Born of the Sun (3 page)

“England?” said Niniane.

“This island you call Britain.”

“Oh. No, I do not know of Winchester. I thought the king lived in Venta.”

“Venta is the city that serves Winchester, but the king and all his eorls and thanes live in the royal enclave. You will see it shortly, my lady.” He spoke as if he were promising her a treat.

They had been riding for several hours and the road before them was still empty, when suddenly the war band stopped. Niniane watched with curiosity as a thane carefully removed a glittering object from one of the packhorses and bore it ceremoniously to the mounted figure of the king. “What is that?” she asked Eclaf.

“That is the royal helmet,” he answered. “The emblem of kingship. The king always dons it when he returns to his people after doing battle for them.”

Niniane watched with interest as the king raised his hands and placed the helmet on his head. She could see immediately why it was a symbol of royalty. She did not think she had ever in her life seen anything more magnificent. Made all of gold, with a great silver crest and golden garnet-encrusted face mask, it was not something one would risk in battle. Wearing it, the king looked more than a mere mortal. He looked alien, mysterious, powerful … frightening.

Once Cynric had the helmet on, the party moved forward once again. As they topped a gentle hill and began to descend toward the valley, Niniane could see a great stockade fence looming before them to the right of the road. At the approach of the war band, a gate swung slowly open. The king turned off the road and began to advance toward the gate.

There was silence in the ranks of thanes as they approached the great wooden gate. Niniane looked from the massive back of the king to the leaner back of Cutha, both of whom were riding before her. Eclaf’s head was held high. They passed through the watchmen at the gate and Niniane saw before her a street lined with people, all of whom set up a loud cheer when they saw their king. Niniane could feel the color flushing into her face. Never in her life had she felt so exposed, so naked … so humiliated. She thought that Coinmail would die if he could see her now.

She raised her chin and stared straight ahead of her. She would pretend she was alone, she thought. She would ignore the situation, rise above it. The road, she noticed, was made of stone, and at the end of it, straight in front of her, was an enormous timber-built hall. It had a high, steep, shingled roof and very wide gables. All around the hall was grouped a series of other wood buildings, smaller than the great hall but still of impressive size. There had to be fifteen buildings at least, Niniane thought as, forgetting her resolve, she looked around in dazed wonder.

The king and Cutha had reached the great hall and now they halted their horses. There were several steps leading from the paved road to the door of the hall, and at the top of the steps was gathered a line of men. Niniane watched as Cynric mounted the stairs and was formally greeted by the delegation waiting at the top. Then the whole party disappeared into the hall. Behind her, the men of the war band began to break up and move off in different directions toward other buildings. The packhorses were being led away. Still Eclaf stood, holding Niniane’s horse, obviously waiting for something.

“Why do we stand here?” Niniane asked him.

“The king is sending for one of the women to attend you,” came the cheerful reply. And, indeed, a girl was coming out of the large building that was closest to the great hall.

“Greetings,” she said to Niniane in British. “If you will come with me, I will take you to the women’s hall.” The girl was brown-haired and brown-eyed and obviously a Briton.

Niniane smiled at her a little tremulously and dismounted from her horse. “The lady Fara will see to you, my lady,” Eclaf said to her as he led the horse away.

The girl’s brown eyes looked her up and down curiously. “You are a princess of the Atrebates?” she asked.

“Yes.” Niniane returned her look. “My father will ransom me home.”

The girl looked surprised. Then, “I am Nola. Please come this way.” Niniane fell into step beside her, looking around at the size of the courtyard and the number of houses.

“I had never even heard of Winchester,” she said as they approached the building Nola had called the women’s hall. “I always thought the West Saxon king lived in Venta.”

“Cynric lived in Venta when first he conquered this area, but as his power grew, the city became too small. He started to build Winchester fifteen years ago. Isn’t it splendid?”

Niniane stared at her in wonder. “You look British,” she said.

“I am.” The brown eyes gave her a friendly smile. “What is your name, Princess?”

“Niniane.”

“Well, Niniane, this is the women’s hall.” She nodded at the doorway. “Please go in.”

The front door of the hall opened onto a porch, which appeared to be used as a small reception room. The door from the porch led into the hall itself. This was a very large room, at least a hundred feet long, with a high roof that made it seem even larger. There was a hearthplace in the middle of the room, with tables and benches set along either side of it. The room had no windows, just two doors set on each long wall. Even though it was morning, candles had been lit in the wall sconces and on the tables, where a group of women was engaged in a variety of work. Against the far, gabled wall there were fixed two large looms and women were working there as well.

A dozen heads turned as Niniane walked through the door. Then one of the women rose. “Come in, my dear,” she said in British. “You must be weary after such a journey. Would you like something to eat? To drink?”

Niniane had eaten very little for the last few days, and now, all of a sudden, she realized she was hungry. “Yes, thank you,” she said with gratitude. “I would.”

“Come and sit down,” the woman said, and led Niniane over to one of the benches.

This must be the lady Fara, Niniane thought as she took the seat that had been indicated. She spoke almost accentless British, this lady, but she was most certainly a Saxon: tall and fair and strongly made. She was no longer young, but even so, she was beautiful. It came to Niniane that this must be Cynric’s queen.

The queen sent a girl to fetch some food and then turned back to Niniane. “So,” she said composedly, “you are to stay with us for a while.”

“Until my father can ransom me,” Niniane replied.

“I see.” The lady seated herself beside Niniane, and in the light from the candles on the table she appeared even older than Niniane had originally thought. There were fine lines beside her hazel eyes, and gray in her wheat-blond hair. “Tell me what happened,” she said, and Niniane found herself talking easily and comfortably to those calm, kind eyes.

“And Cynric has said he will ransom you?” the queen asked when Niniane had finished her tale.

“Yes.” A plate of cold meat and a bowl of fruit were put before Niniane on the table. “That is, Cutha told me I was not to be made a slave, that I would be a member of the king’s household. What else could he possibly mean but that I am to be held for ransom?”

The queen gave her a quick smile and then was grave again. “What else indeed?” she answered. “Eat your food, my dear, and then we will show you where you are to sleep.”

Niniane ate with more appetite than she had known in weeks. There was something soothing about the calm presence of Cynric’s queen. And it was so comforting to be surrounded by women! Niniane ate and watched the women at the end of the hall deftly passing the bobbin back and forth through the warp of flax strung on the large looms. No hands were idle in this room; everyone was busy with spinning or sewing of some sort. Niniane found the atmosphere in the hall strangely solacing.

When Niniane had finished eating, the queen beckoned to Nola once more. “Take the princess to her chamber,” she instructed the girl. “I’m sure she would like to rest.”

Niniane rose. “I thank you for your kindness, my lady,” she said politely, and was dismissed with another lovely but fleeting smile.

“The queen is very kind, is she not?” Niniane remarked to Nola as they left the porch of the women’s hall and started toward one of the smaller buildings.

Nola stopped, turned to her, and stared. “The queen?” she repeated.

“Yes.” Niniane frowned. “The lady we just left. Is she not the queen?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Nola looked around to see if anyone was within hearing distance. “That was the lady Fara. Guthfrid is the queen.”

Niniane found herself looking around as well. There was no one near them. “But who is the lady Fara, then? The king’s sister?”

Nola gave a snort of laughter. “No. The lady Fara is the king’s friedlehe. What you might call his second wife.”

Niniane could feel her eyes widen. “His
second
wife? How many wives does he have?”

“Only one legitimate wife, and that is Guthfrid. She is the daughter of the King of East Anglia. Cynric married her sixteen years ago. But the lady Fara has been his friedlehe for more than twenty-five years.”

“Then she is … she is a concubine,” said Niniane.

“No. A concubine is a slave. A friedlehe, in Saxon law, is a freewoman.” Nola began to walk once more toward the women’s bower, and Niniane followed her, her brow furrowed with thought.

“Who were all those women with the lady Fara, then?” she asked Nola in a resolute voice as they reached the door of the house Nola had called the women’s bower.

“The king’s household women,” Nola replied. She opened the door of the building and Niniane followed her into a long dark center hall. There was a ladder to a loft in the corner, and on either side of the hall was a series of three doors. “These are the private sleeping chambers down here,” Nola said. “The rest of us sleep up there”—a gesture—“in the loft.” She walked down the hall and opened a door. “This will be your chamber, Niniane.”

It was a square room with wood-planked walls and a wooden floor. It was very dark, as there was no window. Nola went to a table and lit the candle that was placed there. In the glow of light, Niniane could see a bed made up with a bright red wool rug, a plain wood table, and a chest for clothes. She walked to the bed and lifted the rug. Underneath, the bedstead was filled with fresh straw and laid on top with clean linen sheets. The wooden floor was also clean. Niniane turned back to Nola. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure I shall be very comfortable.”

The girl, who looked to be a few years older than she, smiled. “There is to be a feast in the great hall tonight, to welcome home the king and his thanes. We are to attend. The lady Fara will send you the appropriate garments. Have a good rest, Princess.” And she was gone.

Fara sent her a complete change of clothes. There was a fine linen undergarment and a saffron-colored tunic that fell in even folds to the tops of her feet. The overgown was deep blue and to clasp it at her shoulders Fara had chosen two circular brooches with garnet inlays on gold filigree. There was also a soft leather belt with a decorated golden buckle.

Niniane sat on the side of the bed and stared at the clothing laid out so neatly on the red wool cover. The workmanship on the brooches and buckle was exquisite; the linen and wool were expertly woven. The materials, in fact, were finer than anything Niniane had ever seen. She dressed slowly and with care. There was no ornament for her hair, so she combed it to smoothness and let it hang loose down her back. Without combs or pins, it reached to her waist.

She had finished dressing and was sitting on the bed, hands folded in her lap, when Nola came to fetch her. The British girl was dressed in bright red and there was the warm color of anticipation in her cheeks. “This is a great occasion,” Nola told her as the girls walked down the corridor of the bower toward the door. “Normally we eat in the women’s hall.”

The lady Fara, with a half-dozen other women, was waiting for them on the porch. “You look lovely, my dear,” she said to Niniane. Fara was looking lovely herself in a green gown with a necklace of barrel-shaped gold beads alternating with gold-mounted garnet pendants displayed on her breast. Garnets shone also in the pins that held her hair. The other women too wore fine garments and rich jewelry. All her life Niniane had been told that Saxons were savage barbarians who lived in sunken huts with their pigs and their goats. The reality of Winchester was quite a shock.

“What are all these other buildings?” she asked Nola a little diffidently as they walked across the courtyard in the wake of Fara.

Nola saw the direction of her eyes. “That is the king’s private hall,” she answered. “And the one next to it is the queen’s hall.” A group of men also on their way to the banquet passed them without speaking. Nola continued to identify the buildings for Niniane. “That large hall over there belongs to Cutha,” she said, “and that one there houses the royal princes.”

Niniane’s eyes moved from the buildings Nola had named, to the smaller halls nearer the gate. One of them had a huge wooden pillar rising from an enclosed courtyard next to it. “And what is that?” she asked, looking at the building distinguished by the pillar.

“That is the temple,” came the reply, and Niniane’s smoky-blue eyes widened as she stared at the unremarkable timber building.

“Do they offer sacrifices in there?” Her voice was hushed. Nola shrugged. “I don’t know what they do. It is for the men. The women go out to a grove in the forest for their rituals.”

Niniane stared at the girl walking so unconcernedly beside her. “Are you a Christian, Nola?”

“My parents were Christians, but Venta has been under Cynric’s rule since before I was born.”

“Does he persecute Christians, then?”

“Oh, no. He is not a man to care which god you worship, so long as you recognize where your earthly allegiance lies. But there have been no priests in Venta for years. Most Britons are like me; they don’t care very much about religion one way or the other.”

There had been few priests at Bryn Atha, but the Atrebates had held to their faith. With a flash of contempt, Niniane thought that the Venta Britons sounded like an indifferent lot. They seemed to have given their Saxon conqueror remarkably little trouble.