Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (16 page)

Next to Sigeberht, Felix struggled to contain the smile that
was slowly creeping across his face. There – the king had finally admitted it.
He did not want his crown. Yet, Aidan was not about to let the matter rest.

“You made a promise to the people of this land when you were
crowned king,” Aidan ground out, barely able to restrain his temper. “They will
not accept your decision. They will expect you to lead them, to protect them.
The Mercians are gathering at our borders. Ecgric is amassing a
fyrd
,
but they will be
your
men,
your
spears. They will fight for you
and no one else.”

“Enough!” Sigeberht slammed his cup down on the table,
sloshing mead over the rim. His face was taut with fury, his grey eyes hard
flecks of iron. “That is the last time you speak of this Aidan of Connacht –
ever. You forget your place. I gave you the rank of
thegn
and I can take
it away from you just as easily. Never forget it!”

Chapter Sixteen

The summer, one of the fairest that folk could remember,
slowly drew to a close and autumn gathered Beodricesworth in its chill embrace.
Crisp frosts carpeted the ground in the mornings and the trees were ablaze with
shades of red, orange and gold. Leaves softly fell to the ground like molten
snowflakes and an ever-present tang of wood-smoke laced the air.

It was a time of great industry for Freya. The store house had
to be filled before
Winterfylleth
: the celebration that marked the first
full-moon of winter. She had to salt and dry the meat, make cheeses and oversee
the stocking of the larder. Sacks of barley and rye had arrived from
Rendlaesham, along with bunches of onions and sacks of apples. The fields
behind Beodricesworth yielded many carrots and turnips, and Freya hoped there
would be enough produce to see them through the long winter.

Freya and Hereric worked tirelessly from dawn till dusk,
preparing the winter store. Sigeberht’s warriors also assisted with filling the
store house. Aidan led his men out every day to hunt for rabbits, boar and
deer. Upon their return, they did much of the skinning, gutting and hanging of
the meat. Freya often saw Aldwulf hard at work out in the fields, helping the
peasants harvest the vegetables and tend to the soil.

During all this industry, Sigeberht dedicated himself wholly
to his new charges. Dressed in an ankle-length, un-dyed, woolen tunic, girded
at the waist, Sigeberht no longer cut a kingly figure. Freya had been used to
the king striding about, wearing black leather breeches, silk-edged tunics and
gleaming brooches, with a fine fur cloak billowing out behind him. Like Felix,
he had cut his hair in a tonsure; shaving the hair from the crown of his head
while the rest remained uncut. According to Felix, the tonsure was a way for a
new monk to demonstrate his renunciation of all his worldly possessions and
needs. Freya could not get used to the sight of her king, in his long tunic,
crudely sewn leather boots and shaved crown.

Strangely, Sigeberht had never appeared happier.

The four lads: Edwin, Osfrid, Paeda and Sebbi had settled into
their new life well enough. They rose at daybreak and accompanied Sigeberht and
Felix into the back of the hall. There they pored over heavy books that had
been bound on boards. The books had parchment pages and had been clamped with
brass clasps and leather straps. The boys were also learning their Latin
letters; a process that appeared to test Felix’s patience.

One morning, Freya had entered the monastic section of the
hall to replace some candles, and found the boys bent over scraps of parchment
with quills clasped in their fists. The look of intense concentration on their
faces made Freya smile. Sigeberht and Felix looked on over the boys’ shoulders
as they wrote. Felix’s face was twisted in a perpetual scowl as he barked
instructions. In contrast, Sigeberht spoke in soft tones with the boys.

Upon hearing Freya’s approach, Felix looked up from checking
Edwin’s writing. His scowl deepened and his cheeks flushed.

“What are you doing in here girl?”

“I’ve brought the candles that Lord Sigeberht asked for,”
Freya replied with a tight smile. “Shall I light them?”

Felix grunted and turned his attention back to Edwin’s
letters.

“Make sure you take the stubs of the old candles away with
you,” he snapped.

Freya moved around the room, replacing the old candles with
the new and lighting them. Candles were a novelty for Freya; most folk could
not afford them. She finished her task and was making her way towards the
curtain that shielded the monastic space from the rest of the hall, when
Felix’s sharp voice lashed across the room.

“You took your time girl! This is not a place for women – your
presence here sullies sacred ground. From now on, send Hereric here in your
place. If I see you inside this space again I will have you whipped!”

A hot rush of anger swept over Freya. She bit her cheek to
stop herself from snarling at the monk. She would like to see the weasel try
and whip her. She would rip the whip from his hands and use it on him instead –
whatever the consequences. Without deigning to look his way, Freya shoved her
way through the curtain and strode back into the hall.

Hereric, who was turning a row of spit-roasting rabbits over
the fire pit, watched Freya storm across the hall towards him.

“What’s the matter Freya?”

“It’s Felix,” she replied, attempting to keep her voice low
despite the anger boiling within her. “He treats me as if I were some turd he
has to step around. I’d love to shove that cross he wears right up his arse!”

Hereric sniggered at that; like Freya he had no love for Felix
of Burgundy, although the monk treated him with slightly less disdain due to
the fact he was a male.

“I’d like to see that,” Hereric grinned. “And I’d wager most
of those living under this roof would pay gold to see it too.”

That afternoon, Freya was sitting outside the hall mending one
of the boy’s tunics, when Edwin, son of Bercthun, approached her.

The boys were assigned chores every afternoon, and Edwin had
just returned from the fields with an armful of cabbages. He stopped before
Freya, his clear blue-eyed gaze meeting hers. The boy had been withdrawn in the
first days after his arrival at Beodricesworth, but as the summer slipped into
autumn he had become more forthcoming. He appeared to enjoy his studies a
little more than his companions and was proving to be a quick and able student.
Freya recognized the intelligence in his eyes as her gaze met his.

“Where do you want these Freya?”

“Freya, eh?” She smiled in return. “Not many here call you by
my given name, I’m surprised you do.”

“Hereric does,” Edwin replied. The boys had become fast
friends since Edwin’s arrival here. “And Aidan does too.”

Freya felt her cheeks heat up at the mention of Aidan. It was
true that he made a point of addressing her by her given name, even though it
infuriated Felix. Yet, Freya was glad that Aidan paid the monk no mind. It
pleased her to hear him say her name; in more ways than she could express or
admit.

“Yes, but the others don’t,” she reminded him.

Edwin was silent a moment before he stepped forward and
lightly touched the iron collar around Freya’s neck.

“Do you wear this because you are a
theow
?”

Freya nodded. “Doesn’t your father have slaves?”

Edwin shook his head. “He doesn’t need them. I have four
sisters. They and my mother do all the work.”

Freya smiled gently in response; it was indeed a woman’s lot.
Before becoming the king’s slave, she had never appreciated the freedom she and
her mother had enjoyed alone in the woods at Woodbridge Haven. There, they had
been their own masters. In the hall of an ealdorman or
thegn
, the women
lived to serve their men. It was a different kind of slavery, but slavery
nonetheless.

“You can put the cabbages in the store house Edwin,” she said
finally.

Edwin went off to the store and had just disappeared inside
when a knot of horsemen appeared over the hill to the east. Aidan led a group
of warriors with the carcasses of two boar hung over one of their horses. He
pulled up before Freya and rewarded her with a wide smile. For the first time
in months, Freya was reminded of the old Aidan; the cocky man with melting eyes
that she had met on the shore.

“Afternoon sweet Freya,” he announced, swinging down from the
saddle and leading his horse up towards the hall while the other warriors led
their horses towards the stable.

“Greetings Aidan.” Freya’s gaze went to the carcasses of the
two boar that hung over the back of the horse he led behind his. The boars’
blood dripped onto the earth, staining it dark. “I see this hunting trip was
more successful than the last.”

Aidan stopped before Freya, so close that his shadow fell over
her. Freya looked up into his dark blue eyes. As always, his nearness
mesmerized her.

“Yes, it was,” he said softly. The intensity of his gaze made
Freya light-headed. He had not looked at her like this since spring – not since
Beltaine. “Does it please you?”

Freya stared back at him, aware that he was deliberately
teasing her; he was enjoying the blush that had crept into her cheeks.

“Aidan,” Freya replied when she had found her voice. “You knew
it would please me. However, we both know it’s not my favor you need.”

Aidan’s smile faded slightly although his gaze still burned
into hers. “Of late, your opinion is the only one that matters to me. The
others can hang for all I care.” He stepped closer to her then.

“
Winterfylleth
is but three nights away. I was
wondering if you would accompany me to the bonfire in Saxham?”

The heat that had been kindling in Freya’s cheeks burst into
flame. She tore her gaze away and stared down at her hands. It was a bold
question, too bold.

“I would like that,” she stammered, “but it’s not my… it’s not
my decision.”

Aidan stepped forward and gently took hold of her chin;
drawing her face up to look at him. He was smiling, but it was not a smile
designed to seduce her. Instead, it was warm and tinged with mischief. “I’m
sure we can find a way around that.”

“Aidan!” Edwin emerged from the store house and ran across the
yard towards the warrior, his face alight. “I was wondering when you would be
back! Did you kill both those boar yourself?”

“One of them I did,” Aidan replied stepping back from Freya
and ruffling Aidan’s blond hair as the boy skidded to a halt before him. “Do
you want to help me string these boar up? They’ll need to be skinned and gutted
before nightfall.”

Edwin nodded eagerly.

“Come on then, let us leave Freya to her work.”

Aidan winked at Freya and turned to lead the horses away.
Freya saw Edwin’s gaze flick from Aidan to her and back again. Woden, that boy
was sharp. He missed nothing.

Aidan led the horses to where a row of birches grew tall and
strong to the right of the hall. There, he showed Edwin how to tie ropes to the
hindquarters of each boar and winch them up onto the tree. Like most lads his
age, Edwin had taken part in skinning and gutting beasts before, so Aidan got
him to bleed the boars from the neck into a wooden pail. Pig blood was precious
and Freya would be able to make blood sausage with it later.

Freya
. What spell had the girl woven upon him?
He could not stop thinking about her of late. They lived in much closer quarters
here at Beodricesworth than they had at Rendlaesham; here they were far more
part of each other’s life. She slept just yards from him every night on the
floor. He had chosen to sleep away from the warmth of the fire pit, just to lie
closer to her. It had become a sweet torture; one that had awakened his senses
and slowly drawn him out of the misery of the past summer.

Aidan had just cut down the belly of the boar and was
preparing to skin it, when the ground began to tremble. Horses, and many of
them, were riding fast towards the hall. Aidan whipped around and saw a dark
wave of men and horses, with spears bristling against the horizon, crest the
brow of the hill.

“Edwin, stay here,” he ordered the boy. “Keep out of sight.”

With that, Aidan strode back to the hall, his hunting knife in
hand, to greet the warriors.

The riders thundered into the yard and pulled up sharply.
Aidan saw Freya cast her sewing aside and stand up to greet them. Not for the
first time, he was struck by her presence, her proud stance. Unarmed she stood
firm and raised her chin to look the warriors in the eye. As Aidan reached her,
he saw the color drain from her face and her expression harden. He followed her
gaze to its source and knew why she had reacted so.

The man leading these warriors was Ecgric of Exning. Aidan
recognized many of the faces, one of which was Oeric. The youth looked far less
cocky than the last time he had seen him.

“Milord,” Freya greeted him coldly. “Why are you…?”

“Silence slut!” Ecgric snarled. “Speak another word to me and
I’ll take my fist to you. Go and get the king!”

Freya’s gaze narrowed and Aidan could see her fury at being
spoken to thus. Nonetheless, she wisely decided to do as she was bid. Anyone
could see that Ecgric was in a vile temper.

When Freya disappeared inside the hall, to interrupt Sigeberht
from his afternoon prayers, Ecgric’s gimlet gaze moved to Aidan.

“Enjoying it here are you?” Aidan felt Ecgric’s gaze slide
over him. “I always thought you were far more suited to the life of a peasant
than retainer to a king.”

“And I always thought you more suited to emptying privies than
leading armies,” Aidan replied. “A man who lives outside his limitations is a
fool indeed.”

Ecgric’s face darkened. His brows drew together and his neat
beard seemed to grow to a point – giving him a vaguely demonic appearance.

“Foreign cur,” he growled. “I’ll cut your tongue out by the
roots one day.”