Born of the Sun (58 page)

“Did Ceawlin ask you to come?” she asked after Meghan had finished talking.

Meghan hesitated, obviously not sure how she should answer. Finally she nodded. “He is worried about you, Niniane.”

Niniane knew he was worried about her. He could not help her himself, but he tried very hard to find someone who could. He even sent to Glastonbury for Father Mai, who came and was very kind and talked to her about heaven. It did not help. She did believe that Cerdic was in heaven, but that did not stop her from missing him.

In the end it was the most unlikely person who helped her, someone whose coming she had resented and feared. The person who helped her was Auda.

The day after Crida turned fourteen, Ceawlin said, “I am going to send for the Princess of Wight. We will have the betrothal ceremony next month and she will live here in Winchester until they marry.”

Niniane protested. She did not want a strange girl in Winchester, someone else for whom she would be responsible. It was enough that Edith and her two children were now living in the royal enclave and had to be included in almost all family occasions. And this girl was Witgar’s granddaughter. Niniane blamed Witgar bitterly for siding with Cutha; Cutha’s rebellion would never have been able to take place had it not been for Witgar, she thought. Except for Witgar, Cerdic would still be alive. She did not want Witgar’s grandchild to come and live in Winchester.

But Ceawlin was adamant. “I want her here, Nan,” he said when she protested again in the privacy of their sleeping room. “She will be safer that way.”

Niniane understood what he meant. The reports they had had from East Anglia were that Guthfrid had gone mad when she learned that Witgar had betrayed her. Niniane met Ceawlin’s eyes and knew he was thinking, as was she, of the poison Guthfrid had once sent to her. “I want this marriage for Crida,” Ceawlin said. “As much as Guthfrid wants it for her own whelp.” The line of his mouth was grim. “Auda must come to Winchester.”

Crida understood as well as Ceawlin the value to Wessex of this marriage. It was not just the bargain his father had struck with Witgar on the eve of his battle with Cutha. There were other advantages to a marriage with Wight: it would expand Wessex’ territory to the sea, gain them a much-needed port, and eliminate a potential enemy to their south.

Crida understood all this and approved. Nevertheless, the reality of the marriage had remained vague to him. It was so far in the future. Then, suddenly, it was not in the future at all, but here and now. Suddenly the flesh-and-blood girl was coming to Winchester. Within a month he would be betrothed to a stranger.

She was his age, so that was all right. But suppose he did not like her. Suppose she was ugly. Worst of all, suppose she was taller than he! Crida was growing, as Ceawlin had promised he would, but he would never be a tall man, never have the height of his father and his little brothers. He would find it unbearable to have a wife who was taller than he. But Crida was a prince and he knew where his duty lay. He kept his own counsel and said nothing about his apprehensions.

These were the circumstances under which Auda came to Winchester. She was escorted by Witgar himself, who greeted Ceawlin with smiling ease, as if nothing had ever divided him from the affectionate trust of his cousin. Witgar brought with him a train of thanes and women who would have to be accommodated with sleeping spaces and fed with Winchester’s best meals.

Crida met his intended wife for the first time just before the banquet Ceawlin gave in the great hall the evening of her arrival. The chief guests from Wight had been accommodated in the old queen’s hall, and it was from there that Ceawlin sent for Crida a half-hour before the banquet was due to commence.

Auda was standing between her grandfather and Ceawlin as Crida came in the door. The first thing he saw, to his intense relief, was that she was as small as his mother. The eyes of everyone in the room were on him as he crossed the floor, but he scarcely noticed. He stopped in front of the two kings, bowed slightly, and looked with grave courtesy at his father.

“Crida,” Ceawlin said, “this is Auda, the princess of Wight. I thought you should meet before we go into the great hall for the banquet.” Having been officially presented, Crida then looked directly at the girl who was to be his wife.

She was pretty. That was his second, relieved impression. Her hair was pale brown, her features small and regular. She had been looking somewhere in the vicinity of his chest and now she raised her long gold-tipped lashes and glanced fleetingly into his face. Her eyes were a golden hazel.

“I am pleased to welcome you to Winchester,” Crida said.

“Thank you, my lord.” Her voice was soft and low. She had dropped her eyes once more.

“A pretty pair,” said Witgar jovially. “Eh, Ceawlin?”

Ceawlin’s eyebrow quirked but he replied with perfect blandness, “Exceedingly.”

Auda’s face was withdrawn; she might not have heard for all the sign she gave. Crida looked at her, and once more, for barely a flicker of an eyelash, her eyes lifted to meet his.

“And this is Auda’s mother, the Lady Geata,” Ceawlin said. A thin, sharp-faced woman stepped forward to claim Crida’s attention.

The welcoming banquet was not one of the more riotous occasions ever seen in Winchester. There was still a great deal of bitterness in Wessex over Witgar’s attempt to overthrow Ceawlin, and, while the Winchester thanes were polite, they were not jolly. Ceawlin was relieved that they were polite. He had threatened them all with expulsion
from
his service should any incidents arise during the stay of the folk from Wight.

Auda was seated next to the queen, and the girl spoke scarcely a word during the entire banquet. Niniane, splendidly dressed in a beautifully woven white overgown with the gold circlet Ceawlin had given her set on her brow, made a token effort to be polite to Auda and then, thankfully, gave up. What a mouse the girl was, she thought. Poor Crida.

Auda had not wanted to come to Winchester, but she, like Crida, understood her duty. She knew Witgar had offered her to the prince of Sussex and been refused. She knew her grandfather had been furious when Ceawlin betrothed his eldest son elsewhere without even considering a marriage with Wight. She was a quiet girl but she heard and understood a good deal more than her mother and her mother’s second husband gave her credit for.

And so she also knew that Ceawlin had been forced to take this marriage at point of arms. Her grandfather was well pleased; it was what he had long wanted for Wight. Her mother was pleased; her daughter would be Queen of Wessex. Auda was frightened. They did not want her in Wessex, she thought. The prince who was to be her husband could not want her. They were only going through with the marriage because Witgar had forced them into it.

The reality of Wessex proved to be as bad as she had feared. The king was courteous enough, but his eyes were aloof. And he was so big. Too big. Auda could see that her grandfather, who was afraid of no one, was afraid of Ceawlin. He frightened and intimidated Auda too.

The queen was even worse. If Ceawlin was indifferent to Auda, Niniane disliked her. Auda could see that immediately. It did not take long for the girl to hear the full tale of how Cerdic had died, and then Niniane’s behavior was made perfectly clear; the queen hated Auda because her grandfather’s plot had been the cause of Niniane’s son’s death.

But it was not my fault, Auda wanted to cry when Niniane spoke to her with frost in her voice and ice in her blue-gray eyes.
I was not consulted.
But, of course, such a plea would be useless. It was better to make herself as quiet and as inconspicuous as possible and thus hope to slip beneath the queen’s notice.

The only ray of hope for Auda all during that first miserable week in Winchester was Crida. She had been delighted when she saw that he was not a giant like his father, but a slim, elegant boy with a pure, chiseled face and beautiful silver fair hair. Nor did he look at her as if he hated her. His extraordinary blue-green eyes were much warmer than his father’s; not at all indifferent. He was the only person she had met in Winchester who made her believe that it just might be possible for her to live there.

The banquet Ceawlin had given on the day of their arrival was the most lavish Auda had ever attended. The great hall of Winchester was far grander than her grandfather’s hall in Wight. The arms that hung on the walls were more splendid, the harper far more accomplished. The drinking horns that were passed around were engraved and set with jewels. The folk from Wight had been rather overcome by all the splendor.

The betrothal banquet was still more magnificent. Auda’s mother had dressed her in a pale saffron-colored overgown that brought out the gold in her eyes, but the moment she saw the Winchester women she felt underdressed and inadequate. Her jewelry was so plain beside the brooches and belt buckles and necklaces worn by the wives of Ceawlin’s eorls.

She was given the place of honor beside the queen. Niniane looked beautiful. Auda had been astonished when first she saw how young Crida’s mother was. There was a look of strain on her face this night, however, and Auda was aware of the quick looks of concern the king threw to his wife from time to time. Niniane was remembering her dead son, Auda thought; that was why she looked so stern. For some strange reason, Auda felt guilty and could not bring herself to meet the queen’s eyes.

For a betrothal banquet it was surprisingly subdued. The jokes were perfunctory, the good humor only surface deep. Auda, always sensitive to atmosphere, realized this and understood its causes. Standing beside Crida in front of all these people to receive the betrothal gifts was the hardest thing she had ever done.

The gifts were lavish beyond belief. She gave Crida an involuntary look of astonishment as the mounds of clothing and jewelry and linens were piled before her. He was watching her, and when her eyes caught his, he gave her a very faint smile.

She and Crida were standing together before the high seats, and as the last of the gifts was placed ceremoniously at Auda’s feet, Ceawlin rose and called for the witnesses. Three eorls, those Auda had heard addressed as Penda, Bertred, and Gereint, came forward to swear legal witness to the transferral of goods. Then, as the eorls resumed their places, Crida took her hand into his. She knew there had to be a kiss to seal the betrothal, and obediently she held up her face. His lips were cool and dry on hers, then he was stepping back, allowing her to return to her place beside the queen.

She would much rather have stayed with him.

Once the betrothal was concluded, Witgar and the rest of the folk from Wight returned home, leaving Auda in Winchester. Niniane moved the princess into the bower with the other unmarried girls. It would be better for her to have the company of girls her age, Niniane told Crida, less lonely. What she did not say was that if Auda lived in the bower, Nola would have charge of her and not Niniane.

“Once you are married, your father will give you the old queen’s hall for you both to live in,” Niniane said to her son. “For now, while you are still both so young, it will be best if you go on as usual.”

“Yes, Mother,” Crida agreed. He was more aware than Niniane realized of the difficulty she was having accepting this girl of Witgar’s blood. Crida was the least demonstrative of all her sons, but he was probably the one who was most attached to Niniane. He saw how she still grieved for Cerdic. And he thought, also, that since the way his mother felt about Auda had not escaped his betrothed’s notice, it would be best for Auda to be in someone else’s charge.

The weeks went by. Nola reported to Niniane that Auda gave her no trouble but that she kept herself to herself. She had not become friends with any of the other girls. “She is a dreadful needlewoman,” Nola said, “but she spends a great deal of time doing needlework.”

Niniane, who was an exquisite needlewoman, gave Nola a scornful look and did not reply.

Then one day in mid-June, before the feast to bring in the summer, Niniane came into her sleeping room to feed Fara, only to be told that one of the handmaids had taken the baby into the herb garden for some air. Niniane, who had been cooped up in the dye house all morning, decided to go in search of her daughter herself.

She found the baby in the garden, lying on a rug someone had spread on the grass for her. Kneeling beside her, watching the infant kick its feet in high delight, a small tender smile on her lips, was Auda. Niniane halted for a minute in surprise, then spoke the girl’s name. Auda started violently, and looked up. Faint color stained her cheeks. “Your maid had to leave for a few minutes and I offered to watch the baby,” she said, her voice defensive, her eyes lowered.

Niniane felt a flash of irritation. Why would the girl never look into her face? Whatever was Crida going to do with such a mouse?

“Thank you, Auda,” she replied coolly. “That was good of you but I will take her now.” And she dropped to her knees on the rug beside the baby. Startled by the sudden movement, Auda jumped. Niniane frowned and turned to look at her. For a brief moment she was able to see into Auda’s unguarded eyes; then the girl’s long lashes dropped once again.

“Auda …” Niniane was appalled. The girl had flinched away from her as if she thought she was going to be struck. And for that brief, revealing moment, her eyes had been those of a child in fear.

“Shall I find a handmaid for you, my lady?” the girl asked. Her voice was even, her face composed. She was looking at Fara.

“No,” Niniane said helplessly. “No. In fact, why don’t you carry Fara back to the hall for me?”

Auda stiffened infinitesimally, but then she bent and lifted the baby into her arms. Niniane saw that she cradled the small bundle with instinctive tenderness. Niniane walked beside her as they returned to the hall, talking easily about the baby, but although Auda listened politely, she responded only with monosyllables.

The girl left the king’s hall as soon as she had put Fara into her basket. Niniane watched the small, slim figure retreat out the door and was smitten by a terrible feeling of guilt. The poor child, she thought. What can I have been thinking of?