by Joan Wolf
"My father's harper," she answered steadily. "He became ill and I could not move him. So I stayed ..."
The brown-haired one walked to the bed and put his hand on the harper's chest. He looked up at her. "He is dead."
She had backed away when he approached the bed. "Yes. I know. He ... he died just a few minutes ago."
"Poor timing for you, Princess of the Atrebates," the man remarked ironically.
Her hand on the dagger tightened. Her palm was sweating so, she was afraid it was going to slip out of her grasp.
Cynric spoke impatiently and the other answered him. The king's blue-green eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he listened. Cynric spoke again and the British-speaker turned to Niniane, "This is Cynric, King of the West Saxons. I am Cutha, his kinsman. The king tells you not to fear. You can put down your knife. We will not harm you."
Niniane bit her trembling lip. How had he known about the knife? The Saxon king came over to the bed and looked down at Kerwyn's body. Then he looked at Niniane and spoke. Cutha translated: "I too have a reverence for harpers."
* * * *
Niniane had buried most of the valuable jewelry they still had at Bryn Atha, so there was little in the villa for the Saxons to loot. She was afraid that perhaps they would take their disappointment out on the villa—or on her. But they seemed to accept their slim booty philosophically. The Saxons, it seemed, had given up expecting much in the way of gold from the Britons.
They stayed at the villa for two days only, and during that time Niniane was allowed to keep to her room. They brought her food and otherwise left her alone. No one made the slightest move toward raping her. Cutha had even been kind enough to inform her that her father and her brother had escaped from Sarc Water alive.
It could have been much worse, she thought as she stood at her window and watched the Saxon thanes busy in the courtyard. They had taken a number of household items that apparently struck their fancy: the Samianware pottery, the oil lamps, some of the hangings that still covered the walls. The thing that had pleased Cynric most, however, had been her polished metal hand mirror. Evidently the Saxons did not have mirrors.
Yes, it could have been much worse. They had come, and they had taken things that would be missed, but the villa was still intact, her father and brother were still alive, and it seemed she was safe. So Niniane thought as she watched Cynric's men putting the villa's belongings into the saddlebags of their packhorses that gray spring afternoon.
An hour later, she was thinking that things could not have been worse. The Saxons were indeed leaving Bryn Atha, but to her horror she found that they were taking her with them. "Am I to be made a slave?" she asked Cutha incredulously when he told her of her fate.
He had given her a reassuring smile. "Certainly not, Princess. You are far too valuable to be a slave. You will come with us as a member of the king's own household. You may pack a saddlebag of things to bring with you. We leave tomorrow at first light for Winchester."
It seemed that Bryn Atha had not been lacking in loot after all. Coinmail would say she should have used the knife.
* * *
Chapter 2
Cynric, King of the West Saxons, sat his horse in the courtyard of Bryn Atha and watched as his war band made ready to leave. Cutha came out of the house with the little British princess they had found and took her to one of the horses they had captured from her father.
The Britons, Cynric thought with contempt. The young boys in Winchester would fight with more skill than these farmers. Still, it would be wise to go carefully. He would need the goodwill of the Britons if he wanted to expand his territory. There were not enough Saxon ceorls to do all that must be done if Wessex were to become a power in the land. This girl they had found at Bryn Atha might prove helpful in making peace with the Atrebates. She was wellborn, a princess of her line. A useful acquisition.
Cutha mounted and rode over to his place beside the king. The girl followed a little behind, her horse led by one of his thanes. She sat the horse well, Cynric noted. She was small and delicate-looking, but he judged her to be at least fourteen. He could see that she had breasts.
"Ready, my king," Cutha said, and Cynric squeezed his horse forward. The war band fell in behind him, marching four abreast. The packhorses came last, each led by a man on foot.
They did not retrace their steps toward Calleva. Cynric had seen the city; now he wanted to see the rest of the country in the area. So they went west, to the old Roman road that led to Venta from Corinium. Their pace was leisurely. The king wanted to spy out what kind of land lay in this new part of his kingdom. He had eorls back in Winchester to whom he owed much, and there was little in the way of gold to be had from the British. But there was land.
The farms they saw were all deserted. Word had got round that he was coming, Cynric thought scornfully. It would not be difficult to settle Saxons in this country. He would scarcely need to fight.
They filled the packhorses to capacity with the items that took their fancy in the farmsteads, and then, as they were still ten miles from home and it was time to eat, Cynric decreed that they stop for the night. They found a clearing by the road to make camp, fires were made and food cooked. Cynric sat on the rug that had been spread for him, watching his men and fighting his own weariness. No longer could he ride for eight hours at a time. He was getting old.
The girl sat on a rug as well and watched his men out of grave and level eyes. She had ridden behind him all day, her face still and guarded, giving away nothing of what she felt. There had been no whining about how tired she was, how frightened, no questions as to what he was going to do with her. He looked at her now approvingly and said to Cutha, "I am going to lie down. She had better come too. She cannot be used to so much riding."
His kinsman nodded and spoke to the girl, whose eyes flew in alarm to the king. Cynric grimaced a little at what he saw there. She need not fear that from him, and certainly not now, when he was so weary he could scarcely stand. "She had better sleep between the two of us," he said to Cutha. "She looks the sort who might try to run away."
Cutha nodded and, standing, reached a hand down to help Cynric up. The king shook him off impatiently and forced himself to get to his feet unaided. He put a hand on the girl's shoulder, ostensibly to guide her but in reality to steady himself, and began to walk in the direction of his bedplace. The girl's bones felt small and fragile under his hand, but she bore his weight with surprising strength. She was tough, this little British princess, he thought. She might make a good alliance for one of his sons.
* * * *
Niniane was so weary that she fell asleep as soon as she realized that she was indeed going to be allowed to sleep alone. When she awoke several hours later it was to find the camp quiet. All the men were wrapped in their cloaks and sleeping on the ground around the dying fire.
She lay very still. The night was still also and, except for the fire, pitch dark. Clouds had moved in during the course of the evening to cover the moon and the stars. Cynric and Cutha were sleeping deeply. Would it be possible for her to escape?
Slowly and cautiously she sat up. There had to be a guard posted, she thought. But no one stirred. It was possible she might be able to creep out of camp unobserved.
She sat there, alone, the camp sleeping around her, and contemplated the possibility. Once she got out of camp, where would she go?
She could try one of the farms they had passed. Perhaps the people had come back by now and would hide her. But how to get to the farm? The Saxons would look for her on the road. They had horses; they would be able to overtake her before she could reach a safe haven.
She would have to hide in the forest.
Out of the darkness came the call of a wolf. Niniane shuddered. To leave the safety of the fire and go by herself into the fierce darkness of the forest, where there were wolves ... She could not do it. It was shameful to admit, but she felt safer here, lying between the big bodies of these Saxons, than she would by herself out
alone in the forest.
The wolf called again and Niniane lay back down. She was a wretched coward. Coinmail would say it was her duty to take her chances in the forest. Well, she was not Coinmail and she would rather take her chances with the Saxons. They were surely planning to ransom her back to her father. That must be what Cutha had meant when he said she was valuable. It would be wiser not to do anything foolish just yet, wiser to wait and see what was going to happen. There was the gold jewelry she had hidden at Bryn Atha for a ransom. By summer she would probably be home once again.
The Saxons rose early the following morning and were on the road shortly after dawn. "How far is it to Venta?" Niniane asked the thane who was leading her horse and who she had discovered spoke a rough but serviceable British.
"We don't go to Venta," came the surprising answer. "We are for Winchester."
"Winchester? What is Winchester?"
The thane, whose name was Eclaf, turned to stare at her in astonishment. "Winchester is the home of the West Saxon king," he answered. "It is one of the greatest royal enclaves in all of England. You have not heard of it?"
"England?" said Niniane.
"This island you call Britain."
"Oh. No, I do not know of Winchester. I thought the king lived in Venta."
"Venta is the city that serves Winchester, but the king and all his eorls and thanes live in the royal enclave. You will see it shortly, my lady." He spoke as if he were promising her a treat.
They had been riding for several hours and the road before them was still empty, when suddenly the war band stopped. Niniane watched with curiosity as a thane carefully removed a glittering object from one of the packhorses and bore it ceremoniously to the mounted figure of the king. "What is that?" she asked Eclaf.
"That is the royal helmet," he answered. "The emblem of kingship. The king always dons it when he returns to his people after doing battle for them."
Niniane watched with interest as the king raised his hands and placed the helmet on his head. She could see immediately why it was a symbol of royalty. She did not think she had ever in her life seen anything more magnificent. Made all of gold, with a great silver crest and golden garnet-encrusted face mask, it was not something one would risk in battle. Wearing it, the king looked more than a mere mortal. He looked alien, mysterious, powerful ... frightening.
Once Cynric had the helmet on, the party moved forward once again. As they topped a gentle hill and began to descend toward the valley, Niniane could see a great stockade fence looming before them to the right of the road. At the approach of the war band, a gate swung slowly open. The king turned off the road and began to advance toward the gate.
There was silence in the ranks of thanes as they approached the great wooden gate. Niniane looked from the massive back of the king to the leaner back of Cutha, both of whom were riding before her. Eclaf's head was held high. They passed through the watchmen at the gate and Niniane saw before her a street lined with people, all of whom set up a loud cheer when they saw their king. Niniane could feel the color flushing into her face. Never in her life had she felt so exposed, so naked ... so humiliated. She thought that Coinmail would die if he could see her now.
She raised her chin and stared straight ahead of her. She would pretend she was alone, she thought. She would ignore the situation, rise above it. The road, she noticed, was made of stone, and at the end of it, straight in front of her, was an enormous timber-built hall. It had a high, steep, shingled roof and very wide gables. All around the hall was grouped a series of other wood buildings, smaller than the great hall but still of impressive size. There had to be fifteen buildings at least, Niniane thought as, forgetting her resolve, she looked around in dazed wonder.
The king and Cutha had reached the great hall and now they halted their horses. There were several steps leading from the paved road to the door of the hall, and at the top of the steps was gathered a line of men. Niniane watched as Cynric mounted the stairs and was formally greeted by the delegation waiting at the top. Then the whole party disappeared into the hall. Behind her, the men of the war band began to break up and move off in different directions toward other buildings. The packhorses were being led away. Still Eclaf stood, holding Niniane's horse, obviously waiting for something.
"Why do we stand here?" Niniane asked him.
"The king is sending for one of the women to attend you," came the cheerful reply. And, indeed, a girl was coming out of the large building that was closest to the great hall.
"Greetings," she said to Niniane in British. "If you will come with me, I will take you to the women's hall." The girl was brown-haired and brown-eyed and obviously a Briton.
Niniane smiled at her a little tremulously and dismounted from her horse. "The lady Fara will see to you, my lady," Eclaf said to her as he led the horse away.
The girl's brown eyes looked her up and down curiously. "You are a princess of the Atrebates?" she asked.
"Yes." Niniane returned her look. "My father will ransom me home."
The girl looked surprised. Then, "I am Nola. Please come this way." Niniane fell into step beside her, looking around at the size of the courtyard and the number of houses.
"I had never even heard of Winchester," she said as they approached the building Nola had called the women's hall. "I always thought the West Saxon king lived in Venta."
"Cynric lived in Venta when first he conquered this area, but as his power grew, the city became too small. He started to build Winchester fifteen years ago. Isn't it splendid?"
Niniane stared at her in wonder. "You look British," she said.
"I am." The brown eyes gave her a friendly smile. "What is your name, Princess?"
"Niniane."
"Well, Niniane, this is the women's hall." She nodded at the doorway. "Please go in."
The front door of the hall opened onto a porch, which appeared to be used as a small reception room. The door from the porch led into the hall itself. This was a very large room, at least a hundred feet long, with a high roof that made it seem even larger. There was a hearthplace in the middle of the room, with tables and benches set along either side of it. The room had no windows, just two doors set on each long wall. Even though it was morning, candles had been lit in the wall sconces and on the tables, where a group of women was engaged in a variety of work. Against the far, gabled wall there were fixed two large looms and women were working there as well.
A dozen heads turned as Niniane walked through the door. Then one of the women rose. "Come in, my dear," she said in British. "You must be weary after such a journey. Would you like something to eat? To drink?"
Niniane had eaten very little for the last few days, and now, all of a sudden, she realized she was hungry. "Yes, thank you," she said with gratitude. "I would."
"Come and sit down," the woman said, and led Niniane over to one of the benches.
This must be the lady Fara, Niniane thought as she took the seat that had been indicated. She spoke almost accentless British, this lady, but she was most certainly a Saxon: tall and fair and strongly made. She was no longer young, but even so, she was beautiful. It came to Niniane that this must be Cynric's queen.
The queen sent a girl to fetch some food and then turned back to Niniane. "So," she said composedly, "you are to stay with us for a while."
"Until my father can ransom me," Niniane replied.
"I see." The lady seated herself beside Niniane, and in the light from the candles on the table she appeared even older than Niniane had originally thought. There were fine lines beside her hazel eyes, and gray in her wheat-blond hair. "Tell me what happened," she said, and Niniane found herself talking easily and comfortably to those calm, kind eyes.
"And Cynric has said he will ransom you?" the queen asked when Niniane had finished her tale.
"Yes." A plate of cold meat and a bowl of fruit were put before Niniane on the table. "That is, Cutha told me I was not to be made a slave, that I would be a member of the king's househ
old. What else could he possibly mean but that I am to be held for ransom?"
The queen gave her a quick smile and then was grave again. "What else indeed?" she answered. "Eat your food, my dear, and then we will show you where you are to sleep."
* * * *
Niniane ate with more appetite than she had known in weeks. There was something soothing about the calm presence of Cynric's queen. And it was so comforting to be surrounded by women! Niniane ate and watched the women at the end of the hall deftly passing the bobbin back and forth through the warp of flax strung on the large looms. No hands were idle in this room; everyone was busy with spinning or sewing of some sort. Niniane found the atmosphere in the hall strangely solacing.
When Niniane had finished eating, the queen beckoned to Nola once more. "Take the princess to her chamber," she instructed the girl. "I'm sure she would like to rest."
Niniane rose. "I thank you for your kindness, my lady," she said politely, and was dismissed with another lovely but fleeting smile.
"The queen is very kind, is she not?" Niniane remarked to Nola as they left the porch of the women's hall and started toward one of the smaller buildings.
Nola stopped, turned to her, and stared. "The queen?" she repeated.
"Yes." Niniane frowned. "The lady we just left. Is she not the queen?"
"Unfortunately, no." Nola looked around to see if anyone was within hearing distance. "That was the lady Fara. Guthfrid is the queen."
Niniane found herself looking around as well. There was no one near them. "But who is the lady Fara, then? The king's sister?"
Nola gave a snort of laughter. "No. The lady Fara is the king's friedlehe. What you might call his second wife."
Niniane could feel her eyes widen. "His second wife? How many wives does he have?"
"Only one legitimate wife, and that is Guthfrid. She is the daughter of the King of East Anglia. Cynric married her sixteen years ago. But the lady Fara has been his friedlehe for more than twenty-five years."
