by Joan Wolf
Crida threw his father a furious look, met Ceawlin's eyes, and muttered, "Yes, sir." He picked up his cloak and went out the door to go to the princes' hall.
Niniane sighed. "He has no patience with those who are less clever than himself."
"He will have to learn," said Ceawlin.
"I suppose." She smiled at Bertred and said, "How are Meghan and the children?"
Cerdic watched Bertred's face light with a returning smile before he turned to throw the dice with his brother.
* * * *
The sleeping room was icy cold and Niniane pulled the rugs and furs up to her chin and said to Ceawlin, "What is Cuthwulf up to now? I imagine that was what brought Bertred to Winchester this time of year."
"Yes." Ceawlin finished undressing and got into the bed beside her. "He is gathering a war band."
"What?" She raised up on an elbow to stare into his face.
"There can be no other explanation. Bertred says he has at least eighty men in his hall."
"But where did he get so many men?"
"He has taken a number of ceorls off the land and made them thanes. And, from what Bertred hears, he has sent for some kinsmen from Wight."
"Dear God."
"Yes."
The candle still burned on the chest beside the bed, and Niniane looked down into her husband's eyes. They were pure turquoise. He was furious at Cuthwulf. Niniane could not blame him. "What will you do?" she asked.
"Make him come to Winchester. Make him live under my eye."
"But ... Cutha."
He said to her what he could not say to Bertred. "I will see Cutha in hell, Niniane, before I allow his son to challenge my authority."
"Have you asked Cutha to speak to him?"
"Cutha has never made the slightest attempt to control Cuthwulf. I think he feels that Cuthwulf is in the right, feels that the split between us is my fault, not Cuthwulf's. The fact of the matter is, Niniane, that I do not greatly care what Cutha thinks anymore. Cuthwulf has been asking to be dealt with for years, and now he has gone too far."
Niniane chewed on her lip. He was right, she knew. Yet she had had an uneasy feeling of late about Cutha. There was an expression in Cutha's eyes when he looked at Ceawlin that she did not like at all. She said nothing, however, knowing Ceawlin would not listen even if she did. "When will you send for him?" she asked instead.
"After Yule. He is not likely to do much during the winter. I have time."
She shivered and he reached an arm over to draw her close. She nestled against him gratefully. "Why are you never cold? No matter how freezing it is, you are never cold."
"I have hot blood," he said, and growled and bit her ear.
She laughed, then said warningly, "Ceawlin, don't you dare push these blankets off me."
"I'll maneuver under them," he promised, and she put her arms around his neck and let him draw her under his warm and urgent weight.
* * * *
Cerdic would turn thirteen on January 6, and on the day before his birthday it stormed and rained in torrents. He stood in the door of the princes' hall and looked gloomily outside at the weather. It was cold and dark and heavy with rain. And his father had promised to take him hunting tomorrow! There was to be a huge banquet for him in the great hall in honor of his turning thirteen, and the banquet would still go forward. But he had been looking forward to the hunt. It was to be just him and his father. Not even Crida was coming. And it had to rain! His mother would never let him go in the rain. He had been sick last week, sneezing and coughing; he knew she would not let him go.
Cerdic cursed under his breath, using words he had heard his father use when he was particularly angry. Then he saw the horse galloping up the slippery paved street.
"Cerdic, close the door. It is freezing in here!" It was Crida, and he said, without turning his head, "Something has happened, Crida. Look."
Crida's fair head appeared at his shoulder and the two of them watched together. "It's one of Bertred's thanes," Crida said. "I remember he came to Winchester with Bertred before Yule." Crida had an uncanny memory for men's faces.
The man was heading directly for the king's hall. As the two boys watched, he disappeared inside the door. "What can it be?" Cerdic asked.
"Whatever it is, it can't be good," said Crida.
"Close that door." It was Alric, one of the few voices in Winchester to exact obedience from the two eldest princes these days. Reluctantly Cerdic obliged, then turned to go back to his lessons with the scop.
* * * *
The news brought by Bertred's thane was not good. The previous week Cuthwulf had taken his men and ridden north, into the land of the Dobunni. He had been met at Bedcanford by a hastily gathered troop of British and he had defeated them. The Saxons had then looted several of the towns in the area and returned in triumph to Banford.
"They say that the Dobunni chief was slain in the battle, my lord," Bertred's thane told Ceawlin. "We learned all this because my lady just happened to send a man to Banford on an errand to Cuthwulf's wife, and he arrived during the victory banquet. As soon as he discovered the story, he raced back to Romsey to tell the eorl."
"What chief was killed?" Ceawlin asked.
"I do not know, my lord. Lord Bertred is sending scouts north to try to discover more. He will report to you as soon as he receives further information."
"Very well." Ceawlin's eyes flicked over the man standing before him. "Go to the great hall and have them find you some dry clothes and get you something to eat and to drink."
"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." The man backed away a few-steps, then turned and rushed out the door. He had seen the king often during the past years, but never had he seen him look like this. The thane counted himself lucky that he had not been made the object of Ceawlin's all-too-obvious fury.
As the door swung closed, Ceawlin looked around the room. He had been talking to three of his most senior thanes when Bertred's man had been announced, and the thanes were still sitting on the wall bench to which he had dismissed them. They were staring assiduously at their feet. They had heard.
"Get me Cutha," Ceawlin said.
The men looked up, then looked away. "Yes, my lord," they said in unison, and exited almost as hastily as the previous thane had done.
The door opened, rain gusted once more into the hall, and Niniane came in. "What weather!" she said when she saw her husband sitting alone by the fire. Then, when he did not answer, she looked at him more closely. Her hands, which had been busy unpinning the brooch that held her cloak, stilled. "What has happened?" she asked, her voice suddenly sharp.
He did not look back at her. "Cuthwulf has invaded the land of the Dobunni," he said. "There was a battle. Cuthwulf won."
A sharp intake of breath was her only reply. Then she came slowly across the room to stand before him. His face was set and still. The Dobunni! she thought. What of Coinmail? Ceawlin seemed to read her thoughts, for he looked at her at last and said, "I do not know if Coinmail was involved. Bertred has sent scouts to try to learn exactly what happened."
There was a footstool near his chair and she sat down suddenly, as if her legs would not hold her. There was rain on her hair and on the shoulders of her blue wool cloak. "He is mad," she said. "Did he think you would allow this?"
"If he had any doubts, they will soon be set to rest." His voice was hard and cold.
She ran her tongue around suddenly dry lips. "What will you do?" she asked.
"I will kill him," Ceawlin said. She stared at him and saw that he meant it. She had seen him angry before, seen him furious, but never had she seen this merciless hardness. He meant it.
"Ceawlin ... what of Sigurd?"
"What of Sigurd?"
This coldness was far more frightening than any of his hot-burning furies. Niniane wet her lips again. "Cuthwulf is his brother. I grant you there is little love lost between them, but still there is shared blood."
"There was shared blood between me and Edwin. Blo
od is not everything, Niniane. If Sigurd must choose between me and Cuthwulf, I have little doubt where his choice will fall." He looked over her head toward the door. "Ah, Cutha." A shiver ran up and down Niniane's back at the note in his voice. "Your son has taken a war band into the land of the Dobunni, given battle, and looted their towns."
Cutha's back was very straight as he approached Ceawlin's chair. "My son is a Saxon," he said.
"Your son has challenged my authority. I have been lenient with him before because he is Sigurd's brother and your son. But he has overreached himself this time. I am King of Wessex, and no one leads a war band in this country save at my leave."
"You are King of Wessex because I made you such," said Cutha.
Ceawlin laughed. "How many battles did you win for me, cousin?"
Cutha had flushed when Ceawlin laughed, and now he went deadly pale. "You are not the only warrior in Wessex, Ceawlin. Whatever his failings, Cuthwulf is a war leader. He has always won."
"No." Ceawlin leaned slightly forward in his chair and stared at Cutha out of narrowed eyes. "No, cousin. This time Cuthwulf has lost."
* * * *
There was no banquet for Cerdic's birthday. Instead, Ceawlin marched one hundred hall thanes out of Winchester in the predawn dark and fell upon Banford. Cuthwulf's men had not been expecting such swift retribution and were completely surprised. In the haphazard resistance that followed, Cuthwulf was able to flee. Ceawlin sent out a pursuit, but Cuthwulf and a small number of his men eluded it and fled south, toward Wight.
Niniane was relieved to hear that Cuthwulf still lived. She feared that the death of Cutha's son was the one thing that would drive his dissatisfaction with Ceawlin out into the open. For Niniane's ever-watchful eyes had not missed Cutha's growing alienation from Ceawlin, and she feared that her husband took Cutha too lightly. The eorl might be growing old, but he was not toothless yet.
Niniane thought that Cutha must in some way blame Ceawlin for Sigurd's exile from Winchester. Certainly the rift between the king and his chief eorl had first become noticeable to her after Sigurd's departure. Niniane had seen Ceawlin's own distress at Sigurd's leaving and she had been angry with Sigurd; this further development with Cuthwulf made her angrier still.
Sigurd was the only one with a chance of mending the breech between Ceawlin and his father and his brother, and still he stayed at Wokham, playing farmer. Niniane could not understand him. She said nothing of this to Ceawlin, however. Whenever she mentioned Sigurd, his face sealed absolutely shut. Something had happened between the two of them that he would not tell her about, and although Ceawlin went occasionally to Wokham to see Sigurd, Sigurd never once had returned to Winchester.
But Niniane was beginning to think that it was not just Sigurd's exile that had alienated Cutha. His words to Ceawlin upon hearing of Cuthwulf's battle were significant. Cutha thought he had made Ceawlin king, and he obviously did not think he was reaping a great enough reward.
There was a germ of truth in Cutha's belief. It was true that Ceawlin had needed the men Cutha had brought with him. But Cutha had been acting in his own interest as well as Ceawlin's. His position under Ceawlin was far greater than ever it had been under Edric. No, Niniane thought, Cutha had no cause for complaint.
But that obviously was not what Cutha thought.
After he returned from his raid upon Banford, Ceawlin rode north to Wokham to talk with Sigurd. Next he went to Bryn Atha to talk with Naille. Gereint offered to act as messenger between Wessex and the Dobunni and went to Glevum to offer restitution from Ceawlin for the damage done by his rebellious eorl. He was received with icy disdain by Coinmail, who had not been at the Battle of Bedcanford. Restitution was refused, and Gereint returned to Wessex furious at the scornful way he had been treated by his former prince.
Winter turned into spring and they learned that Cuthwulf was indeed in Wight. As the weather softened and became milder, the strain and bitterness between the king and his chief eorl became more and more noticeable. Finally, in May, Cutha announced that he would like to retire from Winchester. He would go to Banford, he told Ceawlin, who with undisguised relief granted him permission to withdraw to his manor.
In early June came news from Wight that Cuthwulf was dead.
"Killed in a brawl," Ceawlin said to Niniane. "Very fitting."
Niniane's reply was noncommittal, but she was not happy to hear of Cuthwulf's death. "Does Cutha know?" she asked.
"He probably knew before I did," Ceawlin replied acidly. "He is in constant touch with Wight."
"Ceawlin ... do you think you ought to give him such a long rein?" Niniane asked. "I don't trust him. He would do you a mischief if he could. I know he would."
"You see trolls behind every tree, Nan," he said impatiently. It was his standard answer to all of the dangers she feared threatened him. Part of her knew he was right, knew she was overprotective of Ceawlin and her children. And what could Cutha possibly do to hurt Ceawlin?
Nothing, came the instant answer. But still she was uneasy. "I think you ought to set someone to watch Cutha," she said.
He kissed the top of her head. "I have," he answered, and went off to the great hall to give justice.
* * *
Chapter 30
It was late August and the bees were thick. Sigurd was returning to his manor, his small tear-streaked daughter on the saddle before him, when he saw a group of horsemen approaching the gates of Wokham from the opposite direction. It was a moment before he recognized his father.
Foreboding struck his heart. He had heard, of course, of Cuthwulf's death. He could not feel personal grief; he and Cuthwulf had never been friends. But blood was blood and he regretted deeply that Cuthwulf had come to such an end.
"Look," he said softly to Hilda, who was still weeping over the bee sting on her finger, "there is your grandfather."
"Grandfather?" She looked up at him out of his own steady gray eyes. "Did you know Grandfather was coming, Papa?"
"No," Sigurd answered somberly, "I did not." Cutha had seen him and halted his party. With a reluctance he strove to conceal from his daughter, Sigurd spurred his horse forward to catch up with Cutha.
Once they were within the walls of Wokham, Sigurd consigned Hilda to the care of Edith and took his father to the manor's impressive hall. This was the first time he and Cutha had met since the death of Cuthwulf, and Sigurd was appalled by how gray his father's hair had grown, how much older he suddenly looked.
Cutha did not waste any time. "Sigurd," he said as soon as he was alone with his son, "I cannot stomach Ceawlin any longer."
The foreboding struck even deeper into Sigurd's heart. "What happened to Cuthwulf was not Ceawlin's fault, Father," he said around the tightness in his throat. "Cuthwulf brought all his ill fortune on himself."
"Ceawlin did not handle him properly," Cutha said. "Ceawlin made no attempt to reward Cuthwulf, to befriend him. Cuthwulf fought for him, and what did Cuthwulf receive? Where was his manor, Sigurd? His honors?"
"It was always understood, Father, that Cuthwulf would have Banford after you," Sigurd said. "Banford is one of the greatest manors in all of Wessex. I could not say that Cuthwulf was cheated."
"He gave you Wokham; to Penda he gave the whole of the upper Thames valley; Bertred, Ine, even Cynigils, who fought for Edric—all of these were rewarded with manors. But not Cuthwulf."
Sigurd rubbed his forehead. "Father, Cuthwulf was not the most ... trustworthy of men."
"He was trustworthy enough for Ceawlin to send him to deal with Cnebba and Oslaf. And he did deal with them, drove them back into Kent and reclaimed all the cattle they had stolen. He did that for Ceawlin, and what reward did he get? Insults. Insults because he had dared to be a true lord to his men and reward them for their bravery." Cutha's blue eyes were cold, his mouth thin with anger. "Cynric would never have dealt with him thus," he said.
Sigurd forbore to point out that the spoils Cuthwulf had divided among his men had not been his to give. "
Perhaps not," he said instead. "But Cynric still thought like a warlord, Father. Ceawlin thinks like a king."
"Ceawlin thinks to advance himself, himself and his family. He has no thought for his eorls and his thanes. Do you know, Sigurd," and now Cutha's eyes glittered, "he has betrothed Cerdic to the daughter of the King of Sussex?"
"Yes, I know."
"Do you know that he did it without even consulting me? He just told me one day, as an afterthought, that he had arranged this marriage. He sent Bertred to Sussex to make the arrangements. Bertred!"
"I agree that it was not ... thoughtful of him to do that, Father—"
"Not thoughtful?"
Sigurd rubbed his forehead again. In this he did agree with Cutha. Ceawlin had been careless of Cutha's feelings in this matter, should have at least made some show of consulting the eorl on a matter of such importance to Wessex.
"The only person Ceawlin listens to these days is his wife," said Cutha bitterly.
"Niniane is wiser than the ordinary woman. I would not scorn her advice myself." Sigurd was pleased his voice sounded so normal. "She has been with Ceawlin since first he fled from Winchester," he added. "He has ever been closer to her than most men are to their wives."
Cutha stared at him and Sigurd stared back. It was Cutha's eyes that fell first. "I am going to go to Wight," he said.
Ever since this conversation had begun, Sigurd had had a feeling that he was sitting with a sword suspended over his head. "Why?" he asked after a moment's tense silence.
"The King of Wight, Witgar, is the son of Cynric's elder brother," Cutha replied. "He has a better claim to the kingship of Wessex than does Cynric's bastard." And Sigurd saw that the sword was ready to fall.
"You cannot do this, Father," he said heavily. "You cannot so turn your back upon Ceawlin. Don't you remember? You were the one who befriended him when all else chose Edgar. You were the one who made him king."
Cutha's eyebrows rose high, and for a moment he looked young again. "I remember, Sigurd. It is your friend who has forgotten."
Sigurd slumped in his chair like an old man. "You cannot put Witgar on the throne of Wessex. Wight is a small kingdom, much smaller than Wessex. Ceawlin would destroy any war band Wight could collect to come against him."
