The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (25 page)

Merwenna took a deep breath, cursing the tears that
stung her eyelids. She always cried too easily; it made her look feeble. “And I
love you,” she answered, blinking furiously. “But, I have just passed my
twentieth winter. At this rate, I shall be an old maid before we wed.”

“Just a little longer,” Beorn replied, squeezing
her hands once more. “Then, I will return to Weyham and we shall be handfasted.
I promise.”

“You’re going to war.” Merwenna’s tears spilled
over as desperation seized her. “You can’t make that promise!”

She ripped her hands from Beorn’s. Then, she
turned, her cloak billowing, and started to run in the direction of Weyham.
Dead leaves squelched underfoot and the chill air burned her lungs, but
Merwenna paid it no mind. She had almost reached the outskirts of the village
when Beorn caught up with her.

“Merwenna, wait!’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her
up short.

She turned, tears streaming down her face, and
tried to shrug him off. “Let me be!”

“I made you a promise and I intend to keep it,”
Beorn insisted, his gaze imploring. “I will return to you!”

Merwenna’s tears flowed without restraint now. Sobs
welled up and she had to choke them back. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” He set his jaw stubbornly.

“Men die in battle,” she reminded him, “and when
two king’s armies meet there will be a great slaughter, surely you realize the
danger.”

“Penda’s the greatest king Britannia has ever
known,” Beorn countered with the supreme confidence that only young men
possess. “His
fyrd
will be mighty. The Prince of Powys is also sending a
large company of warriors to join our army. The Northumbrians won’t withstand
our combined might.”

Merwenna wiped away her tears and shook her head
wordlessly. She cared not if the whole of Britannia was rallying at Penda’s
side. The thought that Beorn would go off to battle and might never return made
her feel as if she was being buried alive.

“Penda is a mighty king,” Beorn insisted, staring
down at her with fire in his eyes. “He will be victorious.”

Merwenna stared back at him. Her cheeks stung from
the salt of her tears and it took all her self-control not to start sobbing
uncontrollably. This was folly – why could he not see it? However, it was clear
Beorn’s mind was made up.

“When will you leave?” she asked, her voice barely
above a whisper.

“Tomorrow morning.”

Merwenna stared at him. If he had punched her in
the belly, it would have hurt less. Suddenly, her world was crumbling around
her. Just moments ago, her heart had been bursting with joy. Now, her future
looked bleak.

The man she loved was riding to war, and there was
nothing she could do to prevent it.

***

Beorn of Weyham struggled to tighten the saddle’s
girth. He nudged his shaggy pony in the belly with his knee, until the stubborn
beast exhaled. Then he tightened the girth another notch. The last of his
preparations dealt with, Beorn turned to the small group of kin and
well-wishers who had gathered to see him off.

He had not been looking forward to this. Good-byes
were not something he had a lot of experience in. His mother and sisters were
all weeping, a sight which upset him. His father, at least, was stoic.

“Serve the king well, my son.” Horace stepped
forward and clasped Beorn in a bear-hug. “Make me proud.”

“I will,
fæder
.”

Behind him, Beorn could hear the other warriors
gathering; the low rumble of their voices, the snort of their horses. It was
just after dawn. A light frost covered the ground and the lightening sky
promised a day of good weather ahead. They stood in Weyham’s common, a stretch
of grass in the center of the village. A collection of squat, wattle and daub
homes with thatched roofs surrounded them. It was the only home he had ever
known, and shortly he would be leaving it – perhaps for a long time.

Beorn stepped back from his father and took a deep
breath. He was anxious to be off. Saying goodbye was harder than he had
anticipated.

Yet, first, he had to see Merwenna.

She stood a few yards away, patiently waiting. When
he turned to her, Merwenna stepped forward to speak to him. Her eyes were
red-rimmed, but that did not detract from her loveliness. In her build and
coloring, she resembled her winsome mother – small and brown haired with
startling blue eyes. However, there was a seriousness to her face that gave her
some of her father’s look. One of her most startling features was her
beautifully molded, rose-bud mouth.

Beorn had always been captivated by her lips, and
her breasts, which were impressively full for such a small female. They gave
her a womanly look on an otherwise girlish frame.

 “Farewell, my love,” Merwenna spoke, her voice
quivering from the effort it was taking her to hold back tears. Despite that
she was swathed from neck to shin in a heavy rabbit-skin cloak, he could see
she was trembling. Suddenly, Beorn felt as if his heart had lodged in his
throat. She was not making this any easier.

Although Beorn was eager to ride south-east to
Tamworth and join the king’s
fyrd
, he was also sorry that he and
Merwenna could not be handfasted first. He longed to bed her, to tear the
clothes off that delicious body. He could have wed her before leaving, but she
deserved better. When he returned to Weyham, victorious, their joining would be
all the sweeter. He wanted to make her proud of him; he wanted to come back to
Weyham sporting silver and gold arm rings, prizes from the king for his valor.
He wanted to be worthy of her.

 “Goodbye, sweet Merwenna.” He pulled her against
him and hugged her tightly. “Wait for me. I shall return.”

Drawing back from his betrothed, Beorn cupped her
face with his hands and stooped to kiss her, not caring that half the village
was looking on.

“I must go,” he murmured. “Wait for me, my love.”

“I will,” she whispered back, her eyes huge on her
heart-shaped face.

Beorn moved over to his pony and prepared to mount
it. He was too big for the beast, but fortunately the pony was sturdy, and it
had been the only horse his family could spare. Frankly, he was fortunate to be
riding at all – most of the kings’
fyrd
would arrive inTamworth on foot.

His mother started wailing then. She broke free
from her daughters’ embrace and rushed toward her son. Beorn enfolded her in
his arms as she sobbed.

“My boy! Don’t go – I’ll never see you again!”

“Enough, Arwyn!” Horace hauled his wife back.
“You’re embarrassing the lad. Control yourself!”

“Farewell,
mōder
,” Beorn said hoarsely,
struggling to hold back tears of his own. He had never seen his mother so
upset. “Don’t worry – you
will
see me again.”

His assurances only made his mother sob even
louder. Turning away from his parents, Beorn mounted his pony and quickly
adjusted the stirrups. He rode away feeling wretched; his mother’s
heart-rending wailing was almost more than he could bear.

It was a relief when he could no longer hear her.

Beorn joined the throng of men leaving Weyham, glad
to be finally on his way. His hamlet sat on the heavily wooded western fringes
of the Kingdom of Mercia. It was nestled at the end of a long valley, in the
shadow of dark hills that rose to meet the sky. Beorn rode through his village,
passing the ealdorman’s timbered hall along the way. He listened to the crunch
of frozen leaves underfoot, the creaking of leather and jangling of horses’
bridles, and felt his skin prickle with excitement.

A warrior had to be able to say goodbye without
shedding tears. He had done well this morning, yet it was nothing compared to
what lay ahead. He rode toward battle and glory – toward his future.

Buy
Book #1 in the Kingdom of Mercia series: THE BREAKING DAWN

Historical Note

As
with the previous two books of the Kingdom of the East Angles Saga,
The
Deepening Night
is based on actual historical figures and events.

Annan
of the East Angles did rule from around
636 – 653 A.D.
(although his real name
was Anna – which I had to alter slightly for my readers’ benefit). I have taken
some ‘author’s license’ with the dates. Since this story takes place in 630
A.D., I have shifted Annan’s time line slightly.

The
conflict between the Kingdoms of the East Angles and Mercia was very real in
this period. I have used some historical events, and shifted others to suit the
story. It was Annan’s brother, Aethelhere, who actually ‘bent the knee’ to the
warmongering Mercian king, Penda – and, in fact, Aethelhere died at the Mercian
King’s side in the Battle of the Winwæd,
in circa 655 A.D.

Regarding
this story’s heroine, there is some historical reference to Annan having a
‘consort’ named Saewara – although some references mention a woman named
Hereswith as his possible wife. On further inspection, it appears that
Hereswith was, in fact, married to one of Annan’s brothers. For the purposes of
this tale, I decided that Aethelhere would be the lucky man! My initial research
into Annan’s family tree was what gave me the idea for this novel’s ‘love
triangle’.

The
last half of the novel is centered on Devil’s Dyke; a ditch and bank defense,
which the East Angles built to defend their kingdom from the Mercians. Set in
the heart of rural Cambridgeshire, Devil’s Dyke is often described as Britain’s
finest Anglo-Saxon earthwork of its kind – and it’s certainly one of the best
surviving. There are historical records of King Anna of the East Angles,
spending time in Exning, possibly overseeing work on the dyke.

The
ancient monument stretches for seven and a half miles, and reaches 10m (33ft)
in height. The dyke is made up of a defensive earth bank and ditch, originally
built to control access from the nearby Roman roads, including the Icknield
Way.

A
number of excavation projects have been carried out, but still little is known
about its creators. Archaeologists place its construction in the fifth or sixth
century A.D. – although for the purposes of this story, I set the completion a
little later. Another change, on my part, was the use of the name ‘Devil’s
Dyke’. This name is believed to be a post-medieval one, with references to
‘Reach Dyke’ documented during William the Conqueror’s siege of Ely in the 11th
century.

And,
just in case you’re wondering – historical records state that Annan and Saewara
had four children: Jurmin, Seaxburh, Aethelthryth and Aethelburh. It’s not
known when Saewara died, but Annan, and his son Jurmin, both met their ends in
653 A.D. at the Battle of Bulcamp, on the Blythburgh marshland in Suffolk.
Here, the East Angles fought, and lost against Penda and the Mercians – their
old foes.  Annan would have been nearing sixty years of age by the time he died
in battle, whereas his son would, tragically, have just reached warrior age.
Annan’s death marked the end of the golden age of the Kingdom of the East
Angles; from this point on it would be overshadowed by its powerful neighbor,
Mercia.

Jayne Castel, February 2014

Other works by Jayne Castel

Dark
Under the Cover of Night

(The
Kingdom of the East Angles, Book 1)

Buy
now from Amazon (Kindle and paperback editions)

QUARTER
FINALIST IN THE AMAZON BREAKTHROUGH NOVEL AWARD 2013 - ROMANCE CATEGORY!

BRITAIN
– 624 A.D.

Raedwyn
– daughter of King Raedwald of the East Angles – has just been handfasted to
one of her father’s ealdorman. Although highborn women wed to strengthen
political alliances, rather than for love, Raedwyn still hopes for a happy
marriage like that of her parents’. But, her optimism is shattered on her
wedding night.

Raedwyn’s
life shifts unexpectedly when outlaws ambush her new husband's party on their
journey back to his long ship. She finds herself captive of a bitter, vengeful
warrior – Ceolwulf the Exiled. He has a score to settle with King Raedwald and
Raedwyn is his bargaining tool.

Caelin,
Ceolwulf’s enigmatic son, follows his father on his quest for revenge. Fiercely
loyal to her own father, Raedwyn isn't prepared for her wild attraction to
Caelin – or for its consequences. In a world where to go against a king’s word
means death, Raedwyn must decide what matters more: love or duty.