Other large happenings come to mind from those early years on the Moor. Edd had two brothers in the village, and two more had moved away when they grew to manhood. Wilf, the eldest of the family, had five sons and acted his part as a man of substance with loud talk and a ready fist. I had avoided him from my girlhood and saw no reason to change on my infrequent visits to the settlement. When with him, Edd seemed to shrink and become a frightened young lad.
The other was as different as could be. Bran had an uncommon soul, full of music and dreams. When the mood was on him, he would gather all the people to a great storytelling, which continued a whole night and into the next day.
Spenna came across the river and over the rising hillside one day between Lammas and Samhain, to tell us that Bran would speak the next night, and it would be a treat for the little ones if we would go and hear him. So we penned up the sheep, threw extra meat to the dogs and set out for the village. Cuthie would have been between his third and fourth birth day at the time, and I was able to walk the distance, though slowly. The day had dawned misty, but mild, and we took baskets to gather the mushrooms and fruits as we went. The season of bounty, which carried with it only the slightest breath of worry about the coming winter. Time enough to gather what we would need, to fatten the beasts and weave warm woollen coverings. The season was one of merrymaking, giving thanks for the harvest and savouring the deep blue skies.
We reached the great hall as the people were seating themselves. Fires were blazing at both ends and children running wildly up and down, tossing hips and haws at each other. Their mothers gossiped comfortably and I looked about for familiar faces. Edd and I were outsiders from choice. When we had first come together, we had recognised that element each in the other. The high moors called us, away from human voices and battles. The village was crowded and busy at that time, with a festival every full moon, as well as songs and dances and dream-telling between times. We had turned away from the noise and hustle of it all, and had no regrets, but it was a joy just the same to be part of such a night as this.
Spenna saw me and waved. There was a space close by her. ‘There,’ I said to Edd, nudging him with my elbow. ‘We can sit there.’ He hesitated at the sight of my friend, sighed and then followed me. Cuthie had been drowsy as we walked, but now he revived and began to show an inclination to join the other children. Wynn was more reluctant, and I saw for the first time what we were making of her - an outcast like ourselves, but with no choice of her own in the matter.
‘You can go and play for a while,’ I said to her. ‘The stories won’t begin yet.’ She hung closer to me at that, one shoulder attached to my hip as if by tight thongs, a thumb in her mouth, acting like a much younger child. Wordlessly, she shook her head. Cuthie was very different. After a careful inspection of the crowded smoky stone-built hall, he trotted purposefully towards a group of boys much his own age.
‘Watch him,’ I warned Edd. ‘Or he’ll be lost.’ Edd just nodded, and cracked another cobnut between his teeth.
Some men were standing in a group, arms folded, waiting. One called over his shoulder, ‘Be ’ee coming, Bran? Or be it all merely a great prank?’ I couldn’t see whether Bran was really there behind him. But a drummer came in, and began to beat a rhythm which silenced us all. Then a piper played, and we knew from the tune that Bran was going to tell us a tale about Geat. Edd gave a whoop of satisfaction.
‘‘Tis my favourite,’ he grinned. ‘Geat and the three maidens.’
‘Could be Geat and his mother,’ I argued. ‘That’s the one I like best.’
Spenna leaned over, her black eyes sparkling. ‘‘Tis Geat and Mathild,’ she hissed, as the hall fell silent. ‘Don’t you hear the tune? The part where he sees her beneath the water.’ The piper was playing the trilling liquid notes which conjured a river in my mind. I nodded at my friend. That was a fine story, and much longer than the one which told of Geat’s struggle to be a harper, against his mother’s wishes. I recalled the first time the village heard it, when a light-haired traveller came from the east, and stayed for five or six months, unfolding story after story, long and intricate, concerning Beowulf and Grendel and the tribe of Geats.
Edd settled himself on my other side, a bag of chaff underneath us both for padding. Wynn nestled in her father’s lap, head lolled against his chest. It was plain she would hear little of the story. ‘Where’s Cuthie?’ I asked. ‘You’re meant to be watching out for him.’
‘There he is,’ Spenna pointed. I could see the little head with its curls amongst a crowd of others, all bigger than himself. They were scuffling for places at the front of the hall, close to where Bran would be for his storytelling. As I watched my son, I felt a swelling inside me, some premonition about his future, which would be wonderful. A picture came to me, of the young Christ sitting with his elders in the temple, having run away from his mother. Something of that same youthful intensity seemed to me to be in my lad. He held himself unmoving, watchful, his eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see.
Bran came in wearing a long gown of green, running down to the end of the hall, the great fire casting shadows crazily across the whitewashed walls. He bowed to the drummer and piper, and whispered a few words to them. Then he lifted his head, standing tall, and threw wide his arms. ‘Good even, my friends!’ he called. ‘Be sure you sit comfortably, for the tale tonight is a lengthy one.’ His eye fell on Edd and me, then, and he gave us a wave. ‘I spy my young brother!’ he cried. ‘Who honours us with his unaccustomed presence. Most particular greetings to thee.’ The tone was sharp and Edd seemed to tighten at my side. He made no reply, but kept a steady eye on Bran. The storyteller dropped his gaze after a moment, only to have it fall on Cuthie. He stared at the child, long and hard. His likeness to Edd was enough to betray his parentage.
‘Nephew?’ said Bran. ‘Grown already so bold and free? I trust you will enjoy the tale quietly and not start bleating for your dam before it’s half told?’
Cuthie’s face was invisible to me, but from his manner he appeared to enjoy the attention. He merely shook his head and clapped his hands together in a strangely adult gesture. Bran seemed startled and paid no more notice to the lad.
A barrel had been placed for Bran to use as a seat, and a space kept clear for his use. He sat now, very still, gathering himself for the performance to come. My insides fluttered, and the old pain in my back nudged at me. I looked at Spenna; she was chewing her lips, hands tightly clasped. The story was an exacting one, with its cycle of high hopes and disappointments.
‘Friends!’ Bran cried, abruptly. ‘Hear now the story of Beowulf’s young kinsman, Geat, named for the lost tribe that his forebears fought so hard for, and the troubles he had when he married, here in our own country. I shall not tell you of his boyhood, when he struggled to become a harper, helped by the Goddess and her sacred harp. I shall not tell you of his brother Hafoc and the shame he brought on the family. No! You may groan and plead, but I am decided. Tonight we must hear of the lovely wife he chose, and the foul river demon who loved her too.
‘Geat was harper to King Wulf and his queen, and greatly loved was he by all in the court. His skill at making songs was widely known, and many other kings wished to have him at their courts. He was invited to France and King Wulf was very much afraid that he would go. So he went to the Queen and consulted her on what they might do.
‘ “Fool!” she cried - though she did not really mean it. It was meant affectionately, you understand. But she said it once more. “Fool! The answer is plain. Geat is of an age to marry. We need only find him a sweet and loving young wife, and he will think no more of leaving us. If he must have a change of scene, then we can go to our summer palace after his wedding, and he can sing us all his most magical summer songs, made sweeter by his honeymoon.”
‘The king approved this idea. “Which girl is he to marry?” he asked, although he already had a fair idea of the answer.
‘ “Mathild, of course. She is too dear to me to be allowed to marry and go away to live elsewhere. Thus we solve all difficulties with one simple action. Only someone of my wisdom could so neatly weave together the threads of our lives. Is that not so?” ’
Bran paused in his acting of the Queen’s part and looked at his audience. ‘Mathild, you see, was the Queen’s foster daughter. Her own beloved child, the Princess, had died of a fever, some years before, and Mathild had been taken from some folk living close by the river. She was a quiet shy girl, with the whitest skin and the greenest eyes, who could sing and weave and arrange flowers almost as well as the dead Princess had done. With so much love to spare, the Queen had cherished her with a passion.
‘So, the King called Geat to him and carefully presented the idea. The lad had no objections to the marriage. In fact he considered it a very fine proposal. Ever since he had encountered the Lady who gave him his harp, accompanied as she was by delightful hand-maidens, he had been awakened to the attractions of girls, and made uncomfortable by thinking about them. You all know what I mean. There comes a time for a lad when marriage cures an urgent itch - and this time had come for Geat.
‘The only worry for him was that he could not recall Mathild, out of the various young women who hung about the Queen. The court rules were strict enough that he had not dared to pay undue attention to any of these ladies. He had found it safer to cast his gaze away to the side during the evenings when he was waiting to play his harp to the gathered court. When playing his music, he generally closed his eyes, feeling for the notes and the words to his songs, without any outside distractions. But he trusted the King, and knew he would not marry him to anyone with disfigurements or evil tempers.
‘And he was not disappointed. The two young people were left alone in a corner of the Queen’s garden, and invited to become acquainted. Geat was well satisfied with his betrothed, as she laughed at his humour and listened closely to his brief account of his early life. She was beautiful and healthy and showed every sign of eagerness for the marriage to be accomplished. They kissed, enjoying the taste each of the other, and smiled contentedly at the future they expected to share.
‘The wedding was promised for two moons hence. Meanwhile, the King would take Geat with him on a tour of his kingdom, while Mathild prepared herself for matrimony. The time passed, as time will, just too slowly to be comfortable for the young man. He thought of his white-skinned maiden, and her happy laughter, and put her into the songs he played for the lords and ladies they visited.
‘At last he returned. The King and Queen had ordered that the wedding be a great occasion, with Geat’s parents as guests of honour and a great banquet of roasted meat of all kinds be prepared. Five days before the day of the wedding, Geat saw his betrothed again.’
Bran stopped speaking. The drummer began a soft beat, ominous and insistent. Someone threw fresh logs on the fire, and a few listeners snatched some bread or ale. I glanced at Wynn and saw that she had fallen asleep on Edd’s warm lap. The air was filled with nervous excitement, as we all waited for the next part of the story. Bran had told the opening passages well, but had been restrained, painting the picture for us, but allowing us to fill in the detail for ourselves. The pale young girl was yet a mystery, the harper with his Goddess-given skills certain to encounter trouble before we got much further. I had been watching Cuthie since Bran began, and he had barely moved a muscle. It seemed uncanny to me in such a young child. Several of his companions had crawled back to their mothers, for food or entertainment, leaving him with two lads considerably older than himself. One was his cousin, Ruddoc, Bran’s second son, who looked down at Cuthman now and then with affection, it seemed to me.
The drumbeat grew faster and louder, and then stopped, so that we heard its echo in our own heartbeats. Bran stood, and stared away at nothing, his mouth a little open.
‘What had happened? Running to meet his beloved, he stopped still as death when he came close enough to see her face. She had deep purple shadows under her eyes; her cheeks were sunken; her skin grey. Her light brown hair was unbrushed and looked as if she had dunked it in a foul ditch. It seemed to Geat that it could not be the same girl as his healthy happy Mathild. This one seemed near to dying of some dread disease. There was a faint smell of stagnant water about her - reminding him of the slimy edges of rivers where the water stands in the pocks made by cattle.
‘But he found he could not ask her what was wrong. Some power sealed his lips, so he simply took her hand, his heart like lead inside him, his joy all shrivelled into confusion and fear. Mathild spoke in a voice full of weariness.
‘ “It is good to see you again. I am all impatience for our wedding.”
‘Geat found his voice at last. “Is that true? You have not thought that you could do better? Or that marriage with me would not be to your taste?”
‘ “Of course not.” She smiled a thin little smile. “I need you to be near me. I think my life depends on our being married quickly.”
‘So then Geat believed that she looked so ill and tired because she had been pining for him. Perhaps she had feared he would not return from his travels. Perhaps the other maidens in the court had been jealous and were ill-treating her. From that moment on, he did his best to remain close to her throughout the day, and was rewarded by her grey colour disappearing and her hair once more looking as it had before. She slept for much of the afternoon each day, and stayed up late with Geat, planning their life together and listening to his songs and stories.
‘At last it was the wedding day.’ Bran nodded to his musicians and they began to play soft dance tunes, which grew louder as Bran described the wedding, the feast and the merrymaking. We drank more of our ale, and I could feel the jollity and sense of wellbeing which comes from any wedding. We toasted the couple, as if they were in the barn with us, and a few people stood up to dance a little.
‘Finally it was time for the new couple to leave, and to spend their first night together. The young men followed them, cracking whips, throwing nuts and rose petals, making the same bawdy jokes which attend every wedding.’ Bran spoke loudly over the music and the comments from his listeners. There was no fear that we would spoil his story now. But knowing what was to come, we were in no hurry to let him proceed.
Finally, we fell quiet again. ‘Geat was still concerned about Mathild’s changed appearance, and was especially worried that she did not in truth wish to marry him. He resolved to woo her gently, to be as kind as any man could be, and to make certain of her true wishes before committing any lewd acts on her. Yet he was afraid that this would be asking too much of him - a young man who had waited many long weeks for this night. In the bower made especially for their nuptials, aphrodisiac herbs had been woven into the walls and roof, soft bedding and pillows piled high for their comfort. The Queen’s handmaidens had undressed Mathild, and clothed her again in gossamer silk which was part of the Queen’s own wardrobe. Her green eyes glowed, and she clung tightly to Geat as soon as they were alone.
‘ “Husband, I have much to confess,” she began, all in a rush. Geat held his breath, but did not try to push her away from him.
‘ “I must begin by telling you of my childhood beside the great river,” she went on. “For many years I was a happy child, playing in and out of the water like a little seal, weaving together the rushes into baskets and catching the minnows and newts. I was almost a water creature myself. The water elves were my friends, and I loved them.” ’ Bran’s voice was breathy and light, for all the world like a shy young maiden’s. We all believed in him utterly.
‘ “One day, when I was no longer a child, but not yet a woman, the elves came to me in a crowd and took me deep under the water, at the point where the river is widest and surrounded by forest. They held me there, adorning me with weed and water flowers, until they suddenly disappeared and I was face to face with the River King. He told me he had fallen in love with me, and was desperate to have me for his Queen. He fed me with something that tasted wonderful, and he played with me all that day, dancing water games which made me laugh. I liked him well enough, and was awed by his Kingship. At the end of that day, he easily procured my promise to marry him when I was old enough. The elves took me home and I dreamed of my future as Queen of the river and everything within it.
‘ “Twice more, I met the King and renewed my promise. But I was never so easy about it as I had been on that first meeting. Finally, I told my mother what I had done. She was horrified, shrieking that she would never allow it. It was against nature, she said. The River King was a demon of hell, luring me to my death. She was so distressed at the idea that she immediately began to arrange for me to go away, and live somewhere far from the river where I could forget my foolish promise.
‘ “Thus it was I came to the court here, and lived with the kind Queen. But the other maidens knew there was something strange about me. One even called me mermaid, which was almost true. I did my best to forget my early life, and succeeded until my betrothal to you. It seemed to me then that I had to go back to the river and explain why I had betrayed my promise to him. I knew I had little chance of being truly happy with you until I had done that.
‘ “So, when you had gone on your journey, I set off on my horse to the river. It was nearer than I had imagined, and I was there in half a day. As if he expected me, the King was waiting.”
‘She stopped speaking, and Geat shifted his arm a little. He was wondering to himself whether his bride was perhaps a little awry in her wits. He did not believe the story of the River King, but was unsure why she was telling it to him. It still seemed to him that she wanted to keep him away from her. If she told him some tale about another lover, perhaps she supposed that he would want nothing to do with her.
‘But he deemed it too soon to interrupt. The night stretched long ahead of them, and many more nights after that. His ardour had been damped by the story anyhow. Best, he thought, to let her get to the conclusion. He prompted her to continue.
‘ “He told me that there was no way of escaping from my promise. He had the power to force me, and since I was now of an age to marry, he would require my presence at his side from that day forth. When I protested, and then pleaded, he softened. He does love me, you see. He is not evil, as my mother thinks. He has loved me truly and deeply since I was a child. So I could not hurt him too severely. And he could not hurt me. We made an agreement.” She paused, looking into Geat’s eyes. “I thought perhaps I could escape him by marrying you. Now I know I cannot.”
‘ “What did you agree?” he asked. A worry was stirring inside him. She seemed so sincere, and so tormented in her mind. “Tell me.”
‘ “That I would go to him at night, in my dreams only. For him, I would be real, and he would try to be content with that. I would remember next morning, but it would not affect my waking life. He made it sound easy.
‘ “But I did not like it. His embraces are too much for me. He is cold, like a dead thing. His kisses chill me. However great and powerful he may be, I do not wish to be his Queen. I love you, my earthly husband. I learned that I could evade him by remaining awake all night. And so I did. I have not known a night’s sleep this past moon and more. Husband, I want nothing more now, than that you safeguard me as I sleep. Can you do that?”
‘Geat did not know what to say. It seemed a foolish question. “Of course I can,” he assured her. “How can you doubt it? Here, if that is your only wish, put your head here, on my shoulder, and sleep. In the morning, perhaps, we will become true man and wife.”
‘ “Perhaps,” she agreed. “But, Geat, I am still afraid he will be able to come for me as I sleep.”
‘ “Nonsense,” he said.
She slept, but tossed restlessly from time to time. Geat kept hold of her, confident that she had not left him for any distant river man. In the morning, he was eager to renew his wooing. As soon as Mathild opened her eyes, he smiled at her, and said, “There! Safe now?”
‘Wildly, she drew away from him, shaking on the pillows. Her hands brushed at herself, as if to push something away, or pluck off some binding strings. She reached to the back of her head, and pulled at a tendril. Holding it up for Geat to see, she whimpered. It was a long strand of green river weed.
‘ “You cannot protect me,” she cried. “What am I to do?”
‘An idea came to him, and he reached for his harp. He played his magic tune of sunlight and open meadows, until she calmed. Then he began to stroke her, and play her as he had played his harp strings. “I can make you forget him,” he said. And he did.
‘Later, he said, “Does the River King only call you at night?” She nodded. “Then you must sleep by day. We will sing and play and make love in the dark hours. Trust me. It will all be all right.”
‘And for a time, it was.’
Bran stopped again, and we all noted the black sky outside and the cold fingers of night air creeping into the barn. The story was reaching its climax now, and we were impatient for it. Half asleep and stiff, we yet didn’t want to leave the world of Geat and his troubled bride. Edd sighed, and said, ‘I can’t hold my piss to the end. Take Wynn, will ‘ee.’ He slid the child across to me, and stumbled out of the barn. Other men had been doing the same at different times. I noticed that Bran watched him go, with a strange smile on his lips.
The story began again as Edd returned. ‘The day came when Geat and Mathild were to journey to their new home, which was close by King Wulf’s smaller palace, where he spent his summers. It was a day’s ride away, and they set out with great good humour, accompanied by four menservants and four handmaidens for Mathild. The trouble with the River King seemed forgotten, and the party chattered and sang as they travelled. The men rode their own horses, while the ladies travelled in a coach, drawn by two fine stallions.
‘Suddenly a glorious white stag with golden antlers leaped out in front of them. Without thinking, Geat and his fellows spurred their horses to follow it, snatching at their quivers as they galloped, wagering on who would be first to bring the creature down. Mathild and the maidens jumped down from the coach and ran after the men, hoping to catch another glimpse of the magnificent creature.’
Bran’s drummer, who had been quiet for so long, began a fast beat, to suggest the chase, and the breathless girls trying to keep pace. Above the drumming, Bran shouted ‘They followed the stag into the thickest part of the forest, catching sight of it now and then, as it darted first one way, then another.’ The drum crashed louder and louder. Wynn woke up, bewildered, and I hugged her close to me.
‘Then they lost it. It vanished as if it had never been, and Geat came to his senses like a man awakening from a drunken sleep. “Mathild!” he cried. “We must go back to her!” But they were lost by this time, in the dense forest, and it took them two, perhaps three, hours to retrace their eager flight after the stag.
‘At last they found the coach, with the four maidservants huddled inside it, crying with fear. “Where is Mathild?” Geat demanded, his voice high with concern.
‘ “We hoped she was with you,” was the timid reply. But Geat knew, already, where she had gone.
‘Night was falling, as he went back into the forest, and found the river where it was widest and deepest. The surface was smooth, and he could see nothing beneath the water. Yet he knew what was there, just the same, and sat down to wait out the night, his head in his hands, a sad and wretched man.
‘In the morning, as the sun rose, he lifted his head and found he could see through the water as clear as may be. Down in the depths, he could plainly see his wife, on a throne made of shells and small stones, a crown on her head made from fish scales, flashing and irridescent. At her side sat the River King, gazing into her face with adoration. Geat watched as the King took Mathild’s hand, and kissed it with his thick lips. Mathild did not react. Her eyes stared ahead without expression. She seemed like a woman in a trance.
‘Geat was in despair. He plunged forward into the river, but as soon as he broke the surface, he found he could no longer see anything. He waded further, hoping to find the place where the river became so deep, but it never reached beyond his shoulder. He called over and over for his wife to come back to him. He wept and pleaded and cursed the river man who had stolen his beloved. But all was fruitless. He threw himself onto the riverbank, beneath the great trees of the forest, and mourned his lost wife.
‘So great was his sorrow that he took up his harp, which he kept strung onto his back wherever he went, and began to play. Slowly the tune formed itself into the last of the three magic melodies that the Lady Goddess had given him as a boy. It was the tune of sorrow, which he had never yet played. Now it swelled across the whole world, so that people heard it many miles away, and remembered all their griefs and losses. King Wulf and his Queen remembered their lost daughter and how she had laughed and gathered flowers for them. Peasants recalled all their woes; the babies who had died, the disappointments of their lives.’
Bran pointed to his piper, who played a snatch of slow sad music, which made me think of the pain I had felt at Cuthman’s birth, and the awful time before that when my own small brother had been killed by falling into a moorland bog and being sucked under before we could save him. All around me, people were letting tears run down their cheeks, unashamed.
Bran continued after a few moments. ‘As he played, the river itself responded. The smooth surface became broken, as if some great monster was writhing and thrashing just beneath the water. The music faded away as Geat’s fingers slowed and then stopped. Staring at the river, he saw a strand of light brown hair break the surface and then more, followed by the white cloak which Mathild had been wearing for her journey. Finally, he could see his wife’s body floating lifeless on the water, as if the River King had understood that he could not keep her, and had killed her so that Geat could not have her, either.
‘Desperately, he plunged into the river and dragged her out, half drowning himself as he did it. He pulled Mathild onto the bank, and turned her over, hoping to drain the water from her lungs. For long moments he was certain that she was dead. Her skin was a deathly white, and her eyes firmly closed. She was cold to the touch, and he could detect no breath as he leaned over her face. She was most certainly dead, and he laid her down with a sob.
‘But then, her eyelids fluttered, and she gave a little cough. A tinge of pink flushed across her cheeks. He snatched her to him, squeezing and hugging her, trying to warm her chilled flesh. She coughed again, and shook her head as if dazed.
‘ “What happened?” she asked. “Where is the coach? Why is it so cold?”
‘Geat made no reply, but tried to wrap his own tunic around her, despite its being as wet as her own clothes were. She laughed and pushed it off. “Geat! What are you doing? Why are we so soaked? Come - we must continue our journey.”
‘It disturbed him that she had no memory of her adventure. But he took her advice, and led her into the forest, away from the river which had so nearly claimed her. As they went, he heard a great wail of anguish. It grew louder and louder, filling the air, and the ground beneath them. He understood that it was the deserted River King, howling for his dear Queen. How he must have loved her, thought Geat, uneasily. Did he love her so much? All he could offer was a warm body and a collection of songs. What did she feel as she heard the tortured soul crying so piteously?
‘He looked into her face. There was nothing to show that she could hear the crying. She had forgotten all about the river and its King. Some part of her had indeed died there in the river, so that she was almost lost to Geat, too. The magic song of loss and sorrow was echoing yet in Geat’s head, counterpointed by the sobbing. He knew he would never shake it from his ears completely, and that life would forever have an edge of sorrow, no matter what joys and beauties it would bring him. And he knew, too, that his wife would be the poorer for not being able to hear it, because of what she had left behind in the river.’
Bran looked around the hall then, and clapped his hands, to signal the last line of the story. A few people looked up from where they’d been dozing.
‘And so, my friends, remember - we should all try to be like Geat and keep all the Lady’s melodies in our heads, so that we can know sorrow as well as joy, loss as well as gain. For then we are whole and strong and the demons of the underworld will have no powers over us.’