London - Edward Rutherfurd [63]
“The Essex princes will do as their father tells them,” he said firmly.
“How can you ask us to worship this god?” the eldest suddenly burst out. “They say he let himself be nailed on a tree and killed. What sort of a god is that? Are we supposed to desert Thunor and Woden for a man who couldn’t fight?”
Cerdic himself was a little vague about the details of Christianity and this point had worried him too. “Christ’s father could send floods and part seas,” he assured them. “And the King of the Franks has had notable victories since he became a Christian.” But he could see they were not impressed. “This is your mother’s doing,” he muttered, and waved them away.
It was a week later that Elfgiva received a sign.
She had gone riding with her youngest son, Wistan. As she often did, she had followed the curve of the Thames a short distance upstream to the island beside the ford. It was a spot she liked. The small Roman villa on the old Druid’s island had vanished and the ground was all overgrown now, except for the track across it to the ford. Thorney, the Saxons called it, because it was so full of bramble bushes. Perhaps it was the somewhat desolate air that attracted Elfgiva to the place.
The day was fine, the sky clear blue, a few white clouds scudding by, throwing their moving shadows on the river. Since the breeze was rather cold, Elfgiva was wrapped in a heavy brown woollen cloak. On her raised left hand she wore a thick leather glove, upon which, with curling claws and curving beak, was perched a hooded bird of prey.
Like many Anglo-Saxon women of her class, Elfgiva enjoyed hawking. On Thorney, she often had good hunting. She also liked to have Wistan near her. He was only sixteen, but of all her sons, it was he who most resembled her. When his brothers went hunting he would often good-naturedly join them, but he was just as likely to go for a walk by himself or sit down to carve a piece of wood, which he did well. She suspected he was the one who loved her best; she also knew that if the other three were defiant over the question of religion, he was deeply troubled. She had therefore used this opportunity to urge him: “Obey your father, Wistan. It’s your duty.” When he had replied, “I will if you will,” she had shaken her head sadly. “It’s not the same. I’m older.”
“Do you mean to refuse him then?” he had asked, but she had not yet replied. Instead, since they had now arrived at Thorney, she began to hawk.
As she reached over and flicked off the falcon’s hood, Elfgiva almost caught her breath at the magnificent, hard beauty of the bird’s tawny eyes. In a flash, it unfurled its wings and rose as she gazed after it, envying its ease.
High the hawk flew, into the heavens. How free it was: free as wind over water. It soared into the open sky, braced against the breeze like a sail on the sea; then dipped, slipping silently, plummeting on to its prey.
Elfgiva watched as the hawk caught the bird. As she saw the luckless victim fluttering helplessly in the falcon’s claws, she felt a sudden sense of sorrow and foreboding. How cruel life was, and how transient. It was then, in a momentary flash of absolute clarity, that she understood.
The hawk in the air was free. So was Cerdic. Even if the question of the new god was not just an excuse for him to turn from her – and she was sure that this was all it was – it made no difference. Something had passed within him. He had taken the step away from her into freedom, and once that was done, nature, cruel but inevitable, would take over. Even if I give in now, she thought, in another year or two he’ll find some other excuse. Or he’ll keep me, but take younger wives as well. I shall be crushed, just like that bird in the falcon’s claws. Not because Cerdic is cruel, but because, like the falcon, he cannot help it.
That was Wyrd. She knew it with all the ancient, pagan wisdom of the Nordic gods.
What should she do then? Refuse to give in. After all, if she were cast off for her loyalty to the gods, at least there was dignity in it. As she looked up to the hawk descending from