Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (17 page)

“Why not now?” Aidan felt a red haze settle upon him as he
casually raised the blood-stained hunting knife he carried. “Go on and try.”

Ecgric’s hand strayed to the pommel of his sword, but froze
there when a figure emerged from the hall. 

The Eager’s gaze fastened on Sigeberht. In the two moon cycles
since he had left Rendlaesham, the king had undergone a huge transformation.
Gone were the kingly robes, jeweled brooches and iron crown; the man before him
truly was Sigeberht the Righteous: a clean-shaven man with a gentle face,
barefoot and wearing a long wool tunic.

“Milord?” Ecgric queried. “‘Tis you?”

“It is,” Sigeberht replied with a smile. “Do you find me so
altered Ecgric?”

Ecgric nodded wordlessly, his gaze riveted upon the man who
had elevated him to the position of ruler, and then abandoned him in the role.
Looking upon Ecgric the Eager, Aidan could see signs of strain. He had lost
weight and looked gaunt. His eyes were hollowed from stress and there were deep
grooves either side of his mouth that had not been there mid-summer.

“What is the reason for your visit?” Sigeberht continued when
Ecgric did not speak. “You know I left the kingdom entirely your
responsibility. I am content to let you rule without my counsel.”

“And I would have been glad to continue doing so,” Ecgric
replied, eventually finding his voice. “However, war is now upon us milord.”

Silence fell in the yard. Moments passed and Aidan could hear
the sounds of the late afternoon around him: the bleating of a goat in the
distance, the cluck of chickens, the babbling of the Lark River and the
laughter of children helping their parents in the fields behind the hall. It
was a peaceful, autumn afternoon; it seemed absurd that war was upon them.

“Penda has gathered a sizeable
fyrd
at our western
border. He will make for Rendlaesham and his path will take him straight
through this valley. I have called as many men as I could. You now have a
fyrd
of three thousand spears. Yet I fear that Penda’s army is nearly
double that.”

Ecgric paused and the silence stretched on. When Sigeberht
made no comment, Ecgric continued.

“We will meet the Mercians on the fields just outside Barrow.
Bercthun of Barrow has joined us, as has your cousin, Annan. Penda’s army is
rumored to begin its march tomorrow at daybreak. It will take them four days to
reach Barrow Fields. We must be ready for them when they arrive.”

Again, Sigeberht did not respond. Two patches of red appeared
on Ecgric’s cheeks. He had expected some comment from the king by now, not a
vacant expression.

“Milord,” he began again, his voice rising slightly. “Your
army awaits you. They will not fight without their king. You must come with me
now to Barrow and plan for war.”

“I think not,” Sigeberht replied mildly. “When I handed my
crown to you, I renounced all my kingly responsibilities. If war must come to
this kingdom, you must lead the East Angles into battle. I am a man of peace
now. I will never raise a sword against another man again.”

Hearing Sigeberht’s words, Aidan felt ill. Sigeberht did not
seem to understand. Ecgric had not come here to ask him to lead his
fyrd
,
he had come here to
tell
him.

“You are our king,” Ecgric ground out, his face now the color
of raw meat. “I have ruled in your stead; I have done all you asked but your
spears, swords, axes, and the shield wall – they will only fight for you. You
were crowned King of the East Angles, not me.”

Sigeberht shook his head, his expression closed and stubborn.
“I will not fight, that is my final word.”

Ecgric leaned forward in the saddle. Aidan could almost taste
his rage and his desire to draw
Æthelfrith’s Bane
and strike Sigeberht
down with it. Despite that he found Ecgric despicable, Aidan felt a stab of
pity for him. He had been burdened with a terrible responsibility. No wonder
Oeric looked pained. Following a king was one thing; following him to war was
another. The kingdom was on the verge of falling and Sigeberht thought praying
to his god was of greater importance. Aidan’s palm itched to slap some sense
into the king.

“So be it, but hear my final word,” Ecgric hissed. “You will
fight. You will lead your army. When the Mercians approach I will come for you
and I will drag you kicking and screaming onto the battlefield if I have to.
You shall lead your men.”

With that, Ecgric gathered his reins and prepared to ride off.

“Ecgric!” Aidan stepped forward into Ecgric’s line of sight.
The warrior’s gaze was still riveted on Sigeberht so it was the only way to
gain his attention.

“There are twenty of us here who will fight,” Aidan told him.
“Send word and we will come.”

Ecgric nodded curtly, the closest Aidan would ever receive to
thanks, before he wheeled his horse away and led his warriors away from
Beodricesworth. The ground shook and it was a while before the thundering of hooves
faded.

Aidan turned back to Sigeberht and attempted to meet his gaze.
Yet, the king ignored him; his thoughts having turned inward. Without another
word, Sigeberht turned and went back inside the hall to resume his prayers,
leaving Aidan to wonder if the king had lost both his wits and his courage.

Chapter
Seventeen

The eve of
Winterfylleth
arrived. It had been a crisp,
bright day and the sun was setting to the west in a blaze of red and gold when
Freya hurried into the hall to dish up the evening meal of pottage and griddle
bread.

As usual, the evening meal was a subdued affair. Ever since
news of the approaching Mercian army had spread through Beodricesworth like
wildfire, folk wore startled, frightened expressions and jumped at shadows. If
Ecgric’s warning was true, then the army would arrive within a day.

Freya ladled pottage into wooden bowls and passed them to
Hereric who served SIgeberht and Felix first. As she worked, Freya cast a
watchful eye over Sigeberht. Unlike Felix, who had looked a bit pale and tense
ever since the news of Penda and his great
fyrd
, Sigeberht appeared
calm, verging on serene.

“Let us pray this eve,” Sigeberht said to Felix. “Let us pray
for the souls of Penda and his blood-thirsty horde. May the lord show them the
right path; the path of peace.”

Felix nodded, although Freya noticed his mouth had pursed, as
if he was chewing on something unpleasant.

Freya passed Edwin a bowl of pottage and upon seeing his
worried face she cast a warm smile in his direction. Of course, Edwin and the
other boys had been distraught at the news of the approaching army. Barrow was
their home and all their male kin would join the East Anglian army. Barrow
Fields were just a short distance from Edwin’s home. Freya knew he worried for
his mother and his sisters should the battle go ill.

You should worry for us all if the battle goes ill
, Freya thought
with a chill.
For once he burns Barrow, Penda will march straight here and
do the same.

After everyone had finished eating, Freya began clearing away
the wooden bowls and clay cups. Sigeberht and Felix disappeared behind the
curtain to spend the evening at prayers while Edwin and the other boys sat near
the fire pit and practiced their spoken Latin together, as they did every
evening. Some warriors remained indoors, playing at knucklebones or drinking,
while others drifted off. Aidan was one of these.

Freya’s stomach knotted when she saw him make for the door. It
was
Winterfylleth
, Winter Full Moon, and Aidan had promised to take her
to Saxham to see the fires.

Maybe he has forgotten.
She could not
blame him; the news of coming war had thrown them all into upheaval.

Yet, Aidan paused in the doorway and glanced back at Freya.
His gaze met hers and he smiled. Freya’s stomach leaped. He had remembered; he
would wait outside for her until she managed to slip away.

Freya busied herself with washing the bowls and cups in a pail
of waiter before she wiped down the tables. Then, she picked up the pail as if
she intended to take it outside to empty it, and made her way casually towards
the door.

No one stirred or looked her way as she stepped outside.

Night had fallen. Freya’s breath steamed before her in the
cool air and she glanced up at the blanket of stars overhead. The night was
still young; the full-moon had not yet risen.

“Freya.” A man’s voice hailed her as she walked across the
yard. She stopped and peered into the darkness. She could just make out the
outline of a man on horseback standing in the shadow of the store room.

“I was worried you’d not be able to get away,” Aidan said as
she approached. “Here, I brought you a woolen shawl. It’s cold this eve.”

“Thank you,” Freya murmured, wrapping the shawl about her
shoulders. She wore a sleeveless shift and the night air had a bite to it.

“Here, climb up in front of me.” Aidan reached down to her.
Freya took his hand; it was cool and strong in her grasp. She placed her foot
on top of his and vaulted up so that she sat side-saddle in front of him. Her
balance was precarious in this position, but she could not sit astride without
hitching up her skirts. Considering the strong attraction between them, Freya
thought such an act would be unwise.

Unspeaking, Aidan put one arm around Freya’s waist, to steady
her, while keeping hold of the reins with his opposite hand. He urged his horse
forward and they slipped away from the hall.

Freya waited until Beodricesworth lay behind them before she
spoke again. She turned her head towards Aidan, but like the night of Beltaine,
his face was cast in shadow.

“I hope the others don’t notice my absence.”

“Even if they do, what does it matter?” Aidan replied.
“Sigeberht has more to worry about these days than the whereabouts of his
theow
.
You have had a hard year Freya; I wanted to give you an evening away from it
all. Once the Mercians arrive I won’t have another chance.”

“It’s true then that his
fyrd
is much bigger than
ours?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“And Sigeberht won’t fight?”

“He will. He doesn’t want to, but he will.”

“Will you fight?” Freya cursed the darkness for she wanted to
see Aidan’s face then; she wanted to see the expression in his eyes and know
the truth of matters.

“I will,” he replied quietly. “I must.”

Saxham was a short ride from Beodricesworth but Aidan did not
hurry. By the time they reached the edge of the village, a huge glowing moon
was rising over the treetops. It flooded the world in silver light and Freya
could now see the outline of Aidan’s face.

They dismounted at the edge of the village and Aidan tied his
horse to a tree. Then, unspeaking, they made their way towards the heart of
Saxham – the village green.

Saxham was a small hamlet – around half the size of Barrow –
but it glowed brightly in the darkness on this, the first full-moon of winter.
Fires and torches burned everywhere, inside and outside the squat wattle and
daub hovels that filled a wide clearing. As she walked, Freya peered inside
open doorways and saw jugs of milk, mead and wine placed on the edge of the
fire pits, alongside a spread of food: pies, cakes and breads. On this night, the
villagers left their doors unlocked to allow the dead to enter. Torches had
been placed at many open doorways guiding in the good spirits and deterring the
evil ones.

A great bonfire burned in the center of Saxham; hungry tongues
of flame licking up at the darkness. It was a time of declining sun, and the
villagers had lit a bonfire to encourage it back.
Blotmonath
, Blood
month, was almost upon them. Tomorrow the villagers would perform rites for
Hela – the Underworld Goddess who raised the dead – and the day after that
Woden – father of the gods – would ride his eight-legged horse through the
mortal world.

Freya and Aidan joined the folk who clustered around the edge
of the bonfire and gratefully received wooden cups of hot, spiced wine.
Wrapping her chilled fingers around the cup, Freya enjoyed the warmth of the
fire caressing her face and was reminded that
Winterfylleth
was a time
when everyone moved indoors, into the relative warmth, and outdoor activities
ceased for the long winter. Darkness was about to return and nature would soon
go to ground. Despite this, Freya loved
Winterfylleth
. Joining this
celebration reminded Freya of other, happier times.

“You look deep in thought,” Aidan observed, passing Freya a
slice of hot apple tart, sweetened with honey.

Freya smiled and took a bite of the tart. Its sweet tang made
her sigh with pleasure. She rarely ate food like this these days.

 “I was just remembering other
Winterfylleth
eves,” she
said wistfully. “When my father was alive.”

“When did he die?” Aidan asked gently, the firelight dancing
in his eyes as he watched her.

“Only five years ago – at the Battle of Uffid Heath – and yet
it seems much longer than that.”

“He would have fought with King Raedwald.” Aidan’s voice was
tinged with awe. “The greatest king this land has ever known. I would have
liked to have met him.”

Freya nodded, breaking eye contact with him and looking into
the flames. “He was a great king,” she admitted. “My father would have followed
him anywhere.”

Freya did not add that her mother had nursed resentment
against Raedwald ever since her husband’s death, or that she had shared her
mother’s feelings. It all seemed so petty now. Since her freedom had been taken
away from her, Freya now understood that Raedwald had not compelled her father
to fight and die for him on Uffid Heath. Aelli of Gipeswic had lived and died a
free man. These days she understood how precious that was.

“I remember well the year my father died,” Freya replied as
memories of the past flooded over her. “The king’s daughter, Raedwyn, fell out
of favor when she fell in love with her father’s slave – the son of his sworn
enemy.”

“That must have been Caelin, son of Ceolwulf the Exiled.
Raedwald killed Ceolwulf upon Uffid Heath and enslaved his son. I have heard
the story. It has become legend in Rendlaesham. I hear it ended well for the
lovers though.”

Freya cast Aidan a sidelong glance, not sure whether he was
teasing her or not.

“Yes it did. Raedwald tried to marry his daughter, Raedwyn, to
Eafa of Mercia. It was a terrible mistake, for after the wedding, Eafa sought
to slay Raedwald in the Golden Hall and take the kingdom for the Mercians. He
stabbed the king and would have slit his throat if Caelin had not stopped him.
It was Raedwyn who slew Eafa, but the king died of his injuries anyway. The new
king, Eorpwald, gave Caelin his freedom and his sister the right to choose her
future. She chose love.”

“See, sometimes things do end well,” Aidan replied with a
smile. “Slaves do gain their freedom. Surely I am proof of that also.”

Freya took a sip of mulled wine and felt its warmth seep down
through her body. “Truthfully, I’ve made peace with my enslavement for the
moment.” Freya reached up with her free hand and touched the iron collar about
her neck. “There are worse lives than this one. My lot improved the moment we
left Rendlaesham and Ecgric behind. Beneath his stern exterior, Sigeberht is a
kind man; and Edwin and the others are sweet boys. My daily toil is not as
back-breaking as it was. My fate would have been a lot worse if Ricberht still
ruled.”

Aidan held her gaze, respect glittering in his eyes.

“You are quite a woman Freya,” he murmured. “I only wish I
could keep you safe from what is to come.”

Silence fell between them then as their thoughts returned to
the approaching Mercian
fyrd
.

“Eafa the Merciful was Penda’s elder brother,” Aidan mused,
“and by all accounts the Mercian King is as cold and ruthless as his dead
sibling. I hear that he wishes to make this kingdom bow to his. Without a
charismatic leader like Raedwald, I fear it might happen.”

“Why do you stay?” Freya asked suddenly. “You owe this land
nothing. Why not return to Gaul and go back to your old life. I’d rather you
did that than died for us.”

Aidan smiled then, a sad smile with a trace of bitterness around
the edges.

“Ah, if only there was something to go back to. Sigeberht was
my life in Gaul – it’s no more my home that anywhere else. I wanted to make a
life for myself here Freya. I wanted Sigeberht to grant me land so that I could
have my own hall, farm the land and raise a family. Unfortunately Sigeberht was
not cut out to be a king. He does not reward loyalty and he does not want the
responsibility of ruling a kingdom. If he had given me some land I would have
asked for nothing else save to meet a woman like you, sweet Freya, and make her
my wife.”

Freya stared back at Aidan. His admission felt as if someone
had just punched her in the stomach. There was no teasing in his gaze, just a
quiet, sure intensity.

She realized with a jolt that he was telling the truth. If she
had been free, he would have chosen her for his own.

Tears stung Freya’s eyes and she hurriedly looked away so that
Aidan could not see them. The fire’s heat scalded her face and helped her
collect herself. When she looked back at Aidan, she took a deep, trembling
breath and fought the mountain’s weight of regret and sadness that threatened
to crush her.

“I would have liked that,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze.

***

The night stretched on and the moon rose high into the
heavens. Eventually, their bellies full of sweet treats and spiced wine, Aidan
and Freya reluctantly moved away from the dying bonfire and made their way
towards the horse that awaited them on the outskirts of Saxham.

“Let us walk rather than ride,” Freya suggested. “I am in no
hurry to return to Beodricesworth. I’d like to feel like a free woman for a
while longer.”

“Very well,” Aidan replied, leading his horse forward as Freya
fell into step beside him. “I too am not in a hurry to go back.”

The full moon shone so bright that the woodland around them
was clearly visible. Silver light bathed the ground, which crunched slightly
underfoot; a frost was forming. They walked in silence for a short while before
Aidan wordlessly reached out and took Freya’s hand. Her breath stopped as he
gently entwined his fingers with hers. Her heart started to pound when he
stroked the center of her palm with his thumb. She suddenly felt both shivery
and hot at the same time. Who would have thought her hand could contain such
sensation.