"Rumon attacked the Vikings," she said in a shaken, wondering voice. ^''Rumon ..."
"Aye," said Finian. "An' he killed two o' 'em."
Her mouth went dry. She could only whisper, "Rumon shed blood in the Abbey church ..."
"He did. There're times, m'daughter, when a man must fight fur what he beheves in."
"What happened?" she whispered. "Why didn't they kill
"A miracle, it might be, but on the airthly plane, they seem to've been so astonished by a Christian monk giving them battle, and besides he'd killed their leader, that they scuttled out o' the church, giving Rumon time enough to take the relics, the treasure an' the silver dove to Rumonsleigh, inland — a parish he'd founded."
"And then?"
"Oh, the Vikings came back that night wi' reinforcements and burned the Abbey and monastery, but they got no real plunder; Rumon had saved what belonged to the church. It
seems that they've nearly rebuilt the whole Abbey now, an' Lord Ordulf he keeps a guard around it all the time — fighting men. 'Tis a pity," added Finian, "that the King doesn't copy his uncle. Anybody but a rabbit would know 'twouldn't work to keep paying off those divvils. An' now they're landing from Normandy too."
"The Normans are Norsemen?" asked Merewyn absently, trying to understand how Rumon could so much have altered.
"The Normans were Norsemen once," said Finian, "but they've got 'emselves Frenchified. The King o' France he gave 'em Normandy, an' they were quiet for a bit, but that Danish King Sweyn, he's stirred 'em up to want conquests. England's the HkeHest conquest, because we don't fight together an' we've got the Danelaw already."
Merewyn sighed deeply. "I wonder if I went to see Rumon, if — even now —"
"He'd help ye at Court? I doubt that he could, if he would. An' to see him, ye must first ask pairmission, m' dear. Have ye no other place to go?"
Her answer came from some deep part of her, through a layer of thought which was combatting disappointment. "Romsey Abbey, I suppose," she said. "They'll remember that my Aunt Merwinna was Abbess there —" She stopped short. "But she wasn't really my aunt — Oh Blessed Mary —"
Finian heard her discouragement, and was sorry. He reflected that Dunstan had kept her secret. And her ambitions were not for herself, but her son. That was no mortal sin, hardly even venial. And the poor woman had endured much.
"Elfled is now Abbess o' Romsey," he said quietly. "Did ye know her?"
Merewyn started. "She was my dear friend."
"Then go back there, child, an' I think it pairhaps better that ye don't tell her yer true story. The Vikings raided Romsey too, but the nuns escaped to Winchester. The Danish King
Sweyn was on his way to London, and scarce bodiered wi' Romsey where he found poor pickings."
"Blessed Mary —" said Merewyn again. "Is there no peace in this country where I so longed to return?"
Finian was growing tired. He groped for the other stool and sat down. "Well, m'dear, many think that this year looo from the bairth o' Lord Jesus Christ'll bring the end o' the world. Ye must hve one day at a time, never forgetting the Mass, prayers, an' submission to God's will fur us. 'Tis loike the loss o' me sight. God's Will."
Merewyn was humbled by this brave old man who had patiently given so much information, and who had in essence agreed to her continuance in the role of Lady Merewyn.
She was uncertain, miserable, but she reached over and took the mottled hand and kissed it. "Thank you. Brother Finian. I shall try to submit to God's Will, whatever it brings."
Merewyn and her children arrived at Romsey Abbey in Hampshire three days later. After many waits, and the observance of protocol, they were received by the Abbess Elfled. Not in Merwinna's parlor, that had been burned by the Vikings, but in one very like it, except that Elfled had her walls painted a buttercup yellow, instead of the usual whitewash. This was a peculiarity which Merewyn later discovered disturbed some of the nuns.
In twenty years, Elfled had changed. She had grown meager, the Abbess's black habit hung lankly about her — the habit once worn by Merwinna, who was never stout, but never as skinny as this either, even at the end.
Elfled constantly disciplined herself. She still bathed in the freezing carp pond, and ate only a chicken wing, or a morsel of fish on fast days.
She spent so many hours praying on stone floors that her knees had stifl^ened and developed calluses.
When Merewyn finally got in to see her old-time friend, Elfled welcomed her warmly enough, and smiled when Thora, who had learned this game before, made a grab at her hand and kissed the gold ring.
"Ah, there, Merewyn —" said Elfled. "Where have you been all these years since you set forth to carry your sainted aunt's heart to Cornwall?"
Merewyn explained briefly — capture by Vikings, a forced marriage. She omitted reference to either Iceland or Greenland, places she had now discovered that the English knew nothing of.
Elfled made a rather perfunctory sound of pity. "So now you're back, and welcome, of course. These are your children?" Her sharp mouse face turned from the frowning Orm to Thora who was happy and stroking the yellow wall.
"Pretty . . ." said Thora, "like a butterfly." She had seen a brimstone butterfly outside of Bristol, and Merewyn had explained what it was. One never knew what Thora could or could not learn.
Elfled knew that the yellow in her walls had been criticized by many; she was not sure herself why she had ordered such a deviation to be made. She had searched her conscience about it; now she saw that Thora was one of the simple, and perhaps holy ones in this world. Elfled, swamped by the problems involved in running a large abbey, was touched. She looked kindly at Thora, and allowed her old affection for Merewyn to revive.
"I never wanted them to elect me Abbess," she said. "The job scarce leaves me time for worship, but they couldn't agree on anyone else."
"Can't you resign, lady?" asked Orm, suddenly interested. His mother kept dragging him to black-robed clerics, male and female, and it startled him to think that they might have feelings.
"No, I can't," said Elfled. She turned back to Merewyn. "So
the dream I had about you and the great big yellow-haired man came true?"
Merevvyn nodded. "Orm looks just like him. Do you still have those dreams, Elfled?"
"Not since the one which warned of the second Viking raid, when we got all the treasure to Winchester in time. It was your Aunt Merwinna who sent me that dream, I expect."
The church bell began ringing for Tierce, and Elfled glanced rather nervously towards the open window where tree shadows were lengthening. She tinkled a cow bell, and when a nun appeared, said, "Fetch Sister Herluva." At Merewyn's exclamation of surprise, Elfled said, "Yes, she's still here, and runs the hostel. The Infirmary got too hard for her, she's over sixty now. — Do you remember, Merewyn, that twenty years ago we thought Herluva was already old?" There was a faint ghost of the elfin smile which had suited her name.
"I remember," said Merewyn, "but look. Reverend Mother —" she added hurriedly as Elfled smoothed her habit and adjusted her cross preparatory to entering the church, "we mustn't be a nuisance to you, but I do need advice. I don't know what to do, and I've no one. No one^^ she repeated with frightened emphasis, "but you to turn to."
"You could pray," said Elfled acidly, "or perhaps that's one thing you dori't remember." She turned in the doorway and said more gently, "Go to the hostel, I'll see you again after supper."
During the next days at Romsey much happened fast to Merewyn and her children. Thora developed an attachment to Sister Herluva, who was kind, protective, and discovered that the girl could be put to gathering herb leaves and flower petals for drying in wooden frames; that if carefully directed, she would neither spill nor damage.
Then Orm, being very much bored at the nunnery, went
riding by himself in the countryside, and had a lucky encounter with one of the King's thanes, called Wulfric, who was stag-hunting in the forest with his housecarls. When Orm heard the approaching gallop of many horses, he drew his horse aside from the path and waited for the others to go by.
But Wulfric spied Orm waiting behind a giant oak. "Hola, friend!" he said jovially. "Did you see anything of a stag? The hounds've lost the scent." He indicated the hounds which were sniffing here and there, and running in circles.
Orm shook his head and blushed. He knew nothing of hunting in a forest. A seal, or a walrus would have been another matter. He wasn't even sure what a stag was.
"You're a likely-looking lad," said Wulfric. "Are ye hawking? No, ye can't be," for there was no leather gauntlet on Orm's wrist.
"I'm just riding," said Orm.
Wulfric was a kindly soul, stout, middle-aged, with a red nose, and no perplexities. He owned land in a dozen counties, all inherited from his rich father, Wulfrun. All the reeves who administered his properties seemed competent. Wulfric had no need to bestir himself except on quarter days when he was presented with the revenues. On his home Mangr at Ashley he liked to have a handsome well-bom retinue around him — drinking and hunting companions.
He was at once pleased with Orm, whom he found exceptionally good-looking with his blond hair and steady blue eyes. A very big youth he was too, as tall a man as Wulfric had seen. "We've lost the stag," he said. "Come on back to my Manor and dine with me."
Orm was pleased, and said he would like to.
The ensuing visit was a revelation to Orm. He had never seen such fine lands, such a huge stone manor house, so many retainers, housecarls, servants. He had never tasted such food. Eel pies, beef and kidney pies, custard pies, and marchpane sweets studded
with raisins. All washed down with either mead or wines imported from across the Channel.
Orm asked how wide that "channel" was. Wulfric answered, "Oh, I don't know — half a day's sail; sometimes I think a bit near to those villains in Normandy. I don't see why they don't leave us alone. They've got plenty over there for themselves."
Orm accepted this in silence. He had already explained himself in the way his mother wished. He said that he was half descended from a royal British line, and his accented English was due to years in Ireland.
Wulfric scarcely listened. He grew befuddled with mead, wine, and huge helpings of the excellent food. He liked Orm, as he did almost everybody, and anyone staying at Romsey Abbey was naturally to be received. Soon he wanted his nap, and yawning, said to Orm, "Would you hke to join me here, lad? As one of my retainers? I can find something at Court for your mother, the King's a good friend of mine."
Orm said "Yes ..." in a hesitant voice. He knew that this was great good fortune, and exactly what his mother had hoped for, but he saw nothing exciting about joining Wulfric's entourage. Except good meals and whatever this kind of hunting might be. Also there were no girls to be seen except the servants.
Wulfric was a widower of some years standing, his children had married and gone to other parts of England. He had not bothered to find a new wife. He enjoyed himself on the Manor while occasionally attending upon the King. Wulfric was a placid man.
Orm waited until the Thane had his nap. All around the Hall on cushioned benches, the housecarls and thane's men set to snoring. Orm did not sleep. He went outside and walked around the gardens, slightly aware of the beauty of the English countryside while wondering what to do. He thought mostly of himself, but he was also trying to understand what his mother's life had been before his birth. He began to realize that it had been
a grim life in Greenland — even before that in Iceland. He had promised his father to take care of the women, he had made a vow to Thor. Yet nobody here beheved in Thor. It was confusing.
Later he consented to become one of Wulfric's men, on condition that his mother was given a place at Court.
Wulfric amiably agreed, and suddenly remembered that because of Queen Elgifu's illness — she had been ailing a long time — there was probably room for another lady at Court. It would be simple to arrange, said Wulfric. The King was due back from a foray in Cumberland, in which he had been fighting his vassal prince Malcolm.
"What did he do that for?" asked Orm, puzzled by everything he had heard of this English king. "Why fight one of his own? Why not pull the country together, and fight the — as you call them — Danes?"
"Oh, I don't know," answered Wulfric. "Those Norman pirates have gone away again, the King gave them some money. I had to pay in a hundred pounds m'self, but it's worth it for peace. Have a bit of wine?"
Orm courteously declined. He rode back to Romsey Abbey, and at dawn roused his mother to report on the day's events.
Merewyn was at first enchanted. These were certainly the steps towards importance she had hoped to get through Rumon. They had happened by chance through Orm. Elfled had done nothing during the days they'd been there, except to say that they could stay on indefinitely at the hostel, and to pray with Merewyn. Merewyn mumbled along with Elfled the old familiar Latin prayers but they gave no warmth. Nor did Elfled. The two women had lost much of their old attraction for each other. Their lives for twenty years had been too different. Elfled's had been entirely bounded by the Abbey, and the administrative duties there, for which she had no real bent. Merewyn could
see many untidy details which had not happened in her aunt's time. She still thought of Merwinna as her aunt.
When she went to Mass on the morning of Orm's return, she said special prayers to Merwinna, who had been canonized in the Abbey; whose body was enshrined in an elegant marble coffin; and whose obit day. May 13, was observed with due ceremony. She spoke directly to Merwinna, reminding her that the requested expedition to Padstow with the heart had resulted in Merewyn's capture, and that therefore she wished for blessings on the new venture.
She did not know whether St. Merwinna heard her or not, but there was a feeling of peace when Merewyn left the church, and later in the afternoon there seemed to be a definite answer, for Thane Wulf ric turned up at the Abbey with an invitation to stay at his manor house while negotiations with the Queen at Winchester were concluded.