Dark Under the Cover of Night Page 11

  Sleep would not come and so, finally, Raedwyn rolled off her bed and wrapped a fur cloak around her shoulders. She pulled aside the tapestry that shielded her bower from the rest of the hall and stepped outside. Slumbering bodies carpeted the floor and darkness shrouded the hall, save for the embers still glowing in the fire pit and the odd torch flickering gently on the wall. Padding across the floor barefoot, Raedwyn stepped over sleeping men and made her way to the annex at the end of the hall, where she and Cynric had spent their wedding night. Memories of that unpleasant episode flooded back as Raedwyn pulled back the curtain and stepped inside the chamber.

  Two torches burned within, illuminating the figure stretched upon the bed. They had stripped Caelin of his armor and mail shirt. He wore nothing but a pair of loose breeches. Raedwald’s healer had removed the arrows, with great difficulty, and the bleeding had been profuse. The healer had bound Caelin’s chest with linen, and blood now stained the pale material. Raedwyn wondered if the arrows had pierced anything vital, although she supposed if that had been the case, he would be dead already.

  Caelin’s skin was pale in the torch light and when Raedwyn put out a hand and touched his forehead, she found his skin clammy and waxy to touch. It should have been a great honor, to be tended under Raedwald’s roof and by his personal healer – but Raedwyn knew it was not kindness that had prompted her father’s concern. He wished for Caelin to live, but not out of mercy.

  Raedwyn perched on the side of the bed and, taking an earthen bowl of water infused with herbs, wet a cloth before mopping Caelin’s brow. The dark shadow of a new beard covered his chin and bristled under Raedwyn’s fingertips. Not knowing why she did so, Raedwyn gently traced her fingers over his patrician features that were beautiful in repose. She re-wet the cloth and wrung it out before running it over the areas of his chest and stomach not covered by the bandages. He had a lean, strong body; his chest sprinkled with dark curly hair that tapered down to a thin line of down over his stomach before it disappeared under the drawstring waistband of his breeches. Noticing the direction of her gaze, Raedwyn deftly placed the cloth back over the rim of the bowl.

  It was idiocy to be here, alone, with him, even if he posed no danger to her in this state. Her father needed no further reason to disbelieve her. Yet, ignoring good sense, Raedwyn lingered a while longer at Caelin’s side. She folded her hands on her lap and looked into Caelin’s face.

  “I’m sorry Caelin,” Raedwyn whispered. “This should not have been your end.”

  Raedwyn rose from the bed. Then, she bent over and placed a gentle kiss on Caelin’s forehead, before walking over to the doorway. She pulled aside the curtain and looked back over her shoulder at his still form. His chest still rose and fell, albeit shallowly, but he looked like a corpse. Raedwyn turned away and let the curtain fall, wondering whether she would find him alive in the morning.

  ***

  Autumn arrived in a sudden bluster of icy gales and shorter evenings. The leaves on the trees surrounding Rendlaesham changed from green, to gold and then brown before falling from their host and carpeting the ground. The harvest was over and, despite a wet summer, there was ample food for the coming winter. Wood smoke laced the air around Rendlaesham in the evenings and the townsfolk took to wearing stouter clothing and cloaks.

  As memory of the summer faded and winter beckoned, life in Raedwald’s hall settled back into its old routine, save for one element – for the hall now had a new resident.

  Caelin, son of Ceolwulf the Exiled, did not die.

  Much to the surprise of all, after many days of fever and insensibility, Caelin awoke and, owing to the healer’s ministrations and cunning use of herbs, his wounds slowly healed.

  “As soon as he’s well enough I want him out working,” Raedwald ordered the healer. “Let it be known he is not here as my guest – he is my slave!”

  “Yes M’lord,” the healer replied before venturing. “He is yet too weak to stand. His wounds were great and ‘tis a miracle he survived them. “It will be mid-winter before he is well enough to work.”

  This news had not pleased Raedwald and it seemed to his kin that he now regretted his decision to keep Ceolwulf’s whelp alive.

  Raedwyn had secretly visited Caelin a few times while he was still unconscious but once she heard he had awoken, she hesitated, fearing his reaction. Her father’s attitude towards her had thawed a little; now he treated her with mere indifference rather than disdain. No one ever brought up Hengist and Ceolwulf’s claims against her again, but Raedwyn knew they had not forgotten. The issue still festered and Raedwyn longed to sit before her father and argue her innocence. In the past, she had never been afraid of her father, but now she hesitated to cross him.

  Seaxwyn made up for her husband’s coolness by mothering her daughter and fussing over her in a way that irritated both Raedwyn and Raedwald. The king’s hall had always been a happy, relaxed home, but now Raedwyn found her bower stifling and the underlying tension between her and Raedwald needled her.

  During the day, she was careful to show no interest whatsoever in her father’s new slave. She did not ask after his progress, nor venture near the annex at the back of the hall. Instead, she assisted her mother with her tapestries and helped bake bread every morning. She spent her afternoons visiting Eanfled or riding her horse, Blackberry, in the folds of land around Rendlaesham.

  Life slowly returned to its old rhythm and, despite her father’s continuing coolness towards her, Raedwyn started to feel her old self once more. In the evenings, she insisted that Eorpwald taught her how to play Hnefatafl, ‘King’s Table’; a board game she had watched her brother and cousins play for years.

  ***

  One evening, as rain drummed against the thatched roof of the Great Hall, Raedwyn sat opposite Eorpwald at one of the long tables next to the fire pit playing Hnefatafl. Between them lay a beautiful board, marked out into twenty-six squares. Raedwyn picked up her king and grinned at Eorpwald as she moved the piece three spaces to the edge of the board.

  “Ha brother, I win!”

  “Not again!” Annan called out from where he sat nursing a cup of hot mead farther up the table.

  Eorpwald shook his head and glared down at the board, unable to believe she had beaten him.

  “Ruthless wench!” he muttered.

  “Admit it,” Eni, who had also been watching the game, chimed in, “after beating four men in one evening, Raedwyn’s a better strategist than you all!”

  “It’s only a game father,” Annan protested, while his two brothers whom Raedwyn had bested earlier that evening, Aethelhere and Aethelwold, also looked disgruntled at their father’s rebuke.

  Raedwyn beamed at her uncle. It was not often Eni admitted a woman could beat at man at anything.

  “What say you, Eorpwald?” Raedwyn turned back to her brother. “Another game?”

  Eorpwald threw up his hands. “Sorry dear sister but I don’t think my pride could withstand another defeat!” His grey eyes twinkled as the chagrin of losing faded from his face. “What I need now is a large cup of mead!”

  “Cousins?” Raedwyn looked hopefully towards Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold but they only shook their heads, while Annan muttered something about bad winners under his breath.

  “Suit yourselves then,” Raedwyn replied cheerfully, “but tomorrow eve shall we play again Eorpwald?”

  “Of course,” Eorpwald sighed. “I shall ready myself to take another beating.”

  Still smiling from her victory, Raedwyn bid her menfolk goodnight and retired to her bower. Despite that her father still sat apart from her every evening, and only spoke to her when absolutely necessary, Raedwyn had grown closer to the rest of her family of late. Their games of Hnefatafl had forged a bond between Raedwyn and Eorpwald. No longer offended by her brother’s sharp wit, Raedwyn found herself looking forward to spending time with Eorpwald, and she often sought out his company.

  Raedwyn lay awake listening to the rain and waite
d for sleep to claim her. Eventually the Great Hall quietened as everyone else retired for the night. Still wide-awake, Raedwyn decided that it was time to face Caelin.

  Raedwyn slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in a fur cloak and silently made her way to Caelin’s annex. She pulled back the curtain and saw he was sleeping under a heavy blanket. Someone had shaved his chin, and cut his dark hair short to denote his new slave status. His face was thin and strained. Around his neck, he wore an iron slave collar. Raedwyn padded over to his bedside and tweaked at his blanket.

  “Caelin,” she said softly, shaking him gently when he did not respond.

  A hand suddenly fastened around Raedwyn’s forearm and she had to bite down on her tongue not to cry out in alarm.

  “Raedwyn.” Caelin’s dark eyes were open and he stared up into her face. “I was wondering when I would see you.”

  He kept hold of her arm but his grip was not so strong that she could not have escaped it if she had wished. Raedwyn perched on the edge of the bed and without thinking placed her free hand over the hand gripping her arm.

  She saw Caelin’s eyes widen at that, but she kept her hand over his nonetheless.

  “You look at me with such pity in your eyes,” Caelin said finally. “Am I so diminished now I am your father’s theow?”

  Raedwyn shook her head, suppressing the urge to weep.

  “You know why my father has kept you alive then?”

  Caelin nodded. “It was my misfortune not have died on Uffid Heath,” he replied. “The feud between Ceolwulf and Raedwald continues, even after my father’s death.”

  “It’s not right.” Raedwyn shook her head. “To rid you of your honor.”

  Caelin looked at her and Raedwyn saw emotion flare in his eyes, before a dark veil slid across them.

  “You still haven’t learned, have you?” he said finally, his voice though weak, had a flinty edge to it.

  Taken aback, Raedwyn stared at him. When she did not reply, Caelin continued.

  “Have not the events of late taught you that it matters not in this world what is right and not right?”

  “It matters to me!” Raedwyn shot back.

  “Why?”

  “Because you did something selfless and kind for me – and this is how we repay you?”

  “Did you tell Raedwald I set you free?” Caelin’s eyebrows lifted.

  Raedwyn jerked her arm from Caelin’s grip and stood up.

  “No, I have not,” she replied, meeting Caelin’s gaze with difficulty. “I thought he would use it against you.”

  Caelin laughed softly and shook his head. “I think you’re more concerned he could use it against you.”

  Anger erupted in Raedwyn then, and it was a strain to keep her voice hushed, lest the sleeping hall hear her.

  “Why do you deliberately assume the worst of me?”

  “No, Raedwyn,” Caelin replied softly. “I am just reminding you that despite knowing what is ‘right’ you have chosen to look after yourself first. And that is how it should be if you wish to survive.”

  Raedwyn clenched her fists at her sides, and suppressed the urge to hit his sanctimonious face. He was behaving like one of those pious Christian martyrs she had heard about from the priest who had baptized her father. She knew that wyrd determined the course of their lives, but she could not believe that even fate was not to be argued with when life had dealt you unfairly.

  “So you will be my father’s toadying theow for the rest of your days and just accept life isn’t meant to be fair?” she snapped.

  Caelin stared back at her, his eyes dark and bleak.

  “The rest of my days?” he replied slowly. “Raedwyn, I should have perished on Uffid Heath, as fate wished. As far as I’m concerned, I died there, alongside my father and all those who fought with me. The man who gave you your freedom and disappointed his father is dead.”

  “So you regret letting me go free?” Raedwyn’s whisper was almost inaudible.

  “Regret would mean I feel something. I feel nothing.”

  Raedwyn stared at him for a moment, searching his face for a sign he was lying, but the face that returned her stare was a cold mask. Caelin’s eyes were that of a stranger’s.

  Raedwyn opened her mouth to apologize – but the words would not come. Even in her head, they sounded hollow. She could not change events. An apology could not even begin to heal the wounds that festered within the man before her.

  Saying no more, Raedwyn turned and made her way to the door. She felt Caelin’s eyes upon her as she slipped beyond the curtain and left him alone with the void that filled him.

  Caelin watched Raedwyn disappear behind the curtain. He lay still on the bed and listened to the gentle sounds of the sleeping hall outside. His arm still burned where she had touched him and there was still an indentation on the bed next to him, where she had sat.

  Caelin took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. He had balled them up into fists so tight his nails had bitten into his palms. He had lied when he told Raedwyn he felt nothing – the truth of it was that he felt too much. A squall of rain hit the hall then; icy fingers drumming against the shutters. Caelin closed his eyes. The life of a free man was lost to him.

  Chapter Ten

  Some Rendlaesham winters could be mild, with only light frosts carpeting the ground in the mornings, brief snowfalls, and enough clear days to allow the sun to show its face. Other winters were bitter from the first to the last, with vicious hoar frosts, days of snow that froze on the ground, and day after day of impenetrable gray skies. This winter was the latter. Raedwyn remembered such icy weather when she had been around twelve winters old. A number of elderly and infants had perished and she, like all at Rendlaesham, had forgotten what warmth felt like. This winter brought back memories of that experience: constantly numb toes and fingers, cramped muscles from the chill, and being wrapped up to the nose in furs.

  The snows came early, before winter solstice, and a pristine, white crust covered the world. Unable to bear being cooped up inside the hall mindlessly working at her distaff or weaving, Raedwyn took to riding often. Her father had never encouraged his daughter to ride, as women did not go hunting or ride with men to war, but Raedwyn had always enjoyed the freedom of it. Now it offered her respite from the cramped confines of her father’s hall. She rode Blackberry; a shaggy, bay mare of advancing years. The mare was not an attractive beast, but a safe ride and not a horse her father’s servants worried about her taking out.

  One morning, wrapped up warmly in leggings and furs, Raedwyn rode Blackberry out of the stables and down through the township. She passed low-slung wattle and daub houses, and saw smoke rising from holes in their roofs, staining the pallid sky. She rode by a group of children playing in the snow and lopping snowballs at each other. They called out to her and she waved as she passed them. Raedwyn had become a common sight of late, riding alone around Rendlaesham. A little farther out from the town, she passed peasants collecting firewood, before she rode into a copse of skeleton trees and urged her mare into a slow canter.

  The snow lay a foot deep, but deeper in places where the land dipped, and Raedwyn was careful to keep to the terrain she knew so Blackberry would not stumble. Despite her heavy clothing and the rabbit-skin gloves covering her hands, the chill bit into her skin and burned her face. Even with the cold, Raedwyn felt peace settle over her as she rode alone through the silent countryside. She never had a moment to herself cooped up inside the Great Hall, and as much as Raedwyn enjoyed the company of her brother and cousins, there were times when she needed freedom.

  Raedwyn looked forward at where the mare’s furry ears pricked forward as she plodded through the snow, and her thoughts returned to her conversation with Eanfled that morning. She had visited early with a small batch of hot apple pies, to find her friend wan and sickly. A moon-cycle after her wedding, Eanfled had discovered that she was with child. She was finding the early stage of her pregnancy a trial but managed to nibble at one of the
pies that Raedwyn had brought, before pouring her friend a cup of hot milk with honey.

  “I saw Ceolwulf the Exiled’s son yesterday for the first time,” Eanfled had announced. “You did not tell me he was so handsome! Even with his hair cropped and that awful iron collar, he’s striking!”

  Raedwyn had felt her face heat up at Eanfled’s frank appraisal. Mention of Caelin was off-limits under the king’s roof but in the safety of her own home, Eanfled spoke openly. Although Raedwyn had known Eanfled would keep her secret, she now wished she had not been so frank with her.

  “I can see why you were taken with him,” Eanfled continued. “If I were not with Alric he’d be just the man to tempt me!”

  “Eanfled!” Raedwyn glared at her friend. “You’re a married woman!”

  Eanfled had given her a sly look before taking another small bite of her pie.

  “Don’t play the prude. I’m still able to appreciate a good-looking man am I not?” she replied. “He might be a theow but he doesn’t carry himself like one.”

  “He’s a warrior,” Raedwyn admitted, “although nothing like his father.”

  “I imagine he’s a good kisser.” Eanfled gave Raedwyn a wicked look. “No need to say anything, you’ve gone as red as the sun!”

  “For the love of Freya,” Raedwyn had thrown up her hands. “You’re really not helping – now pass me one of those pies and let’s change the subject!”

  Deep in thought about her conversation with Eanfled, Raedwyn pushed her horse into a faster canter. Eanfled’s pragmatism was refreshing, but then she had been born into a more straightforward world than Raedwyn.

  Blackberry suddenly stumbled and went down on her knees, tearing Raedwyn from her introspection. Her attempt to cling on was futile. She sailed over the mare’s neck and landed on her stomach in the snow with a crunch.