Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) Page 17

  Soon, the king would return, bringing with him tension and aggression.

  “Let’s go back,” Alchflaed sighed. “There is much to be done before the king returns.”

  They made their way out of the square and up the tangle of streets to the high gate. It was heavy going, for the snow had drifted and lay thick in places. However, Alchflaed enjoyed being outdoors and wished she could have remained in the fresh air and sunlight.

  She passed under the high gate, glancing up at the sentries who stood watch above, and saw one of them wave to her.

  “The king returns, Milady!” he shouted down. “They’re entering the low gate.”

  Alchflaed’s stomach cramped.

  So soon.

  She had hoped to have one more afternoon, at least, of freedom. Bidding Edgard and Bryni good day, she hurried inside. She called to the slaves who were kneading dough for the evening’s bread.

  “King Paeda returns. Bring out two barrels of mead and start filling some cups.”

  Alchflaed had just removed her fur cloak and rebraided her hair, when Paeda entered the hall. The men shattered the calm with their shouting and laughter. Paeda and Aethelred appeared in good spirits, joking together. They had both grown short beards in the time they had been on the hunt; Paeda’s was dark whereas his brother’s was sandy. Snow sprinkled the shoulders of their fur cloaks, which they shrugged off and thrust into the waiting arms of slaves.

  “Mead!” Paeda boomed, his face ruddy with cold, his eyes gleaming.

  Fortunately, the slaves were ready and they plied the incoming warriors with cups of warmed mead. They also put out wheels of griddle bread, baked that morning, along with some strong cheese.

  Alchflaed saw Maric among the men. His hair was unbound, dark and wild around his face. Dressed head to foot in leather, he looked lean and watchful. His gaze swept around the interior of the hall, and came to rest upon her. Heart pounding, Alchflaed looked away.

  Paeda took a gulp of mead and turned to the high seat. His gaze fastened upon Alchflaed and she saw his naked hunger, his need for her. Feeling queasy, she stepped down from the high seat and went to him.

  “Good day, husband. Did the hunt go well?”

  “Aye,” he pulled her against him and kissed her roughly, before fondling her backside.

  “It is easy to flush out deer and boar against snow,” Aethelred elaborated when the king had released his wife. “Your hall will dine well for the rest of this winter.”

  “I want one of those deer on the spit for tomorrow eve,” Paeda commanded his brother. “See it done.”

  Paeda then turned back to Alchflaed, his gaze raking over her. “Prepare me a bath, wife.”

  Alchflaed nodded before moving away to do his bidding. She had an iron tub filled for him in what had been his mother’s bower. When it was ready, she went to where the king sat with his men drinking mead and recounting tales of their hunt to the rest of the hall.

  “… and then I brought it down with a spear,” Paeda told his retainers, “right between the eyes.”

  “A massive boar it was too, M’lord,” one of Paeda’s thegns eagerly added. “Killed two dogs before you felled it.”

  Alchflaed stopped next to the table and waited for Paeda to notice her. At the opposite end of the table, she saw Maric. He was watching her but she did not meet his gaze. It was too risky with her husband standing next to her.

  Eventually, when he had finished the tale of how he had felled a stag at an incredible distance, Paeda noticed that his wife stood next to him.

  “Your bath is ready, Milord,” she said gently.

  He grinned, drained his cup and slapped her hard on the rear.

  “Aye, and so am I,” he replied, to the mirth of his men. Their gazes, many as hot and lustful as Paeda’s, grazed over her. Alchflaed glared back at them. Only Maric did not look her way. Instead, he stared down at his cup of mead, his expression veiled.

  “I’ll join you shortly, wife,” Paeda continued, his tone dismissive, before adding. “Make sure you’re naked when I get there.”

  Alchflaed walked away, her face burning, to the sound of male hilarity.

  ***

  Maric ducked through the low doorway and entered the mead hall. The long, windowless, low-slung building sat halfway between the high and low gates. Huge drifts of snow piled up against its timbered walls outside, although the owner had made sure the entrance remained clear.

  Inside, men packed the space, standing shoulder to shoulder. The pungent scent of fermented honey mixed with the odor of stale sweat assaulted Maric’s nostrils. The reek of the mead hall – there was no smell like it.

  Maric took a cup of mead and elbowed his way through the throng toward his friends. They were all there: Osulf, Elfhere, Edgard and Bryni. After ten days in the company of Paeda and Aethelred, both calculating and sly men, Maric was in need of time with those he could trust.

  His friends welcomed him warmly. Maric was pleased to see that both Bryni and Elfhere looked better than when he had last seen them. Elfhere had started to put some meat on his bones. However, Edgard looked gaunt and bitter. He sat hunched, his shoulders rounded, his big hands clenched around his cup of mead.

  Osulf, who was already well into his cups, was as loud and opinionated as ever. Losing an eye had embittered him. Osulf had always been forthright, something Maric had once appreciated about him, but these days he seemed to be constantly spoiling for a fight.

  “I hope you bring news that the king has been gored by a boar,” he greeted Maric.

  Maric shook his head. “Regretfully, wyrd spared him on this trip.”

  Edgard spat on the ground at this news, making his opinion of the King of Mercia clear.

  “Careful,” Elfhere muttered, “this hall is crammed with Paeda’s toadies.”

  “Aye, but as many of them think as we do,” Osulf growled back.

  “I heard Wulfhere told Paeda he wasn’t fit to rule?” Edgard said, fixing Maric in a stare. “Is that true?”

  Maric nodded. Like Elfhere, he was not keen to have this conversation in a crowded mead hall; yet, he could see Edgard was not in the mood to be fobbed off.

  “He said many things,” Maric added, “before vowing that he would have reckoning.”

  Edgard nodded, his mouth compressing into a thin line. Osulf was more vocal in his approval of the prince’s behavior, although this time he had the good sense to lower his voice as he muttered.

  “Wulfhere is the rightful king.”

  “Paeda is the eldest son,” Elfhere reminded him.

  “A man must earn the right to rule,” Osulf growled back.

  Maric agreed with him, but he also knew this was dangerous talk. If unchecked, such comments would get them all into trouble. In an effort to steer the conversation away from politics, he turned back to Edgard.

  “How fares Mae?”

  Edgard’s face softened slightly at the mention of his young daughter.

  “She’s thriving,” he replied, “and my wife’s sister, Willa, has agreed to stay with us over the winter to look after her.”

  “And your sons?”

  Edgard looked down at his mead. “They miss their mother.”

  The warrior was silent for a few moments before he spoke again.

  “Moira lit up our world like a Yule fire; without her our home has no laughter, no light. Each morning I wake, and wish myself dead.”

  Maric saw the sorrow on Edgard’s face. He too knew what it was to have one’s world shattered and the dark places it led a man to. Indeed, as the scop had told, a weary spirit and a sorrowful mind did a man no good. Maric knew if unchecked, Edgard’s grief would be his doom.

  He leaned forward and placed a firm hand on Edgard’s shoulder, looking him square in the eye.

  “Do not let the darkness consume you,” Maric told him. “I too lost, and I let despair take me into her embrace. It almost destroyed me. Yet, I had no one to live for – you have your children. Show them that hope e
xists. Show them that there is daylight on the other side of darkness.”

  Edgard stared at him and Maric wondered if his words would anger the proud warrior. Perhaps it was too early for such advice. Indeed, Maric was astonished at himself for giving it.

  Edgard surprised him though by clamping a heavy hand over Maric’s, and nodding.

  “Enough morbid talk,” Osulf interrupted, although his tone was softer than earlier. “I think we need another round of mead.”

  ***

  A bright half-moon lit up the night sky as Maric crunched through the snow. The moonlight upon the snow made it light enough to see easily without a torch.

  Maric walked slowly, deep in thought. He had left Osulf and Elfhere playing a drunken game of knucklebones. Edgard had departed earlier, returning to his family.

  The night air was bitter, but Maric welcomed its freshness after the fetid atmosphere inside the mead hall. He slowly made his way up through the tangle of streets toward the high gate, for he was in no hurry to return to the Great Hall either. These days he stretched out on a fur near one of the fire pits and fell asleep to the sounds of snoring, farting and muffled lovemaking of those around him. Once, he had not minded the company of others, for the night was a long, dark and lonely place. However, this evening he felt differently.

  Instead of continuing straight up the street, which led to the high gate, Maric veered left. Moments later, he found himself in front of his old house.

  Using his seax, he pried the boards over the door apart, and stepped inside. No one had set foot in here in two years, and the air smelt musty. Maric lit a torch and gazed around the home he had once shared with Gytha. Everything was as she had left it. The fire pit sat cold and dark in the center of a rectangular space. Two low stools crouched beside it, where Maric and Gytha would sit to break their fast in the morning, or to chat at the end of the day while he whittled wood and she spun wool. At one end of the dwelling, there was a pile of furs. At night, a curtain separated this area. The curtain was tied back against the wall during the day. An oaken worktable lined one wall, where Gytha had prepared bread.

  It had been upon that table that Maric had found his wife and brother coupling. However, the sight of it now bothered him less than he had expected. Dusty straw covered the ground beneath his feet. Kenrick’s blood had pooled here, soaking into the hard-packed earth. Maric imagined that beneath the straw, the ground still bore the stain.

  There was a pile of wood stacked against the wall, and Maric used it to light a fire in the hearth. While the fire pit kindled, he took the furs outside and shook them in the empty street to ensure he would not be sharing his bed with vermin.

  With the door closed, the interior of his home warmed quickly. Maric sat by the fire pit and watched the dancing flames. He was surprised by how calm he felt here. For a long while after that terrible day, he had vowed never to return. Yet, on the evening he had accompanied Edgard home, he had looked upon the dwelling that he had built to share with Gytha and no longer felt a chill pass through him.

  The shadow had lifted – Maric had a home once more.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Emissary from the North

  The winter dragged on, long and cold. During Æftera Geola, the month after Yule, the snow lay thick upon the frozen ground and blizzards frequently swirled around the Great Tower of Tamworth. The following month – Sōlmōnath – the snow gradually thawed only to be replaced by weeks of driving rain that kept folk indoors and turned the narrow streets of Tamworth into muddy rivers.

  By the time Hrēðmonath arrived – the month dedicated to Hreða, the goddess of fertility – men’s tempers were sour and the interior of the King’s Hall reeked of mold and damp.

  Then, the first of the snowdrops and bluebells pushed through the damp earth outside Tamworth, carpeting the woods in white and blue, and winter was over. Upon a brisk spring dawn, with the clouds scudding overhead, and accompanied by the song of skylarks, Paeda, his brother, and a handful of his most favored thegns, rode out of Tamworth for a day’s hunt.

  Alchflaed arose from the furs with a queasy stomach, which only eased when she managed to force down a few mouthfuls of griddle bread. At first, she thought that she had eaten something that had disagreed with her the evening before, but the meal had been a simple mutton stew that no one else appeared to have difficulty digesting.

  Her mouth dry with dread, Alchflaed went to see the king’s healer; a cunning man named Glaedwine. He prodded her belly, and asked a few questions before confirming her fears: she was with child.

  Alchflaed did not linger in the healer’s presence after he delivered the news, but instead retreated to the platform she shared with Paeda. She sat down upon the edge of the furs and brushed away tears. She felt as if the walls were closing in on her. She had felt trapped before, but her pregnancy now shackled her in iron to Paeda.

  She should not have been surprised that she was with child. Paeda rutted her day and night. After the first month of marriage, she had hoped his appetite for her would lessen, yet it did not. Nor did he gentle his treatment of her. He swived her like a whore, giving no tenderness or affection to his wife either while or after he took her.

  Drying her tears, Alchflaed crossed the platform to the leather trunk, where she kept her things. She knelt before it and opened the heavy lid, before withdrawing the seax her father had gifted her. It still lay within its leather scabbard. The blade gleamed wickedly sharp when she drew it forth. The pestle and mortar her father had given her were also buried deep within the trunk.

  How can I kill him now?

  She loathed her husband; it was all she could do not to shrink from his touch. Yet, despite her father’s order, Alchflaed realized she could not kill him. She often imagined Paeda dead, choking on a piece of meat or trampled by his horse while out hunting, but she could not imagine herself being the one to end his life.

  Father is far from here, she consoled herself as she put away the seax. He cannot force me to commit murder.

  Alchflaed put on a light cloak and descended the ladder into the Great Hall. Perhaps a walk outside in the fresh air, with the spring sun on her face would ease her churning belly. A few of the women who worked at their looms on the far side of the hall – wives of ealdormen and thegns – looked at her curiously as Alchflaed walked past. She said nothing to them; most of the women were terrible gossips, and few of them bore any love for the Northumbrian princess who was now their queen.

  Outside, Alchflaed crossed the stable yard to where Bryni was grooming a horse.

  “Good morning, Bryni,” she greeted him with a smile. “Where’s Maric?”

  “He’ll be at his home, I imagine, M’lady,” Bryni replied, wiping sweat off his forehead.

  Disappointed that Maric was not nearby, for she had a sudden desire to speak with him, Alchflaed paused. Her strolls through Tamworth, with Maric at her side, had been Alchflaed’s only moments of joy in the four months she had been Paeda’s wife.

  “I wish to see Maric’s home,” she said finally. “Can you take me to him?”

  Bryni’s eyebrows raised slightly at the request but he nodded.

  Alchflaed followed Bryni out across the stable yard and into the wide, paved way beyond. Maric’s house, a stout timbered structure, sat just streets away from the high gate.

  The door was ajar, although Alchflaed could hear the sound of chopping wood coming from the yard behind it. Bryni led her round to the back, where they found Maric, stripped to the waist, busy splitting logs.

  Alchflaed found herself staring. Maric’s naked torso gleamed with sweat. He was built differently to her husband; Paeda was all brawn, whereas Maric was lithe and finely muscled. He put down his axe when he saw them and smiled.

  “Wes hāl.”

  “Lady Alchflaed wished to see your home,” Bryni explained with a sheepish smile.

  “The king is away on a hunt,” Alchflaed added with a smile of her own, “and I am tired of being cooped up indoor
s.”

  “My home is a humble one, Milady,” Maric replied, cocking his head slightly, “but I will happily show it to you. First, can I offer you a drink?”

  “Aye, I would like that,” she replied.

  Maric turned to Bryni. “There’s some ale on the table inside. Bring some out for us.”

  The young man nodded and disappeared round the edge of the dwelling, leaving Alchflaed and Maric alone for a moment. It was the first time they had been alone together since arriving at Tamworth, for even during their walks Bryni and Edgard always shadowed them. Their gazes met and held.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Maric admonished her gently. “Paeda is a jealous man, if he finds out you…”

  Alchflaed shook her head and raised her hand, cutting him off.

  “It has been a long winter,” she replied with a brittle smile, “and I wished to see you. This morning, I have just learned I am with child.”

  Maric’s eyebrows raised.

  “Congratulations.”

  He said the words so coolly that Alchflaed suddenly regretted her impulsive decision to visit him. Since Cyneswide’s departure, she had lived a friendless existence inside the Great Tower. The cunning man would tell Paeda that the queen was pregnant soon enough, but Alchflaed wished to tell a friend first.

  “Thank you,” she replied quietly.

  Maric reached for the sleeveless tunic he had stripped off while chopping wood and shrugged it on. Alchflaed was relieved he did so, for the sight of him before her half-naked and virile, did odd things to her already queasy belly.

  Bryni returned, bearing a tray with a jug of ale and three wooden cups. Alchflaed took the cup he passed her and took a sip of the pungent ale, before choking back bile. It seemed her delicate stomach could not tolerate such a strong drink; another mouthful and she would be ill.