“You are too soft, Stator,” Colum grunted. “Your lands haven’t been overrun by these vermin. Your tenants haven’t been killed and their daughters carried away by these . . .” he spat, not finding a word both strong enough for his feeling and speakable in the presence of ladies.
“That’s true,” another lord removed his knife from his mouth long enough to agree. “But I think she should be sent home alive. She should be able to tell them what happened to her. Why don’t we just cut off her nose and little fingers and send her back to Aelle. But first,” and he smiled as if well pleased with himself, “let the soldiers have her awhile.”
The color left in Alswytha’s face drained and her eyes rolled back in her head. As she fell, Guinevere screamed and rushed over to her. But Mark was there first. His cloak was off and he was dressed again as a nobleman. The scars across his face burned with fury. He caught the unconscious girl and wrapped her in his arms as he glared about the room. At first he was too angry to speak and all the lords just gaped at him. To their superstitious minds he might have just risen from the dead.
“You vile animals!” Mark finally whispered. The astonished silence was so complete that his hissed words sounded like shouting. “You will not touch her. Is this your city of reason, Arthur? Will you found your new world on innocent blood? Do you think anyone could make civilized men out of this base rabble? You are a dreamer and a fool and I want no part of anything you may try to do for them.”
Alswytha moved in his arms and he lifted her face to his. Sidra was beside them now with a cup of wine which she held to the girl’s lips. Her eyes flickered open and she gave a cry of joy as she saw Mark’s face.
“Ceorl!” she sobbed, “
Me leofede Hlaford!
”
“
Me leofede
Wytha,” Mark murmured, burying his face in her hair. He then rose and faced the assembly, but did not release her. She clung to him, unaware of the tears running down her face. Sidra gently took Guinevere back to her place.
“This is not for us to meddle in,” she told her. “They must take care of it in their own way.”
Guenlian gripped her husband’s hand so tightly that her ring cut into his flesh.
“He is in love with her!” she whispered, her voice disbelieving and afraid.
Leodegrance nodded.
“But she . . . she’s not even Christian!”
“Yes,” he carefully disengaged her hand. “But Guenlian, we must not challenge him. We cannot lose him again.”
Mark faced Arthur. His voice was still tight with anger. “What will you decide, Lord? I say that I have been more ill treated by the Saxon than any man here, and I claim this woman as retribution for my suffering. That is . . .”
He bent his face to Alswytha’s and spoke so tenderly that Guenlian felt ashamed for listening.
“
Wiliest thu with me gerestan?
”
She smiled at him and answered in Latin, “I will stay with you or go with you anywhere, forever.”
Arthur watched them. He felt a bitter pain at their obvious devotion to each other. He knew that it would be worse than murder to part them now. Why should he? It seemed such an easy and acceptable way out of his dilemma. But he feared that it would not satisfy all the lords, who wanted revenge. What could he do? He studied them. All of these men were for now secure upon their holdings. But they were in need of more wealth to rebuild what had been destroyed. Perhaps an appeal to their greed might induce them to relent.
“I agree that Lord Mark, son of Leodegrance, should have the right to purchase the hostage for his own use if he so wishes. I set the price of her release as the weight of my sword and my shield, in gold.”
There was a burst of outrage from the men in the circle. Arthur raised his hand for silence. “I have not finished. It will be distributed among myself and the lords here for use in repairing damages caused by the invaders. Is that acceptable to you all?”
The lords were quiet, each one trying to compute his possible share. Arthur decided to take their silence as approval.
“Very well,” he stated. “It is agreed. Mark, can you pay this amount for her?”
Leodegrance stood. “I will guarantee this sum of gold for my son. He shall have it from his share of my estate.”
“No,” Alswytha spoke for the first time to them all. “I can pay my own price. No one will say I had to be purchased. I come to him willingly.”
She began fumbling with her brooches and the gold clasps on her braids. One by one, she pulled off her rings and bracelets, her arm bands and ankle clasps. She even laid her gold-leaf-covered shoes on the pile next to Arthur’s shield. At last she stood barefoot, clad in her shift and cape, with a heavy heap of gold before her.
“I don’t think that will be enough,” Arthur said sadly. “You still have the weight of the sword to match.”
Alswytha lifted the sword. It was steel and heavier than she thought. She thought a moment and then removed her cape, and placed it in Arthur’s lap.
“This is worth more than all the gold before you,” she said. “It was stitched from the feathers of a thousand swans for the marriage of my great-grandmother to the King of the Geats. There is not another one in the world.”
Arthur stroked it. He had never felt anything so soft before. Before anyone could protest he consented. “Done. I take this for my share and the rest you may divide as you will. I suggest that you let Master Merlin help you make the division equal.”
He dismissed the assembly simply by rising from his chair and turning his back on it. Merlin beamed approval of his protege. Arthur was just glad that the whole thing was over. He wondered if Guinevere thought he had been too harsh or too lenient or if she had been watching him at all. He saw that she was with Alswytha and Mark. She was trying to wrap Alswytha in a spare blanket and Alswytha was explaining that she wasn’t shivering from the cold. It was only the relief.
The formal meeting had dissolved into confusion. Everyone was talking at once. The lords were busy examining the gold and fighting over their shares and no longer paid any attention to Alswytha or Mark.
Leodegrance and Guenlian watched the commotion without interest. Their thoughts were on Mark and the bride he had apparently chosen.
“We have had him back only such a short time!” Guenlian protested.
“I am not sure we had him back at all, my love. Arthur has told me that Mark did not even wish to see us again, that he is so bitter that he hates everyone, not just those who hurt him. I have watched him constantly the little time he has been with us.
Arthur is right. He is disgusted with all men, with life itself. Who knows what it will take to make him want to join us again. We have seen men like that before, in the old days, when everything seemed to be crashing around us at once. That dinner when the Saxons invited all the great men of the realm and then slaughtered them. We were sick with grief and anger, but we didn’t want to die, too. We fought back, even when our whole life was slipping away from us and all those of our elders whom we loved had been slain. But do you remember Lucius? He was a man of sanity and reason, one of the most brilliant scholars I have ever known. You remember what he did when he heard that Theodoric had taken Rome?”
Guenlian shuddered. “Poison in the wine glass. He couldn’t bear to live with a barbarian in control of Rome. And dear, gentle Monica went mad when she heard her husband had died, and murdered her own children rather than let them grow up in such a world. Why do you remind me of this now? Mark would not do such a thing.”
“I am not sure. I see them staring at me out of Mark’s eyes. My poor son! He was always the dreamer, the one who believed. He was the only one who understood why he had to fight. Matthew was my grandfather again, never happy unless he was in some kind of conflict, and John—we named him well—was too loving to despair. But they died and Mark lived, and he has had all these years to ponder and brood on it. We must not oppose him in this, Guenlian, or he may leave us again, forever.”
Guenlian knew that he was right. Leodegrance had always been a sure judge of their sons’ minds. But to have this girl as her daughter-in-law! Always about, always reminding one of old wounds! Guenlian was not ready to cope with that, yet.
“But she is a heathen, Leodegrance. She must be baptized and instructed in the faith before they are married. You don’t think Mark could object to that?”
“We must ask him, dearest. We might even ask her. She surprised everyone, I think, except Sidra, by knowing our language. Perhaps she will be more receptive to our way of life than we think.”
“Perhaps,” Guenlian sighed. “But whatever she does, she still cannot change her face.”
Nevertheless, she resolved to be as kind to Alswytha as she could, and spoke hopefully that evening, when they were gathered in Guinevere’s room, of returning soon to the villa and preparing a proper wedding.
Alswytha was upset by the suddenness with which her old family was taken from her forever and this new one supplied. At the council she had felt only relief and gratitude to Mark and joy at finding him again. She had had a confused idea of an idyllic life in a little wood hut, deep in the forest, just the two of them. It had never occurred to her that he might have a family, too. Now it seemed that they must be considered before she did anything. Mark was apparently related to every British family on the island. And this woman beside her, who rather frightened her, was proposing to invite all of them to see her married. Guinevere sat at her other side, listening and nodding as if it were all quite natural. Alswytha smiled and nodded and agreed with everything that was said, but she felt as if a giant cage were slowly being lowered over her head.
Her nervousness continued to grow over the next few days as she became more fully aware of Mark’s place in his society. She had not paid much attention to the customs at the castle. There had not been much difference between the table manners of Cador and the ones of her own hall. She had not had much conversation with anyone except Guinevere and Geraldus. Now everyone wanted to speak with her. She found she was being treated with patronizing condescension by the women who had sneered at her before. She was touted as a heroine who was giving up heathen ways for the true religion. But from the way they carried on, she wasn’t sure if the true religion was something one believed or something one did. Mark saw her panic but felt helpless. He longed simply to sweep her up and carry her away to that little hut in the woods, but logic told him that food and clothing must somehow be provided also, and that huts were very cold in the winter. In his life and hers, someone else had always done the providing. He needed a plan. And until he worked one out they would have to remain.
Arthur certainly sympathized with Mark’s wish to be able to carry off his love and court her in some remote place, far from prying eyes and listening ears. Every sight he had of her convinced him that she was the only woman he wanted, that she would make a far better queen than he would a king, and that all he wanted was to tell her so and be married as soon as possible. But how could he do this when she was always surrounded by people? If she wasn’t with her mother or the other women, then she was off somewhere laughing with Gawain or Geraldus. He realized now that neither one of them had any romantic notions about her, although how any man could keep from falling in love with her was beyond his understanding. He glumly forced himself to admit that he hadn’t made the most of his chances, either. So much had happened since he had rescued her that he was almost afraid she had forgotten it. She hadn’t mentioned the matter and he didn’t see any way of bringing it up. The few times he had been close enough to her for speech, he had fumbled and stuttered like a schoolboy. In consequence, he was even more brusque and short with the lords and the soldiers who had come with him. He even fought with Cei, who was his closest companion and who never had an idea of his own without checking it with Arthur first.
Cei just gaped when Arthur berated him. Then he shook his head worriedly and left. This had gone on long enough. Soon afterwards, Cei ran into Merlin and demanded that he do something about the matter.
“What are you babbling about?” Merlin asked sharply.
“You know very well,” Cei replied, flicking his fingers behind his back to ward off the curse in case Merlin was planning to strike him down for his impudence. “Arthur is in love with the daughter of Leodegrance. We can’t see why it has gotten no further. There is nothing wrong with the match. Why don’t you help him? Talk to her parents or something. Maybe you could have him save her from a dragon?”
Merlin gave him a glance of contempt. “I already did that, if you recall, or as close as makes no difference. What makes you think it is such a good match?”
“Everyone says so,” retorted Cei.
“Everyone? Just who has been discussing it?”
“There isn’t a man of his lieutenants who doesn’t know how he feels and doesn’t wish him well. But he is acting like a fool and someone has to stop it before he loses their respect. So can’t you just get him married so he can get his mind back on important matters?”
Merlin swore something that Cei didn’t catch, but Cei’s fingers moved even more frantically than before. He tried to edge away. Merlin did not seem to be paying him any attention now. He was lost in thought.
“Wait a minute!” Merlin’s voice startled Cei, who sprang up about three feet. “You say that Arthur’s men all know about this and approve of it? All right. I don’t approve. I think it is an idiotic venture and that we all will live to regret it. But it seems that everyone, including Fate, is fighting me in this. I will do what I can to speed matters since it seems that this will happen anyway. From now on, however, you will keep your mouth shut about this.”
“Yes, sir,” Cei gulped, glad to find that he could open his mouth at all. He quickly made his escape, but not without a feeling of having fought a dragon himself, and won. He vented his excitement by running up and down all the steps in the castle, twice. It was only then that he could calmly go on with his work.