by Jayne Castel
Annan fell silent then, and Saewara could see from his face that he was angry with himself. He had been much franker with her than either of them had expected. Such openness could get a man killed.
“Your people don’t think less of you,” she replied gently, pretending not to notice his discomfort.
“Yes, some do. They might not show it to my face, but ever since I took the throne there has been growing discontent. The only thing that keeps many from showing open resentment toward me is my bloodline. With Raedwald, Eorpwald and Sigeberht all dead, my brothers and I are all that remains of the Wuffinga dynasty. Many follow me for that reason alone.”
“So by building these fortifications you hope to earn back their respect?”
Annan gave her a pained look before replying. “I would not put it in such blunt words – but yes, I suppose that’s why I’m doing it.”
His face grew serious then and he looked away, his gaze focusing far into the distance.
“You never met King Raedwald, or my father. They were the type of men that folk sing of around the fire; men that have stories told about them that will last for generations. They proved their valor again and again. Men would fight for them, die for them. Will I ever inspire the same loyalty in my fyrd?”
Saewara stared at Annan in disbelief. He carried himself in such a confident manner that she would never have guessed at the insecurity that plagued him. That he had even revealed it to her impressed her even more. She did not think less of him for it; in fact she found herself liking him for his honesty.
“I think you would be surprised at how readily your men would follow you into battle,” she told him with a wry smile. “I’ve observed them with you for a while now. They think more of you than you realize.”
Annan raised an eyebrow and glanced back in her direction.
“Perhaps… yet, I think it’s now time I acted like their king. It’s time I earned their respect.”
The sun hung low in the sky, sinking toward the western horizon, when the company approached Exning. Compared to Rendlaesham – a bustling town that spread out around the base of the king’s hall – Exning appeared little more than a hamlet. A tall paling fence surrounded the village, enclosing a scattering of low-slung wattle and daub houses with thatched roofs. The settlement sat a short distance from the shadowy boughs of the dense Exning Woods that stretched southeast, guarding the narrow stretch of land between the woodland and the treacherous marshes to the north-west. Like the landscape farther north, the sky was enormous here, fringed by the strips of brown, gold and green of a flat countryside.
Riding alongside Annan, through the waving grass that had turned golden with the setting sun, Saewara let her gaze do a wide sweep. South of the settlement, she saw a patchwork of arable fields, sandwiched between Exning and the woodland. It was indeed a strategic spot. Like the others following behind, her gaze travelled to the high ridge of fresh earth in the distance; the back of the enormous dyke and ditch defense. Her eyes followed it north; in fact, Annan had told her that the earthwork ended only at the fens. The tiny figures of men, finishing work on Devil’s Dyke for the day, were visible on the top of the fortification; their silhouettes outlined by the last rays of sun.
They rode into Exning to a crowd of excited villagers, who clustered around the gates, eager to catch a glimpse of the king and his party. Saewara felt inquisitive gazes upon her. Yet, they held none of the animosity she had felt in Rendlaesham. Life was different here, on the fringes of the kingdom. Politics did not play such a part in the lives of the folk of Exning – and for that, Saewara was enormously grateful.
Although it was considerably smaller than Rendlaesham, Exning had a prosperous, ‘cared for’ appearance. The houses, although small, were well maintained and tidy. In addition to the fields of produce outside, the folk also had small gardens inside the fence. Flowers bloomed, and the smell of baking bread and roasting rabbit wafted from open doorways.
Annan seemed to know exactly where he was going, and led the group of riders, with the laden carts bringing up the rear, to the far end of Exning. There, a handsome, timbered hall sat near where the palings of the perimeter fence stood highest. A collection of low buildings surrounded the hall; stables and lodgings for those who served the king but who would not reside inside the hall.
Saewara liked her new home on sight. It was much smaller than the ‘Golden Hall’ and far less intimidating. Life here would be simpler. The only shadow over it all was Hereswith and her sour-faced maid. Not for the first time, Saewara wished that Annan had left his brother behind at Rendlaesham. She watched Hereswith dismount, with her husband’s assistance, and saw her face crease in displeasure as her gaze swept over the new hall.
“It’s tiny,” she hissed at Aethelhere, loud enough so that everyone – including Annan – heard. “This is no ‘kingly hall’.”
“No, Hereswith,” Aethelhere replied, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice, “but it will be our home till the autumn at least. You must get used to it.”
Saewara stepped inside the hall and let a smile creep across her face.
It was simple, beautifully so, with just one enormous fire pit in the center of a rush-matting floor, and walls covered with rabbit pelt screens. Two long tables stretched from one end of the hall to the other, either side of the fire pit. At one, three local women were kneading the last of the griddle bread. A huge cauldron of venison stew bubbled over the hearth, its scent permeating the whole hall.
Warriors carried in the supplies, while Saewara made her way up the narrow wooden stairs of the low dais at the far end of the hall. At the back of the platform, screened from view by a heavy fur hanging, she found her lodgings. It was the only private space in the hall. All the other residents would sleep on furs in the main area; the highest ranking nearest the fire, and the slaves near the doors. Even Hereswith and Aethelhere would have to sleep in the common space, shielded only by a makeshift stretched leather screen from the others.
Saewara heard Hereswith complaining loudly as she stepped into her bower and let the hanging fall closed behind her. The hanging muted the sound beyond but, upon hearing Aethelhere tell his wife to stop carping, Saewara’s smile widened. Perhaps Aethelhere’s irritation was a sign of things to come – and she dared to hope that things would be different here at Exning. Maybe she would no longer be an imposter in her own home.
Night had fallen and it was getting late by the time everyone took their places at the two long tables either side of the fire pit. Saewara felt at her most relaxed since leaving Tamworth. She took a seat next to her husband, who was deep in a conversation about ditches with Saba, and favored Hilda with a wide smile as the girl filled up her wooden bowl with thick venison stew.
Saba broke off his conversation with the king a moment, to look up at Hilda as she bent over him with the tureen and ladle. He murmured something to her and Hilda’s eyes shone, her cheeks growing delightfully pink, before she nodded.
Saewara watched them with an ache in her breast; the same she had felt when she had seen them on the banks of the stream outside Rendlaesham. It was heart-warming to see a couple so obviously smitten, gradually drawing closer with each passing day in a slow and timeless dance.
She had never known what that felt like.
Watching Saba and Hilda, she felt a stab of jealousy. It was unbidden and she denied it the moment the emotion surfaced. Yet, as Hilda moved on, to serve the warrior next to Saba, the joy on her friend’s face made Saewara feel hollow and sad.
I will never have a man look at me like that.
After a long day of travel, and the flurry of unpacking that had followed, the king and his warriors did not stay up late. Once her meal had started to digest, Saewara left Annan chatting with his brother and Saba by the fire, and gratefully went to bed.
Her new bower reminded Saewara of a giant nest. The feel of soft fur under her bare feet made her sigh with pleasure as she quickly undressed and put on a light shift for
bed. Clay cressets that burned oil, lined one wall of the bower, casting a soft glow over the space. As always, Saewara removed some of the furs from the huge bed in the corner and made up a bed for Annan a short distance away from hers. It had become an evening ritual for her now, and she thought nothing of it.
Saewara’s muscles ached from two days in the saddle and she snuggled into the furs with another sigh of pleasure. She was still awake, staring up at the rafters and reflecting over the day’s events, when Annan made an appearance.
As was her habit, Saewara turned from him while he undressed, smothered the guttering flames in the cressets and climbed into bed. She could hear him tossing and turning for a bit, trying to get comfortable, before he eventually spoke.
“Does your new hall please you, Saewara?”
His question, and the fact that he had actually spoken to her, momentarily stunned Saewara into silence. Conversation was not part of their nightly routine. They usually shared a bower as two strangers.
“Very much,” she replied when she had recovered. “It suits me well.”
“I prefer it to my hall in Rendlaesham,” Annan said after a few moments. “I know it is not ‘kingly’ but I feel more myself here. It reminds me of my father’s hall in Snape, where I grew up.”
“I know what you mean – the ‘Golden Hall’ and the Great Tower of Tamworth are both impressive but not a ‘home’ in the way a hall like this is.”
“We won’t be able to stay here forever,” Annan replied, regret lacing his voice, “as I will need to return to Rendlaesham at some point, but I would like to spend summers here in the future. What do you think?”
Warmth seeped through Saewara at Annan’s words. He was speaking of the future, and he was including her in it. She would never have thought such an act could bring her such pleasure.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” she answered him gently. “I would be happy to spend summers here.”
Silence fell between them once more, although Saewara sensed that Annan had more to say. He was in a strange mood this evening; for the first time losing that aloof mask he had worn ever since their handfasting.
“Thank you for your support earlier today,” he said, his voice faltering with sudden embarrassment. “I did not expect you to be in favor of my decision to no longer do Penda’s bidding. I thought you would be angered by it. I felt that I had said too much.”
Saewara gave a soft laugh at that. “I have no love for my brother,” she admitted. “He treats his family much like he treats his enemies – with contempt. I was of no interest to him until he could use me to further his ambitions. He would have had me beheaded at the town gates if it had suited his purpose. For that reason, although I know the danger, your decision pleases me.”
Annan fell silent at that and Saewara wondered if, this time, it was her who had said too much. His sudden warmth had encouraged her to be frank with him. She knew that some men disliked her straightforward manner. They wanted a woman who simpered and flattered – a woman like Hereswith. Egfrid had hated it when she addressed him as her equal.
However, it appeared that Annan had not been put off by her frankness.
“Whatever happens,” he told her, in a tone that made Saewara believe every word, “I promise you that neither of us will be under Penda’s thumb. Ever again.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Gathering Storm
Aldfrid of Tamworth was in a foul mood.
His ill-humor had begun two days earlier, and increased with every league east. Now, as the sun rode high in a windy sky, he was seething inside. He kicked his shaggy mare into a gallop, causing the beast to wheeze with the strain. He had pushed his horse hard since leaving Rendlaesham and cared not if the animal collapsed at the end of his journey. All that mattered to him was reaching Exning. He was the hand of the Mercian king – and he would demand answers.
Even now, the shock of arriving at Rendlaesham to discover that Annan had left nearly a moon’s cycle earlier for Exning, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
What was the King of the East Angles doing on his south-western border?
Aldfrid, a shrewd, calculating man, had his suspicions, and those suspicions enraged him.
His horse was stumbling with exhaustion by the time Aldfrid spied the high paling fence that surrounded Exning in the distance. He rode across wide, flat grassland, and as he neared the sprawling hamlet, his gaze swiveled to the line of earth to the south; a massive earthwork that stretched right and left for as far as the eye could see. Even from this distance, the Mercian ealdorman saw that the earthwork was enormous; as high as five men standing on each other’s shoulders. Of course, he had known that the East Angles had a ditch and dyke defense on their south-western border – but like many he believed it had fallen into ruin.
However, this was plainly not the case.
Aldfrid tore his gaze from the fortifications and urged his tired horse toward the gates of Exning.
Annan was standing outside his hall, examining a horse’s swollen fetlock, when he heard the tattoo of hoof-beats approaching. He straightened up and shielded his eyes against the noon sun. A heavy-set, middle-aged man with a thick grey-streaked beard and hair thundered toward him on a lathered bay horse that looked fit to collapse. Annan continued to watch the rider as he drew nearer. His body tensed when he recognized the man’s face.
Aldfrid of Tamworth. So Penda has sent his minion to make sure I have been beaten.
Annan had been waiting for this moment; ever since he had made his decision to finish Devil’s Dyke it had shadowed him. In truth, he was relieved that this meeting had finally come. Watching Penda’s emissary approach, he remembered his father’s advice, spoken many years earlier when Annan had just reached manhood.
Whatever may come my boy, remember this – ‘tis better to die a free man, on your feet with a sword in your hand, than live on your knees.
Annan had often forgotten Eni’s words, especially of late when he preferred not to think about what his father would have to say about recent events. Yet, upon seeing Aldfrid’s enraged face, he was suddenly glad of his father’s advice. He stepped forward, aware that behind him his men had stopped work and were gathering in a protective semi-circle around their king. Saba stepped in front of Annan, carrying a heavy axe. He barred Aldfrid’s way as the heavy-set warrior swung down from his horse and strode toward the king.
“Halt,” Saba growled, flexing his fingers on the axe’s ash shaft, “or for the love of Woden, I’ll swing.”
Aldfrid grudgingly stopped, his iron-grey gaze fastening on Annan.
“Wes hāl!” Annan greeted the ealdorman, pretending not to notice the rancor on Aldfrid’s face. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“You knew that Penda wishes to be kept updated,” Aldfrid growled. “You should have sent word before leaving Rendlaesham.”
“I am not a prisoner,” Annan replied, keeping his voice amiable. “I am at liberty to move within my kingdom without informing Penda. Next he’ll be wanting to know when I visit the privy.”
This drew laughter from Annan’s men. Aldfrid’s face flushed purple before he responded. Annan could see it was taking all the warrior’s self-control not to lose his temper completely.
“Travelling to your border – the border you share with Mercia – and fortifying a massive defense along it, is a blatant act of rebellion,” he ground out.
“Rebellion?” Annan raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re exaggerating. I am ruler of this land, and as such entitled to protect my border.”
“You are bound to the King of Mercia.” Aldfrid’s voice was hoarse from the effort he was making not to shout. “He did not give you permission to build that wall.”
Annan did not reply. Letting the ealdorman’s last comment hang in the air between them, he looked steadily at Aldfrid, waiting.
“Where’s Saewara?” Aldfrid’s hard gaze swept the area. “What have you done with her? I demand to see her, now!”
“You will demand nothing here,” Annan replied, coldness seeping into his voice. “However, if you wish to see my wife, you may.”
With that, Annan glanced over his shoulder and instructed one of his men to fetch Saewara.
She arrived presently, wiping flour off her hands. Her face hardened when she saw Aldfrid.
“Come, my love,” Annan said with a smile. “Your father’s hand wishes to make sure you are alive and well. He was worried I might have done away with you.”
Saewara gave Annan a hesitant smile and stopped at his side. Annan put a protective arm about her shoulders and drew her against him; relieved that she relaxed in response.
“Why would you think that, Aldfrid?” she asked in that low, musical voice of hers. A voice that made others take notice whenever she spoke. “Surely, you don’t think my brother gave me to a man who would do me harm?”
Aldfrid glowered at her in response.
“Enough, woman,” he growled. “Penda told me to make sure you were alive and well; I am merely carrying out his orders. I did not come here to exchange pleasantries with an East Angle’s whore. Why don’t you shut your mouth!”
“And why don’t you keep a leash on your own tongue!” Annan cut in. He was trying to keep his temper under control, but Aldfrid of Tamworth was making it nearly impossible. “You will not speak to my wife so. Apologize now, or you will not be returning to Tamworth to report back to your master.”
Aldfrid’s eyes bulged, as he struggled to contain his rage. Yet, he remained stubbornly silent.
“Don’t think I won’t let Saba part your neck from your shoulders with that axe of his,” Annan replied easily. “Be grateful that it’s not me holding the axe – for I would do it without hesitation.”
