The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (12 page)

The woman stared back at him sullenly, although her pale blue
eyes held a look of uncertainty.

“Do you understand me?” Annan repeated, his voice still calm
although, glancing at his face, Saewara could see the anger kindling in his
eyes. “If you don’t, you shall be leaving this evening.”

“Yes, Milord,” Eldwyn finally acquiesced, before staring down
at her plate. “I am sorry.”

Annan nodded before reaching for the jug of mead and refilling
his cup. “While we’re on the subject, you should all know that Sabert has asked
me if he may pursue Hilda, and even wed her if she is willing. I have said that
he may.”

This statement drew looks of surprise, shock and disapproval from
those seated around the king, but after Annan’s reaction to Eldwyn, those who
disagreed with Annan’s decision wisely held their tongues.

Observing the scene, and seeing Saba’s obvious delight that
Annan had publicly given his blessing, Saewara momentarily forgot her own troubles.

Saba was an ealdorman. He could have had any woman and yet he
was obviously smitten by that timid, waifish girl.

Annan had done something that Penda would never have. At the
far end of the table, Saewara spied her countryman, Yffi. He watched the scene
incredulously; like Saewara, he was nonplussed by Annan’s behavior. Some kings
and ealdormen gave slaves their freedom but to her brother they were just dogs;
there to serve and to be whipped into submission when they defied him. Annan
obviously saw the world differently.

Saewara turned and regarded her betrothed frankly for the
first time that evening. He would know she was looking at him but she did not
care. The conversation resumed around them and the moment passed.

Annan resisted her stare for a while longer before his gaze
reluctantly met hers. As usual, the shock of it was like a punch to the belly, but
this time she was ready for it. She pushed her body’s response to him aside and
met his gaze squarely.

“I suppose you want to upbraid me as well?” Annan said with a
raised eyebrow. “Go ahead. I’ve dealt with one sharp tongue this evening, I can
deal with another.”

Saewara’s mouth curved into a smile at that.

“Men rarely impress me,” she replied, holding his gaze. “But
you just did.”

He drew back, surprised, before breaking eye contact and
raising his cup of mead to his lips to hide his expression.

Saewara felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing that she had
succeeded in rendering him speechless. Annan had not expected her to praise
him; yet, her words had been spoken in truth. She had seen far too much of the
worst of men in her life. It was a relief to know that men with humanity ruled
in other corners of Britannia.

Saewara returned to her meal and took a bite of the suet crust
pie.

Suddenly, she was aware of someone’s gaze fixed upon her.
Curious, she looked down the table and met Hereswith’s cold stare. Looking upon
the hatred on the young woman’s face, Saewara realized that her own upcoming
marriage to a man who did not want her was the least of her worries.

Her problems at Rendlaesham were only just beginning.

Chapter Twelve

The
Handfasting

On the morning of her handfast ceremony, Saewara awoke in her
bower with the dawn. She lay back on her furs, staring up at the beams high
above, with a feeling of dread upon her.

The sounds of the hall beyond the thick tapestries that
shielded her from view had roused her from a fitful sleep. She lingered in bed,
in no hurry to leave the privacy of her bower. She had been grateful to be able
to spend the night alone, away from the stares and whispers that had followed
Saewara since her arrival at Rendlaesham. Her bower was tiny; nothing more than
a cramped, yet private, space next to the king’s quarters at the back of the
hall. Apparently, this had been Raedwyn’s bower – the fiery Wuffinga princess
who had sent shock-waves through her family when she married the son of her father’s
arch-enemy; a man he had enslaved.

Saewara thought on that story, which had now become folklore –
and often told at fire sides throughout Britannia. She would have liked to have
met Raedwyn; a woman who, like her, had been born into a role of subservience
and duty – but unlike Saewara had managed to create a life of her own choosing.
Such women were a rarity in their world.

Saewara reluctantly climbed from the furs, her bare feet
crunching on the rushes, and opened the small window above her bed. Pushing the
wooden shutters open, she breathed in deeply. The air was cool and laced with
the smell of grass and earth. She could hear the rise and fall of voices in the
town below, punctuated by the bleating of goats and the honking of geese in the
distance. She could see for leagues from here. Her window did not look over the
town but over the vast apple orchards behind Rendlaesham and the meandering,
willow-lined stream that ran through the heart of it. It was a picturesque
setting, and in other circumstances, Saewara would have enjoyed it.

“Milady,” a soft voice called from behind the tapestry. “May I
come in?”

“Yes,” Saewara called back, turning from the window. A moment
later, the slave-girl, Hilda, entered her bower. This morning, she looked even
more cowed than usual; her cheeks were flushed and she looked on the edge of
tears.

“I have been sent to help you dress for your handfasting,” she
said timidly, her voice trailing off at the end.

Saewara stared back at her, surprised. They both knew it was
not the way things were usually done.

A woman who was about to become queen was not dressed by a
slave for her wedding ceremony. Preparing the bride for her wedding should be a
grand occasion, and usually the woman would be surrounded by a flock of gushing
and fussing ealdormen’s wives.

That was not to be the case here on this occasion.

Even on her wedding day, they shunned her. That was how it
could be with women; their weapons were subtler than men’s, but when they put
their mind to it they could be far crueler. Even without asking, Saewara knew
that Hereswith was probably behind this. She had seen how Aethelhere’s new
bride glared at her yesterday. Even after only a day in Rendlaesham, she had
also noted how Hereswith held court here, almost as if she were queen. The
wives of Annan’s ealdormen and thegns clustered around her, making it all the
easier for Saewara to be excluded.

Saewara sighed and gave Hilda a brittle smile.

“Well, I am ready so let’s begin. I have two dresses that
might be suitable. Can you help me choose?”

Hilda nodded, her eyes wide on her thin face.

“‘Tis not right,” she whispered. “A woman should feel special
on her wedding day.”

Saewara shook her head and waved a hand in dismissal.
“Truthfully, I prefer your company to theirs.” She made her way over to where a
collection of tunics and dresses hung against one of the tapestries. There, she
took down two gowns – one a delicate cream color with a bell-neck and long
sleeves; and the other dark green and sleeveless, with a low neckline and heavy
gold belt that sat around her hips. “Which one?”

Hilda studied the dresses for a moment before shaking her
head. “I’m not sure – they are both beautiful. You’ll need to try them both.”

After Saewara had tried on each gown, it was decided that,
although the cream gown was, perhaps more suited to a handfast ceremony, the
green dress suited Saewara best. It was made from fine wool, lined with linen
and embroidered with gold around the neckline and hem. Unlike most of Saewara’s
dresses, this one had a deep neckline, which showed off the swell of her
breasts. The dress left her arms bare and so Hilda pushed gold arm rings onto
Saewara’s arms, to match the gold thread and the heavy gold belt around her
hips. Once they were satisfied with the dress, Saewara sat down on a low stool
and let Hilda start on her hair.

They talked little, for Hilda was very shy and obviously cowed
by those of a higher rank. However, the silence made Saewara brood and after a while,
she attempted to draw the slave girl out of her timidity.

“Have you been here in service long?”

“Two winters,” Hilda replied. “My father sold me to King
Ricberht, hoping to find favor with the Usurper. The new king was pleased by
the gift but killed my father all the same.”

Saewara stared at Hilda in shock. Once again, the cruelty of
the world they inhabited sickened her.

“I’m sorry, Hilda.”

The slave shrugged. “It all seems a long while ago now.
Fortunately Ricberht remained in power only a short time before Sigeberht
returned from exile in Gaul and took back the throne for the Wuffingas.” Hilda
paused there, her eyes clouding in sadness. “I liked Sigeberht. He was a stern
man, but kind. He did not deserve to die the way he did.”

Saewara listened in silence. Of course, she knew of the battle
that had claimed Sigeberht’s life. It was said that Penda himself cut the King
of the East Angles down; an easy enough task as Sigeberht had refused to bear
arms and had gone into battle carrying only his staff.

“This hall was a lonely place after Sigeberht left,” Hilda continued.
Now that she had started speaking she could not stop. “He spent the last few
months establishing a monastery. I wonder if it still stands, or whether the
Mercians burned it to the ground.”

Saewara looked away in shame. Knowing Penda’s dislike for the
god that his sister worshipped, she imagined it was the latter.

“When Sigeberht left he took Freya with him; she was my only
friend here, and life here has not been the same since,” Hilda concluded, her
voice trailing off.

“Freya? Who was she?”

“Another slave that Ricberht had taken, just before Sigeberht
and his men attacked Rendlaesham. She was not like the others here; she was
free and strong despite all that had happened to her. One of Sigeberht’s men
fell in love with her, but they could not be together. They both followed the
king to his new home. I wonder what happened to them. I hope they survived that
battle – I hope they’re together now.”

Listening to Hilda’s tale, Saewara was overcome with melancholy.
There was something heart-rending in the matter-of-fact way that Hilda spoke
about tragedy.

“Perhaps they are,” she replied in a falsely bright voice,
attempting to mask the despair that dragged at her. “Let us believe that they
are.”

The women lapsed into silence then while Hilda brushed out Saewara’s
hair in long waves. Then, she piled the hair up onto Saewara’s head and secured
the coils with amber pins. It was a long, laborious process. Once it was
finished, Hilda stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“Milady, you look truly like a queen.”

Despite herself, Saewara smiled back at her. “Thank you, Hilda
– although I don’t feel like one.”

Finally, Saewara slipped on a pair of gold-threaded slippers
and dabbed some rosewater behind her ears. Hilda was now beaming at her like a
proud mother; not that Saewara knew what that felt like for her own mother had
died birthing her, and she had grown up without being fussed over by anyone.

“I suppose it’s time?” she sighed. “I might as well get this
over with.”

“It won’t be so terrible,” Hilda ventured, seeing Saewara’s
despair. “Annan is a good man.”

Saewara glanced back at the slave, wondering if she knew that
Annan had been planning to marry Hereswith. She must have done. She would have
liked to mention Saba, to tell Hilda that the ealdorman was so infatuated with
her that he had attained permission from the king to pursue her, yet she did
not want to embarrass the girl. At this stage, she was not even sure if Saba’s
advances were welcome. Hilda had become so used to her life as a king’s slave,
she might not be able to accept another. Saba would have to be patient if he
wished to win her over.

“Yes, he is a good man,” Saewara admitted. “I don’t dispute
that. However, if only the world were that simple.”

With those words Saewara turned, and leaving Hilda with a
confused look on her face, pushed aside the tapestry.

Her betrothed awaited.

***

Saewara looked down at the ribbon that the elderly woman
gently wrapped around her and Annan’s joined left hands.

She and Annan stood facing each other, although neither of
them had made eye contact since they took their places on the dais at the far
end of the hall. As before, the touch of his hand on hers made her pulse race;
yet the discomfort of having every gaze in the crowded hall piercing her
through was even more distracting.

The woman before them was Greta, Annan’s only surviving
elderly blood relative. She was his father’s older sister. A quiet woman with
kind eyes, Greta finished tying the ribbon and stepped back from the couple.

“Do you both enter this union with a free will?” she asked.

Saewara was hit by a wave of hysteria at this question.

Now is your last chance, Annan
, she thought
grimly, resisting the urge to glance in the direction of her brother’s
emissary. Yffi stood near the front of the crowd beneath the dais, his gaze
riveted on the couple.
I would refuse but my brother would tear me limb from
limb if I did so.

“Yes,” Saewara responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Annan’s response was even quieter, yet audible in the still
hall. “Yes.”

“Annan, look into your betrothed’s eyes,” Greta instructed, a
slight note of reprimand in her voice, “and say the words that will bind you.”

Annan and Saewara’s gazes met then, although unlike other
times when she had looked into his eyes, Saewara saw nothing but bleak
resignation there.

It is as if this is his hanging, not his wedding.

“I, Annan of the Wuffingas, King of the East Angles, take you
Saewara, daughter of Pybba of Mercia, for my wife. I will defend your body with
my life.”

A watchful silence settled upon the hall before Saewara
responded in kind.

“I, Saewara, daughter of Pybba of Mercia, take you, Annan of
the Wuffingas, King of the East Angles, for my husband. I swear to never bring
you harm or dishonor.”

Then, together, Annan and Saewara said the words that would
bind them.

“May we be made one.”

Saewara held Annan’s gaze, even though it took all her will
not to look away.

Greta then passed Annan a small cup of mead; it was an
ornamental cup painted gold and encrusted with precious stones. This was the
next part of the ceremony; and much easier than making promises that held no
feeling.

Saewara watched as Annan lifted the cup to his lips and took a
sip. Wordlessly, he then passed the goblet to Saewara. She took a delicate sip
before passing the cup back to him. As tradition dictated, Annan drained the
rest in a one draught.

Once the cup was empty, Greta handed Saewara a delicately
carved wooden plate with a single honey-seed cake sitting in its center.
Although seed cakes would be served at the feast afterwards, this cake was
different. Greta had prepared it herself and made just one cake, throwing away
the rest of the batter. Only the newly-weds were allowed to taste this cake –
it was for no one else.

Saewara broke off a piece of cake and gently fed it to Annan.
It was an oddly intimate act, especially to share with a man who did not love
her, in front of a hall of people who saw her as the enemy. Annan did the same,
his fingers accidently brushing her lips as he did so.

They stood there, their faces solemn, while Greta unwound the
ribbon that bound them.

“You are now man and wife,” she announced. “Annan, kiss your
bride.”

The King of the East Angles stepped forward and, stooping,
kissed Saewara lightly on the lips. It was light, the mere brushing of lips,
yet Saewara’s mouth tingled as he stepped away. The hall erupted into applause.
The sound was muted, however, as those watching clapped more out of tradition
and respect for the king than with any joy.

Saewara tore her gaze away from Annan and looked down at her
feet. Her eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision.