Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) Page 5

  “Vengeance is mine but our Lord will expect payment for such sacrifice!”

  Freya listened with interest, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. It appeared that Sigeberht was one of those who had shunned the old gods; still a novelty here in the Kingdom of the East Angles. She had heard that King Raedwald had converted, but there had been no sign of it in the daily life of Rendlaesham. This man seemed deathly serious about his beliefs. His words had cast a pall of discomfort over the hall. Many were visibly relieved when their leader changed the subject, although Sigeberht did not appear to notice.

  “Aidan!” Sigeberht turned to the man seated to his right, at the head of the table. “Stand up so that I may thank you before our warriors!”

  Freya watched as Aidan put his cup down and stood up. Unlike the day Freya had met him, Aidan’s face was serious this evening. The cut across his cheek had crusted, and she imagined it would leave a deep scar. He was still dressed in grime-encrusted leather armor. Looking upon him, Freya admitted to herself that he was, indeed, the kind of man that drew a woman’s eye.

  He may be pleasing to look upon, but he has the manners of a goat!

  “Aidan of Connacht, you are like a son to me!” Sigeberht clasped the younger man around the shoulders and held his cup high. “You have shown loyalty and valor. Now, you will be at my side while I make Rendlaesham truly ours. I honor you!”

  The warriors cheered and held their cups high. Aidan smiled and bowed his head in thanks.

  Once the cheering abated, Aidan sank back down on the bench. He helped himself to another slice of roast boar and raised his cup to Sigeberht.

  Then, as if sensing her gaze upon him, Aidan glanced up and looked straight at Freya.

  For a moment, their gazes met and held.

  His eyes were a dark blue; of a shade she had never seen before. The intensity of his gaze made goose pimples prickle Freya’s skin.

  Then he smiled, and the moment shattered. It was the same arrogant smirk he had given her on the shore at Woodbridge Haven. Freya tore her gaze away from his and turned her attention back to her meal, although her appetite had now dulled.

  Swine.

  Freya tore off a piece of griddle bread and took a bite, before swallowing with difficulty. She hated it here. She longed for the simple life she had shared with her mother in Woodbridge Haven; away from Rendlaesham and this hall full of loud, boorish males. She hoped Cwen had managed to return home safely. Thinking about her mother, made her heart ache.

  I will not stay here, she vowed, I am no slave!

  Freya would bide her time, but as soon as the opportunity arose, she made herself a silent promise. She would escape.

  Chapter Six

  Freya was beating dust out of a pile of furs when she heard horses approach.

  She straightened up from her chore and turned her head towards the sound. She did not recall any visitors being due at the Great Hall today. A group of warriors had gone hunting this morning, but they were not due back for another two days.

  Freya turned back to the furs and rubbed her itching nose. She had carried the bedding from Sigeberht’s bower for cleaning; a task that her master demanded she undertake every three days. Sigeberht was a fastidious man who liked his sleeping area scrubbed clean on a daily basis. He did not adorn his bower and, unlike Ricberht, did not keep any weapons there. The only decoration was an iron cross that hung from the wall.

  Before the sound of hoof-beats had distracted her, Freya had just been thanking her namesake, the goddess Freya, for the fact that Sigeberht had not insisted she shared his bed. Six days had passed since Sigeberht had taken Rendlaesham, and he had not shown any interest in her, beyond that of a slave. Instead of joining him in his bower, she slept against the wall, near the rear of the Great Hall. It was an uncomfortable spot, cold and draughty, but Freya cared not. She was merely relieved that Sigeberht appeared not to want her in his bed.

  A knot of riders appeared in the stable yard below, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them. Freya put down the stick she had been using to beat the furs, and regarded the newcomers.

  Three upstanding men with blond hair, and a woman, dismounted their horses. An escort of around a dozen warriors accompanied them. The three men were all handsome and carried themselves with warrior arrogance. The woman wore a long, blue hooded cloak that shadowed her face.

  Behind Freya, Aidan of Connacht stepped from the Great Hall and swept his gaze over the group below. He glanced across at Freya and raised a dark eyebrow. She gave him a chill look in response and shrugged.

  “Why do you look at me for answers?” she snapped. “I know not who they are.”

  Unbothered by her viperish tongue, Aidan turned his attention back to the newcomers.

  “Welcome to Sigeberht’s hall,” he called down. “To whom do we owe the pleasure?”

  The eldest of the three men, a warrior of around five and thirty winters, stepped forward.

  “I am Annan,” he introduced himself. “Son of Eni of the Wuffingas. These are my brothers, Aethelhere and Aethelwold. We are Raedwald and Eorpwald’s kin – and the kin of Sigeberht.”

  Annan turned then to the woman, who stepped forward and lowered the hood obscuring her identity. She was an older woman, although still handsome, with a mane of red hair, threaded with white. She regarded Aidan with cool grey eyes.

  “I am Seaxwyn.” Her voice, although quiet, held the power of one who was used to commanding others. “And I wish to see my son. Take us to Sigeberht.”

  ***

  Freya placed a ewer of apple wine on the table, Hilda laid out cups for the guests, and Hereric brought out a platter laden with cheese and fruit.

  The quiet inside the hall was unnerving and Freya was grateful to move away from the table. She and Hilda went to the fire pit and continued the chore that Hilda had been busy with before the party’s arrival – kneading bread. Freya would have to finish cleaning the furs later. Now, with guests that evening, they had extra food to prepare.

  Sigeberht, after greeting the party, had seated himself at the end of the table. Aidan stood a few steps behind him, while the guests sat at the other end of the table.

  Freya had never witnessed such a cold reunion between mother and son. There had been no hugs, no tears and very few smiles; just strained greetings and an awkward moment when Sigeberht had knelt to kiss his mother’s hand.

  It was as if they were strangers – which, in fact, they were.

  Freya kneaded a lump of dough and flattened it into a disc with the heel of her hand, watching the conversation at the other end of the hall surreptitiously as she did so.

  “‘It has been a long while mother,” Sigeberht rumbled, steepling his fingers in front of him and regarding Seaxwyn with an iron-grey gaze. They had the same eyes, Freya realized; the color of storm clouds.

  “I’ve lost count,” Seaxwyn admitted. “You were hardly out of boyhood when Raedwald banished you.”

  “Old enough to be a threat.” Sigeberht’s mouth curled.

  Freya noticed that the three warriors: Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold, all stirred uneasily at this comment. King Raedwald had been their uncle, and they did not appreciate anyone speaking ill of him.

  “I have often thought of you Sigeberht,” Seaxwyn continued softly, leaving the cup of wine untouched at her elbow. “I have wondered how you fared in Gaul.”

  Sigeberht’s mouth pursed.

  “And is that why you are here? To hear tales of my life in exile?”

  Seaxwyn smiled, ignoring her son’s frosty sarcasm.

  “No Sigeberht. I have come here for your crowning.”

  ***

  Warriors jostled elbow-to-elbow within the Great Hall, the rumble of their voices filling the air. Two sides of venison roasted over the fire pit and the aroma of roasting meat and root vegetables drifted across the wide space. The long tables had been pulled back, allowing the crowd to fill the center of the hall.

  On a dais, at the far end, stood Seaxwy
n. She was widow to the late King Raedwyn and mother to the late King Eorpwald – and also mother to the man who stood in the doorway to the hall, waiting for the ceremony to begin. At the front of the crowd were Sigeberht’s three step-cousins. In high spirits, after a few cups of strong ale, Annan was deep in boisterous conversation with Aidan.

  Hilda and Freya stood before the fire pit, slowly turning the spits.

  “According to folk, Seaxwyn was wed before marrying King Raedwald,” Hilda whispered conspiratorially to Freya. “To a Saxon lord. The tale is that she stabbed him for beating her so he divorced her and sent her back to her father. Seaxwyn took their son, Sigeberht, with her.”

  Freya glanced across at Seaxwyn with interest. The woman did possess a certain strength. She was tall and curvaceous, and wore a fine green gown that complemented her pale skin. Even though she was now in her sixtieth year, she was still an attractive woman. Freya imagined she must have been a beauty in her youth – and since Sigeberht had just passed his forty-fifth winter, she would have had him young.

  “Raedwald was looking for a wife and ‘tis said that when he saw Seaxwyn he fell in love with her instantly,” Hilda continued, her voice tense with excitement. “But, the king did not love her boy. He wanted sons of his own blood. Sigeberht was a threat to the Wuffinga bloodline. Once Sigeberht reached manhood, Raedwald sent him from Rendaelsham, banishing him to Gaul.”

  Freya nodded, captivated by the story. With such excitement within the Great Hall over the past day, she had almost forgotten her misery. She still missed her mother, especially at night when she would stare up into the dark and think of home, but Sigeberht worked her so hard that she had barely a moment to herself during the day.

  Inside the hall, the din died away and pipes began to trill, announcing that the coronation was about to start.

  The crowd parted as Sigeberht, dressed in black, with a fine fur cloak swinging from his shoulders, strode towards the dais. Two amber brooches, gleaming in the torchlight, fastened his cloak to the heavy black tunic he wore. His face, even at such a moment, was severe, as if hewn from stone.

  Had such a man ever been young and light of heart?

  The pipes died away as Sigeberht reached the dais and knelt before his mother.

  “Sigeberht, rightful heir to the throne of the East Angles, I welcome you,” Seaxwyn’s voice echoed across the empty hall. “May Woden protect you and Thor guide your hand in battle. May wyrd favor you always.”

  Freya saw Sigeberht’s jaw clench at his mother’s words, but he held his tongue. She wondered if Seaxwyn knew that her son had cast aside the old gods. Sigeberht no longer believed that fate ruled one’s life.

  Oblivious to her son’s glowering, Seaxwyn lifted the simple iron crown; the one her husband had worn during the long years of his reign.

  “I crown thee, Sigeberht King of the East Angles.”

  She placed the crown gently on Sigeberht’s head, and the hall erupted with cheers and applause.

  ***

  The feasting went on, long into the night. By the time the last revelers staggered from the hall, Freya’s body ached. She longed to stretch out on the rush matting and rest her weary limbs. Like Freya, Hilda’s face was gaunt with fatigue as she cleared away the food scraps and wiped the tables down.

  An area at the far end of the hall had been curtained off for the guests, opposite the king’s bower. Seaxwyn had retired earlier than the men-folk, and Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold had all consumed so much ale that they had to be led to their beds.

  Freya looked up from her industry to see Aidan returning from making sure the king’s step-cousins had all made it to their beds. He paused in front of where Freya was collecting the last cups from the tables.

  “Goodnight sweet Freya.”

  “Goodnight,” she replied coldly, not bothering to look his way. She wished he would leave her be.

  Freya collected up two handfuls of empty cups and turned to make her way up to where Hilda was washing plates and cups in a large pail of soapy water.

  She collided with the wall of a man’s chest.

  Aidan had been standing closer to her than she had realized. She had walked straight into him. With a strangled cry, Freya stumbled backwards and nearly dropped the cups.

  To her horror, he laughed and put his arms around her waist – an action which both prevented her from falling and also imprisoned her in his embrace.

  “Careful now,” he whispered in her ear. Freya could hear the smile in his voice and fought the urge to slap him; although such an act would have been difficult with her hands full.

  His nearness was overwhelming. His warmth, the hardness of his chest, the strength of his arms, and the gentle way his arms encircled her, made Freya dizzy. She glanced up at him and instantly regretted it.

  His dark blue gaze snared hers. As they stared at each other, the smile faded from his lips.

  Freya wrenched free of Aidan’s embrace and stepped back from him. She could feel her cheeks heating up from the intensity of his gaze.

  “Goodnight.” She mustered as much cool dismissal as she could in that word, but it merely brought that conceited smirk back to his face.

  Freya joined Hilda at the pail of soapy water and began to wash the cups. She felt Aidan’s gaze on her for a moment or two, but when she finally risked a glance in his direction, she saw him making his way over to the fire pit. Piles of furs, for Sigeberht’s highest ranking thegns, had been laid out around the edge of the pit. Aidan chose one of them and sat down, pulling off his boots.

  Freya hurriedly looked away before he caught her staring.

  ***

  Sigeberht’s hall broke their fast with griddle bread, cheese and small, sweet onions. It was simple fare but Sigeberht had straight-forward tastes when it came to all things, including food.

  Freya blinked sleepily as she ladled a thin broth into earthen bowls and placed them on a wooden tray. Once she had filled the bowls, she carried the tray to the long table where Sigeberht was breaking his fast with his mother and step-cousins. Aidan was seated to Sigeberht’s right; Freya made a point of looking through him when he tried to catch her gaze.

  “Thank you Freya,” Aidan said when she passed him a bowl of broth. The others all looked up from their meals and Freya silently cursed him. It was unseemly to address a theow by name. Doing so, made it appear as if she and Aidan were intimate.

  Annan grinned at Aidan, broke off a piece of griddle bread and dipped it in his broth.

  “I wish the serving wenches in our hall at Snape were as comely as this one.” He winked at Aidan.

  Her face burning, Freya hastily moved down the table.

  Fortunately, Sigeberht ignored the younger men’s comments and continued the conversation that Freya’s arrival had interrupted.

  “I am sorry to hear of your father,” Sigeberht addressed Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold. “Eni was always good to me as a boy.”

  Annan smiled, sadness briefly lighting in his blue eyes.

  “There will never be another man like my father,” he said quietly; his brothers nodded their agreement.

  Seaxwyn cast her nephew a sympathetic look across the table. “They were inseparable: Raedwald and Eni. Your father was never the same after Raedwald’s death.”

  Their words cast a somber mood across the table.

  “Still,” Seaxwyn said before taking a sip of broth, “they are with Woden now, watching over us all.”

  “Perhaps.” Sigeberht’s mouth twisted. “If you believe in the old gods. Some of us beg to differ.”

  “They are the only gods,” Seaxwyn replied coolly, her gaze resting on the iron cross that her son wore around his neck.

  Sigeberht’s expression darkened.

  “I had heard that you had a closed mind to the teachings of Christ.” His voice was harsh, “but even Raedwald saw the truth in his later years. Was he not baptized?”

  Seaxwyn regarded Sigeberht with thinly veiled contempt; the fragile reconne
ction between mother and son had dissolved.

  “He was baptized, to appease that meddling monk who nagged him, day-in, day-out. I was relieved when that fool left Rendlaesham.”

  Freya watched the brewing argument with fascination. She had never come across a woman as outspoken as Seaxwyn. Even her mother, who was in no way meek, would not have dared openly criticize one of her male kin in front of other men. Frankly, Freya was in awe of this woman – and a little frightened for her.

  “I do hope you are not going to become a bore Sigeberht the Righteous,” Seaxwyn continued, oblivious to her son’s thunderous expression. “Be warned that I have no patience for it. I have lost my husband and both my sons cruelly. I will not have you tell me it was your god’s will!”

  Sigeberht slammed down his cup on the table, splashing milk over its surface. His eyes burned with fury and for a moment Freya worried he would leap across the table and strike his mother. Instead, he took a deep breath and struggled to rein in his temper.

  “There is only one God,” he ground out, “and we are all his servants. You ignore his existence at your own peril. We are not prisoners of fate, bound by pagan beliefs and outdated fears. You speak with the vehemence of ignorance!”

  “Ignorance?” Two red spots appeared on Seaxwyn’s cheeks. “It’s not I who is ignorant Sigeberht. Only a lost soul clings to his religion like a drowning man. I did not travel here for a sermon. There’s no sign of the son I remember before me.”

  It was as if Seaxwyn had slapped him. Sigeberht bolted to his feet, upending his bowl of gruel on the floor as he did so.

  “You never knew me,” he snarled. “I was a reminder of a life, and a man, you hated. I saw the relief on your face the day Raedwald sent me away. ‘Tis too late to act the loving mother now. I know you for the cold, hard bitch that you are!”

  With that, Sigeberht kicked his stool aside and stormed from the hall. He left a chill silence in his wake.