The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) Read online

  Saewara of Tamworth – his betrothed.

  The Great Hall was packed with ealdormen, thegns and their families. Each gaze bored into Annan as he walked the distance between the doors and the dais. The crowd parted before him. His boots crunched on the fresh rushes and he felt the heat emanating from the fire pit closest to him.

  The time had come for him to meet his betrothed – and there she was before him.

  Frankly, she was not what he had expected.

  He had expected a tall, pale, ice-blonde woman; hard-featured and cold like her brother. However, the woman before him bore no resemblance to King Penda of Mercia. She was small with long dark hair. Her figure was hidden under a voluminous green cape but her face was heart-shaped and her skin milky. She had a full mouth, delicate features and eyes that were the color of the sky before a thunderstorm.

  Her gaze was riveted upon Annan but her expression was one of barely concealed terror, as if she watched a demon approach.

  Annan had never seen a woman quite like her, and he could not help but compare her to the woman he had left behind in Rendlaesham. Hereswith was a willowy blonde, a beauty of Germanic stock like many on the eastern coast of Britannia; yet the woman before him resembled a Celt. That was not to say she was unattractive, it was just that Annan had always preferred tall, slender blondes – and Saewara of Tamworth was none of those things.

  Saewara’s pulse throbbed in her temples and she clenched her fists against her skirts in an effort to control her panic. She watched as a tall, blond man stepped through the archway into the main hall and crossed the wide space toward her. Behind him trailed a group of East Angle warriors. One of them, a tall man with dark hair and a forbidding expression, carried something large covered by a linen cloth.

  Despite her fear, she could not help but observe the man who approached. Annan was far more handsome, and younger, than she had expected. His mane of golden hair was tied back in a thong at the nape of his neck. He was clean shaven and dressed in a fine linen tunic, a black leather vest, and calf-skin breaches. A thick, rabbit fur cloak hung from his broad shoulders. Like many of the men here, his arms were bare, and his muscular biceps wore numerous gold and bronze arm rings – all tributes to his valor in battle. He moved with a loose-limbed, confident stride, with his back ramrod straight. When he drew closer, Saewara saw that his eyes were a deep blue.

  Annan, King of the East Angles, stopped before the high seat and, for the first time, made eye-contact with Saewara.

  She stared back at him, and for a moment time stilled.

  Here was a man, very different to any she had known; she could sense it. But whether that boded ill or well for her, she did not know. His gaze held hers for a few moments and when he looked away, Saewara slowly released the breath that she had been holding.

  Penda stepped down from the dais to greet Annan, and Saewara was struck by how different the two kings were. They were both tall and blond, but any similarity ended there. Penda’s looks were ice-cold, chiseled and hard; whereas Annan’s golden hair and rugged good-looks gave him a warmth that made her brother look even colder.

  “Wes hāl.” Penda greeted Annan coolly.

  The King of the East Angles gave a curt nod in response and kept his gaze fixed upon the Mercian King as he returned to his wife’s side on the dais. Saewara knew Annan was deliberately avoiding looking at her; and she did not blame him. He seemed as unwilling as she to be wed.

  “Let us pledge these two individuals, Annan, King of the East Angles, and Saewara of Tamworth.” Penda paused then before his gaze met Annan’s.

  “Annan, are you ready to make a contract between our two families – to make the handa sellan and pay the handgeld in order to wed my fair sister?”

  Annan nodded curtly. Penda spoke of the ‘hand-shake’ in which he would formally promise to marry Saewara, and the payment, which would seal the marriage pledge. Annan would also have to make another ‘payment’ – the morgengifu, or ‘morning gift’, on the morning after their wedding night – but, for now, the handgeld was sufficient to seal the promise.

  “Annan, take Saewara’s hand,” Penda continued, “and tell us of the handgeld you bring in exchange for this woman.”

  Annan turned to Saewara, his gaze still avoiding hers, and took hold of her hand. His hand was warm and strong, and his touch made Saewara’s pulse quicken.

  “Sabert.” Annan turned his head to where the dark-haired warrior stood behind them, acknowledging him for the first time. “Show him the shield.”

  The warrior nodded and removed the covering from the large object he carried; revealing a huge lime wood shield, covered with leather and studded with an iron boss. It was mighty, well-made and heavy.

  “This shield was made for my father, Eni of the Wuffingas,” Annan said, his voice toneless and flat, his face a mask. “He passed away before he was able to wield it, so I give this shield as handgeld, in payment for this woman. As morgengifu, your sister will receive two gold arm rings.”

  Penda nodded. “Your handgeld is accepted. Say then, the words that will seal your betrothal.”

  Annan turned back to Saewara. His gaze met hers, but it appeared that he was looking through, rather than at her. His hand that enclosed hers did not move but Saewara saw the despair in his eyes. This was even worse than she had thought; they both despised this union.

  “I, Annan of the East Angles, declare myself witness that you, Saewara of Tamworth, bond me in lawful betrothal,” Annan began, his voice low and emotionless, “and with this handshake you pledge me marriage in exchange for the handgeld I have given and the morgengifu I have promised. You are henceforth betrothed to me and will fulfill and observe the whole of the oath between us, which has been said in the hearing of witnesses without wiles or cunning, as a true and honest oath.”

  A silence followed his words and Saewara closed her eyes as he released her hand.

  It was done.

  “Very well.” Penda broke the silence. “Now, all that remains is to fix the date of your handfast ceremony. I will make the arrangements.”

  “No,” Annan replied, his tone firm. “We will marry in the ‘Golden Hall’ of the Wuffingas, surrounded by my folk, not here under your roof.”

  Penda regarded Annan, his pale eyes clouding. “I don’t think you should be so hasty to make demands while you are ‘under my roof’. If I insist, you are hardly in the position to deny me.”

  “If my people are to accept your sister as queen, it is better that we wed in Rendlaesham,” Annan replied, his tone brooking no argument. “That way, they would witness the joining of our two kingdoms.”

  A tense silence now filled the hall. Annan held the Mercian King’s gaze, refusing to back down. Eventually, Penda gave a low, mocking laugh.

  “It seems you are resolute. Very well, marry her in Rendlaesham if you must. However, I will send one of my men with your party to ensure the handfasting actually takes place.”

  Annan’s gaze narrowed. “Do you doubt my word?”

  Penda’s mouth curved into a cold smile. “Naturally.”

  Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them, before Penda stepped back and gave another smile, this one considerably warmer.

  “Enough with the formalities Annan. You are, after all, a guest in my hall and welcome to enjoy my hospitality. If you insist on waiting until you return to your kingdom before marrying Saewara, at least indulge me by staying on in Tamworth another day. Tomorrow, I have organized games to take place outside the walls: archery, axe-throwing, wrestling, sword-fighting. It will be a fine contest. What say you?”

  Annan hesitated a moment before he nodded curtly. “Very well, I can wait a day.”

  “Excellent.” Penda stepped back onto the high seat, his smile widening. “Until then, let us break bread and drink together as brothers – for soon we shall be family.”

  Annan’s expression darkened at that, although he wisely held his tongue.

  Saewara watched her brother with
growing concern. Knowing him as she did, she did not trust his sudden friendliness toward the King of the East Angles. The forced joviality in his tone, and the wolfish edge to his smile, made her wary.

  What was he plotting?

  Chapter Five

  Penda’s Game

  Saewara stepped out into bright sunlight and blinked rapidly while her eyes adjusted. After a long, dark winter, she was unused to seeing the sun’s friendly face. A warm breeze laced with many smells, some pleasant, others less so, caressed her face. The wind brought with it the smell of grass, wildflowers and warm earth; overlaid with the stench of human and animal waste from the cesspit on the eastern outskirts of Tamworth. All it took was for the breeze to blow from a certain direction and the air became foul; now, was one such occasion.

  Flanked by the two ealdormen’s wives, Saewara picked up her skirts and made her way out of the yard that ringed the Great Tower, and into the streets beyond. They followed the crowd of townsfolk toward the meadows west of Tamworth, not far from where the barrows of the Mercian kings and nobility formed a silhouette against the sky.

  Leaving the stench of decomposing waste behind, Saewara breathed deeply once more. She was dressed for the mild weather, in a long linen sleeveless tunic with a green woolen over-dress, belted at the waist.

  Enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin, Saewara stepped out onto the meadow. Despite her unhappiness, she could not help but look about her with interest. She always enjoyed the spring games. They were a celebration of winter’s end, and the meadows around Tamworth were bright with spring flowers and lush with new growth.

  A festive air had brought smiles to the faces of the folk who crowded around the perimeter of the cordoned off area. A wrestling and sword fighting ring had been erected, and two bare-chested warriors were in the middle of a wrestling match in the center of it. Saewara recognized the dark-haired East Angle warrior with the broken nose, who had accompanied Annan, as one of the contestants. Even from this distance, he was clearly winning. A cheering crowd ringed the wrestlers, urging and heckling in turns. At the other end of the area, burly warriors were lining up to throw axes, while archers were taking their place in front of where lads were setting up a row of ten targets. The targets were round, and stained in five rings: yellow at the center, followed by red, blue, black and white.

  Saewara recognized the targets. They were the same ones she had spent many an afternoon practicing on as girl, back when life had been so much simpler. Those days, it had not mattered that she was female; and with no mother to keep her in check, Saewara had run wild. She had dressed like a boy, and had followed her two elder brothers around like a lost puppy, much to Eafa and Penda’s chagrin.

  However, once childhood ended, so did her freedom. From that point on, she had become a pawn to trade at will. Archery was not a sport for high-born ladies to partake in.

  A roar went up to Saewara’s left as the East Angle warrior bested his wrestling opponent. The warrior grinned maniacally as he ground the loser into the dirt. Saewara watched with interest, before spying Annan on the opposite side of the wrestling ring.

  Her betrothed had not yet seen her. Annan stood watching his countryman beat his opponent. He was dressed simply, in a sleeveless tunic; a heavy, iron-studded belt; and breeches that were cross-gartered to the knee. His face was unreadable this morning. He watched the festivities dispassionately and not once glanced in Saewara’s direction.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Saewara saw a flash of white blond hair and black fur and leather, as Penda of Mercia took his place amongst the crowd. She hoped that he had not yet seen her, and was about to drift away, with the intention of finding a spot to watch the archery competition, when the Mercian King’s voice boomed out across the crowd.

  “A fine display of East Angle prowess!” Penda stepped forward and clapped his hands, applauding the dark-haired warrior for his victory, although his gaze was mocking. The warrior in question straightened up, his expression darkening.

  Penda’s gaze, however, was not on the wrestler, but on the King of the East Angles. Annan stared back at him, his face giving nothing away.

  “Come, Annan,” Penda continued with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Join your men in a bit friendly competition. I hear you are highly skilled with a longbow. Why not accept a challenge against my champion in archery?”

  “Archery?” Annan frowned. Archery was not a ‘kingly’ sport. While it was common for most warriors to learn how to wield a bow and arrow, and use them while hunting, these weapons were not used by ealdormen and nobility in other circumstances, especially in battle. Saewara’s gaze flicked between her brother and Annan. She could see from Penda’s face that he had not yet finished.

  “Yes – we Mercians are fine bowmen,” Penda continued smoothly, “although I’ve heard it said that the East Angles are better. Come now, prove your skills against my champion.”

  Penda’s words drew some sniggers from the crowd, although the faces of the East Angle warriors present grew thunderous. To his credit, Annan had managed to keep his expression impassive.

  “So be it,” he replied, his voice quiet. “And who is your champion?”

  Penda grinned then, and swiveled round to face Saewara, his gaze snaring hers. Saewara’s stomach twisted – she knew that smile.

  “One of the finest archers in my family,” Penda drawled. “My sister.”

  ***

  Saewara took the ash longbow and quiver full of yew, feather-fletched arrows that one of the lads assisting with the archery competition handed to her. Despite her shock at being forced into a competition she had not prepared for, she felt an unexpected rush of pleasure at the feel of the longbow in her hands.

  It had been a while, but some things were never forgotten.

  At that moment, Annan strode by. He walked right by Saewara, without acknowledging her, carrying his bow at his side and a quiver of arrows over one shoulder. His face was thunderous.

  Saewara watched him go, nonplussed. She had been about to greet her betrothed, but seeing his deliberate refusal to acknowledge her, she felt an unexpected, hot rush of anger.

  It did not matter what she did, where she went, or what she said – men were determined to treat her as if she was a nithing – a creature not even worth greeting. The rage that coursed through her, now overcame the misery and the self-absorption that had immobilized her for so long. The force of it galvanized Saewara’s resolve. She watched the men, all individuals who worked the fields around Tamworth, take their places.

  I’ll show you all, she thought bitterly before her gaze settled upon Annan, who had taken his place at the far end. I will beat you this day.

  Saewara took her place at the end of the row; the position nearest the noisy crowd – and the place all the other contestants had avoided.

  Ignoring her surroundings, Saewara busied herself with checking the tension of her hemp bow string, and selecting the six arrows she would use for the first round.

  The Range Master for the competition was a huge man, with handsome, chiseled features and cruel eyes. His gaze settled on Saewara for a moment, his mouth twisting in derision, before he began to shout out the rules of the competitions.

  “Archers – there will be three rounds,” he shouted. “After the first round, your scores will be counted and the five top scoring archers will pass to the next round. Only the top two scoring archers will go through to the third, and final round. The points are as follows: one for the white, two for the black, three for the blue, four for the red – and five for those who hit the yellow.”

  The rules were simple enough; Saewara had watched plenty of archery competitions although she had never taken part in one. She could hear the sniggers and ribald comments from the crowd, and could feel the hot stares of the men. Ignoring them all, Saewara squared her shoulders and breathed deeply, fixing her gaze on the target.

  “Archers, ready your bows!” the Range Master ordered. “On the count of three – loose y
our arrows! One, two, three!”

  Saewara’s arrows flew straight and true. She hit the yellow twice, the red once and the blue thrice. When she had loosed the sixth arrow, the Range Master’s voice boomed across the meadow.

  “Archers – lay down your bows. Your scores will be counted.”

  Saewara did as she was told, resisting the urge to glance along the line to see how the others had fared, especially Annan. She was pleased with her score, although she knew she could do better. When her name was called as one of the five to go ahead to the second round, she felt a thrill surge through her. It did not matter that to the world she was worth nothing – she was good at something at least.

  “Archers, ready your bows!”

  Saewara did even better in the second round: two in the yellow, three in the red and one in the blue.

  There was a tense wait while the Range Master had the remaining five contestants’ scores counted. Saewara continued to stare at her hands, blocking out the world. Her heart started to race when the Range Master finally took his place with the names of the top two archers to go forward. She looked up then and studied his expression. The man wore a sour look, as if he had just taken a sip of vinegar.

  Saewara knew then, the names he was about to call.

  “Annan of the Wuffingas and Saewara of Tamworth – you are both through to the final round.”

  The crowd hooted and cheered. For the first time, Saewara allowed her gaze to travel over to where Annan stood at the end of the row. His face was carved of stone, his blue eyes glittering slits. It was the ultimate insult. To face-off with a woman in the final round, under the jeers of the crowd, was one of the biggest slights a man of noble birth could suffer.

  Good, Saewara thought bitterly. May you choke on this, Annan of the East Angles.

  Saewara caught her brother’s eye on the edge of the crowd, and Penda winked at her. Ignoring him, she turned back to the target and notched an arrow into her longbow.