Born of the Sun

by Joan Wolf

  The stockade gate was manned by strangers. Niniane rode between Sigurd and Harold, with Sigurd's men marching behind as they advanced slowly up the main street toward the great hall. The door of the king's hall opened and Cutha came out with two men who Niniane guessed must be Witgar and Aethelbert, the king of Wight and East Anglia. Cutha gave his son a smile in which welcome and relief were evenly mixed.

  "Where is Ceawlin?" It was the thick-set man with the hunched shoulders who spoke. His eyes went once more over the men, searching for a distinctive blond head.

  "We were too late at Bryn Atha," Sigurd replied evenly. He spoke to his father only. "The king had gone."

  "Where?" demanded Aethelbert, his head jutting forward as well as his shoulders.

  "I do not know, my lord," said Sigurd.

  "Who is the woman?" It was the other, older man speaking now. Niniane stared haughtily at the King of Wight and answered.

  "I am Niniane, the queen."

  "You were the queen, my lady," the man replied. "Ceawlin is no longer King of Wessex. I am."

  All the way south, Niniane had resolved not to be antagonistic to the men who would be her captors, to be pleasant and accommodating. But to see these ... usurpers standing so brazenly in front of Ceawlin's hall ... White fury burned through her veins and she said, scorn death-cold in her voice, "You are not fit to kiss the ground before my husband's feet."

  "Niniane." It was Sigurd's voice, low and urgent. Bright, choleric color had flooded into the insulted Witgar's face. "The queen is upset, my lords," he said to the three men standing before him. "She is worried about her children. Let me escort her to them."

  Cutha nodded. "Yes, get her away from here, Sigurd. The boys are in the princes' hall."

  Sigurd reached over to take Niniane's reins, and she let him lead her across the courtyard. He dismounted and lifted her down from her horse. "Thank you," she said stonily, opened the door of the hall, and closed it behind her with a loud bang.

  It took a minute for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside.

  "Mama!" There was a rush of feet and then Eirik was in her arms, with Sigurd clinging to her knees and the older boys pressing so close she could scarcely find floor space to put her feet.

  "Where is Father? Do they have him?" It was Crida's voice that cut through the general babble.

  Niniane shook her head. "Your father is safe, my sons. He escaped from Bryn Atha before Sigurd could catch him."

  "The gods are good," said Cerdic fervently, and Crida's laugh was unsteady with relief.

  "But why are you here, Mama?" Cerdic asked. It was a measure of how he was feeling that he had reverted to the childhood name.

  "Your father had to ride hard, Cerdic. I could not go with him." Her arms tightened on the warm, heavy weight of Eirik. "Besides, I was worried about you."

  "They came out of nowhere, Mama," Cerdic said grimly. "We had no warning until they were but a few miles away. If Father had been here, he might have been able to organize a defense, but—"

  "The hall thanes tried," Crida put in. "But they got in through the postern gate. Cutha knew where it was, of course." Crida's voice was hard and bitter.

  "What has happened to the hall thanes?" Niniane asked.

  "Cutha has locked them all into Bertred's hall," Cerdic said. "He first gave them a choice, Mama. He said they could either swear loyalty to him or be prisoners. Not a single thane would betray my father." Cerdic's voice rang with pride.

  Niniane kissed Eirik's blond hair and bent to put him back on his feet. "Where has Father gone?" asked Ceowulf.

  Niniane glanced at the two youngest children before looking meaningfully at the eldest three. "To a place where Cutha cannot get him."

  "But where—?" Ceowulf was beginning, when Crida cut in.

  "Be quiet, idiot. Can't you see Mama does not want to talk in front of the babies?"

  "I am not a baby," said Sigurd indignantly. "Am I, Mama? I'm a big boy now. Eirik is a baby."

  "Am not!" said Eirik instantly.

  Niniane laughed unsteadily. "Well, it doesn't sound as if much has changed around here."

  Crida shoved his hand through the short hair on his forehead in Ceawlin's own gesture. "I wish that were true," he said.

  Cerdic took charge. "Come into my room, Mother. We must talk." Then, when the two youngest made as if to follow them, "No." With an imperious gesture he summoned a nurse. "Find my little brothers some food," he said. "Mother, Crida, come with me."

  "And me!" cried Ceowulf in anguish.

  Cerdic shrugged. "All right, Ceowulf. You too." Niniane's tall eldest son put an arm around her shoulders and led her toward his bedroom. Crida and Ceowulf obediently followed their brother's lead.

  * * *

  Chapter 33

  Ferris had a cousin whose farm was about halfway between Byrn Atha and Corinium, and it was at this farm that the three fugitives from Bryn Atha finally halted sometime shortly after midnight. Ferris' cousin was a man of about thirty, their own age, and he brought the three weary horsemen into his kitchen, sent his wife back to bed, and sat down to listen with horror to the tale of betrayal his cousin had to tell.

  When Ferris had finished, the cousin, whose name was Owain, stared in amazed bewilderment at the three men before him. Gereint he had met before. The other very tall, very blond man he did not know. Ferris had introduced him as Rhys. "But I don't understand," Owain finally said. "Why did you have to flee? From what you tell me, they were only after the king."

  "It is well known that we are the king's men," Gereint replied grimly. "Our lives would be worth naught should Cutha get his hands on us."

  "Well, Ferris ... Gereint, you know what we have ever thought of the Atrebates' support of the Saxons," said Owain piously. "I do not mean to be harsh, but you have brought this trouble on yourselves."

  Ferris and Gereint both looked quickly at the fair-haired man who was accompanying them. The blond smiled. "Well, all is not lost yet." His voice was mild. "God willing, Ceawlin is safe and may still prevail."

  "Yes, that is so." Ferris' voice sounded oddly choked. "God willing."

  The blond crossed himself and Ferris began to cough. "Are you all right?" the man called Rhys asked.

  "Yes, fine." Ferris looked at his cousin. "I should be glad of some water, though."

  "Of course." Owain jumped up. "How stupid of me. You must all be thirsty ... and hungry too, after such a ride."

  As the men fell on the food and beer he put out, Owain looked from one face to the other. "What are you going to do?" he finally asked.

  It was the blond, whose eyes were the most startling color Owain had ever seen, who answered. "If you would not mind, we should like to stay here for a while. It will give us a chance to see how things go in Wessex, assess how safe it might be for us to return." The man's blue-green eyes were vivid in the dancing light of the candle. "We are all experienced farmers, Owain. We will be glad to help you with your work."

  Gereint's smile was luminous. "That is so, Rhys," he agreed.

  "Well..." Owain looked at his cousin. There was more here than he had been told, of that he was certain. "Are you waiting to hear from Ceawlin?" he asked Ferris bluntly.

  Ferris met his cousin's eyes and then smiled wryly and shrugged. "Yes," he said. "We are. And we need a place to stay while we wait. Will you help us, Owain?"

  "I think you are mad," the man of the Dobunni, whose mother had been an Atrebates, said.

  The blond grinned. "Doubtless you are right."

  Owain looked at the three of them again and sighed. "Oh, all right. You can stay here for a while."

  "One more thing." It was the blond again, and this time his pleasant voice was unmistakably giving a command. "It would be better to keep our presence as quiet as possible. Your prince, Coinmail, is not known to be overly fond of his old kinsmen."

  "Are you related to Coinmail?" Owain asked curiously.

  "Yes," said the man called Rhys, and there was a note of
ironic amusement in his voice. "I'm afraid that I am."

  * * * *

  Summer came to Winchester. Cutha spent his time in trying to keep Aethelbert and Witgar from falling out and in wooing the eorls. When Ceawlin came back—for Cutha, who knew the king well, had little doubt that Ceawlin would try to regain his kingdom—when Ceawlin came back, much of what happened would depend upon how many friends Cutha was able to win.

  The country seemed to Cutha to be sunk in silence. No one knew exactly where Ceawlin was, though it seemed most probable that he was somewhere in Dumnonia. It was Bertred whom Cutha thought the king would try to reach first, and as Banford was not far from Bertred's manor, it was possible to keep a close watch on Bertred without seeming to do so. Bertred himself Cutha did not attempt to win over. Bertred would be Ceawlin's man until he died; all Cutha could do there was try to keep the eorl isolated from the king.

  Penda was ominously silent. He had been pleasant to the man sent to him by Cutha, but had refused to come to Winchester with his thanes, saying he would be better employed guarding the northern boundary of Wessex. Guarding it from whom or for whom, he did not say.

  Cutha's chief allies from among the eorls were Cynigils, who had come into Winchester to assist Cutha and to claim the spoils of victory he had been promised, and Cutha's own son, Sigurd. Ine and Wuffa had made brief appearances in Winchester, listened politely to Cutha, and then had gone home. For the first time Cutha was fully appreciative of just how much power Ceawlin had bestowed upon his eorls.

  And yet, under Ceawlin that power had also been strictly limited, as Cuthwulf had found out. The eorls were free to exercise their power only on the direction of the king. Cutha drummed this message into the ears of Penda and Ine and Wuffa and hoped that his words fell upon fertile soil. Under a new king, he told them, their power would be even greater.

  To Cutha's immense relief, Guthfrid had refused her brother's demand that she and Edgar come to Wessex. The wolf-mother had but one cub left, and she was not going to risk him until she was certain he would be safe. Not until Ceawlin was dead, she answered Aethelbert, would she come to Winchester.

  Cutha was not the only one to be glad that Guthfrid chose to stay in Sutton Hoo. Niniane thanked God fervently when she heard this news from Sigurd. She feared Guthfrid more than she feared the men.

  The months went by and there was no word from Ceawlin.

  "Your father must keep his identity secret while he lies in British lands," Niniane told her sons. "It will take time for him to gather a war band."

  "Yes, Mother," Cerdic and Crida said. "We know. Do not fear. Father will come."

  "But how can he gather a war band?" Cerdic asked his brother when they were alone. "Cutha has all his men locked up here in Winchester."

  "Bertred will aid him," said Crida stoutly.

  "Will he?" said Cerdic. "Last year you would have said the same of Sigurd."

  The two boys looked at each other. "The Atrebates will rally for him, then," said Crida.

  "Perhaps, but they are not really warriors, Crida. Except for Gereint and Ferris and a few others, they are farmers. Gods!" added Cerdic passionately. "I hate being trapped here like this! If only I could get out of Winchester!"

  "What would you do if you escaped from Winchester?" Crida asked impatiently.

  "Find Father," said Cedric. "At least then he would not be alone."

  Crida shook his head so hard that his fair, silky hair swung from side to side. "Do not try anything foolish," he advised. "As you just pointed out, we cannot be certain who is friend and who is foe. You are better off here in Winchester."

  "Crida ... has it not occurred to you what will happen to us should Father die?" Cerdic's eyes had lost all their blue, were large and dark and very gray.

  "Yes." Crida's fair skin was paler than usual, but his voice remained calm. "Witgar will never reign unchallenged while we live. I know that. He knows that. You can be certain that Mother and Father know that as well."

  "Then ... do you not see why we should try to escape from Winchester?"

  "No. I think we should wait for Father." Crida's eyes were only on a level with his brother's mouth, but his boy's voice for a moment sounded uncannily like Ceawlin's. "He will do something, we can be sure of that. Nor does he need his hostages scattered around the countryside, Cerdic." After a moment the younger brother added, "And at least in Winchester we have Sigurd."

  "Sigurd." Cerdic's voice was full of loathing. "That traitor!"

  "Sigurd will protect us," said Crida. The two boys looked at each other. Then Crida added slowly, "If he can."

  * * * *

  The months were long for Ceawlin as well. Ferris, whose face was not so well-known as Gereint's, spent the summer carrying messages from Ceawlin to his eorls. Cutha by now, Ceawlin reckoned, must have under his command at least four hundred men. Cutha also had one hundred of Ceawlin's men locked up in Winchester, effectively depriving him of their services. The collected forces of Penda, Ine, Wuffa, and Bertred would not number two hundred. The eorls, who could count as well as their king, were inclined to wait.

  The summer slipped by. True to his word, Ceawlin helped with the field work and did his best to remain inconspicuous. He was not a man it was possible not to notice, however, and all too soon for comfort the presence of the tall blond stranger was a cause for comment in the valley where Owain's farm lay.

  Owain's wife was nervous.

  "I don't like it," she told him night after night. "Ferris is in and out of Wessex all the time. They are in league with Ceawlin. I know it."

  "What if they are?" Owain answered. "It has nothing to do with us."

  "It might." Maire was a dark-eyed, dark-haired woman with strong bones and very white teeth. "That Rhys. He is someone important, Owain. Your cousin and Gereint are one thing, but he is another matter altogether."

  "How important can he be, Maire? He is a Briton, after all."

  "He doesn't look British."

  Owain shrugged. "No Saxon could speak British like he does. Besides, he is related to Coinmail."

  "But he does not want Coinmail to know he is here."

  Owain shrugged again.

  "He may have had a British mother, Owain, but I would wager you his father was a Saxon." Maire's brown eyes were somber. "He is important, my husband. You must know that yourself. Ferris and Gereint defer to him. You defer to him ... yes you do! Even I find myself deferring to him. It's not that he is demanding, it's just that he ... it is something about him ... I cannot say what ... but it is there, Owain!"

  Owain sighed. He knew his wife was right. "He is very likable, Maire."

  Her smile was rueful. "Too likable, my husband. And too striking. His presence has not gone unnoticed, we can be certain of that. What will happen if people learn we have been harboring a Saxon from Wessex? You know how hated the Saxons are after Bedcanford. We must think of our children, Owain. I think you should tell them it is time to move on."

  Ceawlin was coming to the same conclusion as his hosts. The farm wagons from the valley, loaded with produce to sell in the city, were now rolling regularly to Corinium. Ceawlin could not fail to realize that his presence, along with that of Ferris and Gereint, was causing a great deal of local gossip.

  Owain himself took a load of food into Corinium and returned with the news that Coinmail had recently come to the city. The chief of the Dobunni, Coinmail's father-by-marriage, was ill and the prince had gradually been assuming more and more of the chief's role. It was accepted that Coinmail's son would be the next chief, but as the child was but six, Coinmail would be the real chief of the Dobunni for many years. And Corinium was less than twenty miles from Owain's farm.

  "The prince is known to be interested in Wessex," Owain reported to his cousin upon return to the farm. "He knows Gereint. It will not be long before he learns of your presence in this valley. Glevum was far enough away for secrecy, but now that he has come to Corinium ..." Owain's voice trailed off as he looked unhappily a
t his three unwanted guests. "You did say you did not wish Coinmail to know of your presence," he added.

  They all waited for the man called Rhys to answer. As Maire had noted, they always waited for Rhys. A fly hovered around the cheese on the table, its buzz loud in the suddenly quiet room. Owain looked at the man sitting opposite him at the kitchen table. His hair had bleached almost white in the summer sun, and his skin had tanned a surprising golden brown. One would not think skin that fair could tan, Owain found himself thinking. Rhys appeared to be watching the fly with utter absorption. The insect lighted on the table and Rhys's strong, callused hand came down like lightning. The buzzing stopped. Rhys looked at Gereint and said, "It is time to return to Wessex."

  * * * *

  The temper of Wessex was sullen. Cutha felt it when he went into Venta, felt it in the inimical stares of the merchants who sold to Winchester as always but with a surliness which was new. Ceawlin, Cutha was coming to realize, had been a very popular king.

  Aethelbert was restless. His warrior soul lusted to meet Ceawlin once more on the battlefield and he was frustrated and angry by the absence of his enemy. Witgar was not happy either. The continued absence of the West Saxon eorls told him all too clearly that so long as Ceawlin was still at large, he would be king in name only.

  Cutha was unhappily coming to the conclusion that his victory had been almost too easy. Sigurd's betrayal, which had driven Ceawlin from the kingdom, had left Wessex in a state of uneasy suspension. There had been no battle, no decisive trying of strengths, and consequently no clear victor. Ceawlin's presence, even in exile, was proving to cast a very long shadow.

  Consequently, Sigurd's defection to Cutha, which had seemed such a great coup at the time, seemed less and less a triumph as the months went by. It had left Wessex in this ungovernable state, for one thing; and it was obviously preying on Sigurd's heart, for another. It was all too clear to Cutha that his son could not forget that he had betrayed his friend. Nor did Cutha's repeated assurances that he had done so in order not to betray his father seem to soothe Sigurd's agony of mind.