Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) Page 18

Maric and Bryni had both seen her gag. With a wry smile, Maric took her cup and handed it back to Bryni.

  “There’s some fresh milk inside. Fetch Lady Alchflaed some of that.”

  Bryni nodded, his brow creased in worry. “Are you well, M’lady?”

  Alchflaed managed a weak smile. “Aye, the milk would suit me better – thank you, Bryni.”

  Bryni disappeared once more, leaving them alone again.

  Maric was watching her under hooded lids, although he said nothing.

  “Are you well, Maric?”

  “Well enough, Milady. And you?”

  Silence stretched between them. The conversation was stilted and Alchflaed was growing more uncomfortable by the moment. She should leave, she should tell him she was very well and bid him good day, yet she could not force the empty words to leave her lips.

  “I am glad you have returned to your home,” she said finally, evading the question entirely.

  She looked about the small yard, ringed by a high wooden fence. It was a lovely spot, with rosemary and thyme growing around the edges. Beyond, she could hear fowls scratching about in the next garden. Nearby, children laughed.

  “You did not answer my question,” he answered.

  Their gazes met before Alchflaed bit her lip.

  “I am unhappy,” she replied simply.

  The look on his face made her want to weep; a mixture of pity and anguish. He opened his mouth to reply, but Bryni chose that moment to reappear bearing a cup of milk.

  “Here, Lady Alchflaed,” he said eagerly.

  “Thank you, Bryni,” she replied, avoiding his gaze so he did not see the tears that glistened there.

  ***

  Paeda returned in an ill mood. He had fallen from his horse during the hunt and cracked a rib. Even the news from Glaedwine that the queen was pregnant barely sweetened his temper.

  “It will be the first of many sons,” Paeda told Alchflaed when she came to him. “I will fill your belly with them.”

  Stripped to the waist, he sat upon a stool by the fire pit while Glaedwine did his best to tend him. There was little the cunning man could do with a cracked rib save rub a salve on the king’s chest and bind the injury with linen. When the healer took too long tying the bandage, Paeda cuffed him round the head and sent the man sprawling back onto the rushes.

  Glaedwine – a tall, spare man with sharp-features – picked himself up off the floor and gave the king a look of malevolence. Paeda did not see the healer’s anger, for he had already turned his attention away from him. Yet, Alchflaed saw it. She wondered at how many enemies the king was making for himself amongst those who served him. Paeda did not appear to care whom he offended.

  “Wife, fetch me mead,” Paeda barked.

  Alchflaed hastened to obey. She poured a cup of mead and filled a jug, for one cup was rarely enough. She returned to the fire pit to find the king arguing with his brother. Aethelred, whose oily manner often meant he avoided quarrels, had gone red in the face as Paeda berated him.

  “It was your doing, brother. You cut me off and caused my horse to shy.”

  “I did not!”

  “The stag was mine.”

  “You crashed through the trees like a demented boar,” Aethelred countered with a sneer. “Stalking a deer requires stealth. Making such a noise, there was no way you would have caught it.”

  Alchflaed wordlessly handed Paeda his mead. He took it without thanks, and turned back to his brother.

  “Listen to you, the seasoned hunter,” Paeda mocked. “When was the last time you brought a deer down on your own?”

  It was then that Alchflaed noticed the warrior, dressed in boiled leather, who strode across the rushes toward them.

  “Milord,” she interjected quietly, “one of your men is here.”

  “Silence, wife,” Paeda snarled. “Never interrupt me when I’m talking.”

  However, since Aethelred turned to see who it was, the king halted his tirade. The warrior reached the fire pit and knelt before him.

  “Lord Paeda, you have visitors.”

  When the king did not speak, the guard who had evidently come from the high gate, continued.

  “It is an emissary from the north, Milord. King Alchfrith of Deira is here and wishes to receive your hospitality.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A Brotherly Reminder

  Alchflaed’s chest constricted when she saw her brother stride into the Great Hall. His auburn hair was loose, curling about his shoulders. Physically, Alchfrith was her male counterpart: tall with a proud bearing. Her brother was dressed in a leather vest and doeskin breeches. His fur-edged cloak rippled behind him. Alchfrith’s gaze did not shift from Paeda as he approached.

  Behind the King of Deira, his entourage followed him across the hall. Alchflaed’s spirits lifted to see Cyneburh among them. Her brother’s wife was as lovely as ever, her golden hair rippling down her back. She was dressed for travelling in a tunic with a blue, woolen overdress, and a cloak about her shoulders.

  The King of Mercia sat upon the high seat, Alchflaed beside him. Reluctantly, Paeda rose to his feet as Alchfrith approached. The King of Deira stopped before the high seat but did not kneel – a sign to all present that Paeda had bent the knee to his northern neighbors.

  “Wes hāl, Paeda,” Alchfrith greeted him pleasantly, although Alchflaed saw the steel in her brother’s green eyes. His gaze then flicked to Alchflaed and he smiled. “Sister.”

  “Welcome, Lord Alchfrith,” Paeda replied, his tone guarded. “I did not expect a visit so soon.”

  Alchfrith’s smile widened. “My father wishes to have his interests looked after. He has sent me, and two of his ealdormen he wishes to remain here as his stewards.”

  Alchfrith motioned to the two bearded warriors standing behind him, next to Cyneburh. “Wada and Alfwald, and their men, will remain at Tamworth after I depart to look after my father’s interests.”

  This comment drew a rumble of discord from the men gathered around them. The muttering grew louder, like a swarm of angry hornets, before Paeda silenced them.

  “Quiet!” Paeda turned his attention back to Alchfrith. “Does your father not trust me?”

  Alchfrith’s smile faded. His gaze shifted to Alchflaed, who stood silently at Paeda’s side. “He trusts no one. Not even his own kin.”

  ***

  Paeda put on a feast to welcome Alchfrith of Deira. Since Oswiu’s son had given no warning of his arrival, Alchflaed did her best to organize a feast with what was left of their meager winter stores.

  The first of the spring greens were only just starting to grow in the fields outside Tamworth, so the only vegetables available were turnips, onions and cabbage. Paeda’s hunting trip had not been successful so there was no fresh meat; instead, Alchflaed had the slaves prepare pies filled with salted pork, onions and cream. This, she served with mashed turnip and butter, alongside tureens of braised cabbage.

  Alchfrith and his wife ate with the Mercian royal family upon the high seat. Maric, Bryni and Edgard also joined them, although they sat at the far end of the table. The monk, Seaxwulf, who had recently returned from a long stay at Bonehill, sat halfway down the table.

  The feasting had barely begun when Alchfrith began asking difficult questions.

  “Where is your brother, Wulfhere?”

  An uncomfortable silence fell upon the table.

  “Exiled,” Paeda finally answered, his morose expression making it clear he did not wish to speak of his brother. Yet, Alchfrith’s curiosity had been piqued.

  “Why was that?”

  “He challenged my authority.”

  Alchfrith held his cup up for a passing slave to fill with wine.

  “Such men are dangerous. You should have killed him.”

  The monk, Seaxwulf, muttered under his breath at the King of Deira’s unchristian comment and made the sign of the cross.

  “Lord Paeda showed mercy,” he reprimanded Alchfrith, “and he should be commended
for it, Milord.”

  Alchflaed watched her brother shrug off the monk’s comment. She noted how much like his father Alchfrith had become. He was iron at his core.

  “He won’t cause any more trouble,” Paeda grumbled.

  “How do you know that? He could be raising a fyrd against you as we speak.”

  Paeda frowned. Alchflaed felt the tension emanating off him.

  Alchfrith sipped from his cup and waited for the King of Mercia to respond. When he did not, his gaze shifted to Alchflaed.

  “We stopped at Eoforwic on our journey south,” he said mildly.

  Alchflaed went cold, the mouthful of pie she had been chewing turning to paste. She picked up her cup and took a sip of wine to help her swallow it.

  “While there, I heard an alarming tale,” her brother continued. “Word has it that Eadweard of Eoforwic welcomed you into his hall, and you insulted him, after which your escort started a brawl with his men.”

  Alchflaed felt Paeda’s cold gaze swivel round to her. At the far end of the table, she knew Maric, Bryni and Edgard were watching the scene unfold. She looked their way and saw alarm on Bryni’s face, and anger on Edgard’s. Maric’s gaze met hers and Alchflaed saw a flash of exasperation there.

  “I did not hear of this,” Paeda growled.

  “There is more to this tale,” Alchfrith continued. “After your wife departed Eoforwic, it seems the ealdorman rode after her, determined to have retribution for the offence she caused him. He and his men never returned, although his thegns found the remains of a large pyre near the River Winwaed. Certain that these are the remains of Eadweard and his men, the ealdorman’s family now demand compensation for his death.”

  Alchflaed could feel Paeda’s gaze burning into her. Eventually, she had no choice but to meet it.

  “It is true,” she admitted softly.

  “Maric!” Paeda barked. “Why did you not tell me of this?”

  At the far end of the table, Alchflaed watched Maric put down his cup and rise to his feet. He looked calm; his face had that shuttered look she knew well.

  “Eadweard of Eoforwic invited us into his hall, that is true,” Maric begin, his voice carrying across the table, “but as soon as we sat down at his table, he insulted both King Oswiu and Lady Alchflaed. He felt that Oswiu should have promised her to him, not you, Milord, and he was very bitter about it. As her escort, we could not let such insults go unanswered.”

  Maric paused here, allowing his words to settle, before he continued.

  “The ealdorman did follow us south, and attacked us at Winwaed. He planned to kill us and take Lady Alchflaed for himself. We killed him, and his men, and burned their bodies.”

  Maric held Paeda’s gaze a moment before finishing his tale.

  “Milord, I did not tell you, for I knew that such news risked shattering the fragile peace between our kingdoms.”

  Paeda glared back at Maric, and Alchflaed saw her husband’s jaw flex. She knew Maric was protecting her, but in doing so he was laying the blame upon himself.

  “That is not for you to decide,” he growled. “I will deal with you later – sit down.”

  “He is not at fault,” Alchflaed spoke up, the words rushing out of her. “I asked him not to say anything. I responded to the ealdorman’s insults, when I should have held my tongue. Maric and his men had no choice but to defend me.”

  “Silence, woman,” Paeda snarled. “I will also deal with you later.”

  Alchflaed obeyed him, but only barely. Her experience in Eoforwic had made her wary of angering brutish men. Although her father was not a man lightly crossed, he did not physically bully his women. Eadweard of Eoforwic and Paeda of Mercia were different.

  ***

  Alchflaed sat down at the fire pit next to Cyneburh and handed her a cup of warm milk. As she did so, she noted how the Queen of Deira’s skin glowed.

  “You look well, Cyneburh.”

  Her friend smiled shyly and took a sip of milk. “I am finally with child.”

  Alchflaed answered with a smile of her own. “That is welcome news.” She paused then, her smile fading. “I too am pregnant, although I doubt I glow as you do.”

  Cyneburh reached out and placed a gentle hand on Alchflaed’s arm, her beautiful face creasing in concern.

  “I wish I could help you.”

  Touched by the woman’s concern, Alchflaed placed her hand over Cyneburh’s and forced a smile.

  “As do I – but then my life here could be worse.”

  Silence fell between them for a moment, before Cyneburh wisely changed the subject.

  “Aethelred tells me that mōder has taken the veil and now resides at Bonehill.”

  Alchflaed nodded. “She could not suffer remaining here… not after what happened at Winwaed.”

  Cyneburh’s mouth thinned and her gaze shifted to where Paeda was still sitting upon the high seat. He was deep in discussion with Alchfrith and Aethelred; although judging from the frown on his face, the Mercian king was not happy about the direction the conversation was taking.

  “Your mother told me that she was happily married to Penda,” Alchflaed said eventually. “Is that true?”

  “Aye,” Cyneburh replied with a smile. “They had a strong bond. Fæder treated her differently to everyone else.”

  Her gaze shifted to Alchfrith then, and Alchflaed saw the softness in her face when she looked upon her husband.

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  Cyneburh’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and she nodded.

  “Don’t look so sorry about it,” Alchflaed admonished her. “Among the high born it is a rare and beautiful thing to see a man and woman so well-matched.”

  At that moment, as if sensing the women were looking his way, Alchfrith glanced toward them. Alchflaed watched him excuse himself from Paeda and Aethelred. Then, he rose to his feet, stepped down from the high seat, and made his way across to where Alchflaed and Cyneburh sat. His gaze met his wife’s and he smiled.

  “May I steal my sister away from you a moment?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Cyneburh replied. “You will both have much to speak of.”

  “Shall we take a walk on the ramparts?” Alchfrith asked Alchflaed. “I need to stretch my legs after all that food and wine.”

  It was a flimsy excuse. What Alchfrith wanted was to speak to his sister away from Paeda’s watchful eye. To refuse her brother’s request would only lead to trouble so Alchflaed nodded and rose to her feet.

  “Let us fetch our cloaks,” she said. “It is a cold night outside.”

  Darkness cloaked Tamworth as two figures clad in fur cloaks stepped out onto the wooden ramparts that encircled the inner palisade. The sky was clear and a full moon cast a silvery hue over the sea of thatched roofs beyond. Somewhere in the woodland beyond, an owl hooted – a lonely cry that echoed in the stillness. Sounds travelled far on such a night, and Alchfrith kept his voice low.

  “You are changed, sister.”

  “How so?”

  “You’ve lost your fire. A fyrdraca left Bebbanburg, and now I find a dormouse in her place.”

  “A fyrdraca?” Alchflaed could not help but smile at that. Only her brother could make calling a woman a fire-breathing dragon sound flattering. He had always admired her spirited character in the past.

  “There is no place here for the girl who left Bebbanburg,” she continued. “Paeda would not suffer it.”

  “Does he beat you?”

  Alchflaed shook her head. “He does not need to – there are crueler ways to dominate a woman.”

  Alchfrith frowned, clearly not understanding her meaning.

  “A wife is a possession, a prize to be gloated over,” she explained. “I am nothing more than a high born slave who will whelp his sons.”

  “He told me you are pregnant,” Alchfrith replied, his voice suddenly impassive.

  “Yes, and Cyneburh tells me you too will have your first child. I am happy for you both.”

 
; Alchfrith nodded, although Alchflaed could see his gaze had turned inward. They both knew the real reason he had asked her to stroll the ramparts with him; and it was not to take a breath of fresh air, or to talk about children.

  “Fæder grows impatient,” he said finally. “He wants to know why you have not yet done as he ordered.”

  Alchflaed did not reply. They had stopped, halfway between where sentries stood at the top of the high gate, and the ladder that led up to the ramparts from the yard below.

  “It is not an easy thing,” she murmured, staring out at the darkness, “to kill a man in cold blood.”

  “Fæder chose you for a reason,” Alchfrith replied, his voice low and urgent. “Why do you think he left you unmarried for so long? He was waiting for the day his fiery daughter would be able to avenge our people. He would be angry to see you so meek.”

  Alchflaed rounded on him, her hands clenched at her side.

  “He asks the impossible,” she hissed. “If I kill Paeda, I too will die. Doesn’t fæder care?”

  “Of course he does,” Alchfrith countered. “That is why I will leave two of his ealdormen, and their warriors, here. They will protect you once the deed is done.”

  Alchflaed stared at her brother’s handsome face. Illuminated by the hoary light of the moon it appeared carved out of white marble. His eyes glittered with anger as they meet hers.

  “You must have it done by Ēostre. Northumbria needs you, Alchflaed. Set the fyrdraca free.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Loss

  “Eadweard of Eoforwic’s family demand a wergild of six-hundred thrymsas for his death. How will you pay it?”

  Paeda of Mercia’s pronouncement brought gasps from the watching crowd of retainers and their families. Men muttered oaths under their breaths; some even spat on the floor. The wergild was the compensation a murderer had to pay to his victim’s family – although six hundred gold pieces was more money than ten families would see in their lifetimes.

  Maric stood at the foot of the high seat and held Paeda’s gaze.