Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (40 page)

“Baroc led Alrik and his men into a trap. He maneuvered his own guard so the Northmen led the march. He knew there was a threat of ambush. You will recall, I was there. I witnessed Baroc’s cowardice and malice when he ran. His actions could have started a war.”

Cormac sneered. “Bastard deserved to be hung up by his entrails.”

I didn’t wish to get in the middle of a pissing contest. I turned to Cormac. “Take the priest outside.”

Cormac grumbled but escorted Llewelyn from the hall.

Hyffaid’s lips tightened, but he deigned to press further. “Tell me of Alrik’s message.”

“Alrik’s quarrel is not with you.”

“He wishes to arrange a truce?”

“You’ve seen for yourself the path Sigy and Gil have taken. They will stop at nothing until you and your children are dead.”

“As you’ve mentioned.”

“All he asks is that you stay out of the coming conflict. Stand at the ready, but keep your men well back. He will confront Gil and help you regain the cohesion of your kingdom.”

An eyebrow cocked with interest. “How?”

“You need proof of what Sigy and Gil have done. Alrik will wring the truth out of him, even if it takes until Gil’s dying breath. A confession you will want overheard by all.”

“You are certain of this.”

“Everyone will know of Sigy’s plot and Gil’s treachery before Alrik leaves the field. This I can promise you. But you and your men are to stand down, regardless of the form that confession takes. Do you agree to those terms?”

A satisfied smile settled on Hyffaid’s lips. “You have my word.”

“There are two conditions.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“First, you must honor the original arrangement you and Alrik agreed upon.”

“The sail and the gold.”

“Yes. I must have the sail immediately, but you have until the morrow to secure the rest.”

“I will send for the sail and have it delivered to you forthwith.”

“Thank you.”

“And the second condition?”

This one had nothing to do with Alrik’s demands. “Sigy sent Marared’s daughter, Branwen, to England. See that she is taken care of.”

His lips pursed. “Marared’s daughter?”

“Branwen’s parentage is of little concern now. No one will hear the truth from my lips. If anything, an association with Sigy or Marared would only hurt the child. My intent is to see her safe.”

“I will ensure her well-being.”

“Then we have an understanding.”

“We do. Provided Alrik and his men leave Wales immediately after the conflict and do not return.”

“You have my word.”

Satisfied, he shook my hand.

I took my leave, pausing at the door’s threshold. “Have your men in place at dawn.”

We spent much of the evening preparing the ship and making sure all was ready for a swift departure. I’d told Alrik about Sigy’s intent to turn him over to Halfdan once she’d satisfied her aims. The urgency to leave took on fresh agency. The crew rigged the new sail, though it remained furled, its design and color hidden. The old sail would serve well for warmth and was tucked away in the hold along with enough rations to see us through the journey across the ocean. With Marared dead, at least we had one less plot to worry about.

When morning cleaved the night, Alrik and his men marched onto the battlefield, hell bent on fury. Rhodri’s men, led by a man named Bleddyn, fanned out to one side, flanking the Vikings to the right. Gil and his followers practically skipped to their positions on the left of the Northmen, all but assured of their victory.

Hyffaid’s men lined up in front of the palisade. Archers prowled the platforms along the length of the formidable wall.

Gil stood by Alrik’s side, all but salivating. Alrik, for his part, showed such considerable restraint, I feared he would snap. He watched with an impassive stare as Gil flounced and paraded in front of his men like a deranged peacock.

Tollak dragged Sigy through the crowd. Her hands were bound behind her back, a chain shackled around her ankles.

Gil stopped his swaggering and rushed forward. “What’s the meaning of this?” He turned to Alrik. “I demand your man release her.”

Alrik gripped his sword hilt. “I will release her when you return Avelynn to me.”

“Are you well, friend?” He eyed the Viking warriors standing ready. “Avelynn is dead.”

I removed the hood of my cloak. “No, I’m not.”

Whispers quivered through those assembled.

Llewelyn’s voice carried above the crowd. “Men, stand down. Lower your weapons. There will be no conflict this holy day. We have all been deceived.”

Soldiers and warriors looked to their leaders. Bleddyn’s men lowered their shields, and Hyffaid’s army, bolstered by Gwgon’s troops, retracted arrows and spears. The Vikings never altered their aggressive stance, though no weapons were raised. Gil’s men, picking up on his anxious, bewildered energy, cast nervous glances around them, though they too lowered their weapons.

Llewelyn stepped onto a raised platform. “A grave matter must be rectified.” He motioned me forward, and I took my place at the center of the field. “This woman, Avelynn of Wedmore, stands before you, innocent of all charges.”

Hyffaid added his account to the simmering speculations. “I have confirmed the lady’s story and have offered her my support and protection.”

The proclamation raised the volume of conversation, and eager tongues waggled.

Llewelyn continued. “Marared’s body will be dug up and removed from holy ground.”

Gil rushed forward. “This is madness. I demand you cease your lies.”

Llewelyn continued. “Sigy, daughter of Siegfried, sister to King Hyffaid of Dyfed, you are hereby charged with witchcraft, treachery, and murder.”

Tollak yanked on her chains. She tripped and fell in an undignified heap. He dragged her through the mud to the cross.

Gil ran forward. “Enough. Stop this at once.”

One of Hyffaid’s men stepped forward and emptied a sack full of heathen objects at Llewelyn’s feet: a calf’s skull, a goddess figurine, and a large painted shield depicting Odin and his Valkyries.

Llewelyn address Sigy. “Hyffaid confiscated these pagan objects from your tent. How do you plead?”

“I am innocent of the charges.”

“The king himself swears that these are your possessions. Are you calling your king a liar?”

“Of course not,” she stammered.

Llewelyn waved his hand. “Bring forth the next item.”

A servant set a woolen bundle on the ground at the priest’s feet. Everyone craned their necks to try to catch a glimpse.

The man removed the blanket and scampered back. The dried, blackened, mummified remains of a canine greeted the crowd. Llewelyn crossed himself, as did almost everyone else. Even the Northmen gripped talismans. I spun the ring on my finger and swallowed.

“This is the work of the devil.” Llewelyn pointed at Sigy. “This woman is his concubine.”

Sigy snickered. “You are a fickle man. You were convinced the blame for these charges lay at Avelynn’s feet. Now you wish to recant your statements and throw your foul lies in my direction. You are a fool—a weak and pathetic louse. What did the Viking threaten you with?”

“Yes, I am a weak man. You threatened to curse my family, and I relented, supporting your claims against Avelynn. God will see me punished. I will serve my penance, but I will no longer hide behind fear. Your reign of evil and terror is finished.” He waved to two men, who carried forth a coffin. “Hyffaid ordered the grave reopened. The grave in which we all assumed the lady Avelynn lay dead.” The men pried open the casket and everyone held their collective breath. A lifeless body curled into itself. My kirtle, dusty and ragged, hung from her small frame. Llewelyn marched forward and pulled the sack from her head. The vacant stare of a young flaxen-haired maid, no older than fifteen winters, cast the final verdict.

The assembled mass of onlookers exploded with incredulity and vehemence. Even Hyffaid couldn’t help staring. Alrik, too, seemed to need the confirmation.

Gil raised his hands. “Friends, my mother had no part in this madness. The heathens with their pagan ways are trying to undermine our unity.”

Llewelyn ignored him. “Sigy of Dyfed, you are guilty in the eyes of the Lord. The law is clear. Throw her in the grave. Bury her alive.”

Gil let out a yelp of protest and made to intervene, but every Northman unsheathed his sword, causing a wave of reaction in the men around us as men scrambled to prepare for battle.

The men who had carried in the coffin took a few hesitant steps toward Sigy, ready to enact Llewelyn’s justice, but Alrik held up his hand. “Not just yet. Tie her to the cross.”

They cast uncertain glances at the priest, who in turn appealed to Hyffaid for guidance.

Hyffaid yelled above the din of the crowd. “This matter is between the Northman and Gil of Dyfed. We will not intervene. Lower your weapons.” Slowly, the multitude eased their weapons down. “Let Alrik continue.”

I watched as if in a dream as Cormac and Tollak lashed Sigy to the wood. Less than a week prior, that had been me. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Gil scowled. He unsheathed his sword and charged at Alrik. “You would go against me after all I have done for you. I stood by you, defended you against Hyffaid’s charges. I joined in arms with you to fight against his injustice and cruelty.”

Alrik batted at Gil as if he were an irritating fly and walked over to Sigy. He unsheathed his knife.

Gil held up his hand. “Alrik, I beg you, leave off. I will give you whatever you need.”

“What I need is a confession.”

Gil’s jaw tightened.

Alrik passed the knife’s edge along Sigy’s throat. “You made me believe Avelynn was dead. You surrendered her to Rhodri, so that he could turn her over to the English. Do you know what they would have done to her had she not escaped?” Alrik grabbed hold of the neckline of Sigy’s kirtle and yanked hard, ripping the fabric down to her waist. He pulled the sleeves down, exposing her breasts. She refused to flinch or catch his eye.

I’d no idea what Alrik planned to do once we marched onto the field. We had discussed a general plan of attack, but the details, the minor elements, were left to chance. Alrik’s anger was palpable. I knew he wanted nothing more than to kill the lot of them. He wanted to tear Gil limb from limb, but he wanted to make him suffer first, to feel a fraction of the pain he had. My fists curled tight at my sides. My heart broke, watching the man try to maintain control.

Gil’s face turned a mottled red. “I’m warning you. Leave off or …”

“Or what?” Alrik swept his hands to the men around him. “No one appears to be rushing to your aid. It is just you and me. Choose your move wisely. Either the next words out of your mouth are a confession, or I will make the choice for you.”

I could sense Gil judging how many steps it would take to reach Alrik. One false move and his mother’s throat could be slit. He took flight, hurtling himself at Alrik.

Alrik was ready for the attack. He grabbed his shield from Tollak and raised it high to take the strike.

An enraged bull threw its weight and blind anger into a fight, its movements and kicks wild and without order. Gil flailed and attacked without thought. The lack of control left him off balance and exposed points of weakness. Alrik blocked the shattering blows with his shield and delivered a grueling attack of his own.

Alrik circled, watching, waiting. “Your mother will die, as will you. But you can decide the manner of her death. Slow and painful, or quick and merciful. The woman deserves the first, but I will let you choose the latter.”

“You want words, Alrik? How many men fucked your little whore in Gwynedd? Did they hold her down, or did she open her legs and beg for more?”

Alrik dove forward with a punishing blow. Gil parried it with his sword. I shuddered. I could feel the impact in my bones.

“Have I touched a nerve, Viking? How many English rammed their cocks down her throat?”

Taunt thrown down, Alrik took the bait and lunged. The edge of Gil’s sword ripped high into Alrik’s shield arm. The shoulder of his tunic turned crimson.

Alrik hissed. “Slow and painful it is.”

The next few moments were a blur of steel, sparks, and splintering wood. Gil was a worthy adversary, but Alrik was larger, stronger, and better skilled. The decisive moment came when Alrik’s sword slashed through Gil’s right thigh. Gil stumbled forward, half falling, half hobbling to stay up. Alrik stalked him. The knowledge was written on everyone’s faces. No one moved to intervene.

Gil must have realized it as well, for he dragged his useless leg over to his mother. Alrik stepped behind him and delivered a cruel strike, tearing the hamstrings from Gil’s standing leg. The man crumpled into the dirt, grabbing hold of Sigy’s kirtle, desperate to stay up.

“Gil.” Her voice choked with suffering. Tears fell, creating rivulets down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” He panted.

“Shhh, now. It’s all right.”

Gil shook his head. “Alrik.”

“No.” Sigy’s voiced squeaked with fear. “Do not let him manipulate you. Do not give him what he wants.”

Cormac reached around the pole, his arm around Sigy’s neck, and squeezed.