Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (11 page)

“I am pleased to be here milord,” Felix replied, his smile
becoming somewhat strained, “although I must admit that the journey has wearied
me.”

“Come!” Sigeberht ushered Felix towards his table. “Dine with
us!”

The assembly of warriors,
thegns
, ealdormen and their
wives, who had been consuming their evening meal of roast marsh hen and pottage
before Felix’s arrival, all turned back to their food and conversation now that
the moment had passed.

“Aidan, move down so that Felix may take your place,”
Sigeberht ordered, before he caught Freya’s attention.  “
Theow
, bring
our guest a large trencher and some meat.”

Freya, who had been refilling some of the cups with mead,
nodded and hurried over to the fire pit to fetch the food.

Aidan moved down the bench, allowing Felix to take the honored
position at Sigeberht’s right hand. He did not mind shifting for the king’s
guest, but noticed the pleasure on Ecgric’s face when Sigeberht gave the order.
Ecgric sat directly to the king’s left but Sigeberht had not suggested he move.

Aidan ignored Ecgric’s gloating. He had little patience for
the jostling for position and power that went on within the Great Hall. Ecgric
was not alone in his attempts to ingratiate himself with the king; many others
sought his favor. Back in Gaul, Sigeberht had worked hard for the love and
respect of his
thegns
and warriors. These days, these came without
Sigeberht making the slightest effort. Aidan and Sigeberht may have had their
differences of late but he was sure his lord would not forget his years of
loyalty, or the fact that he had travelled northern Gaul in search of men who would
join Sigeberht’s cause.

“You’re looking pensive this eve.” Lothar, who was seated to
Aidan’s right, pushed a fresh cup of mead towards him. “Is something the
matter?”

Aidan shook his head and raised his cup to his friend; some
things at least never changed. He knew he could always rely upon Lothar.

“No, it has been a strange past few days that’s all,” he
replied. “And we are surrounded by all too many boot-lickers for my liking.” 

Chapter Eleven

Beltaine approached and the balmy spring weather turned
suddenly chill and grey. Wood smoke wreathed Rendlaesham for days on end.
Curtains of rain swept over the town. For once, Freya was glad of her constant
activity, which at least kept her warm.

Despite the foul weather, the townsfolk doggedly went about
preparations for the yearly fertility festival, in the hope that Bel – god of
light, fire and sun – would bring a bit of warmth back into the earth and sky.
They collected birch branches and twigs for the bonfire, and fashioned a may
pole out of birch. Other folk set to work on the Wicker Man – a giant effigy
made from wicker and straw that would burn upon the Beltaine fire.

Within the Great Hall, the king showed little interest in the
upcoming festival. Now that Ecgric and Felix resided within the Great Hall,
there had been a subtle shift of atmosphere; a formality that had not been
there before. Freya could not help but notice that both men exerted a subtle
influence on the king.

For her part, she disliked both the newcomers.

Ecgric made her skin crawl; the fact that he had fondled her
on their journey from the Great Barrows to Rendlaesham, had made him bold with
Freya at any opportunity. She often found Ecgric’s gaze lingering upon her
while she worked within the Great Hall and he wasted no chance to surreptitiously
rub himself up against her. Felix on the other hand, was a cold, stifling
presence within the hall, with his pursed mouth and haughty manner. He was
always ordering her and Hilda about, although he shrank from any physical
contact with females. Felix avoided the ealdormen’s wives and when Freya’s hand
had accidently brushed his while she was passing him a trencher one evening,
Felix had screwed his face up and yanked his hand away as if he had just
touched a leper.

The day before Beltaine, the rain clouds cleared and the sun
showed its face for the first time in days. The ground steamed in the sudden
heat, drying the muddy streets and evaporating the puddles that covered the
stable yard in front of the Great Hall.

Townsfolk brought armfuls of bright spring flowers into the
Great Hall and festooned the walls with garlands. Felix of Burgundy looked upon
this industry with a curled lip. He muttered under his breath about pagan rites
being the work of the devil. Fortunately, most of the Great Hall’s inhabitants
ignored him, although Sigeberht and Ecgric nodded piously at the monk’s more
strident comments. Freya was aware of the widening gulf between Sigeberht and
his men. Of late, she had heard a few of them muttering darkly about the
unwelcome change in the king’s manner. The king’s close friendship with Felix,
and his alliance with Ecgric, had made them suspicious.

Freya saw very little of Aidan in the days leading up to
Beltaine. He had been away hunting with a band of warriors, and returned on the
morning before Beltaine with two deer and three wild boar; all of which would
be spit-roasted for the fertility festival.

Since her bungled escape, life within the king’s hall had
become a dreary grind. Now that her one hope had been extinguished, Freya’s
future had become a routine of endless servitude to the king.

She feared she would wear her slave collar forever.

On the morning of Beltaine, Freya served the king and his
retainers a simple gruel and freshly baked griddle bread to break their fast. Aidan
took his seat at the long table, and Freya noted his thunderous expression. In
Aidan’s absence, Felix had taken his spot at the king’s right hand and appeared
to have no intention of giving it up.

‘Ecgric the Eager’ – as many among the hall had started
calling him – wore the expression of a well-fed cat this morning. He fondled
Freya’s bottom as she placed a clay bowl of gruel on the table in front of him.
Freya jerked away from his touch and glared at him. If she had been a free
woman, she would have upended the bowl over his head. Ecgric merely laughed in
response, his gaze devouring her as she moved on.

While Freya continued to serve the gruel, Sigeberht turned to
Ecgric.

“I heard news yesterday that the Mercians have been bothering
our western borders. You come from the west Ecgric. Is it true?”

In response, Ecgric turned and spat on the rush matting.

“It’s true milord. That pagan warmonger who leads them itches
to extend the Kingdom of Mercia east.”

Sigeberht frowned at this news and Freya felt a pang of
misgiving. Ever since he had taken the throne four years earlier, Penda of
Mercia had given the kings of the East Angles plenty of cause to worry. Unlike
the king before him, Cearl, who had suffered from ill health for the last years
of his reign, the young king appeared hungry for war.

“If this is the case, we will need to strengthen my
fyrd
,”
Sigeberht replied.

“We are already doing so milord,” Aidan spoke up. “I have sent
word across your kingdom to call warriors to us.”

“That was many days ago. Where are these warriors?” Ecgric
sneered. “I see them not.”

Sigeberht’s frown deepened. “Perhaps we need to increase our
efforts.”

“Milord, I think…” Aidan began, only to be cut off,
mid-sentence, by Felix. The monk had been listening in on the conversation with
interest and was eager to add his opinion.

“I believe we need a man who believes in god’s word, a pious
man, to gather a mighty
fyrd
on your behalf. We need to do more than
merely ‘call’ men to join you. A god-fearing man would be better suited to this
task.”

Felix’s gaze rested upon Ecgric as he spoke. Ever since the
monk’s arrival, Ecgric had taken to praying with Felix every morning. They made
unlikely allies, but friends they appeared to be. Ecgric’s devotion would not
have gone unnoticed by the king.

Sigeberht listened to Felix before his gaze flicked from Aidan
to Ecgric.

Aidan of Connacht’s face was taut with fury. Freya could see
the muscle working in his jaw as he sought to restrain himself.

“I am the leader of your
fyrd
milord,” Aidan ground out
finally, ignoring Felix.

“You have been,” Sigeberht replied before lifting the bowl of
gruel to his lips and taking a sip. “However, you have been tarnished by the
blood we spilt to put me on the throne, and you have made no attempt to help me
atone for it.”

“There can be no war without blood,” Aidan replied, his voice
barely above a growl. “It was the reckoning you sought! Why should I atone for
it?”

“Reckoning we must pay penance for,” Sigeberht answered Aidan
swiftly. “Felix speaks true, I require a pious man to gather my
fyrd
.
Ecgric of Exning will command my army from now on. You shall take orders from
him.”

“
Hwæt
!” Aidan exploded.

“My word is law here.” Sigeberht put a hand up to silence him.
“If you defy me, you defy the king. The penalty is exile.”

A deathly silence fell at the table then.

Freya, who was about to fill a bowl of gruel, froze and looked
across at Aidan’s face.

His skin had drained of color, except for the smudges of red
across his cheekbones. His eyes had turned black with the force of his anger.
He shoved his bowl of gruel aside, splashing it over Felix, who yelped like a
scalded dog, and leaped to his feet.

Then, without a word, he turned and stalked from the Great
Hall.

***

Tongues of flame licked the night sky. The Beltaine fire
roared and sent sparks shooting up into the darkness.

The townsfolk had cleared a space in the apple orchards for
Rendlaesham’s fire and, in the distance, the glow of other Beltaine fires
illuminated the night. The strains of the lyre and the rhythmic pounding of
drums echoed across the orchard and through Rendlaesham’s empty streets.

From her vantage point, before the doors of the Great Hall,
Freya watched the crackling fire. She could see figures, the silhouettes of men
and women, dancing around it, laughing and singing. Later, many couples would
go ‘green gowning’ – running off into various corners of the orchard and the
bushes beyond to make love. It was the eve of life, fertility and joining.

Freya had attended Beltaine celebrations before, but had
always rebuffed the advances of boys who tried to drag her off into the bushes.
Her mother, rightly so, had warned her that one night of passion would see her
shackled to the man in question for life. If she was to go ‘green gowning’ then
she needed to choose wisely.

Freya sighed and stretched her aching back. She need not worry
these days. As Sigeberht’s
theow
, she was not permitted to join the
celebrations.

 Returning inside the hall, Freya knelt next to where Hilda
crouched on the rush-matting, mending the king’s clothes. Hilda sat close to
the wall, under the glow of a burning torch, so that she did not strain her
eyes.

Hilda threw Freya a tired smile. She passed her a tunic that
needed mending, along with a bone needle.

“Are the fires bright?” Hilda asked with a wistful smile.

“Yes. The dancing has begun.” Freya felt a stab of sadness for
the girl. Hilda appeared so resigned to her fate that there were times when it
appeared as if any joy had long drained out of her. 

Will that be me soon?
Freya thought with a
chill.
Will this life wear me down to a husk?

“Hilda,” Freya began quietly. “How did you come to be the
king’s
theow
?”

“My father gave me to Ricberht, the day after the Usurper took
Rendlaesham,” Hilda replied. “My father was one of Eorpwald’s
thegns
. He
helped Ricberht gain entrance to the Great Hall and gifted me to the new king.
In thanks, Ricberht had him murdered. He said that if my father could betray
one king so easily, he could betray another.”

Aghast at Hilda’s tale, Freya stared at the girl. Hilda’s eyes
shone with unshed tears, a sign at least that this life had not robbed her
completely of emotion.

“I cannot believe a father would treat his daughter so.
Although I can believe that Ricberht could be so vicious,” Freya eventually gasped.

Hilda nodded, wiping away a tear that ran down her cheek with
the back of her wrist.

“Father knew the king would rape me, but he only cared about
finding favor with him.”

Freya shuddered and placed her hand over Hilda’s.

“At least Ricberht is gone now. Sigeberht leaves us alone,”
she murmured.

Hilda nodded and gave Freya a tremulous smile. “In that we are
truly fortunate. I know he is stern, but I believe we are lucky to have
Sigeberht as our master.”

It was quiet in the hall this evening. Only a few of the
hall’s older residents sat about the fire pit, conversing in low voices.  The
younger warriors, Aidan and Ecgric among them, were not present this eve. The
king and Felix sat on the dais, deep in discussion. Above the crackle of the
fire pit, Freya could make out their conversation.

“I remember the schools you showed me in Gaul.” Sigeberht
leaned close to the monk, his eyes alive with rare excitement. “I wish to open
such a school here. ‘Tis my dream to teach boys how to read and write in
Latin.”

“Then you should,” Felix replied eagerly, “and I would be
honored to help you.”

“I shall begin looking for a suitable position then. What do
you think about the Lark Valley? Would it not make an ideal site…?”

Freya, bored of eavesdropping on what she found to be a dull
conversation, focused instead on her mending. Outside, she could hear the faint
rhythm of drums, as the night’s festivities continued. She sighed and blinked
her tired eyes. With a pile of clothing to mend, it would be a long evening.

***

Aidan took a gulp of mead and watched the flames dance. He had
thought that joining the revelers this eve would improve his mood but he had
been wrong. If anything, the revelry and laughter just grated upon his nerves
and made him feel even angrier.

His dreams were in tatters.

With just a few words, Sigeberht had cast him aside like a
soiled garment. It mattered not that he had served Sigeberht loyally for years,
or that he had risked his life for him numerous times. These days, the king
preferred to agonize over the fact that they had fought their way into
Rendlaesham, before slaying Ricberht and all others who opposed them. It had
been a bloody, vicious battle; but without it, Sigeberht would not be king.

Ecgric and Felix now had his ear. Seeing how readily Sigeberht
hung on their every word, Aidan realized how important their shared faith was
to him. Aidan had refused to take his vows and remain at Iken to salve the
king’s conscience. As a result, Sigeberht had turned to others for support;
those who were not a constant reminder of his past.

Aidan spotted Ecgric on the opposite side of the fire; as
usual he was accompanied by Oeric. They were ogling a group of giggling young
women like ravenous wolves. Aidan found Oeric only marginally less unpleasant
than Ecgric, although the boy’s lack of cunning and utter spinelessness meant
that he would forever be a follower rather than a leader. Not a bad thing in
Aidan’s opinion, for the youth was odious.