Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Two days after his arrival at Beodricesworth, Sigeberht rode
with Felix and a handful of warriors to Barrow.

On horseback, it was a short enough ride from the king’s new
hall. Aidan and another warrior named Aldwulf led the way into Barrow, through
a scattering of wattle and daub houses. Smoke drifted up from holes in the
thatched roofs. It was a crisp morning with a bright blue sky and gently
scudding clouds. Villagers came out to greet the king and his entourage.
Children called out in sing-song voices and ran behind the horses.

They rode into the center of the village; a narrow green
surrounded by houses. A structure, larger than the surrounding dwellings, sat
at one end of the green: the hall of Bercthun, one of Sigeberht’s ealdormen. It
was Bercthun the king had come to see.

The small party drew to a halt and dismounted their horses.

Bercthun of Barrow stepped out of his hall to greet them. He
was a stocky, muscular warrior with a grizzled blond beard and piercing blue
eyes. He wore a ring vest and a collection of arm rings that glinted in the
morning light. A rabbit fur cloak hung from his shoulders and he wore fur boots
and lambskin breeches, cross-gartered to the knee.

“My King.” Bercthun knelt before the king and kissed his hand.
“We received word of your visit, and are honored to receive you.”

“Thank you Bercthun.” Sigeberht nodded to his ealdorman,
waiting till the warrior had risen to his feet before continuing. “Did you also
receive my request?”

Bercthun nodded, his weathered face giving nothing away.

“I did milord, and I have four boys for you to take away with
you today – one of which is my son.

Bercthun turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Edwin. Bring
the others out to greet your king.”

Moments passed before a boy of around eight winters stepped
out of the hall, followed by three other, younger lads. The boy had his
father’s coloring but any similarity finished there. He was thin and pale, his
blue eyes huge on a frightened face. The three other boys were similarly cowed.
They were all wan and weedy. One of them was sniffing, and wiping his eyes.

A buxom woman with long curly brown hair, wearing a sleeveless
green shift of good cloth and bronze arm rings, followed the boys. She had a
pugnacious face that was set in anger.

Aidan imagined this was the ealdorman’s wife. Judging from the
way she put a protective arm around Edwin’s thin shoulders and threw her
husband a look of pure venom, the ealdorman’s decision to gift his son to the
king had not been well-received.

Ignoring his wife’s glare, Bercthun motioned to the boys. “The
tallest of the four is my son, Edwin. The others are Osfrid, Paeda and Sebbi.
Like Edwin, these boys are all the youngest sons of some of my retainers. They
all have a number of sons and are happy to gift their youngest to the king. I
have five sons and Edwin is not cut of a warrior’s cloth. He would be better
suited to the life you can offer him.”

“Edwin’s place is here with his kin!” Bercthun’s wife
exploded, unable to hold her tongue any longer.

“Silence woman,” Bercthun roared, turning on her, his face
coloring. “Get yourself indoors before I raise a hand to you!”

Shooting her husband a vicious look, but nevertheless obeying
him, Bercthun’s wife gave her son a brief, violent hug, before she turned and
went back inside the hall.

Bercthun turned back to Sigeberht with a sigh.

“Apologies milord. At times, Aedilthryd forgets her place.”

“No apology is necessary,” Sigeberht replied, his iron gaze
fastening on Edwin, before it shifted to the other three boys. “She need not
worry. Under my care, Edwin will be clothed and fed, and will learn to read and
write in Latin. When he comes of age, he will take his vows and live on at
Beodricesworth as a monk.”

“It’s a great opportunity for the lad,” Bercthun rumbled,
ruffling his son’s hair. “And one he is grateful for. Is it not lad?”

“Yes
fæder
,” Edwin replied, his voice quavering
slightly.

Watching the boy, Aidan felt a stab of pity for him. The
youngest of five sons, scrawny and gentle-natured, Edwin had been born into a
harsh world where brawn ruled. Men like Bercthun had no use for the weak;
Sigeberht had offered him the perfect solution for ridding himself of a son he
did not want.

“I shall take the boys,” Sigeberht said, with a rare smile.
“Aidan, give him the gold.”

Aidan reached under his cloak and drew out a heavy drawstring
bag. The gold pieces inside clinked as he handed it to Bercthun. The ealdorman
took it with a nod.

“Each of you, take a boy with you,” Sigeberht ordered his
warriors. “Edwin, you will ride with Aidan.”

Without looking at his father, his blue eyes glistening with
unshed tears, the boy walked over to Aidan and lightly sprang up onto the front
of his horse. He may have been thin and sickly-looking, but he was as nimble as
a goat.

The smallest boy, Osfrid, was crying openly now. Aldwulf led
him over to his horse and lifted him up front. The two remaining warriors
accompanying Sigeberht, beckoned Paeda and Sebbi over. Both boys were sniffing
as they approached the warriors, but were just managing to hold back the tears.

“May God bless you and your kin.” Felix of Burgundy spoke for
the first time. “I will ask the Lord to watch over Barrow and its folk and keep
you all safe.”

“Thank you,” Bercthun replied, his expression hooded. “That is
most kind.”

The ealdorman turned his attention back to the king then.

“Milord. You have heard of Penda’s warmongering?”

Sigeberht nodded, his lips pursing slightly as if he did not
wish to speak of this subject. When he did not offer a comment, Bercthun
continued.

“I can offer you at least fifty spears, strong fearsome
warriors who will strike fear into the hearts of those Mercian dogs.”

Sigeberht nodded once more. “I thank you, Bercthun. Ecgric now
rules in Rendlaesham in my place. If the time comes when our kingdom must
defend itself, he will do what is necessary.”

Bercthun frowned at that. Looking on, Aidan felt embarrassment
at Sigeberht’s lack of honor. A king’s duty was to protect his people; he
should have no other allegiance. Sigeberht’s people loved him. They wanted to
see him behave with the same defiance he had demonstrated when he stormed
Rendlaesham and killed Ricberht.

The man before Bercthun was not behaving like a king.

“Surely, you will not leave the kingdom’s defenses to a man
who has no claim to the throne? Ecgric the Eager is not my king!” Bercthun’s
face colored once more. “I and my men want to fight for the Wuffingas. Surely,
you will lead your
fyrd
into battle when the time comes?”

“The king serves his people in far greater ways than merely
with a sword or an axe,” Felix sniffed, looking down his long nose at the
ealdorman. “And it is not your place to question him.”

“Good day Bercthun.” Sigeberht spoke up before Felix could
continue. Bercthun’s face had gone thunderous and Aidan could sense conflict
brewing. It would be best if they moved off.

Aidan turned his horse and followed Sigeberht out of Barrow.
Behind them, the ealdorman’s gaze burned into their backs until they rode out
of sight.

They rode in silence across a flat landscape dotted with
trees. The long grass whispered in the breeze and the sun was warm on Aidan’s
face. In front of him, he could feel the thin body of the boy, Edwin,
trembling. He was crying.

Aidan struggled for something to say that would soothe the
boy’s suffering but could think of nothing. Edwin’s father had just handed his
son over, without a glimmer of sadness or regret, for a pouch of gold in
return. Despite the hardships that Aidan had endured in his childhood, he had
never known the desolation of not being wanted. His father had died defending
his wife and son; he would never have sold Aidan into a life of servitude.

Edwin, son of Bercthun, had lost more than his family this
day. He had lost his innocence and his trust. He had lost his childhood.

***

Freya was retrieving eggs from the hen house when the riders
returned to Beodricesworth. Upon hearing the thud of hooves and the rumble of
men’s voices, she placed the last egg, still warm, in her basket and made her
way across the yard beside the hall. There, she spied the king, Felix and a
handful of men dismounting their horses.

They had four boys with them.

Freya’s heart sank when she saw the stricken, tear-stained
faces of the lads. The thin, blond boy with Aidan wore such an expression of
raw grief that it almost brought Freya to tears to look upon him.

These were the boys she had heard Sigeberht and Felix discuss
the night before; the sons of warriors who would learn to read and write here
at Beodricesworth before going on to become monks.

She supposed there were worse lives. But if that were so, why
did all four boys look miserable?

Oblivious to his new charges’ unhappiness, Sigeberht strode
ahead into the hall, while Felix brought up the rear, ushering the boys ahead
of him. Freya watched them go before glancing at Aidan and Aldwulf. The latter
shook his head in disgust and spat on the ground; his gaze was still fixed upon
the door the king had disappeared through. Aldwulf was a muscular young warrior
with a mane of light brown hair and a heavy-featured face. He was a man of few
words, although when he did speak, he usually had something of note to say.

“Those boys belong with their families,” he muttered, “and the
king belongs back in Rendlaesham with his people!”

Aldwulf then turned on his heel and stalked off. Aidan watched
him go before turning back to Freya.

“Sigeberht is starting to make himself unpopular,” he said in
a low voice, taking care not to be overheard. “He cares not who he offends with
his words about how Ecgric will protect the kingdom from the Mercians, and how
his god will save us all. He offended one of his ealdormen this morning,
Bercthun of Barrow, when he told him that Ecgric would be leading his
fyrd
,
should the Mercians attack.”

Freya felt a sting of misgiving at Aidan’s words.

“I can’t believe he would let Ecgric lead his army into
battle,” she gasped. “Why would he go to all the trouble of taking back the
throne for the Wuffingas, if he is willing to give it to a man he hardly
knows?”

“He’s conflicted,” Aidan replied softly, his gaze meeting
hers. “Sigeberht cannot reconcile his loyalty to his family with his allegiance
to his god. He expected his mother and cousins to welcome him back to the
kingdom with open arms. When that didn’t happen, his victory soured. He shed a
lake of blood and murdered a king for a cold, lonely throne.”

“He blames you too, doesn’t he?”

Aidan gave a lopsided smile at that. Freya was aware that he
was standing close, so close that she could feel the heat of his body. The
sensation made it difficult to concentrate.

“I remind him of his quest for vengeance,” Aidan replied.
“He’s angry because I won’t pay penance. He wanted me to take my vows and
become a monk but I refused. He’ll never stop punishing me for that.”

“He wanted you to become a monk?” Freya raised her eyebrows
and struggled to keep the incredulity out of her voice. “What good would that
do?”

“‘Twould ease his conscience.” Aidan’s gaze shifted to where
the king had disappeared into the hall. “That’s why those boys are here.
Sigeberht doesn’t need a kingdom to rule – just a group of young minds to bend
to his will.”

***

The evening meal was a somber affair. The meal was simple; no
rabbit pie this evening but vegetable pottage, boiled eggs and griddle bread.
The new additions to Sigeberht’s hall: Edwin, Osfrid, Paeda and Sebbi sat below
the salt, at the far end of the table, whey-faced and red-eyed.

All four boys picked at their food and kept their gazes
downcast. Freya felt a pang as she placed cups of water at their elbows. They
looked so lost.

“Tomorrow will be an important day,” Felix announced to the
table once Freya and Hereric had finished serving them. The monk’s gaze was
riveted on the king’s four young charges. “On the morrow our king will take his
vows. Sigeberht will become a monk and will aid me in your instruction.”

The hiss of indrawn breaths from Sigeberht’s warriors
punctured the silence. Aldwulf’s eyes bulged and he nearly choked on his
mouthful of griddle bread.

Aidan blanched, his gaze narrowing. “What is this?” he asked
quietly. “Milord! You cannot take your vows without giving up the throne.”

“I’m aware of that,” Sigeberht responded, his voice chill,
“and I tire of hearing this subject repeated as if I am an imbecile. I will say
it once more, and it will be the last time. Ecgric of Exning now rules the
Kingdom of the East Angles. I took back the throne for my family and I avenged
Eorpwald’s death – but received little gratitude from my own kin in return. I
wish to have my life back. I have found a far greater purpose and I wish to
fulfill it. I wish to serve the Lord and no one else.”