A Moment in Time (51 page)

Finally, when they could delay no longer, the six women with the aid of Ealdraed and the serving women began to decorate the hall with branches. The room, normally plain and utilitarian, began to take on a bright and festive air. The fragrance of the pine was tangy and fresh. Finished at last, they stepped back to survey their efforts and smiled collectively.

"It is even better than last year," little Haesel said, clapping her hands enthusiastically, and the others laughed.

"She's right," Berangari agreed. "This will be the best Yule we have ever had! I just know it!"

The sun was beginning to sink in a tepid smear of washed-out color behind the western hills. In mid-December sunset came in what would have been mid-afternoon on a June day. Wynne looked anxiously through the hall door.

"The boar has obviously eluded them," Eadgyth said. "They will have to hunt again tomorrow."

"Wait," Berangari said, cocking her head. "I think I hear the dogs now."

"Aye," Eadgyth answered. "They are coming. Let us go out and see if they have caught the creature."

Wynne picked up her son and, with the others, hurried out of doors to greet the returning hunters. They could see them on the path leading to the manor house. But wait . . . There was but one horseman, and it was not Eadwine. Wynne thrust Arvel into Eadgyth's arms and began to run toward the men. It was then she saw behind Caddaric's horse the bearers with their burden. Her heart began to pump violently and she ran all the faster.

Reaching the hunters, she could quickly see that Eadwine lay injured upon his shield. "What happened?" she demanded fiercely of her stepson. "Tell me what happened, or as God is my witness, I will tear your heart from your chest with my bare hands!" Her face was a mask of unrestrained fury.

"Spoken like a . . . true . . . Saxon wife," Eadwine said feebly, a weak smile upon his lips. "I . . . will mend . . . sweeting."

"What happened?"
Wynne repeated, glaring up at Caddaric, and then, before he could answer her, she was giving orders.
"You!"
A finger pointed at_a hunter. "Run as fast as you can into the hall and tell old Ealdraed to bring hot water, wine, and my herb kit. Bandages too! And clear the high board. I want my lord laid upon it that I may examine him." Her gaze swung to the bearers. "Can you move no faster? But do not jostle my lord lest you give him undue pain! Caddaric, I am waiting for your explanation!" Dear lord, how pale Eadwine was, she thought fearfully.

They had reached the manor house now. As Eadwine was carried in and carefully laid upon the high board, Caddaric Aethelmaere told his tale, surrounded by his women. Wynne, even as she listened, was busy cutting away Eadwine's clothes, that she might get a better look at his wounds.

"We tracked the boar most of the day," Caddaric began. "Several times we even caught a glimpse of him, but we never got close enough for a kill. Finally, as the afternoon wore on, the creature made his stand in a briar thicket in the deepest part of the wood. Eadgyth, give me some wine. I am parched."

His wife quickly placed a goblet by his side, and swilling it down, Caddaric wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "The wood was very dark and gloomy," he continued. "The dogs, however, were eager for the kill. They yapped, and howled and charged directly into that thicket after the boar. The first few were killed or injured, but then the vast numbers of the pack overwhelmed our prey. He broke from his cover and charged directly at us.

"I had the clearest shot, Eadgyth, but my foot slipped upon a stone and I fell. The creature was coming directly at me. I could smell his foul breath upon me even as I struggled to get out of his path. Then Father leapt forward and drew his bow. The beast was much too close for his own safety, yet he killed it with a single shot. The animal, in its death throes, however, gored father badly. He saved my life," Caddaric finished. For a moment the look upon his face was that of a young boy, and Eadgyth's heart went out to her husband.

The hall grew unnaturally silent as Wynne worked grimly, cutting away Eadwine's clothing so she might fully see his wound. It seemed to be located somewhere in the groin area. The thegn's lower body was covered in blood, some of it already dried and blackening, some fresh and oozing its bright red color. He winced as she was forced to peel away fabric that had already adhered to his skin.

"I am sorry, my love," she said, her mouth setting itself in a hard line.

"I feel so . . . light-headed," he murmured weakly.

"Ealdraed! Feed the lord some herbed wine," Wynne commanded the old servant.

Finally she had the wounds exposed to her sight, and they were fearsome to behold. The boar might have died, but he had done Eadwine cruel damage prior to his demise. There were at least three major slashes in the thegn's upper thigh and groin area. All were deep, but at least two had ceased to bleed. The third wound, however, was the most serious, for the animal's tusk had made a small puncture in the artery running through the groin. It was not a great hole, but the bleeding had not ceased.

Wynne stared at it and bit her lip in vexation. She was no surgeon, and a surgeon was what was needed here. If the puncture had been larger and more open, she might have sewn it up herself, but it was not. To reach the artery and close it successfully, she needed to open the wound up farther, that she might work at it. She didn't dare, and her lack of skills in this area frustrated her greatly. If she tried and cut too deep, she could do far more damage than the boar had. Eadwine would die. Yet if she didn't stop the bleeding, Eadwine would die anyway. He saw her indecision.

"What
...
is it?" he demanded, pushing Ealdraed's gnarled hand with the goblet away.

She must not worry him, Wynne thought, and then said, "I am debating the best method of treatment, my lord."

He saw the worry in her eyes, quickly masked from him, but pressed her no further. She would do her best for him, and if it was God's will that he not survive, then no amount of praying and hoping would change this.

"Drink the wine, my love," she counseled him. "There are eggs and strengthening herbs beaten into it. I must reassure your son before I begin my work." Bending, Wynne kissed his brow and then moved from the dais down the hall to where Caddaric and Eadgyth stood.

"Will he live?" Caddaric asked bluntly.

"I do not know," Wynne answered honestly. "There are three wounds, two quite deep, but they at least have stopped bleeding. The third wound just pricked an artery. It is not open enough for me to sew up, and I have not the skill to open it farther, that I may sew it up. I will try to stop the bleeding another way."

"If you cannot," Caddaric said, "then he will die. Is that what you are saying, Welsh woman?"

"Aye," she answered, and her green eyes filled with tears.

"Then you will be mine,"
he answered her cruelly, and Eadgyth gasped, shocked by her husband's brutal words.

"Never!"
Wynne answered fiercely, and turning away from them, went back to her patient.

"Oh, Caddaric," Eadgyth half wept, "how can you voice such thoughts aloud, and your father on his deathbed?"

He led her to a bench by the fire pit and together they sat down. Eadgyth's blue eyes were fraught with her concern, but her husband put gentle fingers to her lips to stay her further words.

"She can give me a child, Eadgyth," he said in low, desperate tones. "I
know that she can!
As long as my father lived, I had no choice but to accept her status as his wife, but soon my father will be dead. Wynne will be mine to do with as I please." His eyes glittered with his anticipation.

"If God wills that your father dies," Eadgyth said in equally low tones, and she pushed his hand from her lips, "Wynne will be his widow and should be honored as such. Is that how you would honor her? By forcing her to your will? Oh, Caddaric! Never would I have suspected such dishonor in you."

"The Welsh woman was brought as a slave into this house. As such, she is a part of my inheritance and mine to do with as I choose!" he answered fiercely.

"Your father freed Wynne from her slavery, publicly, in this hall before us all!" Eadgyth cried softly. "She is your stepmother, and what you suggest amounts to incest! 'Tis a sin of the worst sort, my husband. Do not do it, Caddaric, I beg of you! We will find you a new and beautiful young concubine from a family of proven breeders;
but not Wynne!"

"I do not want any other," he said obdurately.
"Only her!"

Eadgyth's look was one of pity mixed with repulsion. "I will pray for you, my husband," she said helplessly. "There is little else I can do to aid you if you persist upon this course."

Wynne would not allow Eadwine to be moved from the hall. The servants lifted him gently up to lay a pallet beneath him, that he might be more comfortable. Wynne bathed, cauterized, and treated his wounds with all of the skill at her command. The larger of the wounds, though ugly, would heal easily if she could keep them free of putrefaction. The smaller, more dangerous wound, however, she was having difficulty with, for she could not seem to stop the slow bleeding. Several times by means of pressure she managed to stem the flow of the blood, but once the pressure was removed, the wound opened seemingly of its own accord and began seeping Eadwine's life force away. Toward the middle of the night, Wynne crept into a dark corner of the hall and, for a few brief minutes, wept with desperation at the futility of her efforts. They needed a surgeon! She simply had not the skill to open the wound more fully and repair the damage done.

Eadwine Aethelhard drifted in and out of consciousness most of the night. Although he burned with fever, Wynne knew that it was just his body's way of fighting any infection attacking him. It was the loss of blood that was going to kill him. As the night ended, the thegn grew suddenly quite clearheaded for a brief time.

"Bring the family," he commanded Wynne, and she hurried about the hall waking them, for none had left them during the dark hours.

When they all stood about him, Eadwine said, "I am dying. I feel it. Caddaric, my son. You are my heir. Aelfdene is yours. I give you my blessing, but you must promise me this."

"Anything, Father!" Caddaric said, unable to conceal his eagerness to inherit.

A small bitter smile touched the thegn's mouth, and he continued, visibly weaker now. "Be good to Eadgyth. To your . . . women."

"I will, Father."

"Swear you will honor and protect your baby sister, Averel, my son."

"I swear it, Father! I will guard my sister with my life, and see she is well wed one day," Caddaric vowed, and in this he was quite sincere, for he had no malice toward the little girl.

"And Arvel too! I . . . have made him . . . mine."

"The boy will not suffer at my hands, Father," Caddaric said, perhaps a bit more evasively. No, Arvel would not suffer unless his mother proved uncooperative, which Caddaric knew she would not if the child's safety were in question. Wynne was above all else a good mother, and Arvel would be held hostage to his mother's behavior.

"Wynne!"
Eadwine croaked, his voice beginning to grow weaker.

"I am here, my love," she said, bending to make it easier for him.

"I never loved any but . . . you, my wild . . . Welsh . . . girl," he told her.
"No other. "

"Eadwine," she half moaned, "I cannot bear that this should be! I have been trained my life long to save lives, but I have not the skills of a surgeon. Forgive me!"

He smiled and nodded weakly. "I do."

"I love you," Wynne told him. "In the beginning I could not, but I came to it. How could I not love you? You are the kindest, the best man I have ever known!"

"Better than the . . . other?" he asked softly.

"Aye!" she answered quickly, and he smiled again, knowing she lied, but the very lie assuring him that she did indeed love him at least as well as she loved her prince.

The thegn spoke again. "Caddaric, my son!"

"Aye, Father?"

"Swear to me that you will honor, respect, and protect my wife and my widow. Swear you will watch over Wynne!" It took almost the last of his strength.

Caddaric Aethelmaere looked down at his dying father. The life was fading swiftly from his eyes. But a moment or two longer, he thought dispassionately.

A sudden and horrible realization sprang Onto the thegn's face. Reaching out with a surprisingly strong hand, he grasped his son by the arm.
"Swear!"
he croaked, trying to keep the desperation from his voice as his very life ebbed to a close.
"Swear!"