The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (13 page)

It was done. Another loveless union. Another sacrifice for her
people.

Chapter Thirteen

The Way of
Things

The second feast in two days was in full swing inside the
Great Hall of the Wuffingas. Such feasts were rare outside of festivities and
that fact, coupled with the balmy warmth of early summer outside, created a
celebratory atmosphere amongst the feasters.

Annan, however, was in no mood for celebration. He sat back in
the carved wooden chair that his predecessors had all sat upon at the feasting
table, and let his gaze travel along the long table that groaned under the
weight of all the food. Hilda passed by with a jug of frothy mead and moved to
refill the king’s cup, but Annan shook his head and placed his hand over it,
making it clear that he wanted no more to drink.

He would be relieved when this day was over.

Watching his ealdormen, thegns and kin eat, drink and make
merry, Annan was struck by how fickle folk could be. One moment they were chafing
under the Mercian yoke, enraged that their king had been forced to ‘bend the
knee’ to the reviled Penda, the next they were celebrating at his handfasting
as if they had not a care in the world. Further down the table, the callow youth
that Penda had sent to witness the wedding was feeding his face, considerably
more relaxed now that the handfasting was done. Tomorrow, the warrior would
begin the journey back to Tamworth to inform the Mercian King that Annan had
indeed wed Saewara.

The handfast ceremony itself had been more of an ordeal than
he had expected. Saying words that meant nothing before a crowd of disappointed
faces had weighed upon him.

The bride, despite the sadness in her eyes, had looked
radiant. The green dress with its deep neckline, gold embroidered edging and
heavy gold belt across the hips had accentuated her dark beauty and the lush
curves of her petite frame. She had endured the ceremony with poise, although
it had been evident that she had suffered through every moment.

Saewara sat now, at his left, picking at a plate of roast duck
and sipping at a cup of mead. From this angle, he had an uninterrupted view of
her creamy cleavage; a sight which he found distracting. Turning his attention
from his new bride, Annan felt his gaze returning, not for the first time, to
where his brother and Hereswith dined, further down the long table.

Aethelhere looked unbearably smug these days; although Annan
did not blame him.

Hereswith appeared a goddess today – her tall, lithe frame was
sheathed in a silky white gown, and she wore an amber necklace around her
slender throat. His brother did not take his gaze of his lovely wife as he ate
and drank, and fed her morsels off his plate. What galled Annan was that she
appeared to be enjoying the attention. She giggled when he made jokes and
blushed prettily when he whispered comments into her ear.

Realizing that the king was watching her, Hereswith glanced in
his direction. Aethelhere was unaware of their connection, as he called to
Hilda to refill his cup with mead.

For an instant, Annan and Hereswith’s gazes fused – and in
that moment Annan realized that her apparent enjoyment of his brother’s company
was all a ruse. In her eyes he saw her hurt, anger and bitterness. The
intensity of her gaze told him all. She still wanted him.

Is it you she wanted?
A voice taunted him.
Or
was it your title? Hereswith wanted to be queen.

They broke eye contact, just as Aethelhere turned back to his
wife to ask her something, and the moment was lost.

Annan picked up a piece of roast duck, before placing it back
on his plate. Suddenly, he had no appetite. Then, aware that someone was
studying him intently, his gaze swiveled to his left.

Saewara was watching him.

With a sickening jolt he realized that she had seen his and
Hereswith’s gazes meet, and had witnessed the look that passed between them.
Her face was impassive, impossible to read, but her gaze was speculative,
assessing.

She was a clever woman, his new bride. She missed nothing. He
had told her that he had intended to marry another, and it had not taken her
long to realize who the woman was. Saewara held his gaze for a moment more
before looking away. Just before she did so, he saw the disdain in her eyes.

The feasting had ended. Slaves cleared away the food scraps
and wiped down the tables. The feasters, full of rich food and drink, lounged
about the hall – some still at the long tables, others seated around the
crackling fire, conversing in low voices. A lyrist sat in one corner of the
great hall, playing a gentle, soothing tune.

Saewara drifted around the hall, pretending to be observing
the wall hangings, tapestries and array of weaponry that hung there. In
reality, she was not sure what she was supposed to do now. Once the feast
ended, many folk had left the hall, returning to their own homes in the town
below. It made her conspicuous, wandering around the huge space talking to no
one, ignored by all, and she longed to step outside into the night and slip
away forever.

Annan sat at the far end of the hall, chatting with Saba. Deep
in conversation, both men ignored their surroundings. The women had shunned
her. She had tried sitting near one group, who had appeared friendlier than
Hereswith and her friends. Yet, they had all turned their back on her the
moment she pulled up a stool near them; making it clear she was not welcome.

Thirsty after a huge meal and more mead than she was used to,
Saewara walked over to the water barrel at the end of the hall, not far from
the oaken doors that had been left ajar to let in the soft night air. On the
way there she passed Hereswith and her hangers-on.

Unfortunately, she also overheard their conversation.

They spoke in high, excited voices with no regard to who heard
them. If they noticed Saewara passing quietly behind them, they did not show
it; for it was as if she were a ghost here.

“Wed or not, I think it won’t be long before he rids himself
of her.” Eldwyn, the sharp-tongued woman who Annan had chastised yesterday was
holding court as she stabbed her embroidery needle into the coverlet she was
decorating. “He will not long suffer an enemy under his roof.”

“He can’t stand her,” another woman, one of the ealdormen’s
wives, agreed with a vigorous nod. “It’s plain to see.”

“Can you blame him?” Hereswith spoke up now, her voice
bordering on shrill. She had consumed a goodly amount of mead during the feast
and her cheeks were now flushed, her eyes overly bright. “The woman is a drab.”

The others fell silent at this, even Eldwyn. Oblivious to the
awkwardness her comment had caused – for exotic as Saewara was, all could see
that Annan’s new bride was attractive – Hereswith pressed on. “She’s too short
and will soon run to fat. Did you see how she ate yesterday? She was
practically bursting out of that hideous gown she wore for the handfasting.”

Recovering from their ringleader’s viciousness, Hereswith’s
companions all nodded with murmurs of agreement.

“And, I’ve heard she’s barren,” Eldwyn added triumphantly. “A
plump wife who can’t bear children – what has Annan landed himself with?”

They all laughed at that.

Saewara slipped from the hall, her stop at the water barrel
forgotten.

Outside on the terrace, under the curious stares of the two
helmeted warriors guarding the entrance, Saewara walked to the edge and took a
few slow, deep breaths to calm herself. She knew they were merely being
vindictive and cruel – those women were her enemy and would say anything to
wound her – yet their words still cut deeply.

Drab, short, fat and barren.

It was difficult not to feel the sting of their poison. Saewara
realized with a sinking heart, that Hereswith was only just beginning her
campaign against the woman she considered her usurper. She knew enough of how
the world worked to recognize a spoiled young woman enraged that her life had
not worked out as planned. Saewara could see that Hereswith had ambitions; her
anger went deeper than merely wanting Annan for her own. His brother was handsome
and charming but he was not king. Hereswith wanted to be queen. It galled her
to see another take what she perceived to be her rightful place.

Saewara had been dreading this. The politics of life inside a
great hall had always repulsed her; she had seen enough backstabbing under her
brother’s roof at Tamworth to know what ambition did to some.

I never wanted this,
she thought bleakly as
she stared out at the night. It was overcast so she could not see the stars.
I
wanted a quiet life, a simple life – but instead I was born into this one.
Saewara blinked back tears then, before brushing at her eyes angrily with the
back of her hands.

They won’t make me cry,
she promised
herself stubbornly.
I’ve faced worse than Hereswith and her coven. I won’t
let them win.

However, Saewara was still not ready to return to the hall.
She turned to one of the warriors, who had been watching her steadily since she
stepped outside, her gaze meeting his squarely.

“Is there a Christian chapel here?” she asked.

The warrior nodded, his mouth pursing in disapproval. “It’s on
this side of the barracks – although you’ll never find it in the dark.”

“Take me to it,” Saewara ordered, making her tone as
authoritative and regal as possible.

The warrior hesitated.

“I’m waiting,” Saewara said archly.

“This way then,” the man muttered. He led her down the steep
steps to the stable yard before turning right. They walked past the stable
complex and up another set of steps that led to the barracks. Just before the
sprawling, low-slung wattle and daub building that housed a large number of the
king’s warriors, Saewara spied the outline of a squat, timber building standing
in the shadow of the barracks.

“I’ll need your torch.” Saewara turned to the warrior, who
wordlessly handed it to her. “Wait here,” she commanded him. “I won’t be long.”

Saewara pushed open the chapel door and stepped inside. It was
an austere space, covered in a thin layer of dust; revealing that few who
worshipped the same god as Saewara resided here in Rendlaesham. She had heard
that King Raedwald had been baptized, although his wife had resolutely stayed
faithful to the old gods. Of course, Sigeberht had been a devout Christian.
Saewara suspected this chapel had not been touched since Sigeberht’s departure
from Rendlaesham nearly a year earlier.

Hanging the torch from a wall bracket, Saewara knelt on the
dirt floor, before a plinth with a wooden cross perched on top of it. She
clasped her hands before her and bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut in an
attempt to blot out her environment.

Please Lord, give me peace..
.

Yet even her prayers did not bring her solace this evening.
Saewara’s faith was not enough to bring her the peace she craved; it could not
keep the world at bay.

The warrior did not have to wait long for his queen to
re-emerge from the chapel. Wordlessly, she handed him back his torch and
followed him back to the hall. Inside, Saewara kept her gaze fixed ahead as she
strode past Hereswith and her friends. The women fell silent as she passed by;
their gazes tracking her, daring her to look their way.

She ignored them.

It was getting late now, and Saewara decided it was time for
her to retire. Usually, a bride would never go to bed before her husband on the
night of her handfasting. Often, a fuss was made about sending the newly-weds
off to their bower together. Yet, this wedding was not like most. Ignoring her
husband, Saewara mounted the dais and pushed past the heavy tapestry that
separated the king and queen’s bower from the rest of the hall.

Out of sight of all, Saewara struggled to undress without
assistance. She knew she could have called upon Hilda for help but the slave
was busy kneading dough for tomorrow morning’s bread.

Saewara knew no one else would assist her.

Finally, she managed to loosen the laces at the back of her
gown and squeezed out of it. Then, quickly, lest her husband step inside his
bower and find his bride naked, she pulled a long linen tunic over her head and
let it drop to her ankles, shrouding her body completely.

Plump. Barren. Drab.

Those words still echoed in Saewara’s ears, making her want to
hide away from the world for the rest of her days.

Standing on the fresh rushes in her bare feet, in the center
of the bower she was to share with her husband, Saewara let her gaze travel
around the space. It was a warm, inviting space and, in other circumstances,
she would have been pleased to have it as her bower. An enormous pile of furs
sat at one end with a small fire pit at the other. Embers glowed in the hearth,
casting the bower in a warm light. A tapestry hung behind her and rabbit pelts
had been sewn together to create wall hangings. A low table, with a clay washbasin
upon it, sat against one wall. The privy was hidden behind a screen in the far
corner of the bower.