The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) (17 page)

Outside in the cool morning air, he sat on a barrel to pull on his shoes. He fumbled with the straps of his leg bindings, cursing quietly under his breath. He still could not get used to the missing fingers on his left hand. He concentrated. After a couple more failed attempts, he managed to get the bindings tied. He missed those fingers. But it could be much worse, he knew. Screams came from a building on the other side of the courtyard. There were many men who had returned from Hefenfelth with dire wounds. Many more had not returned at all.

He did not wish to allow these dark thoughts to spoil the feeling of happiness that he had woken to. The screams ceased mercifully and he pushed thoughts of death from his mind.

There was only one thing that tainted the otherwise fine morning. Acennan still refused to talk to him. Not being able to share his success with his closest friend weighed heavily on Beobrand. He hoped Derian was right and Acennan would forgive him soon.

He stood and threw his cloak around his shoulders. He was again silently cursing his missing fingers as he attempted to fasten his cloak pin when a shadow fell over him.

Looking up, Beobrand gave a start. It was Acennan, as if summoned by his thoughts.

"Here, let me help you," said Acennan, reaching for the clasp. His fingers were thick and strong, but nimble. The clasp was affixed to the cloak in a matter of a heartbeat.

"Thank you," said Beobrand. "I always seem to need your help." He gave a weak smile.

Acennan snorted.

"I am sorry about Scand," said Beobrand. "We should not have left his side."

Acennan did not reply for some time. Then he said, "I have been giving it much thought. You're right. We should not have left our lord's side. But we did. You had no hold on me. I did not need to follow you. I had no right to blame you for Scand's death. I too am sorry. I did not mean what I said."

Beobrand felt as if sacks filled with rocks had been removed from his shoulders, such was his relief.

"No you didn't need to follow me. But I didn't need to lead you either. I was foolish."

"Well, perhaps I should not have followed. You were not my lord... then."

"Then?" asked Beobrand, his heart quickening.

"Well, you'll need a warband if you are to be a mighty thegn, will you not? Some of the lads and I wish to swear our oath to you. We can think of no better lord to serve." Acennan grinned.

Beobrand returned the smile.

"If you are sure. You cannot have looked far if you can find no better lord than I."

Beobrand grabbed his friend's forearm in the warrior's grip. Gratitude flowed through his body like strong mead.

He had woken with land and riches. Had hoped for nothing more. Yet now his faithful friend had returned to him.

And he had brought a warband with him.

Sunniva was breathless. Everything was happening so fast. The morning after the gift-giving, many of the inhabitants of Bebbanburg had slumbered long after sunrise. But now, as the sun reached its zenith, the place was frantic with activity. The courtyard was full of people and animals, all preparing to leave.

Some had already left the confines of the fortress to return to their halls. Taking with them spoils of war and tidings of victory.

Leaving.

She could hardly believe it was true. It seemed an age since she had known the freedom of walking under the open sky, birds and the rustle of trees her only companions. Instead she had suffered the smells and noises of the overcrowded fortress. As often as she could, to escape the noisome hall where she slept, she would stand on the palisade and look out at the land rolling away to the west and the wide expanse of iron-grey sea to the east. Now, she had come up for one final look before they left.

She looked towards Lindisfarena. Earlier she had watched as the small figures of the dark-clad monks had trudged into the distance, heading for the island. One of them was Coenred, a friend of Beobrand's. She had met the boy the day before and liked him instinctively. When she realised he had saved Beobrand's life and the bond of shared experience they had, she liked him all the more. He was light-hearted and quick to smile. Yet there was a sorrow pulling at the edges of his eyes that she recognised all too well. He had suffered much. She hoped he would find happiness on the holy island where the monks planned to build their home.

A commotion in the courtyard below pulled her attention away. A large black horse was rearing, kicking its hooves out and whinnying. The crowds scattered. An hostler clung to the horse's bridle with his left hand. In his right he held a hazel switch with which he beat the animal about the neck and head. The man was furious and screamed abuse at the beast, all the while laying about it with the whip.

A man stepped quickly from the onlookers behind the hostler. From his ungainly limp she recognised the man as Anhaga, the wall-ward. Anhaga stepped in close and caught the man's wrist before he could continue to torment the creature. Then, snatching the switch from his hand, he whipped it across the face of the hostler.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he said, his words dripping with anger.

The hostler stood open-mouthed. Shocked at what had transpired. Anhaga thrust the switch into his chest. The hostler took it, still speechless. A red welt was beginning to form on his cheek.

"Now be about your business," said Anhaga. "And do not let me catch you beating another fine horse with no good reason."

The man looked around him. He saw no support from the watching faces. Glowering at Anhaga, he turned and stalked away.

Anhaga took the bridle of the stallion and smoothed its neck with his palm. He whispered soothing words in its ear. The crowds realised there would be no further excitement and carried on with their own preparations for leaving.

Sunniva hurried down the ladder and made her way to Anhaga and the horse. She threaded her way through the people, bales, carts and other horses. By the time she arrived, Beobrand was standing by Anhaga's side and they were deep in conversation.

Sunniva's words of thanks dried in her throat. She had hoped to be able to thank Anhaga for his intervention with Beobrand's steed and then to send him on his way. Much in the same way as he had dismissed the hostler. Not with a switch to the face, but just as quickly. The crippled-man unnerved her. She was no stranger to men eyeing her with hunger. But Anhaga's gaze roved over her whenever their paths crossed in a way that made her skin creep.

Upon her arrival, Beobrand and Anhaga turned to her.

"Sunniva," said Beobrand, "by all the gods, I swear you are more beautiful each time I see you." Since the gift-giving, Beobrand's spirits were high. He was energetic and happy. She couldn't remember him happier.

"Thank you, my lord," Sunniva replied, demurely bowing her head with a smile. Beobrand laughed at her use of the title.

"Do you not think she is beautiful, Anhaga?" Beobrand asked.

Sunniva kept her eyes downcast, but could feel the cripple's gaze sliding over her like slimy scrofulous slugs. She suppressed a shudder. Not to worry. They would be gone from this place soon enough. To their new home. Her smile returned and she looked up at Anhaga.

Anhaga's grin was broad. "Indeed, lord. She is as beautiful as Frige herself!"

"I am blessed," said Beobrand.

This talk of gods and goddesses made Sunniva uneasy.

"Thank you both," she said. "Now, we have much yet to do if we are to leave this day, Beobrand. Thank you for the help with Sceadugenga, Anhaga. Now we must be getting on." Sunniva turned away from Anhaga. The implicit dismissal was clear. Beobrand didn't seem to notice, but Anhaga frowned.

"You are right, as always," said Beobrand, with a wink to Anhaga. "There is much to do. Perhaps Anhaga could help you."

"I don't think I need his help," said Sunniva.

"He is a useful man. He knows everyone here, and has a way with horses. And unruly hostlers."

"Yes, but..."

"It will be good for the two of you to get to know each other." Seeing the bemused look on Sunniva's face, Beobrand raised his hand to his forehead. "Of course, you do not know. I have asked Anhaga to join us at Ubbanford. He cannot stand as a warrior. His twisted leg makes it impossible." Behind Beobrand, Anhaga frowned again. "But he is a good man. Honest and hard-working and we'll need a steward to help you run the house."

Beobrand misread the look of anguish on her face as confusion.

"Do not fear. It is all agreed. We spoke last night at the feast and I petitioned the king to give Anhaga leave to come with us."

Beobrand slapped Anhaga on the back.

"You do as she says, Anhaga. She speaks with my voice. Now I must find Acennan." He strode away.

Anhaga said, "Well, my lady, what would you have me do?"

She watched Beobrand's broad back as he walked away. Sunniva's stomach churned. Of all the news she could have heard this morning, this was the most unexpected and disquieting.

She forced herself to look into Anhaga's eyes. His smile did not seem to reach them. He cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

She could think of nothing to say.

Eventually, all she could muster was, "Do my lord's bidding." With that she turned around with a swirl of her cloak and hurried inside the hall where Beobrand and she had slept.

She had to check one last time that all of their belongings had been packed away.

It was important that she check, she told herself.

She was not fleeing. That would be ridiculous.

By the time they had organised their belongings, the sun was falling into the clouds that loomed over the hills in the west.

"They say that Ubbanford is a couple of days away," Acennan said. "Three if we run into bad weather." He nodded in the direction of the clouds. "Perhaps we should stay here one more night."

Beobrand looked at Sunniva. She was as radiant as ever, but there was a slight pinched look about her eyes. Her lips were pressed thin. She hated it here, he knew. She felt caged; longing to be free of the constant noise and chaos of the fortress.

"No, we leave now and put some distance between us and Bebbanburg before nightfall." He turned to the men who had joined him. With Acennan and Anhaga, they numbered nine. Not an army, but more than a band of thieves. He knew them all. Strong men. Good men.

The oldest of them was Tobrytan. Grey-haired and dependable as a rock. And maybe as slow.

Elmer was tall and broad-shouldered. A solid warrior in a shieldwall, slow to anger, but deadly as an angry aurochs if goaded. When he looked on his wife, Maida, or either of his children, his eyes told of a softness of heart that appealed to Beobrand.

Aethelwulf and Ceawlin were both quiet, taciturn men. Dour and drab of face, they were inseparable friends who rarely smiled. But give them a bellyful of mead and they became as boisterous as puppies; laughing and jesting until falling into drunken oblivion. As their lord, Beobrand would need to take care they did not drink him into poverty.

Garr was tall and slim. He moved with a grace that belied his speed. He was a master in the use of the spear, both held in his hands and thrown. It was said he could throw a javelin further than any other man. Having seen him throwing in practice, Beobrand could not dispute the claim.

Lastly there was Attor. He was fleet of foot and rode as well as the best Waelisc horseman, making him a perfect scout; a role he had often fulfilled for Scand. He shunned garbing himself in iron, instead wearing only cloth and leather in battle. Yet many were the ravens he had fed with the corpses of men who had judged him on his slight form and lack of armour. His lust for blood in battle was the subject of many a mead hall tale.

All of these warriors had served Scand. Beobrand felt humbled by their trust in him. He hoped he would live up to that trust. He held their lives in his hands now. He was their hlaford. The lord who would provide them with food and gifts, in exchange for their loyal service.

He flushed with pride as he recalled the scene earlier that day when the men had sworn their oaths to him. He had spoken the familiar words before, but had never thought to hear them uttered to him.

Each warrior had vowed his allegiance to Beobrand before the king himself. Oswald sat on his gift-stool in the great hall. He was happy to preside over the oath-taking. Many other unions were sworn that day as thegns and ealdormen heard the oaths of warriors.

The scene had embarrassed Beobrand somewhat. It seemed wrong that these men should kneel before him. And yet it was a solemn moment. It could not be ignored or rushed. The last to swear was Acennan.

"I will to Beobrand, son of Grimgundi," he had said, "be true and faithful, and love all which he loves and shun all which he shuns, according to the laws of God and the order of the world. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to him, on condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it."

Beobrand had raised Acennan up from his knees and embraced him.

"I accept your oath, Acennan, son of Bron." He had swept his gaze over his new warband. "I accept all of you with a glad heart." He had looked at the faces staring at him. Hard men. Some bearded. All older than he. His mouth had grown dry. What could he offer them?