Chapter 6, Part 2
Preparations
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The winter sun hung low over Winchester, bright enough to cast sharp shadows despite the cold. Brother Gregory stood beside the makeshift sundial. He gestured toward the ground with a stick, explaining something to Prior Duncan, who stood nearby, listening with the patient attention he seemed to give everyone.
From across the town lawn, Arthur spotted them, and his face lit up. He hurried across the grass.
“What have you discovered?”
Gregory looked up, visibly pleased by the question.
Duncan smiled. “Good day, Arthur.”
Gregory pointed toward the sundial. “The shadow has begun to shorten. By just a little.”
Arthur leaned forward, immediately intrigued. “That’s exciting. Tell me more.”
Gregory looked back at the stone dial and the shadow stretching across the frozen ground. “I’ve watched the shadow each day the sun has shone. At midday it grew longer and longer ...” He used his stick to indicate a spot just beyond the tip of the present shadow. “... to about here.” He looked back at Arthur. “Then it stopped.” A brief pause. “And for the past few days, it has begun to draw back.”
Arthur broke into a broad smile. “So the sun has turned.”
“It appears so.”
“That day marked the winter solstice.” Arthur beamed at him. “Well done!”
Gregory accepted the praise with quiet satisfaction. “Isn’t Christmas supposed to occur on the solstice?”
“Calendars are man’s invention,” Arthur replied. “The sun isn’t necessarily paying attention.” His eyes drifted thoughtfully across the sundial.
Then another thought struck him.
“Oh!” He turned to Duncan. “That reminds me. Christmas! How do the brothers usually celebrate Christmas?”
“With Mass. Prayer.” Duncan smiled faintly. “A better meal than usual, if the cellars permit it.”
“And singing,” Gregory added.
“Some singing,” Duncan amended.
Arthur looked from one to the other.
“When I was growing up ...” He paused, searching for words that might bridge a thousand years. “... Christmas meant everyone coming together.” The memories gathered momentum. “We decorated with greenery and candles.” He turned back toward Gregory. “We had lots of music and singing.” A grin spread across his face. “And far too much food.”
Duncan chuckled softly.
“For one day,” Arthur continued, “people made a deliberate effort to be kinder than they ordinarily are.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Only one day?”
Arthur nodded solemnly. “We set achievable goals.”
Gregory laughed aloud.
Arthur looked toward the Royal Manor rising above the town. “I thought perhaps the Court might enjoy something like that.” He searched for the right way to explain it. “Not exactly the same.” A small shrug. “Just ... something that belongs to everyone.”
Duncan considered the idea. “The Abbot might be willing to celebrate Mass at the Royal Manor.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Do you think so?”
“I think he would be pleased to be asked.”
“And the brothers could sing,” Gregory offered.
Duncan glanced sideways at him. “They would?”
Gregory nodded confidently. “Once the others heard about it.”
“There may be one difficulty,” Duncan added.
Arthur straightened. “All right ...”
“The brothers will sing only sacred music—”
“That’s completely reasonable.”
“And only in Latin.”
Arthur thought about that for a moment. Then he smiled. “I think we can work with that.”
He clasped his hands together like an excited schoolboy. “We’re actually going to have Christmas!”
Without another word he turned and hurried toward the Royal Manor, already several plans ahead of everyone else.
Gregory watched him disappear. Then he looked at Duncan. Duncan returned the look with the faintest smile. Neither of them was entirely certain what they had just agreed to.
* * *
Wynflaed’s manor house stood quietly beneath a pale winter sky, modest in size but meticulously kept. She waited with her hands folded before her outside the entrance. Beside her stood nine-year-old Aelfgifu—already known to everyone simply as Elle—dressed in her finest wool gown and trying very hard to stand perfectly still.
“When the King arrives,” Wynflaed said, “remember to bow.”
Elle nodded earnestly.
“And share that beautiful smile of yours.”
“Yes, Mother.” For a moment, nothing disturbed the stillness. Then Wynflaed looked down the road. “There. Now stand up straight.”
In the distance, a procession emerged over the rise. King Aethelstan’s entourage made its way toward the manor at an unhurried pace—attendants, soldiers, pack horses laden with supplies, and finally a carriage traveling in their midst.
As the company reached the front of the manor, the riders drew to a halt. Aethelstan swung easily from his horse, his face breaking into a warm smile.
“Lady Wynflaed. It is wonderful to see you again.”
Wynflaed bowed. “Your Majesty. Welcome to Shaftesbury.”
She gave Elle the gentlest nudge. Elle performed a careful curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
Aethelstan smiled down at her. “Aelfgifu, am I right?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” He glanced toward the carriage. “I would like to introduce you to someone.”
Raising his voice, he called, “Edmund. Come meet our hosts.”
A small figure climbed carefully from the carriage. Nine-year-old Edmund approached with measured steps, every movement betraying the careful manners expected of a prince. He bowed politely.
“Good afternoon, Lady Wynflaed.”
A warmth spread across Wynflaed’s face. “My, Edmund. Every time I see you, you’ve grown a little more.”
“Thank you for having me.”
“We are very glad you’re here.” Turning to Elle, she said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter, Aelfgifu.”
Elle curtsied once more.
Edmund returned the gesture with a slight bow. “I am pleased to meet you.”
Silence followed. The two children regarded one another with all the confidence that only two shy nine-year-olds could muster.
Wynflaed rescued them. “Elle, why don’t you take Edmund inside and see that he gets something to eat? I’m sure he’s hungry after such a journey.”
Elle brightened at once. “Come.” She held out her hand. “Cook makes the best biscuits.” Her enthusiasm only grew. “And my friend Aelfwynn is coming later.” She smiled encouragingly. “You’ll like her.”
Edmund looked instinctively toward Aethelstan. The King answered with a reassuring nod. Only then did Edmund reach out and take Elle’s hand. Together they hurried toward the manor, several attendants following behind with chests and baggage.
Just before disappearing inside, Edmund glanced back. Aethelstan raised one hand. A small reassurance. Then the boy vanished through the doorway.
For a long moment, Aethelstan continued looking at the closed door.
Finally he turned back to Wynflaed. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She held his gaze. “He is welcome here.”
Aethelstan exhaled slowly. “I could not let him go to Kent with his mother.” Wynflaed waited. “Kent remembers every slight.” His voice carried no bitterness, only weary certainty. “He would grow up resenting Wessex.” A pause. “Resenting me.”
He looked toward the manor. “He needs a home.”
Wynflaed studied him for a moment. She understood exactly what he was asking. “Then he shall have one.” Relief softened Aethelstan’s expression. “And I shall see to his education.” She allowed herself the faintest smile. “But I promise to let embroidery lessons be optional.”
Aethelstan laughed. “You are too kind.”
“May I offer you and your men some food?” She glanced toward the horses. “Water for your mounts?”
“You are generous,” Aethelstan said, “but I must return before the Lord Chancellor decides to govern England without me.”
Wynflaed smiled. “Then I shall send regular reports on Edmund’s conduct.”
“And if they are unfavorable?”
“I shall edit them accordingly.” That earned another laugh.
Aethelstan shook his head. “Thank you, Wynflaed.” His voice became quieter. “Truly.”
Wynflaed bowed. “Your Majesty.”
Aethelstan mounted his horse once more, and with a word to his escort the procession turned back toward Winchester.
Wynflaed remained where she was, watching until the last riders disappeared over the hill. Only then did she turn toward the manor. Toward the two children waiting inside. Toward the future that had just quietly begun.
* * *
By the time Arthur and Saras found themselves back together in the cruck house, both had spent the better part of the day setting Arthur’s impossible idea into motion. He dropped onto the bench opposite her.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s see where we stand.”
Arthur nodded. “The Great Hall?”
“I will speak with the Queen.”
“Good,” he remarked.
“Mass?”
Arthur leaned back in his chair. “I asked Prior Duncan whether the brothers celebrate Christmas.”
“And?”
“He said they do.” Arthur smiled. “I told him how much I missed Christmas Mass.” He shrugged. “The next thing I knew, he’d volunteered the Abbot to preside.”
“Excellent.” Saras nodded approvingly before moving to the next item. “Food.”
“I asked Auntie what Christmas dinner should be.”
“And?”
“She said, ‘Leave my kitchen.’”
Saras smiled. “So ... on track.”
“She told me she’s arranged to use neighboring kitchens.”
“Good.” She made a mental note before continuing. “Music?”
“The minstrels were less interested than I had hoped,” Arthur said. “The monks, however ...” His voice trailed off.
Saras looked up from her notes. “What?”
“I may have told them you could teach them some Christmas hymns.”
“That’s fine.”
Arthur didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted awkwardly in his chair, suddenly fascinated by a knot in the tabletop.
Saras watched him for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. “That’s not it.”
An apologetic smile crept across his face. “The monks only sing in Latin.”
She stared at him. “Et tu, Brute?“
Arthur spread his hands innocently and teased, “But if that’s beyond your abilities ...”
She held his gaze for a long moment before the corner of her mouth twitched. “Challenge accepted.”
His grin returned immediately. “I knew you’d be game.”
Saras shook her head, equal parts amused and exasperated. “And we should have decorations.”
“Yes.” Arthur nodded enthusiastically. “I told the brothers about decorating with evergreens, wreaths, and red ribbons.”
“Good.”
“They became very enthusiastic.”
Saras’s expression grew thoughtful. “Very?”
Arthur hesitated. “Yes ...” His smile began to fade. “... very.” A feeling of unease settled over the room. “They may have started already.”
“Started?” A beat. “Where?”
Arthur answered with studied innocence. “The Great Hall.”
Silence.
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“I believe I just said that I intended to speak with the Queen about the Great Hall.”
“I believe you did.”
She regarded him steadily. “By chance ... did you ask someone else for permission?”
Arthur gave the question his full attention. He thought for a surprisingly long time.
“Well ...” He frowned. “No ... not explicitly...” Another moment of reflection. “Yeah.” He nodded. “No.”
Saras closed her eyes. She drew a long, measured breath. Then she spoke with deliberate calm.
“We are decorating the Great Hall ...” A pause. “... of the Royal Manor ...” Another pause. “... without permission.”
Arthur’s face brightened. “When you say it like that, it sounds much more exciting!”
* * *
The Great Hall no longer resembled itself. Servants hurried from one end of the room to the other, climbing ladders to drape evergreen boughs across the great timber beams overhead. Near the dais, two monks stood several paces apart, each convinced a wreath belonged in precisely the spot the other opposed. Neither appeared willing to surrender. Two kitchen maids crossed the hall balancing baskets overflowing with ribbons, greenery, and bundles of holly.
No one seemed entirely certain who was in charge, but everyone seemed entirely certain they had something important to do.
The Lord Chancellor stepped through the open doorway and stopped suddenly. His eyes traveled slowly across the hall. For several long moments, he said nothing. At last he turned toward a servant hurrying past with another bundle of greenery.
“What ...” The servant halted. The Lord Chancellor searched once more for words. “... is happening?”
The servant looked at him, momentarily puzzled by the question. “Christmas, my lord.” With that, he hurried on before another task found him.
The Lord Chancellor watched him disappear into the commotion. Silence. Finally, with all the dignity appropriate to the office of Lord Chancellor, he nodded once. “Naturally.”
Then he continued standing exactly where he was, watching organized chaos steadily become more organized by the minute.
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