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

“Hereswith.” Annan raised his cup to the girl beside him,
deciding that women like Eldwyn were best ignored. “I will send word back to
Edwin that I am very pleased with the match.”

Hereswith flushed with obvious pleasure. “I thank you, sire. I
would be honored to become your bride.”

Annan smiled at her, unable to stop himself from imagining
what Hereswith looked like naked. If that clinging woolen tunic she wore was
any indication, he guessed she had a body like a nymph.

“Then we shall be handfasted,” he announced, the mead
loosening his tongue and making him reckless. “Tomorrow I will…”

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall flew open, bringing
with them a gust of cold, damp air that made the coals in the fire pit glow and
the flames in the clay cressets along the walls gutter.

A man, wrapped in a thick fur cloak, his cheeks ruddy with
cold, stepped into the hall. He was broad and stocky, with a thick,
grey-streaked beard and hair. He carried himself with arrogance, and noble
bearing.

The Great Hall grew still as the gazes of all present shifted
to the newcomer. Conversation died away and the only sound, save the growl of
one of the dogs under the tables, was that of the crackling fire pit.

Aware that he was the subject of hostile stares, the man’s iron-grey
gaze swept across the hall’s interior. A little of his earlier confidence had
dimmed as his gaze came to rest upon Annan. The king returned the newcomer’s
gaze and felt himself go cold. The good cheer and anticipation of wedding, and
bedding, his winsome bride, dissolved.

He recognized this warrior, and knew who had sent him.

“Aldfrid of Tamworth.” Annan slowly rose to his feet, never
taking his gaze off the newcomer’s face. “What brings you to my kingdom?”

Aldfrid stared back at him, insolence in his eyes.

“
Your
kingdom? I suppose it still is…,” he mused. “Penda
sends his regards.”

The name, hated amongst all the East Angles, had an explosive
effect on the hall. Some men slammed their cups down on the table before them
with a thud, some spat out curses, while others jumped to their feet.

“You are a brave man,” Annan remarked, feeling the tension
grow around him with each passing moment, “or a very foolish one to speak that
name under this roof. Say your piece and be off. You aren’t welcome here.”

Aldfrid’s face darkened at that, although, aware that some of
the warriors were now unsheathing their knives, he held his tongue. When he did
speak, his voice was rough from suppressed anger.

“You made a pact with Mercia,” he replied, choosing his words
carefully, “and the time has come to keep your end of the agreement.”

Annan was having difficulty controlling himself. It was all he
could do not to launch himself across the hall and slam his first into
Aldfrid’s face. Everyone present knew what the Mercian ealdorman really meant.

You ‘bent the knee’ to Mercia. You sacrificed your
honor for your people. Now you must pay the price.

When Annan did not reply, Aldfrid continued, his gaze flicking
to where Hereswith sat silently next to Annan.

“The king’s sister – Saewara – is recently widowed. Penda has
decided she will make an excellent match for you.”

His words caused the silence inside the hall to deepen. Sensing
the atmosphere in the hall was on a knife-edge, another dog, this one sitting on
the rush-matting only a few yards from Aldfrid, began to growl.

“The marriage between you will bring our kingdoms even closer
together.” Aldfrid kept his gaze averted from the dog and delivered the rest of
his message. “Penda commands it.”

Annan stared back at Penda of Mercia’s messenger in shock. He
had not expected this move.

“He cannot command me to marry his sister,” he finally ground
out. “I refuse.”

“You ‘bent the knee’ to Mercia,” Aldfrid spat out the words,
sweat now beading on his heavy brow. “Or do you forget? The bodies of the East
Angles lay scattered over Barrow Fields and you stood before Penda in his tent.
You swore, on the lives of your men that you would do as Penda bid. You swore
an oath – upon your own honor. Do you retract it now?”

Annan glared back at him; those were inflammatory words. Men
had been killed for less. Helpless rage almost blinded him, but with it a cold,
sickening dread seeped through his gut. Indeed, he had made that oath; he had
been given no choice. At the time, Penda had already had one of Annan’s men
killed before him, for refusing. Penda had threatened to slay each one, until
he got the promise he wanted.

Annan had paid for their lives with his own honor – and now bitterly
regretted it. He should have let Penda kill them all, him included, rather than
suffer this humiliation. Although none present would ever have voiced such a
sentiment, he felt as if he had failed his people; the only king of the East
Angles to submit to Mercia. Raedwald, the great Wuffinga king his father had
served, would turn in his grave to see that it had come to this.

“I already have a betrothed,” Annan rasped. “I
will marry Hereswith of Bebbanburg, ward of Edwin of Northumbria.”

“Betrothals are not written in blood,” Aldfrid
replied before spitting on the rush-matting at his feet. “You have not yet wed
– you are free to marry whom Penda sees fit. You know what will happen if you
refuse him. Make your choice.”

Annan stood, motionless, in a sea of his
ealdormen, thegns, warriors and their kin. Many, Saba and his brother amongst
them, had risen to their feet in support of their king. The Mercian ealdorman,
to his credit, stood firm. His iron gaze never left Annan’s face.

They both knew the truth of it.

Annan, as formidable a warrior as he was, lacked
the ruthlessness of the Wuffingas who had ruled before him.

They both knew that despite Annan’s show of
defiance and anger, he would submit. He had the lives of everyone under this
roof – all those who resided in Rendlaesham and the settlements beyond – in his
hands. He could not sacrifice them.

Annan was trapped, and Aldfrid knew it.

Chapter
Two

The Widow’s
Escape

Tamworth, the
Kingdom of Mercia

On the same eve…

Night cast a dark, chill blanket over the Great Tower of
Tamworth, throwing it into shadow. Darkness veiled the gently rolling hills
around the stone tower, and the stars stood out in sharp relief against the
deep black of the sky.

Inside the Great Tower, the evening meal had come and gone.
Women sat around the fire in the hall, gossiping at their distaffs. Dogs
stretched out at their feet, enjoying the lingering warmth from the two great
hearths that warmed the stronghold. Men sipped ale and lounged at one of the main
long tables around the cavernous space, playing knuckle bones or
Hnefatafl
,
‘King’s Table’ – exchanging ribald comments as they moved pieces about a large
board. On the floor above, a wooden platform with a ladder leading down to the
main hall, Penda had retired early with his wife, Cyneswide.

At her seat by one of the hearths, Saewara laid aside her
embroidery and rubbed her stinging eyes. Nearby, her two nieces played with a
puppy on the rush-matting. The girls, just four and three winters respectively,
had their father’s ice-blond coloring but their mother’s sweet, trusting
disposition. Saewara watched the girls for a moment, filled with a hollow
sadness.

I wish I could protect you from the world,
she thought.
From all that it means to be a woman.

All of a sudden, the sound of Cyneswide’s muffled shrieks
above, as her husband serviced her, reached those on the floor below. Seeing
her nieces questioning gazes directed upwards, Saewara hastily looked away,
lest they ask – as they had before – whether
fæder
was hurting
mōder
.

Nearby, two women, wives of Penda’s thegns, sniggered
knowingly.

Saewara gazed into the glowing embers of the fire pit and
wondered if it was still too early to make her move. She had planned this
evening so carefully, she could not risk making a mistake now. She had not
expected her brother and his wife to retire so early, but now that the
opportunity had presented itself, she would be a fool to let it go.

Saewara knew she had but days left. Her brother had sent word
to the King of the East Angles, informing him of his impending nuptials to a
woman he had never met. Just the thought of marrying this Annan of the
Wuffingas made her stomach twist. She had not intention of marrying anyone. She
wanted to spend the rest of her life in peace; in the gentle seclusion of a
cloistered life, away from the Great Tower of Tamworth. Tonight would be her
last chance – she would get no other.

Above, Cyneswide gave a loud groan.

Saewara’s cheeks flamed. Not for the first time, she failed to
understand why such a sweet-tempered woman like Cyneswide could find such
pleasure in her brother’s bed. He was a cold, brutal man with all that knew
him; yet it was well known that he had not been able to keep his hands off his
wife since the day of their handfasting five years earlier. He and Cyneswide
said little to each other with the others present, but often retired early to
their platform above the great hall; a bower that afforded them far more
privacy than most. Penda’s marriage had always perplexed Saewara. Perhaps he showed
his wife a gentler side – one that the rest of the world had yet to see.

Although she had planned to slip away later, when fewer folk
would be about, Saewara decided that she would make her move now, while her brother
was otherwise occupied. She casually rose to her feet and made a show of
stretching.

“I’m stepping outside for a breath of fresh air,” she told the
two women who she had barely spoken to all evening. “I need to stretch my legs.”

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.