pouchf ul of silver under his tunic and Merewyn another pouch concealed
beneath her skirt. Orm knew that the successful transactions were due to her authority and tact. Nor had he ever thought of her as a desirable woman before. But he had not missed the glint in Odo's eyes. So she still had charm for men. How extraordinary in a mother! He was now aware that she was slender, that there was no gray in her abundant reddish hair, and that her eyes were of a beautiful color. As for Thora — if she were not his foolish baby sister — would he not think her very appealing?
Thoughts like these had never come to him in Greenland. He was astonished by them. As they rode up over the Mendips, he even dismounted and walked so that the women's horse might be reHeved of double load.
As he walked he steadied Thora in the saddle, for she tended to sway off balance. It occurred to Orm that Thora was not like the few other girls he had known on Greenland. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of girls. There seemed to be many of them here, he saw dairy maids peeping out from barns; he spied a pink-cheeked beauty herding home a dozen cows. He wanted to hnger, for she gave him a provocative smile.
"No, Orm," said his mother. "You'll find plenty of that later. We must get on to Glastonbury."
"What's that queer-looking thing?" Orm aske4. He pointed up the Tor to St. Michael's stone tower. I've never seen anything like it."
"Of course you haven't," she answered sharply. "You've never known anything but ice, and mean little heathen homesteads standing in barren plots. It'll be different now."
Long ago she had felt this same excitement upon nearing Glastonbury. She had wanted to find Rumon then, and that was what she wanted now.
At the hostel they were received with suspicion by the young monk in charge. They were, he felt, a peculiar threesome. They wore no crosses, brought no luggage or servants, and the young man spoke English with a strange accent, while the girl did not speak at all. Accustomed as Glastonbury was to foreign pilgrims,
Still it was wise, considering the recent Viking invasions, and the country's fear of more invasions, to ask for credentials before receiving anybody in the hostel.
Merewyn deftly handled the monk as she had handled Odo. She rummaged in her memory and brought out the name of the hospitaler who had received her years ago, then of the cook. The monk had heard of neither, but it finally developed that a kitchen boy, now middle-aged, remembered Merewyn. He said he did so because she was of royal blood, and had been in such a hurry to depart that he had had to feed her servants at three in the morning.
Once they were assured of beds in the hostel, Merewyn set off with Orm and Thora to seek an interview with the new Abbot of Glastonbury. She had never tried to approach his predecessor on her other visit, long ago.
As they passed the church towards the Abbot's palatial lodging, she paused by the grave of King Arthur, and looked down at it silently, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. Her children paused too, though Thora, staring-around, gave a chuckle of delight as she saw the Abbot's garden.
"Ro-ses," she said, "smell good."
"Yes, dear, yes," answered Merewyn. "Orm — no matter what I say, you must show no surprise. In fact it is proper for you to stand back against the wall with Thora, but first kneel and kiss the Abbot's ring."
"Why, Mother?" said Orm. "Why should I kiss any man's ring?"
"A mark of respect. Do as I tell you." Her voice trembled, and he realized that she was nervous. He grunted, and followed her sulkily to the porter's gate of the Abbot's lodging. He listened with amazement, while Merewyn explained their visit to the porter who stuck his cowled head against a grille.
She was a poor widow, said Merewyn, who had been captured by the Vikings and forcibly held in Ireland at Limerick with her children. The English all knew about the Norse in Ireland.
(They would not know about Iceland, nor did she want them to.) But, she continued to the porter, she would not have requested an intemew with the Abbot, who must hear plenty of sad stories, except that she was royal, and anxious to have advice from so great a man as the Abbot Beorhted. She had learned the new Abbot's name at the hostel.
"You mean," said the flat Somerset voice of the monk through the grille, "you was captured by them dreadful Danes, ma'am?"
"Yes," answered Merewyn fiercely.
Behind her Orm stiffened. Even during the few days he had been in England, he had discovered that the English made no distinction amongst the Norsemen. They called them all "Danes." Orm knew little about the Danes, except that they were also Northern men. In Greenland he had heard tales from returned sailors, about the people who went a-viking from Denmark, Sweden, Norway, and even farther south, from a place called Jomsburg. But these were all vague names to Orm. He knew his real heritage and could recite the list of his ancestors. Both Ketil and Sigurd had whiled away many a black winter night by teaching him that. His stock came from Greenland, before that Iceland, and farther back was Norway. He had learned the genealogy they taught him by heart, as ke had learned some of the eddas and sagas, and thought maybe of being a skald himself one day. But had thought also of being a sea king on the Bylgja as Ketil had been, Ketil who was his grandfather, ^^'hy, then, did his mother tell all these lies?
He understood better when they were finally received in the Abbot's parlor.
The Abbot Beorhted was a small, suave man who looked rather like a well-fed squirrel. His little dark eyes were shrewd — one did not become head of the most famous English Abbey without shrewdness. He wore a gold pectoral cross, studded with gems, and on his plump forefinger was an amethyst ring which he held out for the suppHcants to kiss, quite as though he were a bishop, which was his next goal.
Merewyn knelt and kissed the ring, then glared at Orm, who made an indecisive gesture over the ring. But Thora copied her mother, giggling, for she thought this a fine game.
"Sit down, my lady," said the Abbot warily. "The porter says you have royal blood, but have also had great misfortunes. What can I do for you?" Charity, of course he thought. All three were dressed almost like thralls — patched and faded clothes, wrinkled white coif on the woman's head, a trumpery gilt brooch to hold her stained mantle. The boy had a sword, to be sure, and a bracelet with gold bosses on it, but it did not look like an EngHsh bracelet.
Merewyn clenched her hands beneath her cloak, and said steadily, "My Lord Abbot, I want only information. We've been captured so long, and just escaped. We know nothing of our homeland. Can you tell me is the atheling Lord Rumon still here?"
The Abbot was startled. So indeed was Orm. Who was Rumon? When he was a child at Langarfoss, was there not someone called Rumon, who came to visit with a skald?
"Lord Rumon left here, some years ago," said the Abbot, after a pause. "I hardly knew him. I was prior then. Segegar was Abbot, he who is now the Bishop of Bath and Wells."
Merewyn's fingernails bit into her palms. What did she care about the Bishop of Bath and Wells! She spoke with control. "Lord Rumon is at Court then with King Ethelred?"