" 'Tis a fine house," Wynne agreed. "It is much like my girlhood home at Gwernach."
"The lord has a church," Ealdraed informed Wynne. "And a kitchenIbakehouse; and a bell tower to warn the countryside in case of danger!"
A church! "Is there a priest here for the church?" Wynne asked.
"Nay," came the disconcerting reply. "We had one once, but he died of a spring flux of the bowels some years back. There has been none since, and just as well, say I," Ealdraed muttered. "The old ways are strong here, for all the priests' teachings. Even Harold Godwinson keeps a Danish wife. Her children are honored among all, though the king disapproves. He is too saintly a man, King Edward."
"I would not know," replied Wynne. "My king is Gruf-fydd ap Llywelyn. My father was kin to Gruffydd."
"There are the halls the lord had built for his sons," Ealdraed said, ignoring Wynne's remark. "They are timber."
"You do not approve of Eadwine Aethelhard's sons, do you?" Wynne gently queried.
"No, I do not, though I be but a serf and should have no opinions," replied Ealdraed. "Baldhere, the younger, is not a bad sort, though his wife is overproud. Caddaric, however, now there is a wicked 'un." She lowered her voice. "I do not think he will ever get a child on any woman, and just as well!"
"I was told Eadwine Aethelhard had several wives before he fathered his sons," Wynne answered her.
"The lord was betrothed in the cradle and widowed at the age of five," Ealdraed told Wynne. "He was betrothed and widowed again before he was nine. 'Twas then the old master decided to wait until he was more of an age to consummate a marriage. The lord was a father first at seventeen and again at eighteen. After that the lady Mildraed miscarried five other children. Poor lady. She was a good soul. The lord, however, had no trouble getting his two sons on her. It is not so with his son, Caddaric. Now, the poor lady Eadgyth is too frail, as any can see, to bear children, but look you there, Wynne. There are Caddaric's four women now. The tallest one is Berangari. The plump one is Dagian. Aelf is the wench with the long blond braids, and Haesel is the youngest. None is weak or fragile, yet he cannot get children on any of them. Men are wont to blame a woman for their lack of son, but think you those four strong-backed girls incapable of mothering children?"
"Nay," Wynne replied. "They seem fit enough, and you are right that it seems odd none can conceive."
Caddaric's four women, walking together, now came deliberately abreast of Wynne and Ealdraed. The one called Berangari spoke boldly.
"So, Ealdraed, this is the slave woman that our lord Caddaric would have. A wild Welsh girl," she sneered. "And fertile as a cow too, I see. You are fortunate, wench, that the lord took you for himself, else I should have scratched your eyes out myself."
"Have you tried a lotion of arum and bryony for the spots on your face, Berangari," Wynne said sweetly. "If you have none, I shall make it for you. You will not hold Caddaric Aethelmaere's favor with a face as pocked as a worm-eaten apple."
Berangari gasped and her face grew red with her fury. The women accompanying her drew back nervously. "H-H-How dare you speak to me in such a fashion!" the Saxon woman shrieked. "You are a slave! A slave! You have no right to speak to me at all unless I give you my permission! I will go to the lord! I will see that you are beaten!"
Unafraid, Wynne stepped forward so that she was directly in front of Berangari. "You may believe what you like, Berangari, and you may call me whatever you desire. You cannot, however, change the fact that I am not a slave, nor a slave born, nor will I behave in a servile manner. I am Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc, prince of Powys… My blood and that of my child is far better than any here! I will give my respect to Eadwine Aethelhard, for he is the lord of Aelfdene, and a good lord too, I can see. I will give my friendship to those who would have it, but I will not be anyone's slave. If you ever address me again, do it with courtesy, or do it not at all." Then Wynne turned her back on the four women and said to Ealdraed, "What are these light tasks that my lord would have me perform?"
"Wait!" It was Berangari. "Can you really make me a lotion that would remove the spots from my face?"
Wynne turned back to her. "If I could gain admission to the pharmacea here, aye, I could."
"There is no pharmacea at Aelfdene," Berangari said.
"There should be," Wynne replied. "I will speak to Eadwine Aethelhard. Who makes your medicines and salves?"
"There is no one," Berangari replied. "There was an old woman once, but she died."
"Was not the lady Mildraed skilled in these things?"
"The lady Mildraed spent most of her time weaving and resting," Berangari said. "She was frail in her later years."
"And if someone is injured?" Wynne probed.
"Someone binds up their wounds and we hope for the best," Berangari answered.
"This will not do," Wynne told them. "Ealdraed, where is Eadwine Aethelhard? I must speak to him immediately! Light tasks can be accomplished by any hands, but I am a healer, and if there is none here at Aelfdene to heal, then that must be my task."
"The lord is in the fields. It is the day set aside for the gleaners," Ealdraed said.
"Take me to my lord," Wynne said firmly. "There is no time to waste."
Chortling to herself, Ealdraed led Wynne through the open gates of Aelfdene and down the road to the fields. There they found Eadwine Aethelhard, who sat upon his horse watching benevolently as the women and children belonging to his estate carefully gleaned through the mown stalks of previously harvested grain for the remaining kernels of oats, rye, and barley that could be salvaged. Whatever they found was theirs to keep and add to the winter allotment made them by their master. Successful gleaning could mean the difference between a comfortable winter or a lean, hard one.
As they approached him, Wynne studied Eadwine Aethelhard, for she scarce had time the previous night. He was very tall. At least as tall and as big as Einion. He sat his horse easily. The handsome face had a relaxed and pleasant look to it. There were laugh lines about his eyes and mouth. It was a sensuous mouth, big, to match the rest of his body. She remembered the possessive kisses that mouth had pressed upon her the previous night and felt suddenly warm. She forced herself to concentrate solely upon his physical traits. His nose had an almost regal air to it, long and perfectly straight. Her eyes strayed to the hands resting upon his reins. Although large and in keeping with his frame, they were slender hands with long, graceful fingers.
"Good morrow, my lord Eadwine," Wynne greeted him politely as she came to stand by his right stirrup.
The grey-blue eyes were instantly alert, and he looked down at her, smiling. "Good morrow, my wild Welsh girl. Did you sleep well?"
"I did, and I thank you for the rest, my lord, but it has come to my attention that you don't have a healer at Aelfdene. Is this so?" Wynne asked him.
"It is so. Why do you ask? Are you ill?" He was instantly all concern for her.
Wynne shook her head. "I am in excellent health, my lord Eadwine. I ask because I am a healer. While I remain at Aelfdene I would be the manor's healer. Berangari tells me you have no pharmacea, or medicine salves or ointment stored. If a serious sickness were to strike Aelfdene, you would be at a great loss."
Before he might reply, a shriek rent the air and a serf woman set up a great hue and cry. The thegn turned his horse into the fields, and Wynne hurried behind him to see what the difficulty was. A sobbing woman knelt upon the ground in midfield, clutching a small girl to her bosom.