by Jayne Castel
Annan inclined his head, his eyes widening.
“What? He has sent me a woman to wed?”
Aethelhere’s grin turned wolfish. “He has. Just wait till you see her.”
The brothers exchanged a look and, without another word, mounted the steps to the ‘Golden Hall’ together.
Annan was not sure how he felt about this news. He had known that the Northumbrian King was sending him a bride, as they had agreed at Yule. Now that the moment had arrived, he suddenly felt reluctant to meet her – despite Aethelhere’s evident approval of Edwin’s choice.
Inside the Great Hall, the smell of simmering pottage assaulted Annan’s nostrils. It was a pungent aroma; that of carrots, onions and cabbage cooked for so long that it became a mushy, sulfurous stew. It was not Annan’s favorite, but at least they would soon have some spit-roasted meat to vary the meals over the coming days. Hilda, the slave that Annan had inherited with the Rendlaesham’s ‘Golden Hall’, was a good-hearted young woman, but a poor cook. She stood now, pummeling griddle bread into rounds with the heel of her hand, and instructing two other, younger, girls on how to do the same.
Despite that Annan had never ill-treated her, Hilda was a nervous girl, with large light blue eyes that regarded the world with trepidation. Her thin body was strong from years of hard physical labor, and her fine light brown hair fell in a long, thin braid down her back. About her slender neck she wore a pitted iron slave collar.
“Evening, m’lord Annan.” Hilda glanced up as a draft of air from the opening doors, alerted her to the king’s arrival. She dropped into a low curtsey.
“Evening, Hilda,” Annan acknowledged her with a smile. His gaze then travelled across the interior of his hall. Even after months of living here, he still was not used to the size of his home.
The blackened timbers of the ceiling rose high above his head, like the ribcage of a great dragon. Luxurious tapestries – works of art that often took decades to fully complete – hung from the walls, alongside ornamental shields, axes and swords. A massive fire pit dominated the space and long tables ran either side of it. Dogs skulked around the margins of the hall, gnawing on bones; or waiting under the tables for scraps during the approaching evening meal. This eve, ealdormen, thegns, and their wives filled the Great Hall – it was always a hive of activity. Many got to their feet upon seeing the king’s arrival.
Yet, Annan’s gaze sought out the face of the young woman who was to become his wife.
Two women sat at one end of the long tables, flanked by four travel-weary warriors.
Annan’s gaze rested upon the face of a slender, blonde beauty at the center of the group. Then, he glanced across at Aethelhere with a grin.
“For once, you weren’t exaggerating, brother.”
“When it comes to pretty women I never exaggerate,” Aethelhere replied, feigning offence, before stepping forward to make the introductions.
“Lady Hereswith of Bebbanburg, niece to King Edwin of Northumbria, may I introduce you to our king, Annan of the East Angles.”
“Milord,” the blonde girl rose to her feet, blushing prettily, before she curtsied deeply.
“Milady,” Annan replied, his gaze devouring her. She was even lovelier up close than from a distance, with flawless, milky skin, huge blue eyes and hair the color of sea-foam.
Marriage to such a woman might not be such a trial after all.
At thirty-three winters, Annan was well past the age when most men married. Given the chance, he would have preferred to remain unwed. Out of the three brothers – Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold – only Aethelwold had married; to a sweet woman who had given him two sons. Like his elder brother, Aethelhere also remained unattached. However, with kingship came certain responsibilities – producing an heir among them. As much as Annan liked his freedom, and preferred taking a woman for a night or two, rather than saddling himself with a wife, the time had come for him to be handfasted.
Still, Annan reflected, not taking his gaze off the beauty before him, some sacrifices were easier to make than others.
“Welcome to Rendlaesham.” Annan stopped before her and smiled into her eyes; he was aware that although slender as a reed, she was taller than most women. She barely had to lift her chin to meet his gaze.
“I trust you had a safe journey south?” Annan’s gaze shifted to the mousy-haired woman next to Hereswith who wore a pinched expression.
“The journey was uneventful enough,” the woman replied, her gaze meeting the king’s boldly, “although the weather was bitter. I am Eldwyn, hand-maid to Lady Hereswith.”
“I welcome you all to my hall,” Annan replied before glancing over at where the unappetizing pottage bubbled away in a huge cast-iron pot. “And if I’d realized you were arriving today, I would have had a feast prepared in your honor. However, I can offer you all a hot meal and mead this eve, and tomorrow we shall dine on roast venison.”
***
A pall of smoke, as always, hung over the hall, making Annan’s eyes sting. Yet, he paid it no heed. His attention was focused upon the lovely girl who delicately supped at her bowl of pottage to his left. She noticed his gaze upon her and cast him a flirtatious look from under long lashes.
Despite himself, Annan grinned foolishly. Hereswith was bolder than she first appeared, a trait he liked in a woman.
Annan chewed on a piece of griddle bread and leaned back in the carved wooden seat reserved for the East Anglian king, at the head of one of the tables. The noise in the hall was deafening; the volume increasing as his men consumed more than their fair share of mead and ale.
“More pottage, sire?” Hilda appeared at Annan’s elbow, with an iron pot filled to the brim with steaming vegetable stew. She had such a hopeful expression that Annan felt a pang as he shook his head.
“I thank thee, but no,” his gaze then flicked over at where Saba had just started on another cup of mead. “However Sabert here has a mighty appetite. Fill up his bowl!”
Saba glowered over the rim of his cup as Hilda eagerly moved around to the right of the table and filled up the warrior’s bowl, using a long-stemmed wooden ladle. Saba leaned back, to give her space to move, and glanced up at her face.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Hilda, m’lord,” she replied timidly, casting a nervous glance in the king’s direction. Annan pretended not to notice her discomfort; it was obvious the girl had been ill-treated in the past. Not likely by the previous king, Sigeberht, who although severe was not a cruel man, but by his predecessor, Ricberht, and, perhaps her own father. Her eyes were wide and frightened. She regarded Saba as if he were about to cuff her around the head.
“It’s a pretty name.” Saba smiled up at her, with uncharacteristic gentleness. “For a pretty wench.”
Hilda turned deep red and, clutching her pot to her breast, fled to the other end of the table.
Annan watched her go before winking at Saba. “Still charming the women I see.”
Saba shrugged before dipping a piece of bread into his pottage. “The girl is comely.”
A disapproving, unladylike snort interrupted the men. The woman who accompanied Hereswith as her chaperone and maid, Eldwyn, clicked her tongue loudly and shook her head.
“Slaves should not be addressed by name,” she reprimanded Saba imperiously, looking down her nose at him. “The girl must know her place.”
Saba’s gaze narrowed. “Yes – but you do not appear to know yours.”
Eldwyn sniffed and looked away from him, not in the least chastised by his baleful glare.
“Hilda is a sweet-natured wench.” Aethelhere, who was seated to Saba’s left, helped himself to another piece of bread and winked at Eldwyn. “Yet, certainly not worth arguing over.”
“Very well, Aethelhere,” Saba replied, his gaze never leaving Eldwyn’s face; daring her to make eye-contact with him once more. “Although, some should remember they are guests in another king’s hall before they open their mouths.”
Eldwyn ignored him. Her mouth pursed as she looked down at her bowl of half-eaten pottage.
Annan had remained silent during the exchange, but now he regarded Eldwyn coolly. Her bitterness and austerity stood in contrast to the fresh beauty of the girl beside her. Hereswith gave her maid a quelling look and whispered something to her. Eldwyn nodded stiffly but said nothing – although her expression had turned sour.
“Hereswith.” Annan raised his cup to the girl beside him, deciding that women like Eldwyn were best ignored. “I will send word back to Edwin that I am very pleased with the match.”
Hereswith flushed with obvious pleasure. “I thank you, sire. I would be honored to become your bride.”
Annan smiled at her, unable to stop himself from imagining what Hereswith looked like naked. If that clinging woolen tunic she wore was any indication, he guessed she had a body like a nymph.
“Then we shall be handfasted,” he announced, the mead loosening his tongue and making him reckless. “Tomorrow I will…”
At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall flew open, bringing with them a gust of cold, damp air that made the coals in the fire pit glow and the flames in the clay cressets along the walls gutter.
A man, wrapped in a thick fur cloak, his cheeks ruddy with cold, stepped into the hall. He was broad and stocky, with a thick, grey-streaked beard and hair. He carried himself with arrogance, and noble bearing.
The Great Hall grew still as the gazes of all present shifted to the newcomer. Conversation died away and the only sound, save the growl of one of the dogs under the tables, was that of the crackling fire pit.
Aware that he was the subject of hostile stares, the man’s iron-grey gaze swept across the hall’s interior. A little of his earlier confidence had dimmed as his gaze came to rest upon Annan. The king returned the newcomer’s gaze and felt himself go cold. The good cheer and anticipation of wedding, and bedding, his winsome bride, dissolved.
He recognized this warrior, and knew who had sent him.
“Aldfrid of Tamworth.” Annan slowly rose to his feet, never taking his gaze off the newcomer’s face. “What brings you to my kingdom?”
Aldfrid stared back at him, insolence in his eyes.
“Your kingdom? I suppose it still is…,” he mused. “Penda sends his regards.”
The name, hated amongst all the East Angles, had an explosive effect on the hall. Some men slammed their cups down on the table before them with a thud, some spat out curses, while others jumped to their feet.
“You are a brave man,” Annan remarked, feeling the tension grow around him with each passing moment, “or a very foolish one to speak that name under this roof. Say your piece and be off. You aren’t welcome here.”
Aldfrid’s face darkened at that, although, aware that some of the warriors were now unsheathing their knives, he held his tongue. When he did speak, his voice was rough from suppressed anger.
“You made a pact with Mercia,” he replied, choosing his words carefully, “and the time has come to keep your end of the agreement.”
Annan was having difficulty controlling himself. It was all he could do not to launch himself across the hall and slam his first into Aldfrid’s face. Everyone present knew what the Mercian ealdorman really meant.
You ‘bent the knee’ to Mercia. You sacrificed your honor for your people. Now you must pay the price.
When Annan did not reply, Aldfrid continued, his gaze flicking to where Hereswith sat silently next to Annan.
“The king’s sister – Saewara – is recently widowed. Penda has decided she will make an excellent match for you.”
His words caused the silence inside the hall to deepen. Sensing the atmosphere in the hall was on a knife-edge, another dog, this one sitting on the rush-matting only a few yards from Aldfrid, began to growl.
“The marriage between you will bring our kingdoms even closer together.” Aldfrid kept his gaze averted from the dog and delivered the rest of his message. “Penda commands it.”
Annan stared back at Penda of Mercia’s messenger in shock. He had not expected this move.
“He cannot command me to marry his sister,” he finally ground out. “I refuse.”
“You ‘bent the knee’ to Mercia,” Aldfrid spat out the words, sweat now beading on his heavy brow. “Or do you forget? The bodies of the East Angles lay scattered over Barrow Fields and you stood before Penda in his tent. You swore, on the lives of your men that you would do as Penda bid. You swore an oath – upon your own honor. Do you retract it now?”
Annan glared back at him; those were inflammatory words. Men had been killed for less. Helpless rage almost blinded him, but with it a cold, sickening dread seeped through his gut. Indeed, he had made that oath; he had been given no choice. At the time, Penda had already had one of Annan’s men killed before him, for refusing. Penda had threatened to slay each one, until he got the promise he wanted.
Annan had paid for their lives with his own honor – and now bitterly regretted it. He should have let Penda kill them all, him included, rather than suffer this humiliation. Although none present would ever have voiced such a sentiment, he felt as if he had failed his people; the only king of the East Angles to submit to Mercia. Raedwald, the great Wuffinga king his father had served, would turn in his grave to see that it had come to this.
“I already have a betrothed,” Annan rasped. “I will marry Hereswith of Bebbanburg, ward of Edwin of Northumbria.”
“Betrothals are not written in blood,” Aldfrid replied before spitting on the rush-matting at his feet. “You have not yet wed – you are free to marry whom Penda sees fit. You know what will happen if you refuse him. Make your choice.”
Annan stood, motionless, in a sea of his ealdormen, thegns, warriors and their kin. Many, Saba and his brother amongst them, had risen to their feet in support of their king. The Mercian ealdorman, to his credit, stood firm. His iron gaze never left Annan’s face.
They both knew the truth of it.
Annan, as formidable a warrior as he was, lacked the ruthlessness of the Wuffingas who had ruled before him.
They both knew that despite Annan’s show of defiance and anger, he would submit. He had the lives of everyone under this roof – all those who resided in Rendlaesham and the settlements beyond – in his hands. He could not sacrifice them.
Annan was trapped, and Aldfrid knew it.
Chapter Two
The Widow’s Escape
Tamworth, the Kingdom of Mercia
On the same eve…
Night cast a dark, chill blanket over the Great Tower of Tamworth, throwing it into shadow. Darkness veiled the gently rolling hills around the stone tower, and the stars stood out in sharp relief against the deep black of the sky.
Inside the Great Tower, the evening meal had come and gone. Women sat around the fire in the hall, gossiping at their distaffs. Dogs stretched out at their feet, enjoying the lingering warmth from the two great hearths that warmed the stronghold. Men sipped ale and lounged at one of the main long tables around the cavernous space, playing knuckle bones or Hnefatafl, ‘King’s Table’ – exchanging ribald comments as they moved pieces about a large board. On the floor above, a wooden platform with a ladder leading down to the main hall, Penda had retired early with his wife, Cyneswide.
At her seat by one of the hearths, Saewara laid aside her embroidery and rubbed her stinging eyes. Nearby, her two nieces played with a puppy on the rush-matting. The girls, just four and three winters respectively, had their father’s ice-blond coloring but their mother’s sweet, trusting disposition. Saewara watched the girls for a moment, filled with a hollow sadness.
I wish I could protect you from the world, she thought. From all that it means to be a woman.
All of a sudden, the sound of Cyneswide’s muffled shrieks above, as her husband serviced her, reached those on the floor below. Seeing her nieces questioning gazes directed upwards, Saewara hastily looked away, lest they ask – as they had before – whether fæder w
as hurting mōder.
Nearby, two women, wives of Penda’s thegns, sniggered knowingly.
Saewara gazed into the glowing embers of the fire pit and wondered if it was still too early to make her move. She had planned this evening so carefully, she could not risk making a mistake now. She had not expected her brother and his wife to retire so early, but now that the opportunity had presented itself, she would be a fool to let it go.
Saewara knew she had but days left. Her brother had sent word to the King of the East Angles, informing him of his impending nuptials to a woman he had never met. Just the thought of marrying this Annan of the Wuffingas made her stomach twist. She had not intention of marrying anyone. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in peace; in the gentle seclusion of a cloistered life, away from the Great Tower of Tamworth. Tonight would be her last chance – she would get no other.
Above, Cyneswide gave a loud groan.
Saewara’s cheeks flamed. Not for the first time, she failed to understand why such a sweet-tempered woman like Cyneswide could find such pleasure in her brother’s bed. He was a cold, brutal man with all that knew him; yet it was well known that he had not been able to keep his hands off his wife since the day of their handfasting five years earlier. He and Cyneswide said little to each other with the others present, but often retired early to their platform above the great hall; a bower that afforded them far more privacy than most. Penda’s marriage had always perplexed Saewara. Perhaps he showed his wife a gentler side – one that the rest of the world had yet to see.
Although she had planned to slip away later, when fewer folk would be about, Saewara decided that she would make her move now, while her brother was otherwise occupied. She casually rose to her feet and made a show of stretching.
“I’m stepping outside for a breath of fresh air,” she told the two women who she had barely spoken to all evening. “I need to stretch my legs.”
