Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2)

by Millie Thom

  *****

  Eadwulf positioned Ivar’s hands so they appeared to be clasped across his belly and removed the gruesome ligature from around his neck, allowing his head to remain lolling forward. Then he plumped up the large down-filled cushions to ensure the body stayed in its seated position and did not topple sideways. Should the driver happen to glance through the frontal drapes, Ivar must appear to be dozing. With any luck, he’d be too wary of Ivar’s temper to waken him before they all stopped to eat later on.

  As to the absence of the two rear guards, all Eadwulf could hope was that no one would feel the need to look back. Not for the first time, Eadwulf realised how much their success in this venture relied upon luck . . .

  And right now, on the need for a swift departure.

  A short distance back along the road, Jorund was waiting with their horses. As requested, he’d dragged the bodies of the two guards into the forest, leaving the riderless mounts to roam or graze at will along the edges of the road. They set off at a gallop, intending to take the same route round the north of Thetford, then on towards Peterborough, thus skirting the fenlands, and eventually riding north along Ermine Street back to Elston. Eadwulf realised that by the time they reached home, he and Aethelnoth would have been away for almost three weeks.

  Then, Eadwulf thought with a grimace, he’d have to face Leoflaed. And if their reunion did not turn out as Aethelnoth had continuously insisted it would, he’d likely be spending the Christmastide in someone’s barn.

  *****

  Five days after Ivar had set out for the Anglian coast, a party of ten of his men returned to Thetford, accompanying his covered wagon. They headed through the crowded streets towards the royal hall, where they yelled for Lords Halfdan and Bagsecg. Their arrival left Haldan feeling physically sick. Inside the wagon was Ivar’s body.

  It wasn’t grief that Halfdan felt, the deep anguish at losing a beloved brother. He’d never actually loved his brother – or anyone else, for that matter. His strong feelings for Ivar were based on something quite different. Halfdan had certainly respected his brother, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that that respect had been founded on fear. He’d always been terrified of Ivar’s powers over people; powers that could so easily have been directed at him if he’d stepped out of line. So he’d spent his life desperately trying to please his malformed sibling. Praise from Ivar made him feel important, and he was content to bask in the effects of Ivar’s authority over others. Few dared to disobey or offend Halfdan for fear of Ivar’s wrath.

  But now, Ivar was well and truly dead. With his younger brother, Ubbi, Halfdan had viewed Ivar’s body himself, observed the bulging eyes and grotesquely swollen tongue, the ugly red burn mark around his neck and the deep scratches where Ivar had clawed at the asphyxiating garrotte. Whatever ligature the assassin had used, he must have taken it away with him.

  Inside the hall, Halfdan sank to a bench beside Ubbi, swamped with images of how Ivar’s murder could have been committed. He’d listened to the tale related by the returning men and none of it made any sense. First, there was the question of why his brother had assigned no guards to the rear other than his own aides – both of whom were seemingly blind and deaf! And why had Ivar chosen to travel at the very back of the convoy anyway? But Halfdan knew that whatever his brother’s reasons had been, no one would have dared to question them . . .

  Then there was the very idea that anyone could have got inside the wagon without Ivar even managing to alert the drivers of the carts ahead of him – not to mention how this brazen killer had managed to get clean away, unnoticed.

  Bagsecg just stood there, staring into the hearthfire, seemingly as nonplussed as Halfdan and Ubbi. And yet . . . Halfdan couldn’t help but wonder. Bagsecg’s hatred of Ivar was well known. Could this so-called ‘king’ have sent an assassin – or perhaps assassins – to follow after Ivar’s convoy and get rid of his rival once and for all? Or even worse, could he have bribed one of Ivar’s own men to do the job? The more Halfdan thought about it, the more likely the latter idea seemed. But he knew he’d never prove anything, either way.

  Halfdan gestured to the ten men to sit and slake their thirsts, sweeping them with an enquiring gaze. ‘So where’s the rest of your convoy?’ he asked once they’d had a chance to down a few mouthfuls of ale. ‘There were at least a hundred of you when you set out, so are we to expect their return some time soon?’ He focused on a familiar face. ‘Ornolf . . . ?’

  Ornolf took a breath and looked straight at Halfdan. ‘They’ve carried on to the coast, my lord; decided they’d rather take their chances in Dublin than come back here and ride into Wessex. Most of them had been to Dublin before and reckoned it was ripe for some lucrative pickings, for a while at least. We were only a couple of days’ ride from the coast when we found Ivar’s body, so I suppose they felt they may as well carry on – even without him.’

  Silent so far, Ubbi decided to speak up. ‘Is it likely that whoever throttled Ivar is amongst those men? I mean, sailing away to Dublin would be the ideal escape, wouldn’t it?’

  Halfdan nodded, convinced that the person Ubbi had in mind was in Bagsecg’s pay. But Bagsecg’s next remark took him by surprise.

  ‘I suppose the killer could just as likely have come back here.’

  The outraged denials from Ivar’s men were to be expected, Halfdan thought, watching the Norwegian’s probing stare move from one to the other. ‘Surely no one would be stupid enough to do that, my lord!’ Ornolf retorted. ‘We came back because we felt that someone should bring the news of Ivar’s death back to his brothers.’ He shot a sympathetic look at Halfdan and Ubbi. ‘Besides, we don’t believe Ivar’s killers were amongst our men at all. Whoever it was must have approached our cavalcade from behind. We found the bodies of the two rear guards in the forest, with arrows sunk into their backs. So it’s probable that at least two men were involved. As to their identity . . .’ He shook his head with a shrug. ‘They could be any number of men from throughout these kingdoms.’

  Ornolf seemed relieved at Halfdan’s nod, and gestured at his companions. ‘We ten also felt reluctant to continue on to Dublin without Ivar. Our party was left without a leader, and we all know what happens when groups of men are left to their own devices. Nothing is ever agreed upon without brawls–’

  ‘We understand what you’re saying,’ Halfdan cut in, scowling as he glanced at Bagsecg. It was bad enough when there were two leaders with conflicting ideas. ‘And I’m inclined to believe your motives for returning are honourable. From what you say, it seems that even speculating as to the identity of Ivar’s killers would serve no purpose.’

  He smiled at the relieved-looking group. ‘You have our thanks for returning Ivar’s body for a funeral ceremony befitting so powerful a leader. A funeral pyre that reaches up to the gods will be prepared for tomorrow morning. Of course, whether or not you choose to remain with our army or go your own way is up to you.’ Halfdan shot a venomous look at Bagsecg. ‘You just need to be aware that we’ll be staying in Anglia for another year. Not what my brother would have advocated, I know, but on this occasion, the decision was not for him to make . . . Besides, a year will give us time to ensure the smooth running of the kingdom under this puppet, Oswald, before we move on to Wessex. He seems little more than a dim-witted fool to me.’

  ‘Alternatively, you’d be a welcomed addition to my own forces,’ Ubbi put in, sweeping Ivar’s men with an encouraging smile. ‘In early spring we ride to the coast for our ships. Then we’ll sail south and round the Kentish lands past Thanet. We intend to raid at various locations along the south coast of Wessex, concentrating mostly on Sussex, Hampshire, Dorset – and possibly Devon.’ He grinned at Halfdan and Bagsecg. ‘Our aim is to harass the southern regions of Wessex throughout next summer and into autumn. We may even make some surprise attacks a little further inland; there are several convenient rivers along that route. If all goes well, by the time the rest of our Great Army swarms into the kingdo
m’s interior, the Saxons will already be considerably weakened, and ripe for the picking.’

  Twenty One

  It was mid afternoon of the first day of December when Eadwulf, Aethelnoth and Jorund arrived back at Elston. At Eadwulf’s request, Aethelnoth and Jorund went on to the hall without him, leaving him in the stables, ostensibly to help Wigstan’s groom in tending to their hard-ridden horses. In truth, he needed time to pluck up enough courage to face Leoflaed. This way, Aethelnoth and Jorund could prepare the way for him, so that when he crept into the hall a little later, Leoflaed would have no possible reason to scream at him for giving her a great shock.

  Not surprisingly, Aethelnoth had hooted at his request. ‘You great dough-ball,’ he jeered. ‘Scared witless at the thought of facing your own wife? What’s the worst thing she can do to you, eh? She can’t cut off your balls, can she? Leoflaed’s a heck of a temper on her, I’ll grant you that, but, when all’s said and done, she’s still just a woman . . .’

  Aethelnoth’s scoffs had continued throughout the last few miles of their journey, but Eadwulf had remained adamantly in favour of his plan. And out of brotherly loyalty, Jorund had supported his decision. ‘Leoflaed’s ranting certainly terrifies me,’ he said. ‘She’d never had a go at me till I said I was heading off to Anglia. Then she kept it up for days . . . every time I saw her! I’m not looking forward to seeing her again, so I know how Eadwulf must feel. He’ll be lucky to get a word in without losing his own temper – or whacking her one.’

  Even Eadwulf had laughed at that, and was still grinning at the expression on Jorund’s face as he set about unsaddling the horses once the others had left for the hall. Outside, the December sky was already darkening and he and the groom worked in the soft light of a couple of oil lamps.

  ‘And just when did you intend to come and relieve me of my misery?’

  Eadwulf spun round to see Leoflaed standing only a few yards away. Startled and embarrassed by his own cowardly behaviour he just gaped at her, taking in the anxious frown on her lovely face, and the thick auburn braids tumbling from beneath her simple head veil. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears in the lamplight and Eadwulf realised that his wife was overwhelmed with emotion.

  He opened his mouth to offer some placatory explanation for leaving her again, but before a word could emerge, Leoflaed was in his arms, pulling his head down and clamping her mouth over his. She kissed him with such fervour that Eadwulf could only return her passion, clutching her to him as though she might disappear if he loosened his hold.

  ‘I’ve agonised over how this reunion would be every single day since I left,’ he mumbled, eventually pulling away and kissing her wet cheeks. ‘I didn’t think you’d ever forgive me, and the very thought tore me apart. You said–’

  ‘I know what I said, Eadwulf, and am truly ashamed of myself for being so selfish. I knew how much you wanted – needed – to get your revenge on Ivar, but I . . . I . . .’ Eadwulf watched her searching for the right words, cursing himself for causing her such pain. ‘I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, Eadwulf. Without you, my whole existence would be meaningless. I had visions of the Danes capturing you and . . .’ Leoflaed’s breath caught in her throat and she swiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘The idea of the blood eagle even haunts my dreams.’

  Eadwulf momentarily averted his eyes, searching for words that would reassure her, let her know that the possibility of his being caught was minimal. But that would be a lie. ‘I really do understand how you feel, Leoflaed, though I can offer no words to ease your fears. All that you say is true. The three of us could have been dead by now.’ He took her hands in his as she shuddered. ‘But until I’ve fully avenged the wrongs done to my family, I’ll never be the settled husband you want me to be. All I ask is that you trust me to be cautious – and always remember how much I love you, and will always come back to you. Even if you yell at me and tell me not to!

  ‘And I also understand your objections to Jorund following after us,’ he went on, relieved to see the glimmer of a smile on Leoflaed’s face. ‘He’s young and inexperienced, and could easily have been set upon, either on the journey down to Anglia, or in Thetford itself. But,’ he added, nodding, ‘he managed very well on his own, and the venture's gone a long way towards making my little brother into a man. Morwenna would have been proud of him.’

  ‘As your own son will be of you, husband. Aethelred’s been coming out here, watching for your return every day this past week. And he’s got a million questions to ask you about how you killed Ivar.’ Leoflaed smiled as he shook he head. ‘Never once did he doubt you’d succeed in your quest. I’m just sorry that I failed you in that, husband.’

  Finding no suitable words of reply, Eadwulf pulled her close, just as seven-year-old Aethelred burst through the stable doorway. ‘Papa! Papa!’ he shrieked, charging at Eadwulf. ‘I knew you’d be back by Advent. I kept telling Mama you would, to cheer her up.’

  Eadwulf swung his jubilant son up into his arms and hugged him tight. ‘Advent eh?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Is it really that time of year already? We’ll soon need to be on the lookout for a suitable Yule log.’

  Aethelred took Eadwulf’s face between his small hands, his intense green gaze boring into his father’s amused one. ‘Can I help to drag it in this year? Last year you said I was too small – but now I’m much bigger. Look!’ he demanded, wriggling from Eadwulf’s grasp down to the stable floor, his hand moving from the top of his head to Eadwulf’s midriff. 'I’m up to here already.’

  Eadwulf grinned down at his rapidly growing son, so like himself in colouring. ‘I’m sure Aethelnoth and Jorund will agree that extra help is always useful,’ he said encouragingly. ‘But right now, I think we’d better get your mother back into the hall. I can already hear her teeth chattering.’

  ‘And before you ask, Aethelred,’ Leoflaed put in, steering him towards the stable door, ‘your father will not be answering any of your questions until he’s downed a mug of warm ale in front of the hearthfire.’

  Aethelred grinned cheekily. ‘I already know that Father killed the horrible Ivar,’ he said. ‘Aethelnoth told me. So my other questions can wait till later.’

  *****

  Christmastide passed joyfully for everyone at Elston, and it seemed that before anyone knew it, spring was hovering on their very doorstep. Little news had reached them throughout the long winter days, and all anyone could assume was that the Great Army was still in East Anglia. For how much longer was anybody’s guess.

  Leoflaed’s third pregnancy was advancing well, and although she was undeniably happy and robust, Eadwulf’s anxieties for her wellbeing grew in accordance with the passing weeks. By May she was into her seventh month and, as the time for birthing grew nearer, Eadwulf could not help himself from fussing over her every movement. So much so that Leoflaed had eventually snapped.

  ‘Just go and do whatever you’re supposed to be doing, Eadwulf – help Aethelnoth and Jorund chop the logs or something! Or go and ride out with Wigstan and Selwyn, and take Aethelred with you. Or you could even take Leofwynn out for a walk; give Odella a little break. I’m not going to drop down with exhaustion, or keel over and damage the babe – or whatever you seem to think I might do if you’re not watching me like a hawk. Pregnancy is nothing out of the ordinary for women, when all’s said and done,’ she went on, leaving the cabbage she was chopping and pointing her scramseax at Eadwulf as she warmed to her theme, ‘and I’ve no intention of lying down every day as you’ve suggested more than once.’ She grinned at his affronted expression. ‘Look,’ she added, gesturing about the hall, ‘there are enough women in here to help me with anything I can’t manage. And quite frankly, I’m getting a bit tired of having you for a shadow.’

  ‘Right,’ Eadwulf said, finding nothing to say in his defence. ‘I’ll just take Aethelred and Leofwynn out for a walk in the woods. We’ll fetch some bluebells back for you . . . ’

  As he left the hall with his two childre
n in tow, he scowled as he heard the women roar with laughter.

  *****

  At the end of May, Aethelnoth asked Wigstan’s permission to marry Odella. The ealdorman happily gave his blessings to the union, having been well aware of their feelings for each other for some time.

  ‘I’m just surprised you haven’t asked me before now, Aethelnoth,’ Wigstan said, shaking the big man’s hand vigorously, and leading him to a quiet corner in order to speak plainly. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better match for either of you, and I can see you adore our young nurse,’ he continued as they seated themselves. ‘I don’t know how much Eadwulf has told you, but Odella is no menial serving girl.’

  ‘I know she’s a thegn’s daughter, my lord. Eadwulf did tell me about her parentage, and how they all died. Odella’s spoken of it as well.’ Aethelnoth looked steadily at Wigstan. ‘Not that it would have made any difference to me if she’d been no more than a lowly slave. I love her, and that’s all I care about. And I believe she loves me, too.’ He looked away, feeling embarrassed by saying that. ‘The problem is that I have been a slave, and people around here may see me as an unfit husband for Odella. I–’

  ‘You’re the son of a royal reeve, Aethelnoth, and everyone for miles around here knows that. Being snatched and reduced to slavery as a child was through no fault of your own.’ Wigstan smiled and laid his hand on Aethelnoth’s arm. ‘Believe me, I had a very similar conversation with Eadwulf some years ago, and I urge you to believe in yourself. As I do. All of you young ones have become so much part of my family now that I don’t know what I’d do without you . . .

  ‘And I suggest we arrange for your wedding to be held by the beginning of July, he added, grinning at Aethelnoth’s look of surprise at such haste. ‘I’m sure Leoflaed would want to enjoy the celebrations without running off to feed a new babe every few moments.’

  *****

  On July 6 Aethelnoth and Odella were married in the same small chapel in which Eadwulf and Leoflaed had made their vows. And just as Eadwulf had done, Aethelnoth made no reference to any god, nor had Odella pushed him to do so.