Moyra Caldecott by Etheldreda Page B

eyes showing that she had not slept, she was greeted with a cheer and Tondbert had to endure many an over-enthusiastic slap upon the shoulders and the back.
    Heregyth was fetched at last and helped her mistress dress.
    ‘These people are barbarians, lady,’ she complained. ‘You will never believe how they slobber over their food.’
    Etheldreda smiled sadly. ‘Their prince is no barbarian Heregyth. I’ve never met a nobler man.’
    Heregyth looked at her in surprise.
    ‘Truly, mistress?’
    ‘Truly.’
    Heregyth shrugged, but she was pleased. ‘Ovin didn’t sleep, my lady. I think he would have liked to beat some heads in to teach them some respect.’
    Etheldreda laughed. ‘Thank goodness he didn’t.’
    ‘Will you see him my lady, and assure him that you are all right. He is in a terrible gloomy mood.’
    ‘Certainly. Send him to me.’
    He came to her and helped her mount her horse. As his hands touched her she felt him tremble and looked at him, but with no understanding of what he was feeling.
    ‘Heregyth tells me that you are worried about me?’ she said gently, taking the reins in her small fine hands.
    ‘Aye, my lady.’
    ‘There is no need. All is well. As you can see – the sun is shining and everything is fine and new.’
    He bowed his head, and stepped back away from her, her cheerfulness stinging like a cold wind. She rode off without a backward glance, the relief she felt at Tondbert honouring his promise making her light-headed. Her gaiety was instantly attributed to her husband’s prowess as a lover.

    It was the custom for a groom to give his bride a present to celebrate the consummation. Tondbert gave Etheldreda the island of Ely which she had loved so much as a child, the best land in his princedom, wooded and standing free from the marshes, supporting six hundred souls. She received it humbly and gratefully, knowing that she had not earned it. At her request they rested there before they continued the last lap of their journey by boat. She wanted to talk to the people who were now her people and see how best to serve them. Near the end of her walk around the island they came across the charred remains of a wooden building that had once been a church. ‘Consecrated by Bishop Augustine himself in my grandfather’s time,’ Tondbert told her.
    ‘The Lord’s house and it is lying in such ruins!’ she cried.
    ‘It was Penda’s work,’ he said gruffly, ashamed that he had not thought to rebuild it before he gave his gift to her.
    A shadow crossed her face. ‘Penda!’ She picked up a piece of burnt wood and stood a long time turning it over and over in her hands, thinking, remembering Penda’s invasion of her country.
    Tondbert’s men had gone to organise the shallow boats for the last stage of the journey and Ovin and Heregyth were bartering for food from the villagers. The prince and she were alone, and he, seeing that she was absorbed in contemplation withdrew, and stood awkwardly a little way from her, wishing that instead of the small island with its few huts and desecrated church, he could give her the world and all its riches.
    He saw her stoop down and pick up a handful of grass and earth, and stand again, sifting it thoughtfully through her fingers. This was the first earth she had ever owned and she felt awed by the thought of it. This earth was her responsibility. She knew that she must rebuild the church… but not here. Penda’s hate and violence had marked the place forever. She would find another place and she would know it at once when she saw it.

    Once they took to the punts, Tondbert’s companions seemed less ungainly, less uncouth. They had been ill at ease on dry land and in the alien court, but in the marshes they were at home. The small, light punts glided swiftly, poled skilfully between the many hazards. Occasionally a man would draw a bow and arrow and shoot a bird from the sky. Etheldreda winced to see the lovely creatures fall, but when night came and