Aeva The Wild

by Claire Marion

  She sat up, looking around her uncertainly. The room was in semi-darkness, but the warm light of day filtered in through gaps in the wooden shutters adorning the one small window. She was no longer dressed in the woollen serving dress that she had worn the previous day; a servant had taken that away after handing her a soft white linen undergarment to wear. It moulded snugly to her body all the way down to her hips and had long sleeves that clung to the shape of her arm.

  Just as she was about to slip from the bed to explore the room further, to peak through the window and orient her sense of place, the door opened with a muted tap and a servant slunk in. Æva yanked the sheets of the bed up to her chin, feeling half-dressed in the thin linen slip, but the handmaiden only gave the briefest glance in her direction as she gave a short curtsy. She had a small tray of food in her hands, which she laid down on the one table before lifting a garment from her shoulder and placing it on the foot of the bed.

  “My Lord requested you wear this, My Lady,” she said in a near whisper, bobbing her head then scurrying from the room.

  “Wait,” Æva called, desperate to question the handmaid about what was going on, but the door banged closed and the girl did not return.

  No fire burned in the room and so the air was chilly. Æva shivered in the light fabric as she slid out of bed and walked over to the garment the handmaiden had laid out. She ran her fingers across the bodice, trailing the delicate sleeve through her fingers. It was beautiful. Soft wool in midnight blue, with strips of silver silk trimming the neckline and cuffs. The arms were shorter than the linen under-dress she wore, but wide and flowing. The skirt was long, a great expanse of feathery light fabric that would drape to the floor. Æva had never worn anything so sumptuous. In the nunnery her clothes had been basic and plain, the lack of any ornate decoration a sign of their dedication to Christ and not a life of greed. Since then she had worn scraps of outfits to survive.

  She picked up the dress, sliding it over her frame. Around her waist hung a thin cord of light blue that she tied in a slip knot. Although she could not see her own appearance, she felt elegant, ladylike. Wanting to see the depth of the colours, to look at how the silk ribbon had been hand-stitched to each cuff, she moved quickly to the window and threw open the shutters, flooding the room with light. Now she was able to view it clearly, the dress was even more exquisite. She ran her hands over the smooth fabric; then twirled, smiling as the skirt lifted and swirled around her.

  Catching a movement across the room, she stopped dead. Bayan stood in the doorway, watching her. Unsure what to do, she curtseyed.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, indicating the dress, a small smile on his face.

  “It is beautiful, thank you,” she breathed, fingering the sleeve as an excuse to look down and away from his piercing eyes.

  He didn’t enter the room, but leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Where am I?” she asked, daring to look at him, but having to glance away almost at once. Her eye fell on the bed, the table, the shelves, anywhere but at him.

  “This is my room,” he said simply.

  Æva was surprised, but she tried not to show it.

  “And why am I here?” she asked

  He ignored that, moving into the room and crossing to the tray of food. He poured some mead from a jug into a small drinking cup and sipped, his eyes, as ever, on her.

  “Where is Wulfram? Or Idin? Or Ælric?”

  Her words came in a nervous flurry now, intimidated by his presence. She turned to look out of the window, trying to place the room. There was little to distinguish it; several long houses and, in the background, the palisade.

  “Gone,” he told her.

  “Gone?” she whirled round in shock. “Where have they gone?”

  “Back to Edwinesburh, to the Lord of Bernicia, to raise troops for the King’s army.”

  His words crashed around her like thunder, echoing in her ears. Æva dropped to the bed, horrified.

  “They left me?” she said, a frightened half-whisper, hoping desperately that he would take it back.

  “They left this morning before dawn, on the orders of the King,” he confirmed. His tone had lost the teasing edge now and was tinged with sympathy, but Æva didn’t notice. The world had been pulled out from under her. The only security she had known since leaving the nunnery had deserted her. Those who had protected her, who had promised to care for her; gone in the middle of the night, without even saying goodbye.

  She glanced nervously at Bayan. He was now the only person she knew in all of Babbanburth, and he was almost a total stranger. But he had saved her from the hideous monster, she told herself. And now he had allowed her to stay in this lavish room and gifted her this beautiful dress. She wondered idly where he had slept last night.

  “What is to become of me?” she asked, looking out of the window at the blue sky. Cottony white tufts drifted across, but in the distance loitered the bruising black of tumultuous storm clouds. She hoped they were not a bad omen.

  “You will stay here,” he said softly.

  Æva frowned, confused, but did not look at him.

  “As your servant?” she prodded.

  Bayan made an annoyed sound in his throat and crossed the room to her. The movement pulled her gaze from the world outside and she turned to him. After staring at the bright light for so long, the room seemed dark and shadowy for an instant as her eyes adjusted. Before she had time to focus, he was there, crouched down, his gaze on a level with hers. He reached out and took both her hands in his. Æva looked down at where his huge grasp enveloped her hands, then back up to his face.

  “Æva, do you know who you are?” he asked.

  Embarrassed at having to admit her eavesdropping, Æva gave a small nod.

  “I heard you talking to Wulfram about me,” she confessed. He lifted a hand and tucked the hair that had fallen in front of her face back behind her ears, then his hand slid down through her hair, coming to rest in the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

  “You are the daughter of a king,” he reminded her. “To be a servant is not your place.”

  Æva wanted desperately for him to explain to her what that meant, what place she held in this chaotic political environment that she barely understood; but she was afraid of the answer. He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, then sighed.

  “I have to go,” he said, standing up and dropping his arm.

  “What should I do?” Æva asked uncertainly, standing to face him. She did not want to be left alone again. He smiled at the slight panic in her eyes, pushing her down into a sitting position on the bed.

  “Stay here. Rest. Eat,” he gestured to the tray of food on the table. “I will be back soon,” he promised.

  A silence settled on the room. Æva sat motionless, trying to take in all that had happened. The loss of Wulfram, Idin and Ælric still stung. Already she wished for Wulfram’s guidance, Ælric’s jokes, and Idin. Especially Idin. Of the three men, he had cared for her the most. He had comforted her when she had been scared, carried her to safety when she had been in trouble. A strange mix of father and brother, he had been there every time she had needed him in their short period together. She missed him, missed all of them.

  Not hungry, but in need of a distraction, she crossed to the stool and surveyed the tray of food. A small wooden bowl of stew sat in the centre, a chunk of crusty bread beside it. She crumpled it up into smaller pieces before dropping them in, allowing them to become soft, soaking up the liquid soup of the stew. It was tasty, and she devoured the meal before turning her attention to the fruit. Her hand curled around an apple, gloriously patterned in deep red and yellow. It was juicy and crisp, washing away the cloying grease of the meat.

  Then she had nothing to do but sit and wait.

  After what seemed like a long time, a servant girl appeared armed with a nervous expression, a pair of shoes and a comb. She curtseyed to Æva, mumbling, “My Lord sent me with these sh
oes and to comb your hair.”

  “Oh,” Æva was surprised, almost uncomfortable. She looked around her, flustered. “What should I do? Should I sit?”

  The servant smiled timidly, a little more at ease in the face of Æva’s uncertainty. She pulled the stool out into the middle of the room.

  “If you would sit here, My Lady,” she offered, bobbing her head again.

  Æva took the seat, clasping her hands in several different ways, before folding them across her chest out of the way. The girl knelt at her feet, fastening the soft leather shoes and trying the straps around her ankles. As she felt the pressure of the thongs against her calves Æva realised she no longer had the small knife Idin had given her. She’d put it on the table last night, but it wasn’t there now. Had Bayan taken it?

  She winced as the handmaiden began trying to untangle the tugs that had collected in her long, dark hair. Since she had left the nunnery, she had left it to grow wild, thinking of it only when she had to draw her tresses back up into a bun or plait to keep it out of the way. In her old life, her hair had been her one sense of pride; her sin, as Abbess Mavina had often chastised her. Thick and glossy, it curled down her back in rippling waves. When it fell about her face, her skin paled to near translucence and her green eyes appeared wild and catlike. She cringed now as she thought how foolish she had been, spending hours twisting and arranging it around her shoulders. Vanity.

  Still, as the comb began to slide without resistance through her tresses, she closed her eyes, finally relaxing. It made her feel clean again, like a girl once more. The servant girl continued to sweep down her hair long after it was untangled, bringing out the natural oils and making it shine.

  “You have beautiful hair, My Lady,” she whispered quietly.

  “Æva,” Æva automatically corrected her.

  “My Lady Æva,” the girl repeated, sounding almost reprimanded. Æva wondered if she served any of the ladies she had seen briefly when they had dined in the Great Hall the night King Ælle had been crowned.

  “Who is your master?” Æva asked suddenly, wondering what information she might be able to glean from the girl.

  “I serve all in the King’s household,” she replied nervously.

  “And Lord Bayan?” she asked, curiosity growing.

  “Yes, My Lady Æva.”

  “What is he like?” Æva probed.

  “My Lady?” the girl asked, her voice frightened. Æva realised she was afraid of saying the wrong thing, as if Æva’s questions were a trick to land her in punishment.

  “What kind of man is he?” Æva pressed, feeling sorry for the girl, but determined to learn as much as she could from her. A moment of brief silence followed, and Æva knew the girl was thinking frantically of the right thing to say. “Is he a good man?”

  “Oh yes,” the girl responded immediately, grateful to find safe ground. “He is a very good man. He is much respected by his men; they say he is a strong and brave warrior. And clever. His tactics have won him many battles.”

  “And how does he treat his servants?” Æva asked. She wondered if the girl would think it was a strange question, but somehow it mattered to her to know the answer. She’d seen the way that men often treated those they saw as beneath them. She wanted desperately to be told that he was not one of those, that he was a man like Wulfram or Idin, one who had respect for every life, however low.

  “Very well, My Lady Æva,” the girl whispered, nervousness returning now that they were on such treacherous ground.

  “Has he ever beaten you?” Æva pressed.

  “Not Lord Bayan, My Lady,” the girl replied carefully.

  “What is your name?” Æva asked, realising she had not thought to learn this simple fact.

  “Lora.”

  “Thank you for your honesty, Lora,” she said.

  “You are welcome, My Lady,” the girl whispered.

  The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hall towards them.

  “I must go, My Lady,” the girl whispered, suddenly sounding terrified. “Excuse me.”

  She gave a small curtsey to Æva’s back and disappeared out of the door before Æva could say goodbye. Loneliness returned as she stared at the empty doorway. It had been nice to have someone to speak with.

  Someone else was coming, though. She stared fixedly at the door as the footsteps continued to grow in volume, moving ever closer.

  ᛇ

  The door rapped three times; firm, staccato knocks that implied the presence of a man. Æva stood nervously as the door opened, expecting Bayan. She took a step back as she realised it was not him, but a stranger. The man wore a mail shirt over a cream-coloured gambeson, his legs covered by leather trousers. A soldier, dressed like those she had seen guarding the palisade. He didn’t look at her, addressing the ground close to her feet.

  “Lord Bayan requests your company, My Lady,” his voice was brusque and formal. He held the door for her, turning on his heel the minute she had reached him. Æva almost had to trot to keep up with the quick pace of his strides.

  They walked down a long corridor, windowless and dark. Several doors led off the narrow channel, but they were closed, keeping their secrets. The soldier marched her forward until the hallway spewed them out into back of the Great Hall, behind the King’s table. The soldier halted, turning and ushering her in front. Stepping into the muted light, which seemed bright after the darkness of the corridor, she spotted Bayan leaning over a table, deep in conversation with several well-dressed nobles.

  The soldier turned away, quickly walking the length of the hall and disappearing out into the brightness of the day. Æva was left to stand alone, hovering at the back corner of the cavernous room, unsure whether to approach the nobles. She watched Bayan, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but as he continued to focus only on the men in front of him, she became more and more self-conscious, and she found herself clasping her hands and bowing her head like a servant, hoping to become invisible.

  At last he stepped back from the table, dismissing the men who left at once. Only when they had exited the hall, their footsteps echoing as they clattered down the wooden steps, did he turn to her. Then he approached, grinning lazily and closing the distance until they stood almost uncomfortably close. Æva gave him a timid smile; she felt tongue-tied, her mouth dry.

  “I am sorry,” he began, “I have ignored you. You must have been lonely.”

  Æva shrugged, almost embarrassed at the apology, not wanting to admit that she had spent the morning pacing and fidgeting, anxiously waiting.

  “Come,” he said, turning. He placed a hand on her back and guided her across to the doorway. Æva wanted to skitter away from his touch, but she forced herself to walk demurely.

  At the bottom of the steps, two beautiful horses stood, their reins held by servant boys who stood with heads down, staring firmly at the ground. It made Æva a little ill at ease to have so many people avoid looking at her, even as a mark of respect.

  “I thought we would go for a short ride,” Bayan explained.

  Æva noticed one of the horses had a strange contraption on its back, rather than a saddle. It looked a bit like a seat, but she couldn’t see how to sit on it or where the stirrups were. It must be a side saddle, she reasoned. Æva had seen fine women riding, but their long skirts had always covered the mystery of how they stayed on perched so precariously. Approaching the small bay mare, Æva raised her eyebrows quizzically: how did she climb on? A handmaiden scurried over, carrying a small set of wooden steps. It was Lora, the girl she had spoken to that morning. Æva smiled in greeting, but the handmaiden didn’t notice. She placed the ladder at Æva’s feet then stepped back, head bowed. Disappointed, Æva sighed and climbed the steps before hoisting herself awkwardly onto the tiny, hard seat. She felt very unstable and off-balance. Though there was a footrest to balance on, without stirrups she didn’t see how she would to be able to control the horse. It became clear very quickly that she wasn’t expected to: as soon as B
ayan had mounted his horse, the servant boy handed the reins of her mount to him.

  She wasn’t going for a ride so much as a sit.

  Bayan seemed not to notice her consternation. He clicked his horse forward, walking across the square towards the palisade gate. The jerky momentum unsettled Æva; she made a frantic grasp at a small strap at the front to stop herself sliding straight off. She felt gawky and uncoordinated; she wasn’t sure if she didn’t prefer riding astride with a man, as she had with Idin. Though that had been embarrassing, at least she had been secure.

  The gates opened as soon as they approached them, the soldiers bowing to Bayan, admiration clear in their faces. Æva remembered what Lora had said about him being a brave warrior. She looked at his hands, now loosely holding both of their reins, and wondered how many lives they had taken. That thought sent another shiver down her spine. Bayan noticed the slight movement.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “A little,” Æva replied, not wanting to reveal the real reason she had trembled. “But I’m fine,” she assured him.

  They walked at a steady pace down the road into the wilderness, the same route Æva had taken with Wulfram, Ælric and Idin to the beach where Ælric had started to teach her how to fight. Sadness washed over her as she realised that she would probably never return there with them.

  “So,” Bayan began, and Æva realised he had been waiting until they left the listening ears of the town behind before questioning her, which she was sure he was about to do. “Tell me your story.”

  “What do you want to know?” Æva asked warily.

  Bayan smiled at her evasiveness.

  “Tell me how the daughter of a king arrived at Babbanburth the servant of three warriors.”

  Æva frowned, thinking. She had almost no knowledge of this man, wasn’t sure how much to trust him. But she was painfully aware that her immediate future hung on his good grace. Should she displease him, she might find herself back in the Great Hall at the mercy of drunken thugs with no one to save her this time.