Penda watched him closely. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
‘I’ve seen ten summers,’ Egfrid replied.
‘Ten! Old enough to be fostered! They keep you coddled at home with a nurse, like a lass!’
Egfrid considered his life to be far from coddled. He was forced to spend hours learning to read and write, under Brother Chad’s strict instruction. He longed instead to ride at his father King Oswy’s side; to move from thane’s hall to thane’s hall to gather payment; to put down rebellion and pass judgement on those who’d broken the king’s laws. Egfrid rarely saw his mother, for Queen Eanfleda spent most of her time visiting holy women and monasteries.
‘My father seeks a foster family,’ he said. ‘But I need a royal household, as I am a king’s son.’
Penda frowned. ‘My boy Wulfhere is fostered by the finest fighter in Mercia. I make my sons into warriors.’ He rubbed his long white beard, watching Egfrid thoughtfully. At last he turned away. ‘Fetch food,’ he ordered. ‘I could eat a horse!’
Egfrid sat on a rock and pulled on his boots. When the food came he accepted bread and cheese, and found that he was very hungry. Fritha sat down beside him to eat.
‘You’re the lucky one,’ she said quietly.
Egfrid stared at her amazed; he’d been dragged from his home, carried far away, treated roughly and threatened with bloody pagan rites! How could he be lucky?
She chuckled, when she saw his expression. ‘I know him,’ she insisted. ‘He likes the way you answer him. You live, don’t you? The braver you are, the better he’ll like you!’
Egfrid considered this.
‘Is he wounded?’ he asked.
‘An old leg wound troubles him,’ Fritha said, ‘but no wound will keep Penda down.’
Egfrid ate, trying not to look in the direction of the ash tree. When drinks were offered he refused the mead, but accepted a sip of ale. Fritha saw how awkwardly he pulled at the neck of his sister’s gown and searched in her baggage. She pulled out a worn pair of breeches and a rough tunic.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘If you roll up the sleeves and legs, they’ll fit you well enough.’
Egfrid struggled gratefully into them.
Penda’s men dozed for a while by the river bank, but the king stumped back to his horse. ‘Get moving,’ he bellowed. ‘Throw the lad up to me.’
Egfrid found himself seated astride Penda’s stallion, in front of the king. He clutched at the thick dark mane of the powerful beast, and gently patted the muscular shoulder.
Penda saw the small gesture. ‘His name is Thunderer. Can you stay upright, if we gallop?’ he asked.
Egfrid remembered what Fritha had said. ‘Yes,’ he replied firmly. ‘But can my book-master and nurse be released? They won’t escape, for they’d never leave me.’
‘Their lives are in your hands,’ Penda said. ‘We ride towards the backbone hills, and if you ride like a man, with no complaints, then your people will be freed from their bonds in the morning.’
Egfrid swallowed hard. ‘But if their bonds are as tight as mine were, they might never walk again!’
There was a tense moment of silence, then Penda called for Fritha. ‘Go back to the captives and see their feet untied, so they can ride upright. Not their hands, mind!’
Fritha raised an eyebrow at Egfrid and went off to find Chad and Annis.
‘We head for Tamworth. Hold tight, boy!’ Penda bellowed.
They headed south-west and at times Egfrid grabbed Thunderer’s mane, to prevent himself from flying straight over the stallion’s ears, but he was more comfortable riding upright. It grew dark, but Penda and his warriors knew the tracks well. Egfrid’s heart leapt as they jumped a ditch and Penda’s tree-trunk arms encircled him. He’d longed to ride with his father like this, but his mother declared it too dangerous. Perhaps he had been coddled a little!
All through the night they rode, stopping briefly to let the horses feed and rest. At last they moved through a high hill pass and as the ground began to slope downhill, an air of celebration developed. The warriors sounded their horns as they came to halt beside a rune-carved boundary stone.
‘From here on all the land is mine,’ Penda announced.
They dismounted and Egfrid found that he ached more than ever.
‘I’ve not caused trouble,’ he said, anxious that the king might forget his promise. ‘I haven’t complained!’
Penda gave a snort of amusement. ‘Fetch the captives,’ he ordered.
Annis and Chad appeared, more dishevelled than ever, a livid bruise on the nurse’s mouth. Chad’s chin and forehead were covered with stubble, for he usually shaved both, as his religion demanded. One of his eyes had turned black.
‘Untie them,’ Penda ordered.
Egfrid rushed to hug Annis.
‘Dear boy,’ she murmured softly. Then she sniffed at his tunic. ‘What have they dressed you in?’
Egfrid grinned. ‘I stink, don’t I? But I’m content. Better than a lass’s gown!’
She looked dismayed. ‘We meant only to—’
‘I know,’ he cut in. ‘You meant to save me and I should have listened to you.’
‘Give them food and drink!’ Penda ordered. ‘But hear this, holy man: if you or the woman run, the boy will be killed instantly.’
Egfrid paled at the harsh words.
‘We will not run,’ Chad said quietly.
CHAPTER 4
The Pagan Queen
Two sturdy ponies were brought for Chad and Annis to ride.
‘Not far to Tamworth,’ Penda said. ‘Hah! Wait till my queen hears that I’ve stolen Faint-heart Oswy’s brat, she’ll give me earache.’
‘Why do you call my father Faint-heart?’ Egfrid dared to ask.
Penda snorted with laughter as they set off again.
‘Whenever I come north, he hides in some fortress. He never comes out to fight like his brother did. There was a man worth fighting. Oswald Whiteblade was no faint-heart.’
‘But you killed him. You killed my uncle!’
Penda grunted. ‘I killed him in battle. He died an honourable death. No warrior can ask more. A king must fight for his land, or he has no honour. Were Whiteblade still a worshipper of Woden, he’d have gone straight to the feasting hall of the gods. Your father is a coward who’ll die in his bed!’
Egfrid bit his tongue, afraid to say more.
Penda kicked Thunderer into a gallop and Egfrid clung on tight, wishing he’d been brave enough to remind Penda what had happened after the battle in which Oswald Whiteblade was killed.
Egfrid’s father never spoke of it, but Cedric, the oldest of his hearth-companions, had related the tale. He told how Oswy had ridden south, with only his closest companions, as soon as he heard of his brother’s death. He’d discovered the battlefield and found Whiteblade’s body, his head and arms set up on stakes, for a raven-feast.
Oswy, looking grim as death, had gathered his brother’s remains, and carried them back to Bamburgh. That was surely no coward’s act. But since then Oswy had been forced to submit to Penda’s will, ruling only the northern part of his brother’s kingdom.
Egfrid knew that he should hate this ruthless old warrior. If he managed to survive and grow to manhood, he should try to kill him, but he also found that he could not forget the traitorous gate guards’ terrible fate. There was something in Penda’s startling sense of justice that made him hard to hate.
The countryside to the south of the backbone ridge was very different. Here were gently rolling hills that provided rich pastureland for cattle, sheep and pigs, with plenty of woodland for timber.
The queen’s court at Tamworth came into view, a high-roofed, straw-thatched hall, built on a mound above the river Tame, and surrounded by smaller dwellings. Just one strong palisade protected the settlement, but Egfrid saw shields and spears up on its ramparts. It seemed Queen Cynewise had her own warrior band.
Penda greeted the sight with a huge, joyful bellow. ‘Fine food and
drink lie ahead,’ he cried, ‘and a warm welcome from my queen.’
His companions raised a wild din that was answered by horns.
‘My daughters will carry spiced mead to us—and there’ll be roasted hog, dripping with fat! What do you say to that?’
Egfrid’s stomach clenched with fear. ‘Roast hog for you,’ he said quietly.
‘Roast hog for you too, boy,’ Penda said, and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘We do not starve our hostages!’
But despite the king’s hearty assurance, Egfrid feared what lay ahead.
The great gates of the palisade swung open and they rode into the inner courtyard. The pediment of the hall was carved with ravens, boar’s heads and sheaves of corn, painted in vivid shades of crimson and gold. He knew the boars and sheaves were symbols of the goddess Freya, once revered in his homeland Bernicia, but frowned upon now the Bernicians were followers of the Christ-God.
The courtyard thronged with people who pressed forward to greet the returning warriors. One woman strode ahead of the crowd, beautifully dressed in a braid-trimmed gown of red and green. Her faded auburn hair was circled by a golden diadem and garnets gleamed on a chain about her neck.
As she came closer, Egfrid’s mouth fell open in shock. This must be Queen Cynewise, and yet he felt sure he’d seen her face before.
Penda climbed down from the saddle and grabbed his wife to steady himself. He covered her face with kisses, while she laughed.
‘You stink like a beast,’ she told him roundly. ‘I’ll set the maids to heat water and then we’ll see about kissing.’
Egfrid stared, shocked to witness such an open display of affection, and shaken that the queen seemed so familiar. How could he possibly know the wife of his father’s greatest enemy?
At last she looked up and saw his pale frightened face. ‘And who is this?’ she asked.
‘This is treasure!’ Penda told her. ‘Better than gold, he is! This is Faint-heart’s son Egfrid, and I’ve taken him hostage!’
‘Oswy’s boy?’ she murmured. ‘A prince of Bernicia? But how…?’
‘The fools left him at Bamburgh, there for the taking!’
‘You got into the fortress?’
‘We had help.’ Penda shrugged. ‘His nurse tried to dress him in lass’s skirts, but we weren’t fooled. Perhaps his father will now come out and fight! Better than gold, this boy could be.’
Cynewise looked unsure. ‘Oswy is unpredictable,’ she warned. ‘We’d best take care of his son.’
‘Of course’ Penda agreed. ‘He’s a good lad, no harm need come to him! I’ve brought his holy man and his nurse with him. What more can he want?’
Egfrid, still in the saddle, stared down at the queen, and she chuckled.
‘Poor boy, he stares at me as though he’s seen a ghost,’ she said.
‘I think I have seen you before, lady,’ Egfrid managed. Penda laughed.
The queen shook her head. ‘No, not me,’ she said. ‘But you must know my younger sister Cyneburgh well.’
Egfrid was more astonished than ever, for he now saw that her face was almost the twin of his aunt’s—Oswald Whiteblade’s widow.
Cynewise nodded. ‘Yes, my sister married the great King Oswald Whiteblade. I see they never told you that her older sister wed the wicked Mercian king?’ she added dryly. ‘Come here, Oswy’s boy, and give me a kiss. You and I are kin by marriage!’
Egfrid slipped down from the saddle to be caught in her arms. Cynewise kissed him warmly, and he saw that his poor widowed aunt was just the pale ghost of her sister.
‘Wife, we need food and drink,’ Penda cut in. ‘First things first. The boy can wait.’
Cynewise turned from Egfrid to laughingly pull her husband’s beard. ‘Come along, wicked husband,’ she said.
CHAPTER 5
Queen’s Court
Servants surged after the king and queen and Egfrid was left behind. The connections between their families that the queen had revealed had set his mind racing with dark thoughts. If his aunt was the Mercian queen’s sister, then Whiteblade had been Penda’s brother-in-law—but Penda had still killed him. Killing kin broke all rules of honour. No wonder there was such bad blood between the two kingdoms.
Egfrid felt a soft touch on his arm and looked round, to find Annis there with Chad. Penda had kept his word and released them.
‘What will happen to us now?’ he asked.
But before they could answer, the queen returned. Chad bowed courteously and Annis bobbed a curtsey.
Cynewise noted the blackened eye and bruised face. ‘We must make you clean and comfortable,’ she said. ‘I will order a guest house to be prepared. Come with me now.’
They followed her obediently and the queen left them sitting awkwardly for a while at the edge of the hearth, where Penda and his companions had settled to drink and eat. The hall was decorated with brightly painted shields and richly coloured woven tapestries. Servants bustled everywhere with jugs of ale and armfuls of bedding.
Very soon Cynewise returned to take them outside to where a row of neat timber houses stood. The one they were given was furnished with a bed, a truckle, a trestle with stools and a shuttered window-hole that opened onto the courtyard. A fire glowed in the stone hearth and in front of it a tub of warm water steamed. It was both inviting and comfortable, even though two armed warriors stood on guard outside.
A servant brought fresh clothing, but Chad declined it, explaining to the queen that his monk’s habit was all he needed, though he’d be glad to shave his head again.
She shook her head amused. ‘Well, we will allow you your strange rites, holy man, but tonight we feast to welcome my husband and you must attend—all three of you. I’ll leave you to recover from your ride. Send a servant if there’s anything you need.’
Despite the queen’s kindness and the comfort of their surroundings, as soon they were left alone, Egfrid sat down on the bed, covered his face with his hands and wept.
Annis sat down beside him and tried to hug him, but he turned away from her. ‘Don’t,’ he ordered.
Chad understood. ‘Leave him,’ he said, gently. ‘He has a right to weep.’
Annis went reluctantly to examine the clothing the servants had brought, while Egfrid struggled to regain his dignity.
At last he dashed his tears away and raised his head. ‘What will they do to me now?’ he asked. ‘I’m captured by the man who killed my uncle. I’m disgraced and my father will be furious.’
Chad sat down beside him. ‘He should not be furious with you,’ he said.
‘But what will they do with me?’
‘I don’t know,’ Chad admitted. ‘But now they have us safe in Mercia, they seem to treat us kindly.’
Annis lifted a tunic. ‘These clothes are good,’ she said. ‘This is twice madder dyed, trimmed with tablet weave and just a little worn. And the gowns they’ve brought for me are far too good.’
Both boy and monk smiled at the cheerful note that had crept into her voice.
‘I’m glad you are both here with me,’ Egfrid admitted.
‘Clothing and comfortable accommodation must mean they’ll let us live,’ Chad said. ‘I think they might demand a ransom from your father.’
Egfrid shuddered. ‘He will be furious if he is forced to give the Mercians gold.’
‘They might want land,’ Chad suggested.
‘He’d hate that even more!’
‘Well,’ said Chad, ‘we are here and must make the best of it. We are alive and together, praise God.’
‘Praise God,’ Annis echoed with feeling.
‘Amen,’ Egfrid added.
‘I shall sit outside and leave you for a while to wash and dress,’ Chad said.
As the monk went, Annis gently started to peel Egfrid’s dirty tunic away from his bruised shoulders.
Chad appeared again, as the light began to fade. He’d brushed his habit and shaved the stubble from his chin and forehead. ‘We’re to go to the feasting ha
ll,’ he said.
Annis too had washed and dressed in the gown she thought so fine. Apart from their bruises, they looked more their usual selves again.
Warm smells of food drifted from the huts all around the feasting hall. The guards fell in behind them as they left the shelter of their guest hut. Penda’s great meeting place was as large as any Oswy Iding owned, but noisier and more crowded than the hall at Bamburgh. They hovered uncertainly on the threshold.
‘Where should we go?’ Egfrid asked uncertainly.
Penda and Cynewise were seated at a trestle, on a raised dais, close to the fire. Hunting dogs and a few cats lazed around the long hearth. Warriors and richly gowned women filled the hall with a great deal of noise and cheerful greeting. Queen Cynewise saw them hesitating and beckoned them inside.
‘Come, join us at the high table. Yes, you too, the nurse and the holy man. Sit there opposite Woden’s priest. No Christian wizardry here!’ she added with quiet amusement.
Chad was placed across the table from a gnarled old man in a horned headdress. Annis nervously took her place, unused to being treated as a guest.
A horn sounded three blasts and to the sound of drums, a procession of richly dressed young women entered the hall, carrying heavy, gold-trimmed mead-horns. Cynewise took the largest one and offered it to Penda.
‘I’ve been looking forward to this,’ the king announced. He tipped the horn and took a long pull at the sweet drink. Everyone cheered as he finished with a huge burp. The feast had begun.
Musicians strummed lutes as food was carried in from the kitchen huts outside and delicious scents drifted across the hall. As Penda had promised, a crisp boar’s head that steamed and crackled was presented on a silver charger.
Penda hacked at it with his knife. ‘Here, give this to the boy,’ he said, handing a generous portion to his wife to pass on to Egfrid. ‘He will never have tasted anything so good. I promised him this as we rode through the night.’
Better than Gold Page 2
