by Jayne Castel
They nodded coolly, before turning back to the conversation she had interrupted. Of late, Saewara had not been a chatty companion at the fireside. As such, they would not miss her company. Taking a fur cloak, for although spring had arrived the night air still had a bite to it, Saewara made her way across the wide floor. She left the hall through oak doors; rushes crunched underfoot. She passed two guards, who stood chatting together next to where a row of torches flamed against the damp, stone wall.
“Where are you off to, M’lady?” one of them queried.
“Just getting some air,” Saewara replied demurely, “I’m cramped from sitting for too long.”
“Don’t go far,” the guard called after her.
“I won’t.” Saewara threw a timid smile over her shoulder. “Just a short stroll.”
Heart hammering, she made her way down the stone steps and across a wide courtyard that was lined with low, thatched buildings. These were where most of Penda’s warriors slept, next to the stables. The cold air stung Saewara’s face as she walked past. The sound of laughter and drunken male voices reached her and, aware that she was still in sight of the guards at the doors, she forced herself to slow her pace.
She had to make this look like an evening stroll, not an escape.
Moments later, she had passed under the stone archway and into the narrow streets of Tamworth itself. The town, a tangle of thatched wattle and daub houses, spread around the base of the hill, and the stone edifice that rose above it. The Great Tower of Tamworth was famed across the land – the only one of its kind in Britannia – where most lords resided in great wooden halls. Penda, like his predecessors, was very proud of his tower, despite that it could be bitterly cold in winter. He boasted that, unlike the halls of other kings, his was built to last.
The dirt-packed streets of Tamworth were largely empty. It was a moonless night but the glow from inside the low buildings cast a dim light, allowing Saewara to navigate her way easily through the rabbit warren of narrow lanes toward the town walls.
As she approached the main gates, her heart began to slam wildly against her ribs.
What if he had lied?
Saewara wiped her sweating palms against the thick woolen shift she wore.
What if there is another on duty at this hour – and I am caught?
There was no time for second thoughts. She knew she had but a tiny window of opportunity before she was missed. She had to leave now.
A high wall circled Tamworth; a solid construction made of stone and wood. The gates themselves were heavy oak and studded with iron spikes. A single guard stood before the gates.
Saewara, quick and silent, and blending with the shadows in her dark fur cloak, crept close to the guard.
“Oswald,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
The man started, before turning quickly to her, his face panicked.
“Saewara, you’re early,” he hissed. “I thought you would come later. There are still too many guards around – someone might see you.”
“I had to come now,” she replied. “There wouldn’t have been a better chance later.”
Oswald, a young man with a thin, sensitive face, glanced nervously around him before pulling Saewara into the shadows. “M’lady – are you sure this is wise?”
“Of course it isn’t,” Saewara replied, irritation surfacing in her voice, “but my brother has left me with no choice.”
“But Penda is not lightly crossed.”
“It won’t matter. Once we reach Bonehill, we will gain sanctuary. We will both be safe there.”
Oswald frowned, still not convinced, although his body appeared to relax slightly. “But the king worships the old gods,” he whispered.
Sweat shone on his skin in the flickering torch light. For the first time, Saewara regretted involving him. Oswald had seemed so keen when she had presented the idea to him. He chafed at the life of warrior here in Tamworth. He longed to become a monk and worship the one god – the true god. She had convinced him it was possible; all he had to do was help her get away from Tamworth.
Now, it appeared he was losing his nerve.
“Listen to me, Oswald.” Saewara placed her hand on his arm and squeezed firmly. “There is no time for second thoughts. If you wish to serve God, you must take risks. You will never be able to carry out the Lord’s work here. We must go – before the king’s men come looking for me. We need to get a head-start on them. Have you hidden the horses?”
Oswald nodded, his eyes gleaming.
“Let’s go then,” Saewara urged. “No more talk. I will follow you.”
Oswald gazed at her, as if awed by one small woman’s resolve. Yet, Saewara knew the danger she was placing them both in. For her, the alternative was worse than the penalty if she was caught. He paused a moment longer, and even opened his mouth to protest once more, but one fierce look quelled him. He swallowed, gave one more, nervous glance about them, and turned toward the gates.
Casting his gaze nervously into the shadows, lest anyone was around to see them, Oswald pushed the gates apart, just enough for them to slip through. Then, one at a time, they squeezed between the gates and into the shadowed world beyond. Just a few yards from the gates, darkness swallowed them.
Despite that Saewara could not even see her hand before her face, she was grateful for the moonless night. Oswald had done well, to insist he would take the first watch alone this evening, while his friends went to drink in the mead hall. Now, he had to keep his courage and they would soon be far from here.
Saewara stumbled over a tree root and reached forward, grasping Oswald’s arm for support. He knew the land outside the walls far better than she, and despite that he could see nothing in the pitch black, made his way confidently toward a copse of trees to the east of the walls. Behind them, the muted sounds of Tamworth broke the night’s stillness: the occasional bark of a dog, men’s voices raised in drunken laughter – and somewhere, so faint that Saewara almost could not make it out – a woman’s voice, singing.
A short while later, they reached the horses. Oswald had tethered them under a large, spreading oak in the heart of the woods. Working by feel, Saewara sprang up on to the saddle and fumbled for the reins.
Moments later, they were off. Oswald led the way, guiding his horse through the darkness, away from Tamworth. He knew these woods well, and rode as if he had the eyesight of an owl. Saewara followed blindly behind, letting her horse follow by instinct. Bonehill was some distance to the south; it would take them the entire night to reach it.
They had been riding a short while when the trees drew back and they rode under an ink-black, star-sprinkled sky. The air was cold but there was not a breath of wind. The night was eerily quiet, and Saewara’s nerves, already on edge, stretched taut. Her ears strained for any sign that they were being pursued. Yet, apart from the rustling of animals in the undergrowth, and the far off hoot of an owl, they now rode through an empty land.
“Can’t we ride faster?” Saewara brought her horse level with Oswald, who was nothing more than a dark silhouette against the starlit landscape.
“No,” he replied, his voice sharper than she had expected. “It’s too dark. If one of our horses stumbles into a rabbit burrow or over a tree root, they could break a leg.”
Saewara lapsed back into silence and reined her horse back slightly so that she followed behind Oswald once more. Although she chafed at their slow pace, she knew he spoke the truth. Fleeing in a panic, could end up ruining everything.
They rode south through the night, over a rolling landscape of fields, streams and wooded valleys. Saewara and Oswald spoke little, their senses tuned for any sign that they were being pursued. Yet, no sign came.
Eventually, the first glow of the approaching dawn stained the eastern sky. Saewara blinked tiredly; her eyes stung from fatigue. They had been riding all night without rest. She could feel exhaustion dragging at her but knew they could not afford to rest – even now when they were so close to Bonehill. Her
eyes had long adjusted to the darkness, and as the first rays of light illuminated the eastern horizon, she found herself straining her eyes to see what lay ahead. They were riding up a hill now, and Saewara was sure that the monastery, where they would find sanctuary and peace, lay just beyond the horizon. Hope lifted her flagging spirits. Just a little longer and she would be free.
Then, the ground began to shake.
Saewara’s horse, a shaggy dun mare, snorted nervously and side-stepped, nearly dislodging its rider.
“Oswald?” Saewara called out. “What’s that noise?”
Her companion turned in the saddle, his gaze taking in his surroundings, before focusing on something beyond Saewara’s left shoulder. His face blanched.
“Horses!” he croaked. “Coming fast from the north.”
Saewara’s breathing stilled. She swiveled in the saddle, and gazed back at the way they had come. There, drawing closer with every moment that passed, was a galloping group of horses. She saw the outlines of spears, bristling against the lightening sky, and felt her body go cold.
Penda had caught up with her.
“Ride!” Oswald shouted at her. “Bonehill lies but a short distance to the south. We may outrun them yet!”
Without waiting for her response, the young man dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and took off up the hill. Saewara tore her gaze from the approaching riders and followed suit. Crouching low over the dun mare’s prickly mane, she focused on the top of the rise. Her horse was tired, but she urged it on. They had to outrun those warriors. She could not return to Tamworth. She would rather die.
As if sensing its rider’s desperation, the horse gathered its last reserves of energy and thundered up the slope. It was an exposed spot; there were no thickets of trees to hide in. They would have to outrun their pursuers or be captured.
Saewara crested the top of the hill and saw that Oswald was already half-way down the slope. He was fleeing now, with no thought to her safety. Although she could hardly blame him, for she too feared Penda’s wrath, Saewara felt a stab of outrage at his cowardice.
She cursed under her breath and clung on as her horse raced down the hill. Beyond, lay a wooded valley, and a stream that twinkled in the dawn. There, in the heart of the valley lay the thatched roof of a long timbered hall, surrounded by a high perimeter fence constructed of sharp wooden palings: the monastery of Bonehill.
Saewara nearly sobbed in relief at the sight of her destination. She had come so far. She could not bear to be thwarted now. The thundering of horses’ hooves shook the ground around her. They were close; so close that she could hear the grunts of their horses and the curses of the men who pursued her.
Her horse squealed in panic then, took the bit between its teeth and bolted.
Saewara had no choice but to cling on with her knees. Her surroundings passed in a blur and she quickly gained on Oswald.
Then, she heard the unmistakable twang of a bow-string releasing, and cursed.
She should have realized that her brother would send his bowmen after her. This was no battle – a place for spears, axes and swords – but a hunt.
A moment later, Oswald fell. An arrow hit him square between the shoulder blades, and he pitched from his horse with a strangled scream. A moment after that, Saewara’s horse went down from under as an arrow caught its hind-quarters.
Suddenly, Saewara was airborne, hurtling through the air like a pebble from a slingshot. She curled herself up into a ball, as she had been taught when learning how to ride, and braced herself for impact.
Saewara hit the dew-laden grass and felt the air gush from her lungs. She rolled down the hill and came to a halt at the bottom, face-down on her stomach.
She lay there for a few moments, the sound of laughter and approaching hooves, ringing in her ears. Gingerly, she drew her knees in to her chest and rolled over onto her side, wincing as she did so. Her entire left side felt as if it were on fire. Oswald lay nearby, face-down, unmoving.
A group of warriors, riding lathered horses, drew to a halt around her. She recognized many of the faces. Penda’s loyal warriors and thegns – men as ruthless and cold as the man they served. One of the men, Thrydwulf, a warrior that Saewara had always feared, swung down from his horse and strode over to Oswald.
He turned him over with his foot before spitting on him.
“Pity.” He cast a cold glance over his shoulder. “He’s dead. Penda was planning to make sport of your lover.”
“He wasn’t my lover,” Saewara wheezed, struggling to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her. “He was only helping me.”
“No man risks his life for a woman unless he thinks she’s his,” Thrydwulf walked toward her. “Slut!”
“You’re wrong,” Saewara gasped, knowing she should hold her tongue, but finding herself unable. The disdainful gazes of the men surrounding her was more than she could take. “Oswald was going to take his vows at Bonehill. He wanted to become a monk – to serve god!”
The warriors laughed then, mocking her.
“A monk, eh?” Thrydwulf looked back at where Oswald gazed sightlessly into the heavens. “Then a quick death was the best thing for him.”
***
“Hōre!” The flat of Penda’s hand connected with Saewara’s cheek with a crack, sending her sprawling back across the rush-matting floor. She landed on her back and sat up, clutching her stinging cheek. Tears blurred her vision. The faces of those around her distorted, as if she was looking at them from the bottom of a clear, deep pond.
Saewara bit the inside of her cheek and tried to stop the tears. She had promised herself on the ride back that she would not cry – that she would exhibit the same coldness as Penda himself. Yet, when faced with his icy rage, it had been too much.
Cyneswide stood at the edge of the room, near the fire pit, her face white and taut, while her two daughters clutched at her skirts, crying.
Penda ignored them.
He walked over to Saewara and pulled her up by her braid. The pain was excruciating and it took all of Saewara’s will not to cry out. She stared up into her brother’s pale blue eyes and felt her skin prickle with terror.
“You bring shame upon your kin,” he hissed in her face. “You must obey me in all things but you, and your lover, thought better.”
“Oswald was not my lover,” Saewara whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I want nothing more to do with men. I’ve already told you that he wanted to take his vows. Like me, he planned to live at Bonehill as one of god’s servants.”
“You serve no one but me, hōre,” Penda shook her hard. His face was white with rage. She had never seen him so angry. Usually, Penda’s temper was like a wintry blast – but this anger pulsed like the hot core of a furnace. “You will marry who I say – even if I have to drag you into his bed myself!”
Saewara’s tears flowed, uninterrupted. Her one chance, her only hope, had gone. Nothing but a bleak, empty future faced her now.
“Why don’t you just kill me,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to be another man’s wife. If I can’t be free I’d rather be dead. Just kill me!”
“Silence!” Penda roared, shaking her so hard that her teeth rattled. Her scalp burned where he gripped it. “I would kill you, if this marriage wasn’t so important to Mercia. Don’t think I wouldn’t.”
“Then why don’t you? I’ve brought shame on our family. I’m not fit to marry!”
Penda slapped her again with his free hand, snapping her head back. This time, Saewara screamed, the sound mingling with the wails of her young nieces.
“Look at me!” Penda ordered.
Saewara opened her eyes to find his face just inches from hers.
“You are indeed a disgrace to the Mercian line,” he snarled. “But you will still do as you’re told. You will do what you were bred for. Annan of the East Angles will be here in days and you will marry him without a whimper of complaint. Is that clear?”
Saewara stared back at him, gasping in a
gony. He shook her again and her head swam as her vision began to speckle.
“I didn’t hear you?” he hissed.
Saewara closed her eyes, blocking everything out, before she gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Yes, Milord,” she whispered.
Chapter Three
Between Brothers
“Hwæt!” Annan stared at his brother in shock. “What did you just say?”
Aethelhere returned Annan’s gaze without faltering, his face uncharacteristically serious.
“Hereswith. I want your permission to marry her.”
Annan stepped back from Aethelhere, just in case he was seized by the urge to strike him down. No, he had heard correctly; as if things were not bad enough, even his own kin were turning against him.
He could not believe the injustice of it all. It was not that he was in love with Hereswith – he hardly knew the girl. Yet, she was comely with a gaze that promised much; if he was to marry anyone, he wanted it to be her. Why should his brother be happy when he was miserable? Was wyrd, fate, trying to punish him?
“Don’t look at me like that,” Aethelhere was resolute. He appeared to have no intention of retracting his request. “I would never have asked, had it not been clear that you will do as Penda bids. As you’re about to leave, I knew I had to ask you – otherwise Hereswith will be gone by the time you return and I will have missed my chance.”
“I was to marry her,” Annan ground out. “Do you think I want you rubbing that in my face?”
“I don’t ask this to spite you,” Aethelhere countered. “It’s time I took a wife – and if you will not have Hereswith, I will.”
“She’s not some fat sow you can barter at market,” Annan snarled, turning on his heel and stalking to the other end of his bower, where he had been packing away the last few items he would take with him to Tamworth. “She may have something to say on the matter!”
He stuffed a heavy woolen tunic into his saddlebag and glanced back over at where Aethelhere stood, immobile, beside the curtain that screened them from the rest of the hall.
