Better than Gold

by Theresa Tomlinson

Everyone turned to watch as Egfrid lifted the golden delicacy to his lips and began to crunch on it. There were low chuckles at the look of pleasure that came unbidden to his face.

  Sheep’s haunches cooked in herbs and wine appeared, along with roasted swan and goose, served with rich buttery sauces and soft white bread. Egfrid realised he was hungry, but looked up in alarm at Annis. ‘Could it be poisoned?’ he whispered.

  She turned at once to Chad, her own hand hovering halfway to her mouth.

  Chad gave a small shake of his head and calmly took a bite from a hunk of bread. They ate and couldn’t help but enjoy the food. A sharp tug on his tunic made Egfrid glance beneath the table, to find a small mottled hound boldly pawing his knee. He kicked it away, longing miserably for his own dog Woodruff.

  CHAPTER 6

  Queen’s Boon

  The hall was filled with the sound of loud voices and the clatter of gold and silver plates, as one delicious dish after another was presented.

  When a lull made it possible to speak, the queen turned to Egfrid. ‘The princess who led the procession is my oldest daughter Cyneburgh,’ she told him. ‘She’s named for my sister and all our young warriors want to marry her.’

  Egfrid nodded politely.

  The queen’s expression changed. ‘Tell me, how is my sister, the widowed queen?’

  Egfrid shrugged. ‘She wants to be a nun,’ he said.

  Cynewise looked thoughtful. ‘I remember a pale, quiet girl. We never saw each other again once I’d married Penda. My father converted to the Christian faith, but I had come to Mercia as a peace-weaver bride and felt that I couldn’t betray the gods of my husband’s kingdom. Your holy man might disagree, I think.’

  Egfrid made no reply. He sensed that the queen was not really talking to him, but to Chad.

  Woden’s priest turned angrily to the Christian monk, expecting a response that he could challenge, but Chad refused to rise to the provocation.

  ‘You are a loyal wife, lady,’ he said.

  The queen smiled. ‘And I see that you are something of a peace-maker too. That is my son,’ she said, pointing to a young man with a pleasant face who sat at the king’s right hand. ‘His father always called him Beorn—little bear—and now he’s known as Prince Beorn.’

  Beorn raised his drink-horn to them in a cheerful manner. ‘Drink-hail!’ he cried.

  Egfrid could not help but smile.

  ‘Beorn is soon to be made king of the Middle Angles,’ Cynewise added proudly.

  ‘I think you have a younger son, lady,’ Egfrid said. ‘One who trains to be a warrior?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said wistfully. ‘Wulfhere lives with his foster-father, one of Mercia’s greatest warriors. He’ll come back to us soon when he is battle-trained.’

  Egfrid sensed that he’d saddened her, but that made him resentful, for he had a mother who must be terrified for him.

  ‘My mother will weep when she knows I’m taken hostage,’ he said.

  Cynewise nodded. ‘Yes, she’ll weep,’ she agreed. ‘Any mother would weep.’

  The queen sat quietly for a while and then turned from Egfrid to talk to her husband. The soft damp nose of the young hound came pushing into the boy’s hand for food again and with a sigh, he took a titbit from the table and fed it.

  The feast rolled on, as jugglers performed in the space behind the fire. Acrobats walked on their hands and danced to the rhythm of drums, followed by a girl with trained dogs that jumped through hoops and twisted through her legs. This act caused something of a commotion, for the creatures’ antics set the hunting hounds baying.

  At last the girl, her dogs and the hunting hounds were all shooed out of the hall, growling and snatching meat bones as they passed. Egfrid looked for the friendly pup, but he seemed to have gone with the rest.

  The hall grew quieter when they’d gone, and Penda sat back in his carved wooden chair and stroked his beard. He looked thoughtfully across at Egfrid, and then suddenly called forward the warriors who’d ridden north with him. They received gifts, gold armbands, rings and brooches—rewards for their loyalty and support.

  ‘Shall we summon the songsters and fetch the harp-stool?’ Beorn asked when the gift-giving came to an end.

  ‘Not yet,’ Penda said. ‘I have something important to say. One more gift to bestow.’

  Beorn looked somewhat surprised, but he stood up at once and beat the hilt of his meat knife loudly on a bronze platter to call for silence. All faces turned to the king.

  ‘My dear wife Cynewise has begged a boon of me,’ Penda announced. ‘And I am minded to grant her wish, for no king could have a more wise and loyal queen.’ He turned towards Egfrid and said, ‘Step forward, Oswy’s boy!’

  The feasters turned to stare and Egfrid’s stomach lurched. He wished he hadn’t eaten quite so much for suddenly he felt sick. Chad put a protective hand on Egfrid’s shoulder.

  ‘You too, holy man,’ the king said, seeing the gesture. ‘And bring the little nurse-maid too!’

  Annis paled, but she bravely got up and led the way around the table, so that all three of them stood at the front of the dais.

  Penda and Cynewise both rose from their seats, the queen taking the king’s arm to help him.

  ‘Stand by me, boy,’ the king said.

  Egfrid glanced nervously for a hidden weapon, but the old warrior’s gnarled palm appeared empty. Feeling there was no choice, he obediently went to stand by the king.

  ‘I ask you, holy man of Bernicia, and my companions to bear witness to what I now do,’ Penda said.

  Egfrid feared that his throat might be cut, but instead he found that Penda laid a hand gently on his head and spoke the most astonishing words. ‘I, Penda, King of Mercia do take Egfrid, Prince of Bernicia to be my foster-son.’

  There came an audible gasp from all who watched. Egfrid blinked, thinking this must be some foolish dream.

  ‘I will treat this boy as I would my own son,’ the king finished, formally. ‘By Woden, I do swear it!’

  Annis and Chad glanced at each other and then stared back at the king in amazement.

  ‘Do you, holy man, bear witness to this honourable oath?’ Penda asked.

  ‘I do,’ Chad said quickly.

  There was another moment of stunned silence, and then cheering broke out. Egfrid caught the eye of the woman Fritha, who sat near the fire looking clean and tidy. She nodded secretively and smiled.

  The feasters hammered their knives on the wooden trestles, for it seemed the king’s generous gesture had met with their approval.

  Cynewise kissed Egfrid on both cheeks. ‘Now we are kin by foster vows,’ she said. ‘And I am your foster-mother.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Egfrid whispered, for he knew that she was to thank for this. No great king could ever kill his foster-son.

  ‘Tell the bard to sing of what he’s witnessed,’ Penda ordered.

  Everyone sat down and Egfrid returned to his seat, feeling dazed. Had this really happened and what did it mean? Was he still a hostage?

  The bard came forward, searching quickly to find words to praise this unexpected turn of events. After a moment he struck the strings of his harp and looked up with a confident smile.

  ‘A young eagle flew from his eyrie,

  Seeking a famous foster-father

  A stout-hearted hero

  To teach him the way of the warrior

  And take him under his wing.

  How could such a man be found?

  A wide-ruler, a warrior of worth

  Fearless in fighting; the bane of his foes,

  Only the powerful, praise-worthy Penda

  Could answer the young eagle’s call!’

  Everyone smiled, impressed by the bard’s skilful quick thinking. One songster followed another, with wilder praise, though Penda appeared exhausted. Cynewise leant forward to gently take the drink-horn from her husband’s hand.

  ‘Holy man,’ she said, turning to Chad. ‘Take my foster son and his nursemaid back
to your hut. He has a hard day’s work ahead of him tomorrow.’

  ‘Am I still a hostage?’ Egfrid asked wearily, as they stumbled across the courtyard. The two guards followed and took up their position once again.

  ‘I fear so,’ Chad said quietly. ‘We will talk again in the morning.’

  ‘Where will you sleep?’ Annis asked him.

  ‘I shall lie across the threshold,’ he said. ‘I am used to hard floors.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m glad of that,’ she said.

  And Egfrid knew that, king’s foster-son or not, they must never drop their guard.

  CHAPTER 7

  Another Familiar Face

  Next morning Egfrid woke wondering whether he’d had a strange dream. Chad and Annis were eating breakfast by the hearth. He sat up in bed. ‘Am I the king and queen’s foster-son?’ he asked them uncertainly.

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘The king swore by his god Woden,’ said Chad. ‘I don’t think Penda’s a man to break his oath.’

  ‘But…if I am his foster-child and to be treated as his son, then am I not free to go home if I wish?’

  ‘I think not,’ said Chad. ‘A foster-son cannot go running home whenever he wishes. Wulfhere cannot come back to his mother until he is warrior-trained.’

  ‘But, it must be a good thing,’ Annis hastened to say. ‘For surely it means that no harm can come to you. Now eat some of this porridge I’ve kept warm for you.’

  No sooner was Egfrid dressed and breakfasted than the queen sent a servant to escort him and Chad to the stables, where they found her waiting.

  ‘Do you ride?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Egfrid said, uncertainly.

  A groom led forward a sturdy bay gelding with a sand-coloured mane and tail. The horse was fitted with a soft leather saddle and bridle.

  ‘He’s yours,’ said the queen.

  Egfrid couldn’t stop smiling. The gelding was a handsome beast, though taller than any mount he’d ridden. Perhaps Annis was right: there was much to be gained from being treated as a foster child. ‘What is he called?’ he asked.

  ‘Golden-mane. Can you get up into the saddle?’

  Egfrid nodded eagerly and Chad bent to help him mount as Cynewise watched with approval.

  ‘We will ride out,’ she said.

  ‘Lady, I must keep the boy in my sight,’ Chad told her.

  ‘I hope you can ride fast, holy man,’ she said.

  She mounted a silver-grey mare with the ease of an experienced horsewoman, while a nervous roan was led forward for Chad. Cynewise headed out through the main gate towards a stretch of rolling grassland, urging her mare to canter. Egfrid clung on tightly and tried to keep up, while Chad just managed to stay in sight.

  They returned to Tamworth when the sun was high, and after a brief meal in the queen’s great hall, Penda called Egfrid to him.

  ‘Now we will turn you into a warrior,’ he said. ‘Follow me!’

  Egfrid, still a little breathless from his fast ride, dared not complain. Penda led the way to the training ground, where a muscular man was waiting for them.

  ‘Sigurd is your battle-master,’ Penda said. ‘He is captain of the queen’s warrior band. Start with the spear, Sigurd, just as with my own sons. Then, when he has mastered that, we shall see about lifting a sword.’

  Egfrid’s mind swung into confusion with more of the troubling thoughts that had come to him on the journey. If he learned warrior skills, then surely his first duty as his father’s son must be to kill the Mercian king? But how would the Christ-God regard one who killed his foster-father?

  The king left them. Egfrid saw that he limped badly as he walked away; Penda could not fight for ever.

  ‘Come forward,’ Sigurd ordered.

  Egfrid summoned his courage, lifted his chin and stepped forward. Soon there was no time to worry or fret for the Mercian was a strict taskmaster. Chad watched anxiously, never taking his eyes from his charge as he struggled to copy lunging movements with a light spear and shield.

  As the light began to fade, Sigurd told him to put what he’d learned into practice. ‘Come at me boy,’ he said. ‘Attack is the best defence! Come at me as though you mean to kill me!’

  Egfrid hesitated. ‘Come at me,’ Sigurd growled. ‘Or are you a cowardly faint-heart like your father?’

  Anger rose. Egfrid thought of the dark bruise still there on Annis’s face, and he lunged at his battle-master shouting curses, only to find that Sigurd skilfully turned the weapon aside, using his shield.

  ‘Aah!’ Egfrid groaned.

  Sigurd grinned. ‘Enough for one day! We will make a warrior out of you yet!’

  Egfrid felt battered from head to toe, but also strangely elated.

  Back in his chamber Annis fretted over his hurts, gently applying marigold balm. ‘I didn’t refuse, or complain,’ he told her with fierce pride.

  ‘No,’ Chad, agreed. ‘He didn’t.’

  Just before the evening meal, they heard horns and shouting, followed by the sound of hooves. All three looked up at each other, anxious as to what this might mean.

  ‘I’ll see what it is,’ Chad said.

  He returned quickly, his expression bright. ‘Better news, I think. Prince Ethelwald has arrived. Your father has sent your cousin to act as a go-between. He’s come to ask for your safe return.’

  ‘My cousin Ethelwald—Whiteblade’s son? Can I go home then?’ Egfrid asked. His father had not abandoned him to his fate as he feared he might.

  Chad shook his head. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. Coming to an agreement could take a long time, but it is a start.’

  ‘How long?’ Egfrid asked uneasily.

  ‘It could take months or years.’

  Egfrid answered sulkily, ‘You call that better news?’

  ‘Yes,’ Chad insisted. ‘Now you may go to the feast-hall and I’d advise you to speak to your cousin politely.’

  The trestles were set for the evening meal and Ethelwald lolled in a chair beside the fire, a horn of mead in his hand. He and Beorn chatted like old friends, while Penda and Cynewise watched them with smiling tolerance. A pretty servant girl stroked Ethelwald’s hair and repeatedly kissed him.

  Egfrid realised with a jolt that his cousin must be a regular visitor here.

  Ethelwald turned and saw him. ‘Come, kiss me, cousin and be cheerful,’ he said. ‘Your lady mother is distraught at your loss. And your father is angry,’ he added with a hint of a smile.

  Egfrid kissed him, coolly. Perhaps he didn’t know his handsome cousin as well as he wished—and did his father realise quite how familiar Ethelwald was at the Mercian court?

  ‘Do the wicked pagans treat you well?’ Ethelwald asked, slipping a quick sideways smile towards Cynewise.

  ‘Yes,’ Egfrid said, lifting his chin a little. ‘The king has made me his foster-son.

  ‘He what?’ Ethelwald sat bolt upright, his jaw dropping.

  Penda chuckled. ‘And worth it just to see your face,’ he said.

  ‘Foster-son?’ Ethelwald gasped. ‘But where does that leave my negotiations? I thought you’d want land or gold, or both.’

  Penda leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. ‘My queen had much to do with it,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe I grow soft with age and weary of harrying a man who only knows how to retreat. Cynewise longs to see your mother and she’s persuaded me that the time has come for a peace agreement.’

  ‘Could I go home then?’ Egfrid asked.

  The adults glanced at each other.

  ‘No, boy,’ Penda said firmly. ‘Ethelwald will report that we take good care of you and tell Oswy he has till Blood-month to consider a peace agreement.’

  ‘Peace between Bernicia and Mercia?’ Ethelwald said. ‘Such a thing I never thought to see.’

  ‘I want to see my sister,’ Cynewise told her nephew. ‘And I want an end to this blood-feud. We suggest an exchange of gifts, and Oswy’s oldest daughter as a peace-weaver bride for Beorn. Let us s
eal our agreement with kinship.’

  Beorn winked at Egfrid. ‘I hear Princess Alchfled is very beautiful,’ he said.

  Ethelwald laughed. ‘Alchfled and you? Chalk and cheese!’ he said. ‘But she’d make another hostage, should things not work out well. What do you say, Egfrid?’

  Egfrid said nothing, for he felt Chad’s warning pressure on his shoulder. His oldest sister Alchfled was beautiful in a delicate, willowy way, but she was a devout Christian and he could not imagine her here in this hall, with images of Woden and Freya everywhere. Had the world gone mad?

  Silence followed, while they all considered this unlikely match.

  ‘We’ll eat now,’ Penda said, and got up to move to the table.

  Ethelwald whispered in Egfrid’s ear, ‘How did you tame the old battle-bruiser?’

  Egfrid shrugged, for he was just as surprised as his cousin.

  They watched as Penda stumped to the table and awkwardly eased himself into his seat.

  ‘His wound pains him,’ Egfrid said. ‘Perhaps he’s had enough of fighting.’

  ‘He’s not the man he was,’ Ethelwald agreed. ‘But I can’t see the old bear dying in his bed. He’s simply found a clever new way of making Oswy squirm.’

  They took their places at table and the food was just as lavish as the night before. Egfrid filled his belly, never thinking once of poison. The hound came again and he fed it choice titbits, but once his hunger was satisfied, his eyelids started to droop.

  ‘Take my foster-son to his bed,’ Cynewise instructed Chad. ‘He’s had a long, hard day of it.’

  Annis helped Egfrid undress, but as he lay down to sleep, a troubling thought came. Those traitors who’d opened the gates of Bamburgh had once been Ethelwald’s men. They’d got what they deserved, but… had his cousin known what they were about? Could he trust Ethelwald, any more than he could trust the Mercians?

  CHAPTER 8

  The World Turned Upside Down

  Next morning, Egfrid and Chad were called early to attend the king and queen. They found them with Beorn and Ethelwald.

  ‘Your cousin is setting off to York with gifts for your parents and for Princess Alchfled,’ Cynewise told him.