Aeva The Wild

by Claire Marion

  Wulfram was the one to bring it up. Glancing up as Ælric slipped back inside the tent from relieving himself, he caught a glimpse of the inky black outside.

  “Will you not be missed?” he asked Æva, a nod of his head to the night sky indicating the lateness of the hour.

  Æva jumped up, both startled and panicked. He was right. Even if Lora did not reveal her absence, if Bayan came back and found her gone, he would be furious. She stared at the opening, now being held aloft by Ælric, then back at the floor where Idin and Wulfram sat. Her expression twisted. She wanted to stay here, to be a part of the laughing, carefree group where she felt, if not an equal, at least… respected? Was that even the right word? They did not see her as something to be kept, or kept in the dark.

  That was impossible, though.

  “Come,” Wulfram said, standing up to tower over her. “I will escort you back.”

  “I can take her,” Idin offered, causing her heart to jump a little, although she wasn’t sure why.

  “No,” Wulfram cut across. “It would be better to be me.”

  Æva did not understand this comment, her brow furrowing as she tried to work out what he meant, but she allowed him to lead her out of the tent and into the chill of the night.

  The camp was different in darkness. The tents dissolved into the black, only the odd one glowing dark tan by the light of a candle. Instead fires led the way, dotted sporadically at the intersections of roads, each encircled by groups of men, huddling close to the warmth of the flames. It was louder, too, bursts of laughter and out of key singing erupting around her. She noticed, however, that the men all fell respectfully silent as Wulfram passed, only the occasional soldier brave enough to catch his eye and nod. Æva walked quickly behind him, keeping close to his heels. She was glad she did not have to make this journey alone.

  Although the walk into the Lord of Bernicia’s camp had seemed long, it took only minutes for Wulfram to lead her back to the rear wall of the large building now deemed the King’s headquarters. She saw the structure looming up before her, high stone walls lit by torches on rusting iron brackets. Soldiers stood guard on each corner. Æva hesitated; she knew she would be in trouble. Part of her hoped Wulfram would accompany her right inside, to protect her from the full force of Bayan’s anger, but she wasn’t sure it was wise to let Bayan know who she had been with. Unconsciously her feet began to slow, like a naughty child dragging her steps on the way to a father she knows will punish her. She deliberated between hiding behind Wulfram, and asking him to leave her here. She opened her mouth, still not sure what she had decided, but Wulfram beat her to it.

  “Perhaps I should leave you here?” he asked, turning to appraise her.

  After a brief pause, Æva nodded numbly and walked on. Just a few feet past she paused and turned, thinking to say farewell, but Wulfram was already marching away from her.

  “My Lady Æva!” a high-pitched squeak called her name as soon as she set foot in the courtyard.

  Lora stepped from the shadows into the light cast by a torch hanging under the eaves of the archway. She looked dreadful. Her hair hung bedraggled around her face, yanked out of her neat ponytail and mussed up on one side as if it had been grabbed violently; her face gleamed pale in the dimmed light. Something dark smeared across her chin, thicker at the corner of her mouth. With dismay Æva realised it was blood. The whole side of her jaw was swollen and puffy.

  “Lora, what happened to you?” Æva breathed, her hand reaching out to touch the girl’s battered face. Lora tripped away, glancing fearfully around the courtyard.

  “Nothing, My Lady, I am fine,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice.

  “Who did this to you?” Æva pressed. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing in anger, but a moment later, she understood.

  This was her fault. Though there was no accusation in Lora’s eyes, only fright, the truth was clear. She had been punished for losing Æva, for allowing her to wander off into the camp. Æva cursed her selfishness. She hadn’t spared a thought for what would happen to the girl when she sneaked off to find her friends; hadn’t considered that Lora might get into trouble as a result of her actions.

  “Lora, I’m sorry,” she croaked, stepping forward again. Lora dropped her head and scuttled back another step.

  “I am to take you directly to Lord Bayan,” she whispered. Her voice was full of apprehension at having to face him again.

  Æva shared her concern. How would he deal with her?

  Lora led her across the darkened courtyard towards the back corner of the building. She knocked once at a solid wooden door – one of the few rooms in the square still to have a barrier standing – and waited. Æva watched her fidget from foot to foot nervously.

  “Enter,” a voice called. Æva knew it must be Bayan, but she didn’t recognise the tenor of his voice in the short, harsh command. Her stomach, already in knots, twisted uncomfortably. Lora opened the door then stepped back for Æva to enter. She took one deep breath, lifted her chin and glided inside.

  The room was well lit, but the flickering candles seemed somehow menacing, allowing ghostly shadows to ripple across the uneven stone. To her left a bed had been laid. She smelled the musty aroma of straw, covered over with thick, sumptuous furs. Opposite, a table and two chairs had been set. Bayan filled one of them. He sat casually, his tall frame draped across the chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him. His arms were folded across his torso, the muscles bulging ominously. Æva thought fleetingly of Lora’s battered face and swallowed, uncomfortable.

  She fought to keep her head raised, but her teeth played with her bottom lip, giving away her anxiety. She wanted to peek at his face, to gauge the anger in his eyes, but she was afraid of what she might see. Instead her eyes fluttered around the room, waiting for him to speak. He did not make it easy, drawing the moment out until her nerves stretched raw, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth began to throb.

  “Where have you been?”

  His voice was calm and even, almost conversational, but Æva knew it belied the anger within. She chose her words with care, wanting to be as honest as possible, but avoid saying anything set fire to his rage.

  “I went for a walk,” she began, eyes raking across his expression. It was impassive; solid stone.

  “You have been gone for several hours,” he informed her.

  “I got lost...” she offered, tailing off as he turned the full force of his glare on her. One eyebrow raised in cynicism, his mouth tightening into a thin line.

  “Where have you been?” he repeated, spitting out each word.

  “Nowhere,” she whimpered, her voice squeezing up an octave. “Just walking. I met-,” she stopped short, the furrowing of his brow a clear warning danger approached.

  “You met?” he prodded. His body was still slouched in the chair, but every muscle was tensed. His hand clenched into a fist, digging into his thigh. Æva couldn’t look away from it. The skin was stretched tight across his knuckles, threatening violence.

  “I met Wulfram,” she confessed. She did not mention Idin or Ælric, hoping that Wulfram’s position of authority would stop Bayan from turning his rage onto him. She had no idea how the balance of power lay amongst the nobles.

  Bayan took a moment before responding. He uncoiled himself from the chair and stood. Suddenly the space in the room seemed much smaller and Æva was struck by how huge he seemed in anger. He took one step, then another, towards her, until he was close enough to reach out and touch her. He kept his hands by his sides, however, and Æva was torn between looking into his eyes and trying in vain to read his expression or watching his fists. She flinched as he lifted one arm, resisting the urge to dance back in case she infuriated him further. He cupped his hand around her jaw, raising her chin before sliding his hand back around her neck. His grip was gentle, but her heart began to pound in a frantic rhythm, aware of how quickly that grasp could tighten.

  “You belong to me,” he said.

  Æva stared
at him, wide-eyed and terrified. His words made her feel like a possession, or a slave, and defiance sparked in the pit of her stomach; but it was easily overpowered by fear. Her lips trembled and she bit back angry retorts.

  “I will not have any woman of mine parading herself in front of soldiers, prostituting herself in the company of men.”

  “I didn’t-,” Æva tried to interject, tears sparkling in her eyes, but Bayan shook his head in warning, his grip tightening a fraction.

  “I expect you to behave with decorum,” he told her. “I expect you to be here, waiting for me when I return. Do you understand me?” His eyes flashed, the aggression scarcely veiled.

  “Yes,” Æva nodded, teardrops sliding onto her cheeks. His hand was still wound around her neck, and one crystal drop splashed onto his thumb, glistening in the candlelight.

  “You will not see those men again,” he said. It was an order, and Æva’s heart sank. She couldn’t – she wouldn’t - agree to such a demand. She didn’t dare argue, however. Not now.

  She dropped her eyes so he wouldn’t see her rebellious thoughts, staring hard at the tunic covering his chest. Moments ticked by, then suddenly Bayan’s grip softened.

  “Come here,” he crooned, drawing her to him by the hand around her neck. He released his grasp and wrapped his arms around her, encircling her shaking body. He pulled her to him, one hand reaching up and stroking her hair.

  “You should not anger me,” he whispered into her ear, his fingers caressing her neck.

  The sudden change in his demeanour confused Æva. She clung to him, crying harder, and when he bent his lips to kiss her, she made no move to stop him.

  ᛒ

  When Æva awoke, the grey light of early morning filtered through the gaps in the stout wooden door. Surprisingly, Bayan was still there, sitting at the table, watching her. He smiled in greeting when he saw her stirring.

  “Good morning,” he said softly.

  “Hello,” Æva murmured, still on the back foot after their fight the night before, not sure if she was forgiven, or if she had forgiven him. His demand, she knew, would still stand this morning, just as she knew that she could not accept it. This, she realised, was the reason that he had stayed to see her wake.

  “I have things to attend to,” he told her, his voice low, gentle, “But I will have Lora bring you breakfast.” The mention of the handmaiden settled an awkwardness on the air. Her battered face swam before Æva’s eyes for a heartbeat, before an uncomfortable twitch from Bayan refocused her eyes. He looked abashed, perhaps even ashamed. Today his face was open and friendly. It was difficult to reconcile him with the brutal thug who had been so threatening last night.

  “And after that?” Æva asked. “What may I do?”

  It was both an honest question and a veiled accusation. As soon as the words were out Æva bit her tongue, wishing the question had not slipped from her lips. She watched his expression cautiously, hoping it would not cloud. His eyes narrowed, a slight grimace on his face, but he smoothed it quickly.

  “You are not my slave, Æva,” he said slowly, struggling to phrase his demands both clearly and kindly. “You are free to roam the courtyard as you please, Lora will accompany you. Should you wish to stretch your legs further, you may go riding. Soldiers will be standing guard at the front archway. They will guide you.”

  Æva pressed her lips together, trying to keep frustration from her face. She was to be guarded, leashed. Despite his words, she felt like his servant, and she saw no way around his controls. With her footsteps haunted by the handmaiden, and a soldier tailing her should she step foot outside, she would have no opportunity to seek out her friends, the only thing she had any interest in doing.

  Bayan took her silence as acquiescence. He stood, a swift movement, and crossed the room, dropping a kiss on her forehead, his fingertips brushing along her collarbone.

  “I will be back as soon as I can,” he said, a promise and a warning in one.

  As soon as his silhouette had disappeared from the doorway, Lora took his place. Æva sighed, defeated for now.

  Having had a day to develop, the handmaiden’s face was a myriad of bruises. Her shoulder was hunched up, tensed in pain; Æva wondered if Bayan had broken a tooth in his rage. It infuriated her that he would dare take his anger out on the helpless girl, but mostly she felt responsible. She wanted to apologise again, but she was not sure whether she would do more harm than good to bring up last night’s events.

  “Good morning,” she broached, her tight smile turning wry as she realised she was echoing Bayan’s opening words, mirroring his contrite tone.

  “Good morning, My Lady,” Lora bobbed, her gaze towards the floor. Æva sighed. Lora gazed up at her, both questioning and wary, as if concerned that she had done something wrong.

  “Lora,” Æva began, ignoring the fright clear in the girl’s eyes, “I would like for us to be friends.”

  The handmaiden blanched at this, as if expecting a trick. Æva bit back a second exasperated sigh.

  “First of all, stop calling me ‘My Lady’. My name is Æva. And I don’t want you to call me My Lady Æva,” she interjected, seeing the handmaiden open her mouth to speak. “Just Æva.”

  Lora looked uneasy but nodded in acceptance.

  “Yes, My Lady. Æva,” she smiled, dipping her head apologetically at her immediate mistake. “Are you hungry?” she asked. At Æva’s nod she scampered off, returning just moments later with a tray of food. It was sumptuous: a large plate loaded with fruit, freshly baked bread and thick slices of cold roast boar. Æva dug in, her stomach growling. A chunk of bread topped with a generous wedge of meat was halfway to her mouth when she spotted Lora eyeing the feast with ravenous eyes. She paused, before gesturing to the tray with her hand still full of food.

  ‘Have you eaten? Are you hungry?’ she asked.

  Lora made as if to shake her head, but she caught Æva’s sceptical look and smiled awkwardly.

  “I am fine,” she promised, the lie clear in her eye.

  “I cannot eat all of this. Please, have some.”

  Lora looked nervous, glancing back at the open door. This time Æva did not bother to contain her groan.

  “Lora, I am telling you to eat!”

  Lora exhaled a brief laugh of anxious energy, before reaching uncertainly for a small apple. She nibbled at the fruit initially, as if still sensing a trap, but after a moment she was unable to hold herself back. The apple disappeared, followed by a wedge of meat and two hunks of bread. Between the two of them they cleaned the plate and some colour came back into the handmaiden’s undamaged cheek.

  After breakfast had been cleared there was nothing for Æva to do but sit and stare. The four walls seem to loom in on her, squeezing the room. Although the sky outside was leaden grey, rain falling gently in a soft drizzle, it was much brighter than the gloom of the windowless chamber and Æva found her eye drawn to the slither of light that shone through the door.

  “Shall we walk?” she asked Lora. Without waiting for the handmaiden’s response, she lifted herself from the floor and headed out the door. For a heartbeat she loitered on the threshold, eyeing the soldiers and servants who crossed the square. She thought one or two glanced at her curiously, looking away at once when she caught their eye, and she wondered if they knew about the night before. She imagined that the blows that had battered Lora’s face must have been accompanied by shouting.

  “What are all these rooms for?” she asked, stepping forward and walking along the narrow pathway that skirted around the outside of the square. She peered into several rooms, but they were dark, and she could see nothing more than a jumble of black shapes. Only a handful had doors, and the low rumble of muted voices could be distinguished behind these. Æva didn’t dare to linger to hear what was being said, or by whom.

  “Most of them are storage,” Lora told her. “Some are being used as bed chambers for the King’s most important men. Over there,’ she gestured to a large building at the bac
k of the square, ‘is where the King is positioned. Some meeting rooms are in there too. I am not allowed inside the house.”

  She glanced at Æva as she said this, to indicate that the house remained out of bounds for her also. Æva shrugged; she had no desire to meet the King. In fact, the thought terrified her.

  They walked in silence for another five minutes, circling morosely. Halfway through their third circuit, Æva sighed, already bored. She paused as a servant boy erupted out of a doorway just in front of her, his arms laden with thick brown woollen sheets. His tunic and breeches were made of the same material. He skidded to a halt, his eyes raking over her, taking in the refined blue woollen dress.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, wide-eyed, before dashing off, barely managing to keep to a walking pace in his haste.

  “What’s in that room?” Æva asked. Lora shrugged beside her.

  “Just another room for temporary storage. That one has clothing and blankets, as well as the tack for the horses I think.”

  As if coinciding with her words, the delicate aroma of well-oiled leather slithered out of the room. Æva smiled as she breathed in, letting the wafting scent guide her inside the gloomy room. It was little more than a cupboard, just four paces by three paces. Bridles hung on pegs driven into the stone wall, and large baskets covered most of the floor. In one corner three saddles lay in a heap, one on top of the other. Æva wandered in as far as the cramped space would allow. She reached up and fondled the reins, letting the satiny cool leather slip through her fingers. The earthy perfume strengthened as she handled it. Her hand dropped down to rest down on a tall basket, woven in the shape of a square. It had no lid but was covered by a short blanket of scratchy wool.

  “There are clothes in here?” she asked, turning to Lora and raising a questioning eyebrow. The girl stood before the door, reduced to a black silhouette by the light behind.