Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [208]
Resting his hand on Osric’s shoulder he asked:
“Do you think you could do that?”
The boy considered slowly.
“I think so, my lord.”
“And would you like to?” Aelfwald went on.
The boy’s eyes sparkled. “Oh yes.”
“Good. Then that’s what you will do. I will speak with the king. This summer you’ll be sent either to Winchester or Canterbury to learn your craft. You’d like that?”
Osric’s face gave him all the answer he needed.
“Splendid. We have a new craftsman,” he announced to the abbess. He smiled. Whatever was wrong with the boy, this seemed to have settled it; and Aelfwald liked to settle things.
While this conversation was taking place, a very different one was going on between the thane’s youngest son Aelfstan, his daughter Aelfgifu, and poor Edith. Aelfstan was indulging in his favourite occupation of teasing.
“Yes,” Aelfstan assured the nun, with a sad shake of his head, “my father says that if Aelfgifu cannot find a husband in the next two months, she’s to come here as a nun.” He sighed. “So far, Edith, no bridegroom has appeared.”
The effect of this invented news exceeded his greatest hopes.
As she gazed up at the handsome, strapping and obviously disruptive eighteen-year-old girl, who was known throughout the area to be wilder than any young man, the nun’s face registered horror. She looked from one to the other. Both brother and sister were shaking their heads despondently.
“A nun?” The idea was too awful to contemplate. “But surely . . .” she began. “Such haste . . . A year or two at least?”
“No.” Aelfstan was adamant. “My father never changes his mind.”
Edith’s jaw had now dropped open; she tried to swallow.
“Well,” Aelfstan continued briskly. “I’m sure she’ll be happy here, won’t you, Aelfgifu?”
“Oh yes,” the girl replied gaily. And then as an afterthought: “Will I still be allowed to ride and hunt?”
“Hunt?” Edith’s eyes opened wide as she tried to take in this idea.
“Occasionally?” Aelfgifu. suggested. She was a fine horsewoman, and had gone out hawking with the king himself.
“No, no,” the nun murmured. This terrible news had, for a moment, driven even the thought of the golden cross from her mind. “Our chief occupation is our needlework,” she added seriously. For the nuns were rightly proud of the magnificent embroidery they produced, working together, silently, patiently, hour after hour.
Aelfgifu let out a guffaw of laughter that rang round the chapel, and held up her large strong hands. “I can hardly hold a needle,” she cried.
“Life is very different here,” Edith said anxiously, wondering what she could possibly do to avert this disaster.
“I should miss not being able to wrestle with my brothers,” the girl remarked in her open, easy way. But Edith was now past speech. Her face had lost even the little colour it had.
Aelfstan now brought the teasing to an end with a warning cough. The rest of the group was beginning to stare at them curiously, and he had no wish to explain the conversation to his father. Hurriedly, and a little guiltily, brother and sister excused themselves politely and moved away, leaving Edith with her anxious thoughts. It was not until that evening that the abbess was able to explain to the by-now-distracted nun that the young people had been mistaken about the thane’s intentions for his daughter; and it was only after poor Edith had left that the abbess allowed herself to lean back in her seat and shake with laughter.
As the sun sank over the valley that evening, the feast began.
The great hall of Aelfwald the thane stood at the centre of a busy community. Around the hall itself, with its massive oak beams and its raised floor were grouped the stout timber and thatched buildings of the farm. Fifty yards away, straddling the lane that wound along the valley floor, was the small village of Avonsford, consisting of a dozen cottages; and around the