Idin’s face, too, was amiable.
“No, I’m hoping she’ll be better than you. I need someone to watch my back,” Ælric shot back.
“What, as you run away?” Idin reached around Æva’s shoulders and pushed Ælric. The two men laughed easily. It felt... enjoyable... to hear them speak and joke. She wished she knew how to join in with their banter.
Silence followed, and she realised they were waiting for an answer. She shook her head.
“I had no need, at the nunnery,” she spoke in a soft, timid voice.
‘No, I would think not,’ Ælric winked at her again, and she smiled. ‘Well, then,’ he continued, “I shall have to teach you.”
“To fight?” She could not imagine herself wielding one of the murderous spears the men carried, thrusting into someone else’s body, watching them bleed.
Idin gave a wry smile.
“Those who would come at you will show no mercy. You saw what they did at Colodesburg. You would be wise to learn how to protect yourself.”
He paused for a moment and pulled a small blade from a sheath tucked into his belt.
“Take this,” he handed the knife to her; it was small, but it felt clumsy and unwieldy in her hand. “I hope you will never need to use it, but these are dangerous times.”
Æva ran her finger along the razor ridge of the blade as his words sunk in. She gazed at the way the sunlight sparkled on the polished iron, spotlessly clean, but she wondered how many men had bled over the metal, how many lives had been ended by the sharpened point.
Wulfram’s voice rang through the air, resonant and strong.
“We are drawing close.”
She looked up to see a small village nestled down below them, no more than half a mile away. A large hall stood in the centre, surrounded by several long, low rectangular buildings. Spirals of grey smoke curled skyward from the thatched roofs. In the middle of the hamlet, in front of the hall, lay a small market square. At this late time in the afternoon, the stalls were empty, the square deserted. Just outside, to the left of the wooden buildings, a small stone church sat proudly on a raised mound. The river, which had deserted them that morning, now wound back to kiss the back edge of the hall before surging on towards the sea. Around the outskirts of the hamlet, people scurried like ants, especially close to the river. From this far away Æva struggled to make sense of their actions.
The sun had long since set behind them, but light still loitered in the cloud-free sky as they ambled into the village. Bar the noises of pigs and sheep that already seemed to have been locked inside the houses, the place was quiet. The faraway sound of knocking reached their ears, however, and again Æva wondered what the scurrying ants had been doing. One or two faces peeped around doors to stare at them as they passed. Æva noticed only children and women in the houses. Wulfram ignored then, marching forward in the direction of the large hall.
Now that she was closer, Æva realised it was a grand structure. A low wall of stones marked out the footprint, and tall pillars of dark wood erupted from the rock base, carved in flowing patterns. The roof was a thick thatch. As Wulfram approached the hall, the two massive wooden doors flew open and a crowd of men walked out to meet them.
“Idin, watch the girl,” Wulfram said in a low voice.
Idin immediately moved closer and grasped Æva by the upper arm. She stared at him, startled. Did Wulfram think she would try and run away now that they had reached a population? Confused, she glanced around and caught several men watching her with curiosity. The group had spread out to half encircle them - a menacing gesture.
Then she understood: Idin was protecting her. Frightened by Wulfram’s astute assessment, she cowed closer in to Idin’s body, now finding safety where a moment before there had been fear.
One man stepped forward. He dressed richly in an intricately embroidered linen tunic belted with leather. Around his shoulders swirled a deep red cloak, clasped at the neck with a jewelled broach. The noble of the Great Hall.
He addressed only Wulfram, ignoring the others as if they were invisible. From the way he held his body and the angle of his chin, Æva sensed pride and self-importance.
“Who are you?”
Æva noted with surprise that his voice was thin and reedy, with none of the resonance of Wulfram’s quiet authority.
The question was rude, showing no respect to Wulfram and his clear position of command. However, the warrior ignored the slight, reaching into his satchel and withdrawing a scroll. The velum was wound tightly around a wooden core, sealed with brilliant red wax. Æva stilled. Was she about to unravel some of the mystery of these soldiers?
“We carry an urgent message for King Osberht from my master, the Lord of Bernicia.”
The noble’s face paled at this. Æva understood little of politics, but even she knew that the Lord of Bernicia was an important man, second in power only to the King himself. She looked at Wulfram with renewed awe. The noble, too, changed his posture. His confrontational stance softened into something more akin to servitude, although Æva could see that it cost him. When he spoke again, his voice took on an insipid whine.
“A soldier of the great Lord of Bernicia is, of course, most welcome. You would do me an honour if you would consent to join me in raising toast in my humble hall.”
He gestured with his robed arm towards the building behind him, a smile fixed across his features. There was something off about the expression, however. It seemed strained, false in a way Æva could not detect. Wulfram gave one curt nod in acceptance of the invitation and strolled towards the double doors. Æva made to follow, but Idin’s hand clamped down on her shoulder.
“The hall is for the eminent men only; not for us, and certainly not for you,” he whispered in her ear. Æva blushed, embarrassed at her gaffe. There was so much she did not know, a product of her sheltered life at the nunnery.
The doors closed behind the two men, a giant of a soldier standing guard. The others who had come out to greet – or, more accurately, challenge - them did not drift away, but stood and stared. Feeling exposed, Æva edged backwards into the protection of Idin. Ælric moved to stand slightly in front of her, his arms bulging menacingly. The scene thrilled with tension. Every few seconds Æva could not help but glance towards the huge doors, hoping that Wulfram would reappear.
ᚱ
The meeting seemed to last a long time. The fading light leeched into darkness, the world around them shrinking until only the small market square they waited in remained visible. Alarmingly, this seemed to make the tension in the atmosphere increase tenfold. Æva couldn’t help but be unnerved by the strangers who did not speak or smile, but merely stared.
As they waited, a young boy approached gripping a torch. He seemed frightened of the flame, holding it as far from his body as possible as he walked hesitantly to the doors and lit two lamps bolted on either side. As he scurried away, passing close by her, the flames he held threw his face into sharp relief. Æva drew in a quick breath as she gaped at him. He was covered in pink puckered scars, terrible burns that disfigured him. He heard her reaction, wincing as he passed and upping his pace to a trot that broke almost immediately into a run.
The flickering glow of the torchlight cast ghostly shadows across the square, adding to Æva’s discomfort. Her feet throbbed and smarted, and she was savagely hungry again. She ached to sit and rest her tired legs, but she was nervous of moving and drawing further attention to herself. Trying to blink away the waves of exhaustion rolling over her, she swayed gently on the spot.
At last the door swung open and the two men exited together. The noble walked to his men, who gathered, listening intently to a quick instruction, before disappearing purposefully into the shadows of the night. Wulfram made his way towards the group of three, a cautious look in his eyes. He came closer than Æva was used to, crowding in and speaking in a hushed tone.
“The townspeople have heard the rumours of Viking raiders. They have asked for our help in fortifying t
he town, in exchange for shelter and provisions.”
Ælric made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “They should offer such things without conditions.”
Wulfram continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“They are in a panic. A monastery was pillaged and burned to the ground near to here just two nights ago. I have told them we will help to construct the palisade. They wish to start immediately. Come.”
Both Ælric and Idin looked to Æva, then back to Wulfram, who grimaced. Æva flushed, seeing the inconvenience she brought in the furrow of Wulfram’s brow.
“Æva, you will have to wait here.”
“Alone?” she squeaked. As soon as the words broke out, she tried to bite them back. She shouldn’t question him; she did not want to be abandoned here.
The noble approached them, emerging from the dark like a slithering snake. Æva noticed a sly glint sparkle in his eye for a moment before he concealed it. He had been listening.
Her loathing for the man mushroomed.
“Your handmaiden can rest in my house. She would be under my protection, quite safe.”
His smile was oily, sickening. Absentmindedly Wulfram rubbed his jaw. Æva hated the idea but could see it made sense to Wulfram, and any objection she made would be an affront to the noble. Her skin crawled at the thought of being left in his home; she hoped he would not accompany her.
Wulfram nodded once and the noble clicked his fingers, calling “Udele” in a sharp voice. A young girl came running from a doorway immediately, as if she had been expecting his call. She kept her head bowed as she ran, her hands clasped in front of her. She stopped at his feet and curtseyed, never looking up.
“Take the girl to my quarters.”
The words were spat, his nose wrinkling as if the girl repulsed him. She flinched, muttering “Yes, Master” in a whisper. She glanced at Æva and then scuttled off. Æva hesitated, reluctant to follow. His hand in the small of her back, Idin gave her a gentle push and she lurched forward. Sensing she had no choice, she gave the three men one last, frightened stare, but they had already turned away. Only Ælric stayed to give her a reassuring wink before he, too, deserted her.
The noble’s house was opulent, filled with finery. The entrance hall was long and hung with imported silks in vibrant colours. There were two rooms, one which held an ornate wooden bed, more silks draped artfully across the mattress. The girl ushered Æva into the second room, a living room with a small fire blazing in the centre. A large table held a collection of silverware, vases and plates that gleamed. On one wall hung a shield and two spears, a sword given pride of place on the wall opposite. Though the blade glinted in warning, Æva had the impression it had never been drawn. Wulfram’s blade sang of violence, boasting of the many lives it had ended. This sword seemed lifeless, a mere trophy.
The handmaiden stood just inside the doorway, her head still bowed. Æva looked around, unsure whether to sit on one of the low wooden stools or stand, as the girl did. She was not certain of the role she was supposed to be playing, whether Wulfram expected her to act as his servant or as a lady, or as the fledgling nun that she had been. In the end hunger and the pain in her feet decided for her. She sank down onto a stool, shuffling closer to the fire for heat. The girl glanced up, shock at Æva’s daring rendering her face stupid, before hiding her eyes back to the floor.
That quick moment was all it took, though.
“What happened to you?” Æva whispered, bold enough in this docile handmaiden’s company to speak.
The girls face was a swirl of colours, the purple and yellow bruises mixing with the stark red of barely healed scratches. The hands clasped in front of her – the only other piece of bare skin on display – were swollen and puffy, and also bruised.
She did not respond to the question but squeezed her eyelids together as if she would stem tears. Compassion propelled Æva from her seat. She took two steps towards the girl, one arm stretched out in a comforting gesture, but Udele flinched away from her approach.
“Please don’t,” she whispered. Her eyes darted to the open door.
At that moment, a clattering in the hallway made them both jump. Seconds later the noble appeared, flanked by two burly men. Æva instinctively took a step back, catching her foot on the stool and almost toppling into the fire. The men smirked, amused at her discomfort, and the handmaiden bowed her head deeper, leaning back into the wall as if she could disappear.
“Leave,” the noble growled at her.
“Master,” she curtseyed, then threw Æva a look.
For a split second, a wave of understanding passed between them. The girl’s eyes were filled with pity, empathy, helplessness, and – strangely – gratitude. She knew what was coming, and her compassion for Æva clear, but she was thankful that, today at least, it was not her. For her part, Æva understood who was responsible for the girl’s wretched appearance.
The noble walked further into the room, circling her like a predator and its prey. His two soldiers guarded the doorway.
“Your master,” he began, and Æva understood he meant Wulfram, “tells me you are on your way to Babbanburth to deliver a message to the King.”
He paused, smiling at her almost pleasantly before moving in closer. Æva pulled back, but the room was small. She had nowhere to go.
“I think he’s lying to me.” The words were hissed, full of menace.
Silence followed this statement. Æva wondered if he expected her to respond, then she realised that he was simply prolonging the moment, delighting in the tension that filled the room. Cold sweat trickled down her back. It was warm beside the fire, but her fingers were icy. She clenched them into fists, hoping to defend herself, or at least stop them from shaking.
“You,” he lingered over the word, making it a caress. Æva’s stomach heaved. “You, child, are going to tell me what he’s really doing.”
Blind panic filled her. She couldn’t answer his question, had no idea why the men were travelling. All she knew was what Wulfram had said to the noble. If that was a lie, then she did not have the truth to barter with.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, as if she had been running.
The noble grew tired of waiting. He took a step towards her, turning the screw, watching her pupils dilate as terror gripped her.
“I don’t know,” she gasped.
“Liar!”
He crossed the space between them in a flash and backhanded her viciously across the face. Æva staggered backwards, stunned by the blow. For a moment she was too shocked to take in what had happened, but then the sting turned into a throb which exploded with pain. She clamped her hand to her face, fumbling with her fingers, searching for her cheekbone, her eye. The agony felt like something should be disfigured, broken.
He gave her no respite, but advanced upon her again. Æva had no thoughts of fighting back, only escape. The knife Idin had given her was tucked safely away in a strap around her ankle, forgotten. Too afraid to take her eyes from the noble, she tripped her way backwards. The uneven floor snagged on the scraps of leather she wore as shoes and brought her tumbling down onto the hard, compacted dirt. Her hip took the worst of the impact, rippling shockwaves of pain up her spine.
Still he came upon her, towering over her, blocking her ability to stand. Æva tried to scuttle away, but her head collided with the stone base of the wall. The bruise that Wulfram had given her smarted, the cut breaking open afresh.
“Let me ask you again,” he cooed, exhilaration and excitement dancing in his pale blue eyes.
Æva didn’t wait for him to repeat the question. She hurled her denial at him, words gushing from her mouth.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! Please, God!”
He reached down and grasped the thong that held her hair scraped back, ripping it out. His lips twitched with satisfaction when she whimpered. Fingers entwining in her hair, he stroked it away from her face before gripping a handful in his fist. He twisted it, pulling her hea
d up until it was only inches from his.
“If that’s the way you want to play it.”
He dropped her, dumping her back onto the unforgiving floor. Dismissing her with a turn of his back, he walked across the room, opening a deep wooden chest.
“Hold her.”
The words were spoken to the two men at the door, who had witnessed her humiliation noiselessly.
Æva pulled her eyes away from the trunk, too concerned about the hulking men approaching her to see what he searched for. Her breathing hiked as they closed the gap. One man reached out a meaty hand, grasping for her wrist. The other reached for the rope holding up the leather trousers.
As soon as their fingers brushed her skin, Æva erupted into action. She twisted and writhed, trying to lever herself from the floor. It was too little, too late. The men ignored her flailing arms. One grasped both upper arms and hoisted her to an upright position. The other pressed upon her again. Frantically she bucked and squirmed, trying to stop him finding a purchase. It worked for a moment, but then the man brought out a knife, long, gleaming and sharp. He grinned as she stopped struggling at once, leaning back into the other soldier in an attempt to escape.
The blade moved closer and closer. Its wielder thrust a hand into the waistband of her breeches, taking a firm grasp. Æva yanked the muscles of her stomach in, trying to avoid his touch. She attempted to twist away, but the iron grip that held her was unrelenting. Tears coursing down her cheeks.
He sliced through the rope, and without the makeshift belt he was able to pull the trousers easily over her slim hips.
“Please, please don’t,” she gasped between soft cries.
The noble closed the trunk with a bang, turned back to face her.
“Keep her still,” he told the soldier standing behind her. The grip on her arms tightened painfully.
At last she realised what he had been searching for in the trunk. Her whimpers turned to pleading moans as she took in this new cruelty. The handle was made of leather, and stitched into it was a short length of rope ending in a frayed knot. Æva stared at it, at the russet staining the knotted end, hysteria welling up inside of her. He was going to whip her.
Aeva The Wild Page 4
