Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (33 page)

“That’s not possible.” Foreboding crept under my skin. “We need to dismantle the circle. We need to hide what we’ve done. Quickly, Angharad.” I grabbed the rake and pulled some of the rushes closer. I brushed my foot over the dirt, trying to scatter the chalk.

“Help me.” I handed her the rake and went back to trying to scuff up the chalk outline. “We didn’t cause this, but no one will believe us, if they were to find—”

A loud bang shook the building. The door to the cottage crashed open. Gwgon’s foot withdrew, and he stormed in. Hyffaid, Gil, several armed men and Father Llewelyn followed. A frightened and angry mob crushed and pushed, trying to get inside. Gwgon’s men held them at bay. Llewelyn pointed at me. “Seize her on charges of witchcraft.” Two men grabbed my arms and locked my neck in the process.

Alrik muscled past them all. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Stand down, Alrik,” Gwgon warned.

The tight space and press of people that gathered didn’t allow Alrik to remove his sword, but I saw him reach for his knife, only to turn and look strangely at his belt. Empty-handed, he resorted to fists. The full force of his fury hit one of the guards holding me, square in the nose. The man fell, coughing and sputtering blood into the dirt.

All matter of chaos broke loose. Pushing, shoving, yelling, and grunting stopped only when Gwgon fell face first into the hearth, Alrik’s knife, evident by the garnets glistening in its handle, plunged deep into Gwgon’s kidney.

Angharad screamed, and for a moment everyone’s attention focused on the king. I tried to wriggle free, but my captor’s vice-like grip tightened until my eyes watered. I pulled for breath.

Alrik took no quarter. Despite the confined space, he withdrew his sword and used it to good effect. He appeared to be gaining ground, but I lost sight of him. The guards yanked me outside to face the wrath of the crowd. I passed a body, shrouded in an indigo cloak, lying prone on the ground. Strands of dark raven hair crawled with insects. A circle of armed men kept everyone at a distance. Sigy stood over the lifeless form. Blood pooled dark and thick in the dirt.

The hailstorm of insects relented, though they crunched underfoot. My captors shoved and dragged me to the square in front of the great hall.

A wooden box had been erected in the middle of the courtyard, and Llewelyn stood tall and menacing over me. “This woman has come from England, charges of murder, treason, and witchcraft cast upon her.” He held up what looked like an official document, though the script was too small to read from where I stood. “Now in our land, a snake in our midst, she has conjured the devil and sent a swarm of insects upon us. She has, in cold blood, killed Marared of Dyfed, betrothed to Gwgon, King of Seisyllwg. Fooling us all with her trickery, this whore of Beelzebub cast eyes of suspicion elsewhere and called upon her demons to drain the life from Marared’s innocent body. I say unto you, the woman Marared and her family are innocent of all charges. This witch blinded me and led me astray. Let her answer to God’s judgement.”

Dear gods, I needed to escape. That was Marared, prone on the ground. I eyed the crowd, desperate to find an ally. “Lies.” I tried to scream the word, but my captor tightened his hold, and the last sounds escaped in a wheeze. A circle of guards surrounded me. The frenzied crowd pressed closer. I crouched and batted at wayward arms and fingernails. What had happened to Alrik? If ever I needed him to protect me … Fear lanced like spear points through my hope. Where was he? I glared at Llewelyn. How had his tune changed so dramatically? Marared was now an innocent, when earlier he had sworn up and down she was the devil incarnate.

The priest held up the crystals and linden wood, christened with droplets of my blood. “Heathen practices.” He tossed the detritus on the ground. “In her own wretched words, she has cursed us.” He read aloud from the small sections of parchment. “Satan, smite my enemies. Send a plague upon this land. Strike fear into Christian hearts. Let the king fall, let Marared fall. Let them all turn to dust.”

Fury gripped the crowd.

“I didn’t say that. It doesn’t say that,” I yelled to no effect, the arm around my neck once again closing like a vice.

A warrior approached Llewelyn and whispered something in his ear. The priest held up his hand. The crowd, though restless with nervous energy, hushed in anticipation. Llewelyn nodded to the messenger and returned his attention to his captive audience. He pointed to a spectacle a little farther away. I caught Alrik’s blond hair, matted with blood. His head hung, his body limp. His feet made two swaths through the accumulated insects as men hauled him into the hall. Was he alive? Unconscious? How badly was he hurt? He disappeared behind oak doors.

“Gwgon is dead. The heathen Alrik Ragnarson and his concubine are hereby both charged with treason and murder.”

The mob turned hysterical. The armed guards pushed back until I was pressed tightly between them. People grabbed and yanked at my hair and clawed at my face. I could do no more than squirm and writhe away from their hostile aggression.

By the time Llewelyn got his flock under control, I sat huddled on the ground, shaking. Blood streaked down my cheeks from a few deep gashes.

“We will have a formal trial.” The priest’s declaration seemed to appease the crowd.

A stake was erected in the square. Amidst garbage and rocks hurled my way, the guards tied me to the wood. They lashed my hands and feet and gagged my mouth. When I was sufficiently displayed, they fanned out, forming a loose circle around me.

The formal trial was little more than a lynching session. Llewelyn allowed me no defense, nor did anyone come to my aid. Angharad was nowhere to be found. I hoped she had slipped away unnoticed, her connection to me obscured by the melee. My heart ached. This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have let her stay. I should have left Marared alone. We would have been gone on the morrow. Was this punishment for seeking revenge? I pushed doubt aside. I had done nothing wrong.

I appealed for love and compassion, but Angharad’s words rang in my ear: “I cursed her to hell.” The ritual was a terrible mistake, but surely it had nothing to do with Marared’s death. I thought of all the strange otherworldly events that had happened in the past when I’d called upon the Goddess. Could I really have done this? My body trembled. That wasn’t me. I didn’t want to hurt her. And what of Gwgon’s life? Would Angharad believe Alrik murdered him? Who wanted him dead, and why? I needed to see Alrik, desperate to know of his welfare. Surely Tollak or Cormac would learn of the conflict and fight to free him. I prayed he would get away from this madness. My fate seemed assured, as witness after witness confirmed my guilt.

Sigy stood next to Llewelyn, a look of smug satisfaction etched on her face. How was that possible? Gwgon, the man she wanted to secure her family’s position, had been murdered. The man who threatened her family’s position stood in solidarity beside her. She caught my eye and adjusted the broach on her cloak. It was Marared’s silver boar’s head clasp. None of this made any sense. I felt as though I’d been set up. But why?

“Step forward.” Llewelyn commanded.

Two young men approached the impromptu pulpit.

“State your charge.”

“We saw the heathen, the king killer, Alrik the Bloodaxe, with the witch. They set an evil spirit to possess a dog. We watched it foam and writhe before our eyes.”

A young page burst onto the scene. “My lords. We removed a cauldron of pottage from the witch’s cottage. I told the lads not to touch it, seeing it came from the devil’s clutches, but they were hungry, missing their dinners. They helped themselves to a large serving. Spittle flew from their mouths and they clawed at their throats. They dropped dead. Right at my feet.”

Sigy’s voice rose about the crowd. “The witch threatened my daughter and sent her ill wishes. She hid this under her pillow.” She produced an effigy similar to the one I’d buried. She waved it to good effect. The head lolled back and forth, attached by a few shafts of hay. “Now my daughter is dead.”

A body was carried on a pallet and laid at Llewelyn’s feet.

“Kill the bicche,” someone yelled.

“Burn her,” screeched another.

The crowd’s furor rose, near mad for blood.

Hyffaid strode forward. “My niece was a good and godly woman. She told me of her fears. Of the evil words and deeds cast upon her by the devil’s whore. Send the English witch back to Satan.”

“Avelynn of Wedmore, you have been found guilty of murder, treason, and witchcraft. The law is clear. Bury her alive!” Llewelyn spat.

The crowd cheered.

The dream of the three-headed beast returned to me. I coughed, choking, suffocating—trapped in a wooden box. Dirt filled my nose and mouth. My eyes darted, surveying the crowd around me, and panic took on fresh agency. Goddess help me.

Men cut me down from the stake, and I bolted, writhing from their grasp. I kicked and punched several stomachs and faces, clawing my way through the press of hands and bodies. A blow knocked me sprawling to the ground, dazed, and my captors set upon me. They bound my hands and feet and dragged me away. They tossed me into Gwgon’s private chambers to wait while my grave was dug. Still dazed from the blow to my head, I presented the guards with little problem clamping iron fetters around my ankles and neck. They threaded an iron bolt through the chains and hammered it into the ground. Assured of their handiwork, they left.

It took far too long for me to regain my wits. I pushed and pulled against the restraints, but it was useless.

“Quite the day you’re having.” Sigy stepped through the back entrance and closed the door behind her. She sat in Gwgon’s chair. “I applaud your performance. Very damning.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Tsk, tsk.” She waggled her fingers at me. “The deluge of flies was a nice touch. It, more than my daughter’s death, sealed your fate.”

“How did Marared die?”

“Her neck was slit.”

“How?”

“She became a liability.”

For a moment, words wouldn’t come. When I found my voice, it was a hoarse whisper. “You killed your own daughter.”

“Her behavior undermined years of effort.” Sigy laced her fingers together and rested them on the desk. “But her blood is on your hands. Had you just left when I asked, or when her maligned acts threatened your safety, none of this would have happened. I warned you matters would get worse if you didn’t leave.”

“Once Alrik’s men learn what has happened, you will rue the day you tried to cross him.”

“You are such a sprightly little thing, even in the face of your impending death. Your Vikings are rowing out to sea as we speak. A hearty attempt at setting fire to their vessel sent them scurrying to protect it. When they realized they were being set upon, they hightailed it away from Wales without so much as a backward glance.”

“You’re wrong. They won’t leave Alrik.”

“It matters not one ounce to me what you believe; I am merely informing you of the events to date.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to know the full consequences of your actions. You are responsible for Gwgon’s death and Marared’s—possibly even that of your beloved Norseman. Though if he does survive, you will still be responsible for his charges of treason and murder.”

I didn’t want to think of Alrik’s injuries or his subsequent trial should he survive them. “Why kill Gwgon if Marared’s behavior already cost the match?”

“Because I’d made my pact with Rhodri. This just expedited a few things.”

“What has Rhodri to do with all this?”

“I simply agreed to hand Rhodri the keys to Seisyllwg if he would help me wrestle the kingship from Hyffaid and place my son on the throne.”

I could do no more than gape at her. The symbolism of the prophetic nightmare all made sense now. The calf’s skull, the linden shield. Sigy.

“My son is the rightful heir to Dyfed. If your Viking survives, he will help me accomplish that.”

“Never.”

“It’s a simple matter, really. Alrik will learn of your death, and Gil will be there to inform him of all manner of transgressions on Hyffaid’s part.”

“Like what?”

“Gil has a wonderful tale to tell of Hyffaid’s treachery. How he murdered Gwgon to seize control of both countries. How he turned you over to the priests in retaliation for the mutilation of Baroc, his dearest cousin. Alrik will burn for revenge. When Gil offers him a means of escape to accomplish that, Alrik will send for his men, and they will take care of Hyffaid promptly. Gil has the support of many powerful men in Dyfed. Once they see Hyffaid fall, they will switch allegiances without further bloodshed.”

A tap at the door interrupted Sigy’s confessional. A young girl leaned heavily against two men. “Wonderful.” Sigy beamed. “Bring her inside.”

The girl’s body bent limp as the men dragged her to the center of the room. Sigy nodded, and the men stripped the young woman, gagged her, and threw a leather sack over her head.

“What is this? What have you done to her?” The girl didn’t struggle or protest.

“You, my dear, are not going to die this day. This hapless soul will be taking your place.”

The guards released the maid, and she collapsed like a sack of grain onto the floor.

They stalked closer to me. I tried to back up, but the chains pulled me short. “What do you mean?”

“My deal with Rhodri also concerns you. I knew from the first moment I met you, there was more to your story. A little poking and prodding uncovered your entire sordid history. I sent overtures to your husband and uncle. They were very keen to know of your whereabouts. You are worth a great deal more alive than you are dead. I’ve offered Rhodri the chance to turn you over to the English for the price on your head. A considerable sum—impressive.”

Somehow, the thought of the English coming to get me terrified me more than the prospect of being buried alive. “If all you wanted was English gold, why go to the elaborate spectacle of the trial?”

“Marared’s behavior caught the attention of many. I couldn’t have the spectre of Llewelyn’s charges taint my family further. Gil’s future depended on me passing the blame on to you. No one questions Marared’s involvement now. She has become a saint in the populace’s eyes, and they have focused their attention on a new quarry.”