Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (13 page)

Freya’s bruised throat constricted in terror. It was still a
distance up to the gates of the Great Hall. He would surely catch up with her
before she reached them. She could hear him gaining on her with every stride.
That blow to the cods should have felled him, but still he came after her.

His ragged breathing, and gasped curses drew ever closer.
Freya stifled a sob. He would catch her.

Ahead, she spied the outlines of two men. They were walking
downhill, presumably making their way to the mead hall. It was possible they
were brutes like Ecgric, but Freya had no choice but to hurl herself in their
direction.

“Please!” she gasped. “Help me!”

She hurtled into the arms of the man closest to her, almost
knocking him off his feet. He recovered swiftly and reached out to steady her.

Freya looked up into Aidan’s face. He stared back at her, his
eyes widening in surprise.

“Freya?”

“The whore’s mine!” Ecgric loomed through the shadows towards
them. “We have unfinished business. Give her to me.”

Aidan put his arm around Freya’s shoulders, squeezing firmly
as he did so, and turned to face Ecgric. Beside him, Freya recognized Lothar.
The Frank’s blond hair gleamed in the half-light. Ecgric halted before them,
his hands balled into fists.

“What’s this?” Lothar’s mouth twisted. “The king’s favorite
stalking the streets of Rendlaesham after dark, molesting maids?”

“Shut your mouth Frank,” Ecgric sneered, turning to Aidan.
“Give the whore to me.”

Silence followed Ecgric’s words before Aidan eventually spoke.

“Call her a whore again and I will kill you.”

Ecgric stared at Aidan, his eyes bulging with the force of his
rage. There was a calmness in Aidan’s tone, a coolness, which convinced Freya
he would do exactly as he promised if Ecgric did not heed his words.

“Filthy foreign dogs!” Ecgric spat at their feet. “The girl is
mine.”

“Freya is the property of the king,” Aidan replied, with the
same calm voice as earlier, “and you will not touch her again.”

Freya’s legs trembled as she watched the anger boil in
Ecgric’s face. He looked at Aidan with pure loathing. In aiding her, Aidan had
just made an enemy for life.

“You may have the king’s ear, but we know you for what you
really are,” Lothar growled, his hands straying towards the knife he wore
strapped to his thigh.

“Turn around and walk away,” Aidan added, his voice like
cloaked steel. “I won’t warn you again.”

Moments passed, and Freya was sure that Ecgric would attack
them. Aidan and Lothar had just grievously wounded his pride; he could not let
that pass.

“You just want to put your cock in her,” Ecgric growled. “You
want her for yourself!’

Without bothering to warn Ecgric again, Aidan leaped forward
and hit him hard.

Ecgric’s head snapped back and he staggered. Clutching his
eye, he swore foully.

“Do you have anything else to say?” Aidan asked.

“I will not forget this.” Ecgric backed away. “You’ll pay for
this.”

With that, Ecgric turned and staggered away. Moments later,
the shadows swallowed him whole.

Aidan released Freya and turned to face her.

“Did he hurt you?”

Freya shook her head. Now that the ordeal had passed, she felt
on the edge of tears. “He hit me a few times but I managed to escape before he
raped me.”

“What in Woden’s name are you doing out on the streets alone
at this hour?”

“I had taken a load of rush-matting to the dust-heap,” Freya
replied, her voice quivering, “but I didn’t realize it was so late. I only just
made it inside the main gates before they closed them.”

Aidan slowly let out the breath he had been holding. Even in
the half light, Freya could see the concern, warring with anger, which played
across his features.

“
Wyrd
has been kind to you this eve,” Lothar spoke up.
“He would not have been gentle. You must be more careful in future girl.”

Freya shuddered at the reminder. “I know. I am grateful to you
both. Now, please escort me back to the hall; my absence will soon be noticed.”

Aidan turned to Lothar. “You go on ahead. I’ll take Freya up.”

“Very well.” Lothar’s gaze settled on Freya’s face, before
moving to Aidan’s. He paused a moment, as if considering something. When his
gaze met Freya’s once more, it was thoughtful. A moment later, Lothar turned
and strode off down the hill towards the mead hall.

“Come Freya.” Aidan gently took hold of her arm. “Let’s get
you inside.”

They walked in silence. The only sounds were the muffled
voices inside the dwellings they passed, the barking of a dog in the distance,
and the wail of a babe. As they walked, Freya started to feel increasingly
uncomfortable. This was their first contact since Beltaine; a terrible parody
of what they had shared in the darkness on the night of the fire, the drums and
the dancing.

“Lothar speaks true,” Aidan spoke up finally. “You must be
wary around Ecgric in future. He has watched you since his arrival here,
waiting for his chance. He will not be foiled again. Next time, I may not be
around to help you.”

There was something in his tone that stung Freya. She almost
preferred the old Aidan, the arrogant warrior with the honeyed words. Of late,
he had become serious and withdrawn. This evening, there was a bitter edge to
his words.

“I will watch him,” she replied stiffly.

Ahead, the gates to the Great Hall loomed. They would not be
alone for much longer. Freya turned to Aidan, attempting to catch his gaze,
although it was now almost dark.

“I thank you, again, Aidan.”

“Good eve.” One of the guards at the gate eyed their approach.

“One of the king’s sheep lost its flock.” Aidan flashed the
guard one of his cocky smiles, his teeth white in the darkness. “I found her
wandering the streets alone after setting out too late on an errand. Make sure
she gets back inside the Great Hall safely will you? I’ve got a stool at the
mead hall being kept warm for me.”

The guard laughed at that and took hold of Freya’s arm.

“Consider it done.”

Freya watched as Aidan turned, without so much as a glance in
her direction, and walked off down the hill. His behavior was a slap across the
face after what she had just endured. His dismissive manner made her anger rise
for the first time since Ecgric had accosted her. Her mother had been right to
choose a life alone in the forest, with only her daughter and animals for
company. The world of men was a callous, brutish place.

***

Aidan ducked his head as he stepped inside the mead hall. His
gaze swept over the rowdy interior until he spied Lothar. Rendlaesham’s mead
hall was a long and narrow structure with tapered ends. A fire pit glowed in
the center with two narrow tables stretching from one end of the hall to the
other either-side. Two boys were roasting a row of spitted rabbits over the
embers and, as ever, the mead flowed.

Pushing his way through the throng, Aidan reached Lothar’s
side and sat down on the low bench. Lothar pushed a cup of frothy mead across
the table and raised an eyebrow.

“Is the maid safely indoors?”

Aidan nodded and took a deep draught of mead.

“Have you seen Ecgric?” he asked the Frank, casting his gaze
around the hall as he spoke.

Lothar shook his head. “The Eager is off somewhere licking his
wounds. He won’t show his face, or that black-eye you gave him, in here again
tonight.”

“I’d like to take an axe to that man’s head,” Aidan replied,
his gaze meeting Lothar’s. “He’s had it coming for a while.”

Lothar chuckled at that. “You’d have no protest from me;
although the king might not be pleased.”

“Before that worm wriggled his way into our lives, I had a
purpose and a place at Sigeberht’s side. I don’t know how he’s managed it, but
he has won the king’s loyalty and praise without having to prove himself. I’ve
been left with nothing.”

Lothar listened to Aidan, his face creasing into a frown.

“It’s not just Ecgric,” he reminded Aidan. “Sigeberht was
looking for a way to dispose of you after you refused to stay on at Iken.
Ecgric soothes his conscience; whereas you are a constant reminder of what he
had to do to claim the throne.”

“If this isn’t the life he wanted, then why did he go after
it?” Aidan replied, bitterness making his voice harsh.

Lothar did not reply. His face was troubled and Aidan realized
that his explosion of vitriol had worried his friend. He had not meant to
unleash his bitterness on Lothar but he could not keep his anger hidden any
longer.

Unlike Aidan, Lothar was happy. His life had improved greatly
upon his arrival in Britannia. He and Aedilhild had now wed; their handfast had
taken place shortly after Beltaine. Lothar now spent his nights in Aedilhild’s
father’s hall; a modest dwelling after living so long under Sigeberht’s roof.
Yet Aidan envied him his autonomy. In truth, he envied Lothar most things these
days, and this realization galled him even more. He would never have imagined
he would become one of those individuals who ruminated on the wrongs done them,
while envying others their good fortune.

Aidan and Lothar sipped their mead in silence, while around
them drunken voices roared like waves breaking on a shingle shore. Eventually,
Lothar spoke up.

“You are changed Aidan. And I think it is more than just
Sigeberht’s favor for Ecgric. I saw the way you looked at that girl earlier.
Are you in love with her?”

Lothar’s words made Aidan choke on his mead.

“
Hwæt?
”

“You heard me. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before. In my
defense, I’ve been a bit preoccupied recently. You want the girl. It’s as plain
as the nose on your face.”

“Lusting after a wench and being in love with one are two
different things, as you well know,” Aidan responded when he had finished
spluttering. “Freya is fair, but I’m not the first to have noticed that.”

Lothar gave Aidan a penetrating look in response.

“There’s no shame in admitting it Aidan,” he said quietly.
“There’s no weakness in love.”

“Soft-headed cuckold!” Aidan snarled at his friend before
shoving his cup of mead to one side and getting to his feet. “If this is what
wedded bliss does to a man, I’d gladly do without!”

Lothar watched his friend stalk off, shouldering his way
through the group of men who were standing near the door. The Frank then turned
back to his mead with a sly smile and a nod.

“It’s true then,” he said to no one in particular. “The man is
most definitely in love.”

Chapter
Thirteen

“I have decided.” Sigeberht surveyed his retainers over the
rim of his cup. “I cannot stay on in Rendlaesham any longer. My hall at
Beodricesworth is ready, and my heart lies there.”

It was a warm, late summer’s eve. The doors to the Great Hall
were open, allowing a sultry breeze to waft through the stuffy interior. Freya
sat on the matting, next to Hilda, topping and tailing blackcurrants. They had
spent the afternoon collecting the berries from where they grew wild next to
the brook behind the orchards. Tomorrow, they would make the berries into a
pie, and some into jelly.

Nearby, the king lounged at the head of one of the long
tables. He sipped a cup of mead, flanked either side by his constant
companions: Felix and Ecgric. At the other end of the table, a group of
warriors, Aidan among them, had been playing a game of knuckle bones.

“Milord.” Ecgric sat up in surprise at this news. “Is that
wise? You are needed in Rendlaesham.”

Sigeberht waved him away. “I decide where I am needed. Over
the summer I have watched my new hall being built. Each departure from
Beodricesworth has been more difficult. It has been a wrench for me to leave
such a place of tranquility. I will go there for a time, and you, Ecgric, shall
rule in my stead.”

Silence fell in the Great Hall.

The men who had been playing knuckle bones all froze, their
gazes swiveling first to the king, and then to the man he had just named his
co-ruler: Ecgric of Exning. None of them, save Oeric, looked pleased by this
news.

Freya stared at the king, as shocked as his warriors by this
announcement. At Sigeberht’s left, Felix appeared unruffled. In fact, he was
having trouble hiding a smile.

To his credit, Ecgric looked slightly panicked by this news.
Ever since he had tried to rape her, Freya had kept as far as possible from the
king’s right hand; a task made easier by the fact that he now ignored her. For
the first time since his arrival at Rendlaesham, she was free of his leering and
crude comments. It had been a blessed relief, but she was still weary of Ecgric
and made sure she kept her distance from him.

“But milord,” he stammered, “with the growing Mercian threat,
are you not needed here? Your men serve
you
, not me.”

His words brought rumbles of agreement from the other warriors
seated around the table. Ecgric was either a consummate liar or genuinely
discomforted by the responsibility the king had just thrust upon him. Either
way, the other warriors approved of his reluctance.

“They will serve whomever they are told.” Sigeberht’s face
hardened. “You will rule in my place and I will do god’s work at my new hall.
It is decided.”

“The king will bring a small group of warriors and slaves with
him,” Felix spoke up, allowing himself a thin smile. Watching him, Freya
decided she almost disliked Felix more than Ecgric. She would not have been
surprised if Felix was behind Sigeberht’s decision.

The king nodded. “We will bring only enough servants to run
the hall. The rest will stay behind in Rendlaesham.”

Sigeberht’s gaze settled upon Aidan then. The
thegn
,
who had once been his most trusted retainer, stared back at the king coldly.
Over the summer, Freya had hardly seen Sigeberht and Aidan exchange more than a
handful of words. Aidan looked upon his king with barely concealed resentment
now. Sigeberht ignored his hostility.

“Aidan. You shall be joining me in Beodricesworth. Gather
twenty spears to join us.”

“Twenty?” Aidan frowned. “Surely that is not enough…milord.”

“Twenty will suffice. We leave the day after tomorrow so you
have a little time to organize yourself.”

Sigeberht then swiveled around in his seat and cast his gaze
over at where his slaves were working near the fire pit.

“Freya and Hereric; you will also join me in Beodricesworth.
At dawn tomorrow, we will begin preparations for our departure.”

At this news, Freya glanced over at Hilda. Her friend gave her
a small smile in response but Freya saw the panic in her eyes. Their friendship
had blossomed over the summer; Hilda had made life here bearable and Freya had
given Hilda the companionship she craved. It would be a lonely existence in the
Great Hall for Hilda once Freya had gone.

***

A grey veil of rain cloaked the world on the morning of their
departure. It was not cold but the damp was clammy against Freya’s skin. It
made the strands of hair that had escaped from her braid, curl against her
cheeks. She pulled the rough woolen cloak about her shoulders and picked her
way across the slippery stable yard with the last basket of provisions to be
loaded onto the cart.

The rain fell silent and still, beading on the eyelashes of
the horses like tiny sparkling gems. The air smelt rich with the smell of wet
earth. Freya wedged in the last basket and tied down the sacking that would protect
the provisions from the rain. Then, she perched on the edge of the cart,
finding herself a small though uncomfortable seat for the journey. Hereric, who
would drive the cart, climbed up front. Harnessed to the cart, a shaggy bay
pony waited patiently for the party to move off.

Sigeberht emerged from the Great Hall and made his way down
the steps, his dark cloak billowing behind him. He reached the party waiting
for him in the stable yard. Taking his stallion from one of the slaves, the
king swung up into the saddle. Nearby, Aidan and the twenty warriors he had
been ordered to gather, had already mounted and were awaiting orders from their
king.

Ecgric stepped forward to address the king. The rain ran in
rivulets down his face and through his neatly trimmed beard.

“Milord.” He blinked the rain out of his eyes. “I promise you
I will rule with a just hand in your stead. I will send word regularly and will
consult you on all matters.”

“No need to go overboard Ecgric,” Sigeberht replied as he
adjusted his stirrups. “Only bother me on matters of great importance. The rest
I trust you to deal with as you see fit.”

“Keep up your morning prayers,” Felix addressed Ecgric from
where he sat on a dun pony, “and remember the Lord’s toil is the most important
work. See to it that your warriors follow your example.”

Felix had pulled up his cowl, hiding his face, but his silky
voice made Freya’s hackles rise.

That man is as slippery as an eel
, she thought,
and
it amazes me that the king cannot see it.

The small party eventually moved out of the stable yard, and
into the thoroughfare beyond. The cart bearing the provisions, Hereric and
Freya was the last to leave. Gripping on to the sides of the cart, Freya
glanced back at the group of warriors and servants watching them go. Hilda was
at the back; her pale face was drawn and sad. The others wore a variety of
expressions, from mutiny to worry.

Yet it was Ecgric who drew Freya’s attention.  Pride, ambition
and fear warred across his features as he fingered the hilt of his sword. Next
to him, stood Oeric, his pock-marked face flushed with excitement; it was not
every day one became hand to the king.

Sensing someone’s gaze upon him, Ecgric looked straight at
Freya. Too late she snatched her gaze away.

Ecgric’s expression darkened, his gaze simmering with hate.
Then, he drew his lips back in a snarl and spat on the ground.

They left Rendlaesham by the top gates and made their way down
through the orchards. The trees were heavy with apples. Most of the fruit wore
a red blush on their skin, signaling that they were ready to be picked. Freya’s
stomach growled at the sight of the fruit, reminding her that she had barely
managed a few gulps of gruel this morning before the king had started barking
orders at her.

The way was bumpy and by the time they reached the bottom of
the hill, Freya’s back was aching. It would be a long, uncomfortable ride to
Beodricesworth at this rate.

The party rode onwards, skirting the edge of the town and
reaching the road that cut south through a patchwork of fields. Unlike the day
that Freya had arrived in Rendlaesham with her mother, the fields were now well
tended and brimming with produce. It had been a good summer and one look at the
bounty growing in the fields – cabbage, turnips, leeks and carrots – told Freya
that it would be an excellent harvest. It felt odd to be leaving Rendlaesham
again. She had lived two lives here: the first when her father had been alive –
the carefree existence of a girl – and the second as a slave. Despite the
circumstances of her second stay here, Freya felt a little discomforted about
leaving Rendlaesham. She may not be happy under the king’s roof but it was a
known quantity. Beodricesworth, and the life awaiting her there, was not.

Freya’s last glimpse of Rendlaesham was of the golden roof of
the Great Hall, disappearing into the grey mist.

They left the town behind. Then, a short while later, the
party turned north-west and left the road. From here, they cut across country.
Freya had heard that the journey would take them two entire days and another
morning. It was slow going, what with the cumbersome cart bringing up the rear,
but they gradually made their way across a flat landscape made up of wide
meadows, open heath and clumps of woodland.

Their journey meant that they had to cross a number of
waterways; some were little more than muddy channels, while others were shallow
rivers with muddy bottoms. At one point the cart got stuck and it took the
entire party, including Freya, to free it from the clinging mud.

Reaching the bank, Freya had clambered back onto the cart,
dripping river mud. She watched as Aidan strode past her towards his horse. He
was also covered up to the knees in mud. His face flushed from the effort it
had taken them to free the cart.

He did not glance in her direction.

The party resumed their journey and Freya sat on the edge of
the cart, shifting from time to time to relieve her cramped legs and buttocks.
After a while, her muscles too stiff and sore to bear sitting any longer, Freya
jumped down from the cart and followed for a spell on foot.

She walked barefoot, over the soft, wet grass, enjoying the
feel of it through her toes. Once the weather grew colder she would wear fur
boots laced to her ankles, but this time of year she was used to going
barefoot, and the soles of her feet had grown tough to withstand it.

The weather did not improve during their journey. It was too
overcast to track the sun’s journey across the sky, and as such Freya soon lost
track of time. After a while, the king eventually called them all to a halt.
They ate their midday meal under a stand of old oaks, with water dripping on
their heads.

Freya and Hereric doled out rounds of griddle bread, hard
cheese and apples, which the hungry warriors washed down with cups of milk.
Freya approached Aidan and handed him his provisions, receiving a curt nod in
response.

It’s a far cry from the Aidan I met on the shore
of the North Sea,
Freya thought wryly.
To think I used to hate
his flirting and teasing, and now I am sad because he ignores me. If only women
were not so fickle and men were not so cruel.

Taking some food for herself, Freya retreated to the wagon and
fell hungrily upon it. As she ate, she listened to the rumble of the men’s
voices. The air smelt of wet man, horse and earth. The gentle patter of the
rain on the leaves of the great oak she sat under had a soothing effect on her.
Freya finished her meal and, reaching up, fingered the slave collar about her
neck. Even if she was never in any doubt that she was Sigeberht’s
theow
,
she often forgot that she wore the collar these days.

It was an odd thing, but the fog of misery that had consumed
Freya since Ricberht enslaved her, had lifted. Despite the rain, her wet and
muddy clothes, and her tired, aching limbs, Freya felt alive. She was not a
free woman, and she had neither husband nor children. Her life consisted of
hard labor from daybreak till nightfall – and yet Freya was suddenly
overwhelmed by a feeling of relief, of gratitude. Sigeberht was a humorless,
dry man but he was a kind one. While she served him, he would treat her well.
She was now away from Ecgric’s cruel, sneering face and rough hands. The king
was taking them to a place of tranquility and beauty.

There were worse lives than this one. She would have preferred
to have been in Woodbridge Haven with her mother, but that was not to be her
fate. Thinking about her mother made Freya’s chest ache. Even though she knew
Cwen was strong, she often worried how her mother was faring in the woods on
her own. Yet, the thought of remaining in the king’s service did not make Freya
miserable as it once had. Instead, she almost found herself looking forward to
the future.

This realization shocked Freya, and she was still reeling from
it when they packed up and continued on their journey. She followed the cart,
her gaze sweeping over the rain shrouded landscape, with a sudden lightness in
her heart.

It’s true that my body is shackled to the king,
she thought
with a smile,
but my mind and my soul are my own. In many ways I am freer
than these warriors who follow Sigeberht with such blind loyalty.