But for now, everyone from the settlement was packed into the hall. It was as loud as the clash of shieldwalls. Yet this was the happy cacophony of community. Laughter. Chatter. Shouting. Bawdy jokes.
Not the battle clamour of death and pain. Beobrand closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself not to think such black thoughts.
"Are you well, my lord?" Sunniva was at his side. She offered him ale. He held out his drinking horn.
"I am all the better for having you at my side," he said. He stroked her leg as she leant forward to pour him drink. She bent and kissed his cheek.
"I can scarce believe that I am lord of these people."
"And my lord too," she said. "You spoke well tonight. The people are content."
"As am I. It is pleasing to see the people happy. Soon we will build a home for ourselves. Until then, I hope you are content too."
"I am." Sunniva pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Lady Rowena is very kind." She paused. Looked towards the hearth-fire.
"What is it? Does something ail you, Sunniva?"
She bit her lower lip. "It is nothing. You will think me silly."
"Nonsense. What is it? I would know what upsets my wife."
For a long while she did not respond. Just when Beobrand thought she would not speak, she said, "It is him."
Beobrand didn't understand. "Who?"
"Him," she said, signalling with her chin.
He followed her gaze.
"Anhaga?" he asked, a tinge of vexation entering his tone. "We have spoken of this."
"I know. I said you would think me silly. But he looks at me... with a hunger." She shuddered.
"Anhaga is a good man. I am certain of it. He is oath-bound to me. He wishes no harm to you."
"I know what he wants," she snapped. Lady Rowena looked at them quizzically for a moment before turning her attention back to Edlyn, who was speaking incessantly at her side.
"Sunniva, my love." Beobrand took her hand in his; touched her cheek so that she looked directly at him. "You are the most beautiful woman most men will ever see. Men will always look at you. But they will not touch you, for you are mine. And I would kill any man who did you wrong. Anhaga is a faithful man, I am sure, but if the cripple makes you uneasy, I will speak to him."
"No. I know you speak the way of it. Do not talk with Anhaga of this. It will make things more difficult for me. I will need to work with him if I am to run your hall."
Beobrand let out a sigh. Why was everything so complicated with women? He quashed his frustration and allowed himself to relax once more. "Good. He will be of use to you in many ways. He is quick-witted and honest. All who knew him in Bebbanburg vouched for his good character."
Sunniva nodded, but her lips were pressed into a thin line and her brow was furrowed. She was not convinced. He decided to move the conversation away and on to happier things.
He looked over at where Rowena was listening to her daughter, who was gesticulating wildly as she recounted a tale.
"How is the forge? Is there anything you need?"
"It is wonderful to be able to work metal again. There was a moment yesterday when I half expected him to be there. Just behind me where I could not see. I could feel his presence."
Beobrand squeezed her hand. It seemed more difficult than he'd thought to move her mind from sad thoughts.
"I am sure his spirit looks on with pride," he said. "And your young apprentice? How does she fare?"
"Edlyn is a sweet girl. And good company. She is a treasure."
Beobrand seized the opportunity. "Talking of treasure," he said quickly, "that reminds me. There is something I need to do. Please take your seat and I will address the folk."
Sunniva sat, smoothing her dress over her thighs nervously.
Beobrand stood. He held out his arms as if in supplication to the gods, as he had seen Oswald do. In battle, men turned to him naturally. He was taller than most. Hale and strong with great sword-skill. But here, in the mead hall, he was unsure of himself. He felt clumsy as he ever did speaking before others. He looked to Acennan. His friend saw him standing there and nodded. He turned to those around him on the benches and bade them be silent.
The fire burnt hot on the hearth. The faces of the feasters were made ruddy by ale, mead and heat. The chaos of dozens of voices washed over Beobrand as he stood there. For a moment he wondered if they would cease talking. Perhaps he would be left to sit back down. Ignored like a chastised child who sought attention from his elders.
Then, unnervingly rapidly, the hall grew quiet. One heartbeat the room was a confusion of noise, the next it was hushed.
Beobrand looked over them all. They were all his people now. From homeless to lord in a year. His wyrd was woven with bold threads, of that there could be no doubt. Amongst the upturned faces he saw his gesithas and their women. They wore expressions of expectation. Pride. They were keen to hear his words. In his dreams as a boy back in Hithe he had sometimes pictured himself as a thegn in a great hall. But he had never imagined this scene. To be standing before a throng who called him hlaford.
Lowering his arms to his side, Beobrand spoke in a clear voice. "Folk of Ubbanford. Good folk. My folk. We are reaching the end of a harsh year. We have lost loved ones." He glanced to either side. Sunniva, Rowena and Edlyn looked back at him, their eyes glistening.
"We have fought battles."
Acennan and the other warriors nodded.
He remembered Tata, her body broken on the altar of Engelmynster. Recalled the vision of Cathryn's corpse, cold and mutilated on the forest floor. His face clouded. "Innocents have been killed."
"Let us raise the horns to our fallen. Fill your cups and drink deeply. Let their names never be forgotten." He took his drinking horn and lifted it high. Around the hall, the action was repeated.
"To the fallen!" Beobrand said. He took a long draught from the horn, the cool liquid bitter on his tongue.
"To the fallen!" His folk echoed him. Silence fell on the room as they all drank. Then the clatter of horns and cups being slammed onto boards. People began to talk. Perhaps tales of those they had lost.
Beobrand held out his arms again. Silence returned quickly.
"We must never forget those we have lost, or the hardships we've faced. But I do not wish to dwell on these things tonight. Tonight must be a celebration. We celebrate the simple things. That we have food on the table. A roof above us. The gods have accepted our sacrifice. Yet there is more I wish us to celebrate."
He reached out to Sunniva. She stood and took his hand.
"It has been a hard year for Sunniva and I too. We have no living family." Her small hand was cool in his. "But we found each other. We are handfasted. Wed together as man and wife." She squeezed his hand. "Having no family means that there was nobody to agree the brýdgifu or the handgeld."
The women's faces in the gathering stared back at him, eager to hear what he would say.
"But in losing our families, we have found you. You, the folk of Ubbanford. And we would celebrate our handfasting with you."
His gesithas and some of the drunker ceorls cheered. Fists thumped the boards. Plates and cups rattled.
"I see you are hungry and wish to slake thirsts already dampened with more mead and ale, so I will not speak for much longer."
Acennan, red-faced and smiling, cheered and raised his horn in salute. Laughter rippled around the hall.
"Stop your crowing, Acennan," Beobrand raised an eyebrow in Acennan's direction. "If you are so keen for me to finish, perhaps the nightwards would like to be relieved of their duty and allowed to join the feast." Beobrand's smile took the sting from the rebuke.
Acennan returned the smile, lifting a hand in apology. "Sorry, lord. Please continue."
"We have been wed for some time now, and yet Sunniva is still without her morgengifu. So here, before you all, I wish to give her that which is hers by right. A morgengifu that is fit for a lord's lady."
He turned from the
throng and lifted a small wooden box from under the gift-stool.
He faced Sunniva and said, "In this cask I give you half of the treasure handed to me by Oswald King. This gold and silver is yours from this day forth. You may use it as you see fit."
Sunniva's smile was wide. Her face seemed to glow in light of the hearth-flame.
"There is more I would give you. Silver and gold is not enough. It can be stolen or misspent. And it cannot fill an empty belly. So I gift to you also my lord's right to the fish from the river Tuidi that is within the hides of my land. This I will see is proclaimed to the king when next I go to Bebbanburg. Oswald King will know of our handfasting and the value of your morning-gift so that no man may refute these words."
"Thank you, Beobrand Lord," Sunniva replied, her voice slight, but carrying throughout the hall. "To be your wife is enough for me, but I accept this morgengifu from you gladly."
She kissed him softly on the lips. He breathed deep of the scent of her.
Then addressing the hall in his loudest tone he declaimed, "Now I truly have talked too long. My throat is dry and my stomach grumbles at the smell of the meat on the spit. Drink, eat and celebrate. Tonight is a good night."
The throng erupted in cheers and shouts. They all returned to conversations at their boards, and the sound was again like the waves washing over stones on a beach. Rowena nodded to him, as he sat. He watched Sunniva as she moved towards the hearth. She spoke to one of the thralls there who sliced meat from a joint and laid it on a trencher for her. What grace and beauty. To think he had believed himself cursed not six months hence.
Sunniva made her way back towards him. Beobrand watched her, entranced. Beyond her, his gaze was drawn to another's stare. Anhaga's eyes followed Sunniva's swaying hips as she walked. Beobrand and Anhaga's gazes met. For a brief moment a darkness seemed to fall over Anhaga's face, then he looked away. Could there be some substance to Sunniva's fears? No, it was madness. Whatever the man thought, surely he would not risk death.
Sunniva handed him the trencher of meat. The smell of the oozing beef made his mouth fill with liquid.
But he had barely taken a single bite when a commotion at the end of the hall drew his attention. The doors swung open. The door wards entered with a third man between them. A hush fell on the gathering again, as everyone turned to see who had come.
Beobrand stood quickly. Upsetting his drinking horn and spilling its contents. Were Nathair and his sons seeking vengeance?
"Who comes to my hall in the dark of night?" Beobrand asked, his face and voice stern.
The man bowed and pushed back his cloak to show he was unarmed.
"I bring a message from Oswald King for Beobrand of Ubbanford."
"I am Beobrand."
"You are to come to Bebbanburg with all haste."
CHAPTER 12
Beobrand and Acennan rode into the courtyard of Bebbanburg through a driving rain. The sea below the fortress was a turmoil of white and grey. There were no ships abroad on the foam-flecked waves. The clouds were low above them. The gloom and the rain made the place seem somehow smaller. None of the islands were visible and the land to the west was veiled.
Bebbanburg was less crowded than when they had left, and those who still resided there would not venture out on such a day unless they had no choice. The messenger who rode with them announced Beobrand and Acennan at the lower gate. He was clearly well-known to the gate-wardens who waved the three bedraggled riders past with scarcely a glance.
Once inside they dismounted and led their mounts to the stables. There they found the hostler and stable boys playing tafl. They jumped up as Beobrand and the others clattered into the building.
"Hope we're not disturbing you," said Acennan.
"No, lord," replied the hostler. His eyes darted, his gaze never seeming to find what he was looking for.
"Do not fear. Anhaga is not here," said Beobrand. "But I will beat you myself, if you raise your hand to Sceadugenga."
The black stallion showed the hostler the whites of his eyes and snorted.
"Yes, lord. Sorry, lord." The man rushed to take the reins from Beobrand. "I'll have this fine steed rubbed down and fed soon enough. He'll be well-cared for."
"Make sure he is." Beobrand fixed him with an unflinching stare. The hostler averted his eyes quickly and turned to the stable hands.
"Look lively now, you lazy good for nothing whoresons," he screeched. The horses flinched.
"Charming man," Acennan said as they walked to the king's hall. "Reminds me of my father," he chuckled.
Beobrand gave Acennan a sour look. "Reminds me of mine too. If he is not careful, he will end up like him."
They gave up their weapons at the door of the hall. Their cloaks were sodden and dripping, so they removed those too and handed them to the door wards who seemed unsure of what to do with them.
Inside was the familiar scene of a lord's gesithas at their rest. Small groups of men talked and played games in different parts of the hall. They looked up as Beobrand and Acennan stepped into the smoky darkness. Little light oozed through the small windows. Embers glowed dimly on the hearthstone.
They made their way to the central hearth, eager to warm themselves after the cold wet journey from Ubbanford. Beobrand picked up a couple of sizable logs from the pile near the hearth. He tossed them onto the embers with a spray of sparks and a sudden flare of light.
"Always one to make a grand entrance," said a familiar voice behind him.
Beobrand spun around to see Wybert lounging on a bench. His legs were outstretched to the fire. A cup nestled in his hand. He was changed somehow from when Beobrand had seen him last. More confident, perhaps even more belligerent. Maybe ale made him bold.
"Well met, Wybert," Beobrand said. "I trust you are well."
Wybert frowned. "I would be better if I did not have to see your face again." Wybert stood unsteadily and lurched towards Beobrand.
Beobrand readied himself for an assault, but it did not come. Wybert tottered to a halt and hawked phlegm into the fire. Mead sloshed from the cup he still held.
"It is not by choice that I am here, Wybert. The king has called me hither."
Wybert spat again. "Of course. The great Beobrand has been called by the king. What makes you of such import? Why do the gods smile upon you when they piss on the rest of us?" Wybert staggered towards Beobrand. "You should have died back in Engelmynster. Then none of this would have come to pass." Beobrand held out his hands to stop Wybert from falling into the fire. "Don't you touch me!" screamed Wybert. "I will kill you!"
All talk and play in the hall had stopped. Men stood. Some moved closer.
Beobrand shoved Wybert away. "Do not make such threats, Wybert. I did not kill Leofwine. I loved him and I loved your father too. I do not wish to have your blood on my hands. Do not force my hand. You are no warrior to stand against me."
"No warrior? My arms are strong. My spear sharp. I can kill you as easily as any man." Spittle flew from Wybert's lips.
"Wybert, sit down!" Another voice. Beobrand looked into the gloom of the hall and saw the formidable bulk of Athelstan striding between the benches and watching men. "Be seated, Wybert. You are not yourself."
Wybert seemed to shrink. He glanced at Athelstan and mumbled something. He turned from Beobrand and found a bench.
"I would thank you not to pay heed to Wybert," Athelstan picked up a drinking horn and tossed out the contents onto the hearth. A hissing cloud of mead made Acennan cough. "He can fight well enough," Athelstan continued, filling the horn with fresh mead and offering it to Beobrand, "in fact, he shows some skill in training. But he cannot hold his mead and keep his mouth shut."
Beobrand accepted the horn and took a swig. The sweet liquid warmed his throat.
"Not holding his drink, eh?" said Beobrand, with a twisted mirthless smile. "Seems to be a common complaint."
Athelstan frowned, but chose not to react to the jibe.
"So, you have seen Wybert tr
ain?" Beobrand continued.
"Aye, he is one of my gesithas now. He will make a fine spear-man."
"Yes, he has seen me practise with shield, spear and seax," Wybert slurred. "Athelstan knows my worth."
Athelstan rounded on the young man. "Speak no more, Wybert! If you say one more word, I will beat you into stillness myself. Leave us now."
Wybert rose abruptly to his feet. For a moment, Beobrand thought he would attack Athelstan. But then Wybert said, "Sorry, my lord," and turned to leave.
"What have we here? The good thegns of Bernicia bickering and squabbling like puppies fighting over scraps." All eyes turned to the new speaker. Beobrand recognised the soft voice that carried so well even before he saw Oswald stepping down from the raised platform at the end of the hall.
"I would not have you fight each other," Oswald said. "We have enemies enough as it is."
Beobrand thought it best not to speak, so he merely bowed his head. Athelstan did the same.
"Now, both of you, join me at the high table. I would speak with you of things that are afoot. Errands you must perform."
"Of course, Oswald King," Beobrand managed. Ignoring Wybert, he walked with Athelstan to the king's table.
Beobrand recognised all those seated at the table. The bearded Derian flashed his teeth at him. "Good to see you, boy," he said.
Next to Derian sat the king's brother, Oswiu. He was grave and sombre. Unsmiling. He did not acknowledge Beobrand, but gave Athelstan a slight nod. On the other side of the board sat the person Beobrand least expected to see. Coenred looked out of place surrounded by such strong, powerful men. His forehead had been recently shaved, and his hair at the back had grown. The style was that worn by the other Christ monks. The result was that he looked older, somehow more serious. Coenred gave Beobrand a small, nervous smile.
At Coenred's side sat an older monk, Gothfraidh, who Beobrand remembered from Cadwallon's execution.
Oswald sat at the head of the table. Beobrand and Athelstan seated themselves opposite each other. Athelstan next to Oswiu, Beobrand squeezed on the bench next to Coenred. Beobrand's clothes steamed gently in the warmth of the hall.
The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) Page 17
