Born of the Sun (14 page)

Cutha had summoned the Witan to meet in the great hall, and he and the five other eorls who made up that council gathered immediately after they returned to Winchester from Cynric’s burial. A table had been set up near to the fire and the six men sat around it, ready to decide among themselves who was to be Wessex’s next king.

Cutha, as the king’s cousin and for twenty years the second-most-powerful man in Wessex, conducted the meeting. He began dispassionately, his clear blue eyes under their high-arched brows going from one face to the next as he talked. “Cynric named Guthfrid’s child to be our new king. We all know that. The question we must decide today is: do we want a month-old child for king or do we choose Prince Ceawlin?”

Onela, who was an old man and, after Cutha, Cynric’s staunchest follower, cleared his throat. “Ceawlin is a brother-slayer. Do we want such a one as that to be our king?”

Cutha felt deep surprise. He had not expected such an objection to come from Onela. His brows rose even higher as he answered, “Ceawlin acted in self-defense. It was not he who poisoned that sword.”

“That is true.” The speaker was Agilbert, one of the younger eorls. “But he did kill his brother. That cannot be denied. He ought not to profit from such an action. Surely that is why Cynric kept the kingship from him.”

Cutha’s surprise turned to uneasiness. He had not thought it would be difficult to get Ceawlin named king. He had been sure that the eorls would wish to avoid the obvious problems that would come with a child king and a regency. He looked to the other eorls, who were sitting opposite him, Oswald and Cynigils, and Egbert. Only Oswald was able to meet his eyes. It was Oswald who spoke next. “It is not only Ceawlin who will profit, but Wessex. If we name Edgar, we will be without a lord to lead us to battle. Ceawlin has shown himself to be a brave leader. My sons fought with him at Beranbyrg and they have told me. Ceawlin is worthy to be our next king.”

Egbert’s chair scraped a little, then he cleared his throat as if he would speak. He still was not looking at Cutha. “Yes, Egbert?” Cutha said, and now his voice was very soft. The eorls knew Cutha and knew that the angrier he got, the softer he spoke. Egbert did not answer, but looked instead at Cynigils, who stared into Cutha’s eyes and said defiantly, “We have talked of this among ourselves, Cutha, and we have decided we want Edgar as king. He was Cynric’s choice, and Cynric has always done well by us. We will keep with Prince Edgar.”

“I do not agree,” said Oswald immediately.

“But the rest of you do?” Cutha looked once more around the table, and four heads nodded yes.

Cutha felt black fury sweep through his heart and he stared at Onela with narrowed eyes. This was not just a rejection of Ceawlin, it was a blow at Cutha’s power as well. Everyone knew that Ceawlin would look to him for advice. Everyone knew that his son was closer to Ceawlin than anyone else in Winchester. This was Onela’s doing. It must be.

“And whom do you propose to name as regent?” he asked. His voice sounded positively silky.

The answer stupefied him. “Guthfrid,” said Onela. “The queen.”

Cutha’s fury irrupted.
“Guthfrid!
Are you mad? What does a woman know about leading men?”

“We will do very well on our own, Cutha.” The speaker was Cynigils again. “The eorls of Wessex are perfectly capable of managing their own affairs.”

“Yes.” Egbert finally found the courage to speak. “Young Ceawlin would expect to rule Wessex with the same iron hand as his father. Would expect to rule
us.
We don’t want that, Cutha. We don’t want Prince Ceawlin.”

Onela gave Egbert an annoyed look. “Of course, we will follow our rightful king. There is no question about that. But our rightful king is Edgar, named by Cynric to succeed him. And that is our decision.”

Ceawlin waited by himself in the princes’ hall to hear the eorls’ decision. The young men who slept on the hall benches, most of them sons of the thanes who slept on the benches in the great hall, had taken one look at the prince’s face and left him alone. He sat on a bench in front of the fire, his long legs thrust in front of him, his frozen feet close to the warmth of the burning logs, and waited.

What would the eorls do? Cutha had been confident that they would not want a child for a king, would choose Ceawlin as his father’s only grown son.

He remembered suddenly the first time he had seen his father wearing the golden helmet of the king. He had been perhaps two years old. He had thought Cynric a god come to earth. My father is king, he had thought, and been awed to his very marrow.

That was before he had realized he could not inherit, that Edwin would come first.

And now there was this new child. Guthfrid’s bastard. Surely he would not come between Ceawlin and what he most desired? Surely fate would not be so cruel?

Someone had let the dogs into the hall, and now one of them came to thrust his muzzle into Ceawlin’s hand. He smoothed the fur on a white head and looked into the adoring hound eyes. His dogs had always loved him.

Gods.
They were taking so long.

The call came fifteen minutes later. He knew as soon as he walked into the hall and saw Cutha’s angry face that he had lost.

“It was Onela,” Cutha told him later, when they were in Cutha’s hall, Ceawlin and Cutha and Cutha’s sons sitting close to the hearth.

“This is Onela’s bid for power, his attempt to oust me. I was a fool not to see it coming.”

“But the others went along with him,” Ceawlin said slowly. His head ached. He had not slept in thirty-six hours.

“They all knew you would prove to be a strong king and they have a mind to rule themselves. That is why they named Guthfrid regent, because they do not want to be ruled.”

“But what can we do, Father?” It was Sigurd speaking now, his voice urgent. “We cannot let them get away with this!”

“We can do nothing. Just wait.” Cutha’s narrow, dark face was grim. “Winchester must have a strong king. Without one we will see the eorls begin to fight among themselves. And Guthfrid will not be strong enough to stop it. Then, when the thanes are tired of the fighting, we will make our move.”

Ceawlin looked at his kinsman, his sea-blue eyes heavy with tiredness and with some other emotion. “I swore allegiance to Edgar this night,” he said.

“You swore allegiance to Edgar, Son
of Cynric.”
A smile that did not denote amusement played around Cutha’s thin lips. “I was not the only one to understand your meaning, Ceawlin.”

“We should strike now!” It was Cuthwulf. “No one believes that brat is Cynric’s. If we move tonight, seize the eorls who supported her—”

“No.” It was Ceawlin. He looked at Cuthwulf with weary impatience. “Your father is right, cousin. Hard as it may be, the answer lies in waiting.” He stretched the muscles in his tired back. In the far corner of the hall he could see Cutha’s wife playing a game with Sigurd’s small sister, Coenburg. “And then there is Edric,” he added.

Sigurd said, “If she tries to put him in a position of power, the eorls will revolt.”

“They will indeed.” Cutha sounded satisfied. “Nor will they accept any one of themselves set up over the others. I think it will not be too long before they begin to regret their rejection of Ceawlin.” The blue eyes narrowed. “And me,” he added, his voice very soft.

January went by, and February. The snow melted from the shingled roofs of Winchester, and the houses’ timber walls and the fences and the trunks of the trees in the wood were dark with the damp of winter’s end. It was late in the afternoon of a particularly dank day when Niniane was summoned to the queen’s hall to play her harp for the baby king. Edgar was a fretful child but his nurse had discovered that music would quiet him when nothing else would. As Alric was considered too important to play for a baby, it was Niniane who was most often called.

The baby slept with his nurse in the hall’s second sleeping room, but when Niniane came in she found the nurse in the main part of the hall walking the small king up and down the length of the room. She was alone. The sound of Edgar’s crying had driven everyone else away. “Thank the gods you have finally come!” the woman greeted Niniane with weary gratitude. “He has been screaming for hours.”

“You’ve fed him?”

“Of course I’ve fed him! I’ve done everything. Nothing will quiet him. I’m at my wits’ end.”

“Well,” said Niniane, “we’ll see if the harp will help.” She sat on one of the hall benches and ran her fingers over the strings. Then she began to sing, a song Kerwyn used to sing to her when she was a child, about a little girl who lived with the birds. After a few minutes the child began to quiet.

“I am so weary,” the nurse said when finally Edgar had gone off to sleep. “I got scarcely any rest last night.”

“Give him to me,” Niniane said. “I’ll put him in his basket and stay with him for a little. You need a change of scene.”

The woman smiled thankfully and put the sleeping baby into Niniane’s arms. “I’m going to the kitchens,” she said. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Go ahead. I’ll wait here until you get back.”

Once the woman had left the hall, Niniane walked with the baby into his sleeping room. “Such a little mite to have caused so much trouble,” she murmured, and pressed her lips to the fuzzy baby head. She laid him gently in his basket and sat down to watch beside him. She had left the sleeping-room door open and so she knew when the queen and Edric came into the hall. Their footsteps moved toward the hearth in the middle of the room and then Edric said, “It is for tonight. I spoke to Wulf and Osric but an hour ago.”

The two were speaking in low voices but Niniane’s hearing was very acute. She rose from her seat to go to the door, so they would know someone was in the hall, but then she heard the name Ceawlin. She stopped.

“I want him dead,” Guthfrid was saying, and now her voice had risen higher. “I don’t care how it is done, I just want him dead!”

“I know, I know. I want him dead too, Guthfrid. He is a danger. He makes me nervous, the way he looks at me out of those blue-green eyes….”

Niniane could hear the sound of the queen’s feet tapping on the wooden floor as she paced up and down. “So it is for tonight?”

“Yes. Two of the young thanes from the princes’ hall will swear that Ceawlin tried to get them to kill the baby king.”

“But they will kill him? You said they would kill him!”

“That is right.” Edric’s voice was soothing. “They will kill him. They will say that when they refused to carry out such a heinous act, Ceawlin tried to kill them first in order to ensure their silence.”

“They will pretend they slew him in self-defense?”

“Yes.”

“The way he pretended he slew my Edwin.” Guthfrid’s voice was bitter as gall.

“The way he pretended to slay Edwin.” There was a pause, and when he spoke again Edric’s voice was closer to the door of the baby’s room. “I do not anticipate that the eorls will raise too many questions. Ceawlin is not a comfortable man to have in Winchester these days.”

“Cutha?”

“Cutha is powerless without Cynric.” Edric’s voice sounded as if he were right outside the door. Niniane’s heart began to pound. What would happen if they found her here? If they realized she had overheard? Dear God, what was she going to do? She put her hand on the baby’s basket as if she were rocking him.

“Is Edgar in his room?” Edric asked, and pushed the door all the way open. He saw Niniane and cursed in surprise.

“What is it?” Guthfrid was hurrying to his side. Then they both were in the doorway, looking with horror at the blank face of the British princess.

“I was asked to play my harp for the little king, my lady,” Niniane said politely in British. “Gertrude was hungry, as she had not eaten all day, so I said I would stay with him until she returned.” She looked inquiringly from Edric to the queen, none of the terror she was feeling visible on her face. “Have I done something wrong?”

Guthfrid stared at her for a long, frightening minute, then turned to Edric. “It is all right,” she said. “The little fool does not understand Saxon.”

“Are you certain?” His pale blue eyes were hard on Niniane’s small, uncomprehending face.

“I’m certain. She’s safe enough.”

“All right.” Edric moved into the room, his eyes going to the child in the basket.

Niniane stayed until Edgar’s nurse returned; then she walked across the courtyard to the women’s hall and immediately sought out Fara.

Fara sent for Cutha, and Niniane told her story once again. “He must be got out of Winchester,” Cutha said immediately. “We have been lucky this time. The next time, she will succeed.”

“I know that.” The friedlehe’s thin face was white and strained. “I have tried to get him to leave, Cutha. More than once. He will not listen. You know how Ceawlin is. He thinks he is invincible.”

“Well, he is not. And if anything happens to him, there will be no son of Cynric’s to put in the kingship when once I have got rid of this child. I cannot risk that, Fara. Ceawlin will have to be gotten to safety.”

“Will you tell him that?”

“It would be best if I did not meet with him. I do not want anyone to connect me with his leaving. It is important that I retain my position here in Winchester.”

“But I tell you he will not listen to me, Cutha!” Fara was almost weeping with anxiety.

“He will this time.” Cutha’s blue eyes were looking intently at Niniane. “Listen to me, Fara,” he went on, still looking at Niniane, “Cynric’s plan to marry Edwin to this girl was a good one. We will keep to it, only this time the bridegroom will be Ceawlin.”

Niniane’s eyes widened in alarm. “I don’t understand you, my lord,” she said in Saxon. “Why should the prince marry me?”

“Because your brother is Prince of the Atrebates, and he has sworn to be Ceawlin’s ally.”

“Coinmail has sworn not to bear arms against him. That is a different thing.”

Cutha shrugged. “Nonetheless, if Ceawlin is married to his sister, it will be in his interest to support Ceawlin’s claim to the throne of Wessex.” The calculating blue eyes moved from Niniane to Fara. “Send him to Bryn Atha with the girl. Edric won’t pursue him there. The eorls are greedy for land and won’t want to provoke another battle with the Atrebates, particularly when there would be endless fights over who is to lead the war band. They will leave him be. And I will be able to put my hand on him when I need him.”