by Jayne Castel
This was not how she had envisaged arriving at Tamworth. There was something in the merchant’s leer that frightened her.
“If it’s payment you require, we can help you at market today.” Seward offered evenly. “You have much cloth to sell – you could do with our help.”
“I can sell my wares without your assistance,” the merchant replied with a shake of his head. His gaze then shifted back to Merwenna. “However, your sister is a comely wench. If you give her to me for this night, I shall consider your debt paid.”
A deathly silence followed his words.
Seward stared at the merchant, his face turning hard. Merwenna watched her brother flex his fists, the muscles in his bare arms bunching as he did so.
“You want to lie with my sister?” he asked, enunciating each word as if he could not believe he had heard correctly.
“That’s right, lad,” the merchant grinned. “And if you give her to me, our debt is settled.”
“I’m not lying with you – foul goat!” Merwenna exploded before Seward could reply. “I’d die first!”
The merchant’s grin faded at her insult. “A debt is a debt,” he growled.
“The price you ask is too high,” Seward growled back. His face had gone red and he stepped menacingly toward the merchant. Like his father, Seward was slow to anger. However, when roused he was not lightly crossed. Merwenna could see her brother’s rage kindle like a Winterfyllth bonfire. She longed for his patience to snap – she wanted him to lash out and break this letch’s jaw.
“If you will not accept our offer of assisting you sell your wares, we will be off,” Seward told the merchant. “You will not lay a hand on my sister.”
“You must pay!” the merchant thrust his chin out pugnaciously. “Gold or your sister – you decide!”
He made a grab for Merwenna – a rash and foolish move, for Seward’s fist lashed out and connected with the man’s jaw. The merchant sprawled back against the bolts of cloth.
The crowd suddenly hushed around them. Folk had finally noticed that an altercation had exploded between the two young travelers and the balding man.
“Fool,” the merchant spat blood onto the dirt and hauled himself to his feet. Then he drew a hunting knife from around his waist. “I’ll cut you up for that.”
Merwenna’s breath caught in her throat. Seward was unarmed, and suddenly out of his depth. She could see the mean glint in the merchant’s eyes; he was much older and slower than her brother. Yet, she realized, with a sickening jolt, that this man had killed before – and could do so easily again.
“Leave him be!” Merwenna stepped in front of Seward, holding her hands up in supplication. “Please don’t kill him.”
“Merwenna!” Seward grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back from the merchant. She could hear the rage in his voice and knew this situation was just moments away from spiraling out of control.
“You want to save your brother?” the merchant advanced toward Seward, knife raised. “Then you know what you must do, you little whore.”
“Wait!”
A woman’s voice, cultured and gentle, cut through the crowd.
“I will pay for them. Do not harm him.”
Merwenna glanced around, searching for the woman who had spoken. A moment later, the crowd parted and a blonde woman of around forty winters stepped forward. She was finely dressed in a long, sleeveless blue tunic with a silk trim. Her slender arms were bare, adorned only with bronze arm-rings, and a heavy belt studded with amber sat low on her hips. Her golden hair was braided and wrapped around the crown of her head.
Merwenna stared at the woman. She had always thought of her mother as comely, easily the finest-looking woman in Weyham, but this woman outshone her. She had never seen a woman so beautiful.
The woman approached them, her skirts rustling as she did so. She walked with regal grace. The cloth merchant’s attitude transformed the moment he set eyes on the woman.
“Milady,” his face went slack with shock. He lowered his knife, before bowing his head respectfully. Around him, the crowd grew tense.
Merwenna spotted four warriors following the woman. They were all big men, clad in tunics of fine cloth, and gleaming leather. Each man carried a heavy ash spear, their expressions formidable. Merwenna’s stomach somersaulted as she realized who the newcomer was.
Only one woman in Tamworth could command others. Only one woman would walk about town with an armed escort.
Cyneswide, Queen of Mercia, stood before them.
Chapter Three
The Queen’s Guests
“My Queen,” Merwenna blurted, her face flaming “I’m sorry. We did not realize this man wanted payment for assisting us. We would never have accepted his help, had we known.”
Merwenna curtsied low and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Seward bow reverently. Like her, he looked stunned. Never had they imagined the Queen of Mercia would ever bandy words with them, let alone come to their aid.
“I was only demanding what I was due,” the merchant blustered, finding his tongue once more.
“What is your name?” Cyneswide asked.
“Drefan, Milady. Drefan of Chester.”
“How much do they owe you, Drefan of Chester?” Cyneswide asked, her gentle manner not slipping an inch as she met the man’s eye.
“Two thrymsas,” he muttered, his face reddening.
This utterance caused a few gasps amongst the crowd. Two gold coins – thrymsas – was an exorbitant fee. However, the queen did not flinch. Instead, she turned to the warrior to her right. He was a huge man with shaggy brown hair and a wintry gaze.
“Pay him, Rodor, if you please.”
The warrior nodded, before retrieving a leather pouch. He extracted two gold pieces and handed them to the merchant.
Merwenna watched the transaction, relief flooding through her. This woman’s kindness easily matched her beauty.
“Thank you, Milady,” she murmured, “I am so sorry to have caused this much trouble.”
“It was no trouble at all,” Queen Cyneswide fixed her with a calm, blue-eyed gaze. “You and your brother are not from Tamworth, are you?”
Merwenna shook her head.
“What are your names?”
“I am Merwenna, and this is my brother, Seward, of Weyham, Milady.”
The queen nodded. “And what is your business here?”
Merwenna took a deep breath and cast a glance at her brother. Seward seemed to have swallowed his tongue in the presence of the beautiful queen. He wore a slightly stunned look as he gazed upon Cyneswide.
“My brother has escorted me here,” Merwenna replied hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I have come to seek my betrothed.”
“Your betrothed?” Queen Cyneswide’s fair brow creased into a frown.
“He rode to war with the king,” Merwenna explained. “I have had no word in three months – I had to come and look for him. I have to know if he lives.”
“Have you had any news of the battle, Milady?” Seward finally spoke up.
“I have,” the queen smiled at Seward. “Good news. We have defeated the Northumbrians – Mercia is victorious.”
The wave of relief that slammed against Merwenna then, made her feel light-headed. Seeing his sister’s reaction, Seward stepped close to Merwenna and placed a protective arm about her shoulders. Merwenna sagged against him, her legs suddenly weak.
“The king and his fyrd ride toward Tamworth as we speak,” the queen continued, with a warm smile. “I dearly hope your betrothed is among them. Your loyalty deserves reward.”
Merwenna dropped her chin, embarrassed. Tears stung her eyelids and she frantically blinked, trying to hold them back. “Thank you, Milady.”
“Where are you lodging?” Cyneswide turned her attention to Seward once more.
“Nowhere, as yet, Milady,” he replied. “We will see if there is space for us at the mead hall.”
Merwenna, regaining control of h
erself, and managing to stem the threatening tears, watched the queen pause a moment.
“There is no need for that. You may stay in the King’s Hall while you await your betrothed.”
Merwenna stared at the queen, her mouth opening in shock.
“M…Milady,” she stuttered. “That is too generous an offer.”
It was indeed, for the queen’s proclamation had caused murmurs to ripple through the amassed crowd. Some whispered eagerly to each other, darting keen glances at the brother and sister who stood before the queen. Others stared at them with ill-concealed envy.
Drefan of Chester – the cloth merchant – looked as if he had just supped on sour milk. He glared at Merwenna, his eyes glittering under heavy lids.
“Perhaps,” the queen gave an enigmatic smile, “but it’s mine to make.”
Merwenna smiled and cast a glance at Seward; her brother was grinning ear-to-ear.
“Come,” Cyneswide held out her arm to Merwenna. “Escort me back to the Great Tower.”
Merwenna took the queen’s proffered arm, while Seward took up the rear, alongside the queen’s escort. The brother and sister traveled light, carrying nothing more than leather satchels slung across their fronts. As such, there was no need to return to the cloth merchant’s cart.
As they moved away, the cloth merchant stepped forward.
“Milady,” he called out. “Do you not wish to buy some cloth? I have the finest linen, and even a bolt of blue silk that matches your eyes.”
Cyneswide turned back, her gentle gaze suddenly hardening.
“I think not,” she replied. “I do not buy from men who would bully a maid into giving away her virtue. You will receive no purchase from me today – or any day.”
Merwenna followed the queen out of the market place. However, as she moved away, she made the mistake of glancing back at the cloth merchant.
Drefan’s gaze seized hers for an instant, and what she saw there made her step falter. She had made an enemy – and she knew he would never forget it.
***
“Mead, Milady?”
A man approached Queen Cyneswide and her two guests, as they sat near the fire pit. He was young and slender with haunted eyes. The iron collar about his neck marked him as a theow – a slave. The sight of him fascinated Merwenna; there were no slaves in Weyham.
“Yes, thank you,” the queen replied, “and pour some for my guests as well.”
The slave poured their clay cups to the brim, avoiding their gazes as he did so. Merwenna took a sip of mead and had to stop herself from wrinkling her nose; it was not a drink she was used to. Instead of taking another sip, she let her gaze travel around their surroundings.
It was all she could do not to gawp. Tamworth’s Great Hall was vast. Damp stone walls that emanated a chill, despite that it was late summer and still warm outside, ringed a massive open space. A thick layer of rushes covered the floor, and two hearths roared at either end. To the right of the space, wooden steps led up to a private platform. Merwenna craned her neck to look up at the rafters high above. They were blackened, with a hole in the center to let out smoke from the fire pits.
The hall was a hive of activity. Servants and slaves moved across it as they went about their chores, while others worked at a long table that ran along the wall, preparing the evening meal.
There were few men about, as most had gone to war with their king, but those who remained to guard the Great Tower were indolent this eve; they sat drinking and exchanging riddles around the second fire pit, or playing knucklebones at one of the long tables. In contrast, the high-born ladies, most of them ealdormen’s wives, sat at the far end of the hall, bent over looms or industriously winding wool onto wooden distaffs.
Merwenna saw two girls among the high born ladies. They had fine blonde hair and delicate features, bearing a startling resemblance to Cyneswide. Seward had also noticed the two beauties and was finding it difficult to ignore them. The queen saw him looking and smiled.
“They are my daughters – Cyneburh and Cyneswith.”
Seward, who had been caught blatantly staring, flushed and looked away.
Cyneswide’s smile faded and she focused her attention upon Merwenna. “Soon they will marry and leave this hall; when they do I will be surrounded almost entirely by men. I have three sons as well… here are the trouble-makers now.”
Merwenna followed the queen’s gaze across the hall where three boys had just entered. They were dressed in fine linen tunics and leggings. The two youngest, who were both blond, playfully cuffed each other before ending up in a noisy wrestle on the rush-matting, amongst the dogs. The oldest of the three, a darker-haired lad, cast them a disdainful look and continued on his way across the hall toward his mother.
“Wulfhere, Aethelred – enough!” Cyneswide called out. The boys ignored her, and a moment later, their mother was forced to call to them once more. “Boys – if you don’t stop this instant your father will hear of this upon his return.”
The lads sprang apart, as if doused with cold water. They climbed to their feet, dusted themselves off and approached their mother, stopping next to their brother. The eldest boy was staring at Merwenna, as if he had never before seen a woman.
Cyneswide noted the direction of his gaze and smiled.
“This is Paeda, my eldest son – and these are his younger brothers, Wulfhere and Aethelred. Boys, this is Merwenna, and her brother Seward. They will be our guests for the next few days.”
All three boys nodded, their gazes curious. Merwenna observed them in kind; the brothers were all tall for their age, and handsome.
“What have you been up to all afternoon?” the queen asked, before reaching out and ruffling Wulfhere’s hair.
“Out searching for frogs,” the boy replied. Merwenna could see much of his mother in his face, however his pale blue eyes and white-blond hair must have come from his father. “Paeda caught ten but I made him let them go.”
“Wulfhere’s a big baby,” the dark-haired boy sneered at his brother. “I told him I was going to bake a frog pie and make him eat it – and he believed me.”
Wulfhere glowered at Paeda in response but said nothing. The youngest, a boy barely older than seven, started laughing, only to receive a cuff across the ear from Wulfhere.
“Enough boys – go and play knuckle bones with the men,” Cyneswide waved them away with a tired smile. “We will eat soon – and I promise, no frog pie.”
The boys went off, jostling each other as they did so. The queen turned back to Merwenna with a tired smile. “My sons exhaust me with their boundless energy. My girls were much less trouble at the same age.”
“I suppose they will calm down once the king returns,” Merwenna replied.
“They will,” Cyneswide sighed, her smile suddenly brittle, “but for now, let us enjoy this evening. Come, tell me of Weyham – I have never traveled that far west.”
Merwenna took a mouthful of pottage and glanced worriedly at Seward.
Her brother was at ease in the King’s Hall; too much so in her opinion. He had downed three large cups of mead and was now starting on his fourth. The mead was far stronger than the brew he drank at home. Seward was now merrier than she had ever seen him.
The mead had also loosened his tongue. He laughed and joked with three other youths seated near him; their laughter rang across the table, echoing high amongst the rafters.
Merwenna gave Seward a pointed look, willing him to keep his voice down. Fortunately, they did not sit at the ‘king’s table’. The royal family and highest-ranking men and women sat on the other side of the hall.
However, the queen’s absence from their side had made some of the warriors bold. Two of them were staring rudely at Merwenna now. Seward was oblivious as he regaled his new friends with his latest hunting exploits.
A female slave passed by, carrying a large tureen of pottage. She was winsome and curvaceous with thick dark hair and green eyes.
“Wes hāl, my beauty,”
Seward leaned back to admire the girl as she refilled his trencher. Her rough homespun tunic could not hide her luscious curves.
Merwenna gritted her teeth. Her brother did not usually behave so boldly with women – yet this evening he appeared to have forgotten himself. The slave girl gave him a shy smile in response and moved away, continuing down the table, her hips swaying. Seward’s gaze lingered on her until the girl had moved out of his line of sight.
Merwenna stared down at her pottage and bit her tongue to stop herself from reprimanding her brother.
Drunken oaf.
They were guests here. After this afternoon’s incident, she thought Seward would have been more careful. The queen had bestowed a great honor upon them, but her brother hardly seemed to care.
Merwenna pushed her half-eaten trencher aside and tried not to notice that Seward was filling up his cup – again.
Chapter Four
Awake in the Night
Seward smiled at the slave girl, and looked deep into her emerald eyes.
Woden, she’s comely.
The mead he had consumed had made him feel invincible. His limbs were weightless, and his senses, which should have been dulled, felt heightened.
Here he was, a lad from a backwater village, drinking in the King’s Hall. Not only that – but this dark-haired beauty had been favoring him with lusty looks all night long. His breeches were growing tighter by the second, and the sight of the girl’s slightly parted lips, as she cleared the table in front of him, caused lust to knife through his groin.
Weyham had no girls that compared to this wench – and no woman had ever given him such a melting stare. Earlier in the evening, he had noticed that she wore an iron band around her neck, marking her as one of the king’s slaves, but that had only heightened his desire for her.
Wait until I tell my friends about this, he congratulated himself. They’ll never believe me.
