“It was an accident,” Æva told her, pitying the poor frightened creature.
She opened her mouth, wondering which of the many questions that were tumbling around her head to ask first, but stopped when she realised the girl was already backing towards the door. She half considered asking her to stay - then wondered if she could order her to - but she was afraid of getting the handmaiden into trouble, so miserably she watched the Lora bow out of the room. Unenthused, she turned to the meal that lay on the table, picking at pieces of meat and vegetable without even looking at what had been prepared for her.
She felt confined, bored. Although Bayan hadn’t forbidden her to leave this room, it was clear he expected her to stay put. Leaving the remains of the tray of food, she wandered to the door and tried the handle. It opened easily in her hand. Æva hovered, undecided. She didn’t want to displease Bayan, but she was lonely. Perhaps if she found Lora, she could ask her to come to her room, ask her to bring more food or comb her hair. Hesitant, she took one half-step out of the door into the hallway.
Her action took her directly into the path of a strange man. Their bodies collided, her face almost smashing into his shoulder. The force of the impact bounced her backwards, but quickly two hands shot out and grabbed her upper arms, steadying her. Æva’s eyes travelled up his huge frame to where his head should be. His face was hidden by the darkness of the windowless corridor. She couldn’t tell if he was smiling or glaring down at her.
“Oh, forgive me,” she squeaked, back-pedalling swiftly into Bayan’s room. She had shut the door before he had a chance to respond, listening acutely for noises with her hand on the doorframe. She sighed with relief as she heard his footsteps rush on towards the Great Hall.
Trying hard to laugh at her silly skittishness, she returned to the stool. Her brief encounter had put a stop to any thoughts she had had about exploring. In fact, she would feel much more secure with a key in the door lock.
She glanced briefly at the window. The shutters had already been closed, but no hint of daylight snuck through the gaps in the boards. Night had fallen quickly. The light of the room was muted, several long candles casting eerie shadows, making monsters of the objects in the room. It didn’t help Æva’s nervous state of mind. She considered going to bed and trying to sleep, though she wasn’t tired, but the idea of undressing to the linen slip unsettled her.
There was another thing to consider: this morning she had awoken alone, but this was Bayan’s room. She did not know where he had slept the previous night, but the question now foremost on her mind was where he intended to bed this night.
It was a long wait. Unable to sit still, Æva paced the room. She wanted Bayan to come, and then she wanted him not to. What she wanted most was to know either way what he intended for her, tonight and in the future.
The hours dragged by so slowly that by midnight Æva was climbing the walls with anxiety. Her head ached with tiredness, but her mind was so wired her eyes refused to close. She didn’t even lie down on the bed. For the most part she tried to avoid looking at the thing – a difficult feat in such a small room.
When she finally heard the voices, she was sat on the stool, both elbows resting on the table, her head held up by hands tensed into claws in her hair. The tray of food had been thrust to the side; the aromas wafting up had turned her stomach. Automatically she jerked her head upright, listening to the volume of the conversation increase as they approached her doorway. She recognised the deep baritone of Bayan, and another voice, a stranger. The conversation seemed cheerful, both men bursting into bouts of laughter. The thickness of the door distorted the words so she couldn’t make out what was being said.
At last, the stranger bid Bayan goodnight and the door finally opened. Bayan walked in, a drinking cup in one hand which he swigged deeply from before setting it on the shelf. He seemed almost unaware of her presence as he removed his sword and the belt tied at his waist. He stood with his back to her, placing each item on its designated space on the shelf. At last he spoke.
“How was your meal?”
A laugh almost bubbled to Æva’s lips, but she bit it back. Such a mundane question to break the tense silence she had been locked in for hours.
“Fine,” she managed to mumble.
“You know,” he said, turning to face her, his eyes amused, “My father told me he met a strange girl outside my room earlier. Don’t worry,” he added, choking back a laugh at her horrified face, “I told him he must be going senile.”
“I... I...” Æva stammered. A jolt of fear shot ice into her stomach. She watched him, unsure whether she would be punished for her actions, but his eyes twinkled with humour.
“Were you bored?” he asked, offering her a way out.
Æva smiled apologetically and then dropped her gaze to her fingers, twisting restlessly in her lap.
“I am sorry,” he said, “But the Great Hall is not the place for a lady. Your friends were wrong to expose you to it.”
His words were thick with disapproval.
“They tried to keep me safe,” Æva argued, jumping to the defence of Wulfram and his men.
Bayan threw her a sidelong look, his expression unhappy.
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “They were not very successful with it, if I recall.”
There was nothing to say to that. Almost belligerent, Æva changed the subject, deciding to tackle the elephant in the room.
“Where am I to sleep?” she asked, forcing herself to look him in the eye, raising her chin in the air in an attempt to hold onto her dignity.
He raised his eyebrows then gestured towards the bed, the cup in his grasp sloshing around the rim. “Here,” he told her.
Æva pursed her lips. It was a game to him, playing with the innocent girl, making her blush, making her squirm. Suddenly she didn’t want to play anymore.
“And where are you to sleep, My Lord?” she asked coolly.
This time his mouth twitched with restrained laughter. Again, he gestured towards the bed, cup still in hand.
“Here.”
Æva stared at him. He was infuriating, yet at the same time...
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to retain control of her sanity. When she opened them again his silent footsteps had crossed the room in three quick steps and now he stood only a pace from her. Her breath caught.
The flickering light of the candles basked his skin in a warm glow, the three days of stubble a dark shadow on his chiselled jaw. His eyes were dark, intense.
Slowly Bayan raised his hand, brushing against her cheek before letting his fingers slide through her hair. He took a step closer.
“I can protect you,” he told her softly. “I can offer you the life you deserve.”
So that was the bargain, then, the price: her body for his protection.
Æva stared down into his chest, watched the rise and fall of each breath. She did not know if she had a choice, would happen if she refused him. Moreover, did she want to refuse him? Yes... and no. Mostly no. But to sleep with a man before marriage was a terrible sin. The monk’s Penetentials were severe, especially when they dealt with women.
Bayan tucked his finger under her chin, pulling her head up to meet his gaze. His face hovered inches away from hers, close enough to feel his breath on her skin. Æva looked into his eyes, still undecided.
Suddenly his lips pressed against hers, both rough and soft, the stubble of his jaw scraping against the tender skin of her face. They teased her mouth, softly parting her lips, kissing first the top and then the bottom, the tip of his tongue flickering against hers. Then his hands slid around her waist, pulling her body up close to his, and the kiss became more urgent. Æva found she could only be glad; glad that he was touching her and, more selfishly, glad he had made the decision for her. He had given her a way out, a way to clear her conscience; stolen her choice.
But then he pulled his mouth away, leaning his forehead against hers, their breaths intermingling.
&nbs
p; “I have never raped a woman,” he said, his voice rough. “I will not force you.”
Æva stared at him and knew her conscience had lost the battle. She wanted was his lips back on hers, his hands winding their way from her waist to her back and pulling her tightly to him. She could find no trace of guilt or wickedness in this, instead her heart raced with excitement.
She tilted her mouth towards his.
He read her consent. His hands tangled in her hair, gripping around her waist, sliding up and down her upper arms. Æva lost herself in it. Everywhere he touched her seemed to tingle with a warmth that spread to her fingertips. She found her hands moving of their own accord, wrapping around his broad shoulders. When his head dropped to her neck, kissing down towards her shoulder, she let out an involuntary groan of pleasure that should have shamed her, but didn’t.
Without warning he lifted her, swinging her body round and onto the bed. A moment later the weight of his body bore down on her, his mouth returned to hers, and she was hungry for it.
ᛉ
In the morning Æva awoke to a soft kiss on her cheek. She smiled, and twisted to move into it, but found nothing bar the sound of a door closing. She opened her eyes, frowning through the confusion of sleep. One arm stretched out across the surface of the bed. It was warm, but the remnants of body heat were quickly seeping away. She sat up, propping her body on one elbow, and stared around the room. It too, was empty.
“Bayan?” she called. A pointless action: the room beyond the bed was clearly vacant, he had gone.
Her eyes fell on her linen slip, lying in a heap on the floor. It was too far to reach without leaving the safety of the bed, but Æva was certain as soon as she stepped from the protection of the covers, fate would send someone to witness her nakedness and confirm her shameful act. She chewed on her lip, indecisive, then dashed for the clothes, heart hammering as the cool air left goose bumps on her exposed skin. As soon as her fingers gripped around the soft cloth she leaped back into the bed, pulling the covers over her head and struggling into the undergarment. As she wriggled on the bed, yanking the long skirt down to cover her legs, a soft knock rapped at the door.
“Just a moment,” she yelped, jumping from the bed and reaching for the blue woollen dress, but the door was already opening.
Lora entered, her head dipped, her arms laden with another meal. She glanced up quickly, taking in Æva’s half-dressed form.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she gasped, dropping the tray on to the table and rushing to Æva’s side. “Let me help you, My Lady,” she implored, reaching for the garment.
Æva fidgeted, embarrassed as the girl dressed her. She felt useless, like an inept doll.
“Did you come from the Great Hall?” she asked. Perhaps she could find out where Bayan had disappeared to without even saying goodbye.
“No, My Lady, from the kitchen. There is an important meeting going on in the hall this morning.”
“What about?” Æva pounced on the girl’s words. Immediately Lora looked nervous, as if she had said too much.
“I don’t know,” she replied, “I heard one of the King’s personal servants telling the cook that only the most important nobles had been invited, and...” she paused, pushing her lips together.
“Go on,” Æva prompted.
“Well they said that Lord Osberht had been invited to attend.”
“Really?” Æva’s eyes widened with wonder. “I wonder what’s going on,” she breathed.
She was tired of hanging around, waiting to be told. If she hadn’t overheard Wulfram telling Bayan about her father, would she even know who she really was?
Lora looked frightened at the naked enthusiasm in her eyes. She back away, twisting her fingers together.
“Lord Bayan said you were not to leave the room, My Lady.”
Æva’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you came straight from the kitchen.”
“I did, My Lady,” Lora tripped over her words in a rush to explain herself. “But Lord Bayan has a soldier posted outside the room. He...”
She trailed off as Æva stalked to the door, yanking at the handle. The door whirled back with the force of her pull, revealing the narrow dark corridor, and a man. He stood with his arms crossed and his back to the door. At the sudden movement his head snapped to the left, his gaze locking with Æva’s. He regarded her impassively, maintaining his stance, but tensed, ready to move at once if she should take a single step across the threshold.
Æva’s mouth dropped open in surprise. She gaped at the soldier for a heartbeat, before slamming the door closed. She leaned against the door, letting it hold her up as thoughts whirled in her head. Was she a prisoner? Her eyes stared blindly at the floor, then up to where Lora stood, shifting nervously.
“I am being held captive?” she asked, tears shimmering. Nausea rose in her throat as she thought of what she had done just hours earlier.
Lora stared helplessly at her, and Æva understood that the girl had no answers.
Perhaps she had it all wrong, she told herself, trying to remain calm against the flood of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn’t even tried to leave. The soldier might be posted for her own protection. It seemed unlikely, but she grasped at the hope. Anything to quell the fears building in her stomach.
“The meeting will not last long, then Lord Bayan will return,” Lora said in her timorous whisper. “Once they have made a plan for Eboric-,” she stopped short, realising her mistake.
“They are talking about Eboric?” Æva remembered the place. Wulfram had said it was under siege by the Vikings. Idin had been right – now the King was forced to act.
Her eyes fixed shrewdly on Lora, who took a step back, alarmed.
“Tell me what you know,” she said evenly.
“We cannot let Eboric fall,” Bayan erupted. “Once they are inside the city walls, they can easily use the old Roman defences to fortify the town.”
He stood and surveyed the table. King Ælle sat at its head, his fingers clasped in a steeple, his expression pensive. Opposite him, slunk low in the chair, was Osberht, his face drawn. Seven other lords sat listening, leaning forward, their faces intent.
“My Lord, the Vikings have not breached their defences. They may yet hold.” The speaker addressed the King, his voice creeping and weak, dismissing Bayan, who shot him a look of loathing.
“Mark my words, they will not last long.”
Another voice chipped almost at once. This one was unpleasant and nasally.
“It is just not feasible to launch an army right now. It will take weeks to gather the men together and organise supplies. Much as you may want to rush off, young Lord Bayan, patience is prudence. We would walk straight into trouble. We must take the time to prepare.”
“May I speak?”
The deep voice of the King commanded complete respect; the squabbling ceased immediately.
“Of course, Your Highness,” someone murmured.
“This news is not a surprise to us. Lord Renwearde of Bernicia sent word of the Viking raids in his area. His army is already assembled and even now is travelling down to meet us. I have sent out messengers to all the hides to come to arms. As we travel down to Deira we shall pick up forces at Corawic when we cross the wall, at Hagustaldes and Catraeth. By the time we march on Eboric we will command a terrible force to behold.”
“And what army do you suggest we march from Babbanburth with, Your Highness?”
The creeping voice who had suggested that Eboric would hold broke the silence with his silky sarcasm. He sat in a tunic of deep blue with gold stitching, his hair curled in ringlets, jet black despite the wrinkles on his face. A moment of quiet followed; the atmosphere thickening with tension.
“Why, with My Lord Osberht’s army,” the King replied majestically, reducing the slight to cinders.
A general murmur of shock rippled through the hall.
“Your Highness I don’t understand?” A Lord in deep red leaned around to stare a
t the King with surprised eyes. He had been quiet for much of the discussion, considering, his face grave.
“In preparation for an attack from the Mercian’s, Lord Osberht has been assembling his troops in secret. He has assured me they would be happy to serve their kingdom’s interests.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the reply was strained, as if through clenched teeth. Lord Osberht barely raised his eyes to acknowledge the King.
“Your Highness, even with this news, I still believe we are rushing into this fight. If we could just take a little time...”
“We depart in one week. My men have been informed; preparations are in hand. I leave you to discuss the details.”
With that, the King swept from the table, invisible servants leaving their places in the dark corners of the room to scurry after him. There was a pause before a barrage of noise broke out. Bayan listened to the babble for a moment, closing his eyes at the petty complaints and trivial arguments thrown back and forth across the table. Sighing, he pushed his chair out of the way and stormed to the back of the Great Hall, making his way down the darkened corridor towards his bed chamber.
Æva stood awkwardly as Bayan burst into the room, unsure how to greet him. Should she kiss him? Welcome him back? Leave, even?
Her eyebrows furrowed with hurt, therefore, when he swept past her without so much as a hello, going straight to the tray of food and snatching up the bread. The warmth of the previous night had evaporated, now he seemed cold and distant. He chewed briefly before taking a large swig of ale. Slamming the cup down, he leaned both arms on the table, exhaling through clenched teeth. Æva realised his shoulders were tense with anger, his face closed.
“Are you all right?” she asked. Her voice shook; a nervous reaction to his mood.
Bayan turned to her, his eyebrows drawn together with worry. He took in her anxious expression and forced his face into a smile.
“I am sorry I had to leave,” he told her, ignoring her question. “And even sorrier to say I am going to have to do so again. I have much to organise.”
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