Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (6 page)

Freya tore off a piece of griddle bread and took a bite,
before swallowing with difficulty. She hated it here. She longed for the simple
life she had shared with her mother in Woodbridge Haven; away from Rendlaesham
and this hall full of loud, boorish males. She hoped Cwen had managed to return
home safely. Thinking about her mother, made her heart ache.

I will not stay here
, she vowed,
I am no
slave!

Freya would bide her time, but as soon as the opportunity
arose, she made herself a silent promise. She would escape.

Chapter Six

Freya was beating dust out of a pile of furs when she heard
horses approach.

She straightened up from her chore and turned her head towards
the sound. She did not recall any visitors being due at the Great Hall today. A
group of warriors had gone hunting this morning, but they were not due back for
another two days.

Freya turned back to the furs and rubbed her itching nose. She
had carried the bedding from Sigeberht’s bower for cleaning; a task that her
master demanded she undertake every three days. Sigeberht was a fastidious man
who liked his sleeping area scrubbed clean on a daily basis. He did not adorn
his bower and, unlike Ricberht, did not keep any weapons there. The only
decoration was an iron cross that hung from the wall.

Before the sound of hoof-beats had distracted her, Freya had just
been thanking her namesake, the goddess Freya, for the fact that Sigeberht had
not insisted she shared his bed. Six days had passed since Sigeberht had taken
Rendlaesham, and he had not shown any interest in her, beyond that of a slave.
Instead of joining him in his bower, she slept against the wall, near the rear
of the Great Hall. It was an uncomfortable spot, cold and draughty, but Freya
cared not. She was merely relieved that Sigeberht appeared not to want her in
his bed.

A knot of riders appeared in the stable yard below, kicking up
a cloud of dust behind them. Freya put down the stick she had been using to
beat the furs, and regarded the newcomers.

Three upstanding men with blond hair, and a woman, dismounted
their horses. An escort of around a dozen warriors accompanied them. The three
men were all handsome and carried themselves with warrior arrogance. The woman
wore a long, blue hooded cloak that shadowed her face.

Behind Freya, Aidan of Connacht stepped from the Great Hall
and swept his gaze over the group below. He glanced across at Freya and raised
a dark eyebrow. She gave him a chill look in response and shrugged.

“Why do you look at me for answers?” she snapped. “I know not
who they are.”

Unbothered by her viperish tongue, Aidan turned his attention
back to the newcomers.

“Welcome to Sigeberht’s hall,” he called down. “To whom do we
owe the pleasure?”

The eldest of the three men, a warrior of around five and
thirty winters, stepped forward.

“I am Annan,” he introduced himself. “Son of Eni of the
Wuffingas. These are my brothers, Aethelhere and Aethelwold. We are Raedwald
and Eorpwald’s kin – and the kin of Sigeberht.”

Annan turned then to the woman, who stepped forward and
lowered the hood obscuring her identity. She was an older woman, although still
handsome, with a mane of red hair, threaded with white. She regarded Aidan with
cool grey eyes.

“I am Seaxwyn.” Her voice, although quiet, held the power of
one who was used to commanding others. “And I wish to see my son. Take us to
Sigeberht.”

***

Freya placed a ewer of apple wine on the table, Hilda laid out
cups for the guests, and Hereric brought out a platter laden with cheese and
fruit.

The quiet inside the hall was unnerving and Freya was grateful
to move away from the table. She and Hilda went to the fire pit and continued
the chore that Hilda had been busy with before the party’s arrival – kneading
bread. Freya would have to finish cleaning the furs later. Now, with guests
that evening, they had extra food to prepare.

Sigeberht, after greeting the party, had seated himself at the
end of the table. Aidan stood a few steps behind him, while the guests sat at
the other end of the table.

Freya had never witnessed such a cold reunion between mother
and son. There had been no hugs, no tears and very few smiles; just strained
greetings and an awkward moment when Sigeberht had knelt to kiss his mother’s
hand.

It was as if they were strangers – which, in fact, they were.

Freya kneaded a lump of dough and flattened it into a disc
with the heel of her hand, watching the conversation at the other end of the
hall surreptitiously as she did so.

“‘It has been a long while mother,” Sigeberht rumbled,
steepling his fingers in front of him and regarding Seaxwyn with an iron-grey
gaze. They had the same eyes, Freya realized; the color of storm clouds.

“I’ve lost count,” Seaxwyn admitted. “You were hardly out of
boyhood when Raedwald banished you.”

“Old enough to be a threat.” Sigeberht’s mouth curled.

Freya noticed that the three warriors: Annan, Aethelhere and
Aethelwold, all stirred uneasily at this comment. King Raedwald had been their
uncle, and they did not appreciate anyone speaking ill of him.

“I have often thought of you Sigeberht,” Seaxwyn continued
softly, leaving the cup of wine untouched at her elbow. “I have wondered how
you fared in Gaul.”

Sigeberht’s mouth pursed.

“And is that why you are here? To hear tales of my life in
exile?”

Seaxwyn smiled, ignoring her son’s frosty sarcasm.

“No Sigeberht. I have come here for your crowning.”

***

Warriors jostled elbow-to-elbow within the Great Hall, the
rumble of their voices filling the air. Two sides of venison roasted over the
fire pit and the aroma of roasting meat and root vegetables drifted across the
wide space. The long tables had been pulled back, allowing the crowd to fill
the center of the hall.

On a dais, at the far end, stood Seaxwyn. She was widow to the
late King Raedwyn and mother to the late King Eorpwald – and also mother to the
man who stood in the doorway to the hall, waiting for the ceremony to begin. At
the front of the crowd were Sigeberht’s three step-cousins. In high spirits,
after a few cups of strong ale, Annan was deep in boisterous conversation with
Aidan.

Hilda and Freya stood before the fire pit, slowly turning the
spits.

“According to folk, Seaxwyn was wed before marrying King
Raedwald,” Hilda whispered conspiratorially to Freya. “To a Saxon lord. The
tale is that she stabbed him for beating her so he divorced her and sent her
back to her father. Seaxwyn took their son, Sigeberht, with her.”

Freya glanced across at Seaxwyn with interest. The woman did
possess a certain strength. She was tall and curvaceous, and wore a fine green
gown that complemented her pale skin. Even though she was now in her sixtieth
year, she was still an attractive woman. Freya imagined she must have been a
beauty in her youth – and since Sigeberht had just passed his forty-fifth
winter, she would have had him young.

“Raedwald was looking for a wife and ‘tis said that when he
saw Seaxwyn he fell in love with her instantly,” Hilda continued, her voice
tense with excitement. “But, the king did not love her boy. He wanted sons of
his own blood. Sigeberht was a threat to the Wuffinga bloodline. Once Sigeberht
reached manhood, Raedwald sent him from Rendaelsham, banishing him to Gaul.”

Freya nodded, captivated by the story. With such excitement
within the Great Hall over the past day, she had almost forgotten her misery.
She still missed her mother, especially at night when she would stare up into
the dark and think of home, but Sigeberht worked her so hard that she had
barely a moment to herself during the day.

Inside the hall, the din died away and pipes began to trill,
announcing that the coronation was about to start.

The crowd parted as Sigeberht, dressed in black, with a fine
fur cloak swinging from his shoulders, strode towards the dais. Two amber brooches,
gleaming in the torchlight, fastened his cloak to the heavy black tunic he
wore. His face, even at such a moment, was severe, as if hewn from stone.

 Had such a man ever been young and light of heart?

The pipes died away as Sigeberht reached the dais and knelt
before his mother.

“Sigeberht, rightful heir to the throne of the East Angles, I
welcome you,” Seaxwyn’s voice echoed across the empty hall. “May Woden protect
you and Thor guide your hand in battle. May
wyrd
favor you always.”

Freya saw Sigeberht’s jaw clench at his mother’s words, but he
held his tongue. She wondered if Seaxwyn knew that her son had cast aside the
old gods. Sigeberht no longer believed that fate ruled one’s life.

Oblivious to her son’s glowering, Seaxwyn lifted the simple
iron crown; the one her husband had worn during the long years of his reign.

“I crown thee, Sigeberht King of the East Angles.”

She placed the crown gently on Sigeberht’s head, and the hall
erupted with cheers and applause.

***

The feasting went on, long into the night. By the time the
last revelers staggered from the hall, Freya’s body ached. She longed to
stretch out on the rush matting and rest her weary limbs. Like Freya, Hilda’s
face was gaunt with fatigue as she cleared away the food scraps and wiped the
tables down.

An area at the far end of the hall had been curtained off for
the guests, opposite the king’s bower. Seaxwyn had retired earlier than the
men-folk, and Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold had all consumed so much ale
that they had to be led to their beds.

Freya looked up from her industry to see Aidan returning from
making sure the king’s step-cousins had all made it to their beds. He paused in
front of where Freya was collecting the last cups from the tables.

“Goodnight sweet Freya.”

“Goodnight,” she replied coldly, not bothering to look his
way. She wished he would leave her be.

Freya collected up two handfuls of empty cups and turned to
make her way up to where Hilda was washing plates and cups in a large pail of
soapy water.

She collided with the wall of a man’s chest.

Aidan had been standing closer to her than she had realized.
She had walked straight into him. With a strangled cry, Freya stumbled
backwards and nearly dropped the cups.

To her horror, he laughed and put his arms around her waist –
an action which both prevented her from falling and also imprisoned her in his
embrace.

“Careful now,” he whispered in her ear. Freya could hear the
smile in his voice and fought the urge to slap him; although such an act would
have been difficult with her hands full.

His nearness was overwhelming. His warmth, the hardness of his
chest, the strength of his arms, and the gentle way his arms encircled her,
made Freya dizzy. She glanced up at him and instantly regretted it.

His dark blue gaze snared hers. As they stared at each other,
the smile faded from his lips.

Freya wrenched free of Aidan’s embrace and stepped back from
him. She could feel her cheeks heating up from the intensity of his gaze.

“Goodnight.” She mustered as much cool dismissal as she could
in that word, but it merely brought that conceited smirk back to his face.

Freya joined Hilda at the pail of soapy water and began to
wash the cups. She felt Aidan’s gaze on her for a moment or two, but when she
finally risked a glance in his direction, she saw him making his way over to
the fire pit. Piles of furs, for Sigeberht’s highest ranking
thegns
, had
been laid out around the edge of the pit. Aidan chose one of them and sat down,
pulling off his boots.

Freya hurriedly looked away before he caught her staring.

***

Sigeberht’s hall broke their fast with griddle bread, cheese
and small, sweet onions. It was simple fare but Sigeberht had straight-forward
tastes when it came to all things, including food.

Freya blinked sleepily as she ladled a thin broth into earthen
bowls and placed them on a wooden tray. Once she had filled the bowls, she
carried the tray to the long table where Sigeberht was breaking his fast with
his mother and step-cousins. Aidan was seated to Sigeberht’s right; Freya made
a point of looking through him when he tried to catch her gaze.

“Thank you Freya,” Aidan said when she passed him a bowl of
broth. The others all looked up from their meals and Freya silently cursed him.
It was unseemly to address a
theow
by name. Doing so, made it appear as
if she and Aidan were intimate.

Annan grinned at Aidan, broke off a piece of griddle bread and
dipped it in his broth.

“I wish the serving wenches in our hall at Snape were as
comely as this one.” He winked at Aidan.

Her face burning, Freya hastily moved down the table.

Fortunately, Sigeberht ignored the younger men’s comments and
continued the conversation that Freya’s arrival had interrupted.

“I am sorry to hear of your father,” Sigeberht addressed
Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold. “Eni was always good to me as a boy.”

Annan smiled, sadness briefly lighting in his blue eyes.

“There will never be another man like my father,” he said quietly;
his brothers nodded their agreement.