The dragon is defeated in its lair
Eadgith’s head was bent over the piece of dark fabric that lay in her lap, and the fingers of one hand danced spiderlike above it, following the hidden movements of the spider that danced beneath it.
Leila had taught her a scalloped stitch that closely matched the scales of the dragons in the margins of His Majesty’s Gospels. It was somewhat wasteful of silk on the back of the fabric, but it gave a lovely effect. It was worth it. He was worth it.
It was a funny little dragon that she embroidered. His body was as long and narrow as a snake and saffron-scaled, but he had the blue-feathered wings of a bird and the head and hind legs of a green lion who had lost all but a saucy tuft of its mane.
The colors she owed to the illuminated Gospels, but the dragon himself was the magnified image of the tiny beast who coiled across the gold brooch His Majesty had given her before he left. “Something by which to remember me, if I do not return,” he had laughed.
Need he have laughed? Why must men always joke about such things? Every time her brother went away it had been the same. He had laughed, and she and her mother had cried. And now she cried for two of them.
She meant to have the embroidery finished by the time he returned. She had indeed nearly finished the dragon, but the brooch was triangular, and the cushion she meant to make was square, and so she would need to find a motif to fill the two empty corners. If she could find a nice illustration of fire, she might send flames curling out of his mouth on the one side, but that left the other. Something floral did not seem quite the thing.
Perhaps she could borrow a book of the Duchess. She would have to admit she sought patterns for her embroidery, for the Duchess knew she could not read a word, but she needn’t tell her for what.
Oh, of course she had nothing to be ashamed of, embroidering a cushion for the King. Her mother had made all sorts of things for the King, before she had gone to work making drapes and tapestries and cushions for Sigefrith’s new house. But her mother would scold her, and tell her she should be working towards her own wedding day, her own house…
Eadgith did not like to think of such things. She did not dream of being married – not exactly. For the moment, all she wanted was for things to go on exactly as they were. She could think about her future another time. Some time in the future.
Meanwhile she would flee to her tower room to work on her cushion whenever she could, far from the reaches of the dragon who, she and he liked to joke, lived in the dungeon, and far also from her mother, her sister-in-law, the Countess, and, most particularly, the unnerving eyes of the Queen.
But then there came a knock.
It must be her mother again, come to fetch her down to the nursery, where the other women sat and sewed and chatted while the little children played. She would have to put her dragon away, and take out the mustard-colored pillowcase she was embroidering with russet leaves, and listen to Hilda as she joked about what lucky man might one day lay his head upon it.
“Enter,” she sighed, notching her needle into the fabric to await the next time, and preparing to fold up her work and put it away.
But Hilda was too quick for her.
“My goodness, what’s this?” she cried, snatching at the cloth.
“That’s mine,” Eadgith said, holding the other end fast and blushing hotly.
“A dragon!” Hilda said, staring down at the beast that stood out boldly on the fabric they held stretched taut between them. “What say you, Estrid?” she asked, for Estrid had come in behind her.
“I have seen that dragon before,” Estrid said knowingly.
“In your mirror,” Eadgith thought, but she would never have dared say such a thing. She could only blush miserably and wait for them to tire of playing with her.
“It is lovely work,” Hilda cooed. “I think I know who will have a nice surprise when he returns from Denmark.”
“One gift deserves another,” Estrid said.
“I wonder what else he has given her that she has returned?” Hilda asked.
“Perhaps it is not what he has given her, but what he has stolen from her?”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it was stolen. Rather freely given.”
Hilda let go of the fabric suddenly, and the dragon hung limp and upside-down from Eadgith’s hands, as if defeated. She quickly folded the cloth and laid it in the basket beside her.
She wished she had the words to fight back against the two of them. Even in a language that was not their own, they could devastate her. They were insulting her honor as well as the honor of the King, and she knew not how to stop them.
“Perhaps she will have another surprise for him when he returns,” Hilda said with a malicious smile, turning back to Eadgith.
“Such as yours?” Estrid tittered.
Hilda said something in Norse that Eadgith could not understand, but it sounded like she was scolding Estrid. What could that mean?
“Sister,” Hilda said to her then with an abrupt change of tone, “we were about to ride over to my house to see how the work proceeds. We thought you might like to come?”
Eadgith knew that Hilda only desired an opportunity to crow over her handsome house in front of her sister-in-law. Fortunately her mother was not there to oblige her to go.
“I should rather stay here. I meant to take the Princess riding.”
“You won’t ride very far sitting in here.”
“She might have in the past,” Estrid snickered.
“Oh, you’re right!” Hilda exclaimed. “But it seems her horse has run away, poor girl.”
“Will you kindly leave me alone?” Eadgith said.
“Leave you alone? What do you mean to do up here all alone?”
“Practice her riding?” Estrid suggested.
“Shall we send up a groom to give you lessons?” Hilda asked.
Both girls exploded in laughter at that thought and, happily, could not continue their taunting.
“Come along, Hilda,” Estrid giggled after she had calmed herself a bit. “Mistress Eadgith would like to be alone.”
Hilda said something to her in Norse, and Estrid replied in kind, and both began laughing again, but to Eadgith’s great relief they headed for the door.
