London - Edward Rutherfurd [75]
It was mid-morning when he reached the place, but he did not go up to it. Instead he remained some distance away in the trees, watching. At last he saw her come out of the homestead and, by good fortune, take a path that led into the trees not far from where he was.
At least he supposed it must be her. As she drew nearer, he hardly recognized her, for in place of the skinny girl was a young woman. And a lovely one at that. Nearly as tall as he, still with a little down on her lip, her golden hair done up in a plait, her blue eyes bright and intelligent, this beautiful creature of almost fifteen was only ten yards from him when he softly called her name.
“Edith.”
She did not start when the gentle-eyed young fellow with his first beard stepped on to the path before her, though she looked surprised. She gazed at him evenly, then smiled.
“Don’t I know you?” To his surprise he blushed. “You’re Wistan,” she said and smiled. He nodded. “What are you doing here?” She looked curious. “And why are you in the woods?”
“Will you promise not to tell anyone I came?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose so.”
“I’m here . . .” He took a deep breath, suddenly aware of the enormity of what he was doing. “I’ve come to tell you we don’t want you.”
They talked for almost an hour. It was not difficult for her to make him tell her everything. To his relief she was not angry. “So you’ve come to try to save your mother?” she summarized. And then, with a smile: “You’ve told me so much about your father, also, I suppose you’ve come to save me too.”
He looked confused and she laughed. Then she heard voices calling for her.
“You must go,” she said suddenly. “Go now.”
He nodded as she turned.
“And what will you do?” he called softly after her.
But she was already walking swiftly through the trees.
Thunor’s day, the day of the Thunderer.
A week had passed since young Wistan had reappeared. Cerdic had made a show of fury and threatened to whip him, but the boy’s excuses that he had gone hunting, met friends and got lost were so entirely unlikely that the merchant had grinned to himself and chuckled to the stockmen: “I told you it was some girl.” Once or twice he had even given the boy a friendly, if somewhat knowing, look.
But now, at noon, like a thunderclap from the grey skies, had come the news. His young bride had changed her mind. The messenger from her father, clearly embarrassed, regretted that there had been a mistake. She was not coming.
He knew how upset his youngest son had been. Now, seeing the boy pale, he guessed at once. It only took a few moments’ savage confrontation for the truth to come out. In an apoplexy of fury he seized a stock whip, and if Wistan had not fled after a few blows, Cerdic might almost have killed him.
The next question was, what to do? He toyed with the idea of sending for the girl again, demanding that her father keep his word, but decided it would be undignified. Besides, he admitted to himself, if he was trying to avoid the kind of trouble his otherwise loyal Elfgiva had been giving him, why insist upon marriage with a young girl who, it seemed, was already capable of giving trouble?
For several days he stomped about the trading post in silent fury. Wistan wisely remained out of sight. Gradually, however, as his anger lessened, he began to feel a sense of weariness. Despite himself, he secretly missed the comfort of his old marriage. At least, he thought wryly, it was better than chasing after young girls who changed their minds.
But if, once or twice, he allowed himself to gaze thoughtfully at Elfgiva, she made no answering sign, instead remaining stiff, cold and numb in his presence.
A whole week passed before, striding into the hall where his wife was sitting with the pretty slave girl, he informed her calmly that if she would follow the example of her sons and be baptized, he would end his search for a new wife and take her back. “Perhaps,” he said kindly, “you would like to think it over for a day.”
A moment later, he was storming out in a greater