Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (8 page)

Eight

Elston, Mercia: early October 865

Eadwulf’s face left little doubt of his reaction to his wife’s news. Barely able to conceal his delight he hugged her to him and swung her round with a great whoop of joy, causing spirals of smoke from the firepit to billow into the room. Servants stood agog, their work on hold as they shared the good-humoured laughter.

Leoflaed extricated herself from her husband’s grip and returned her feet to the solidity of the rush-strewn floor of the hall, smoothing down her over-gown of deep blue.

‘The babe should be born in late April or early May if my calculations are correct,’ she said, fanning away clouds of woodsmoke. ‘Spring’s a good time for a birthing, with the summer months ahead for the newborn to grow strong.’

Eadwulf nodded, glancing over her head to where Aethelred sat with Odella, giggling at their antics. ‘So, in a couple of years’ time our son will have a little playmate,’ he said, waving to them. His elated grin suddenly crumpled as another thought crossed his mind. ‘We’ll need to ensure that Aethelred is given no grounds for jealousy. A young child can easily feel excluded from his parents’ affections and–’

‘Hark at you, husband!’ Leoflaed stood back, unable to disguise her amusement. ‘When did you become so knowledgeable about such things?’

‘Jorund told me all about sibling rivalry. He thought his mother no longer loved him once Yrsa was born, that she’d lost all interest in being with him.’

‘That’s understandable,’ Leoflaed replied, gently stroking Eadwulf’s face. ‘Babies take so much time and – forgive me for pointing this out, husband – Morwenna would not have been permitted to spend her days giving attention to her young ones. She would have tasks to do, babes or no.’

Eadwulf accepted the truth of that. ‘Then Aethelred must be given plenty of attention from both of us and . . .’ Catching her expression, he raised his hands in surrender. ‘Then I’ll leave that side of things to you and your women. Remember though, if you require any advice on the matter, just ask me.’

Leoflaed’s thump on his shoulder put an end to that idea.

In the early afternoon Eadwulf spent some time in the stables, helping Wigstan’s groom with a difficult foaling. The unborn foal seemed reluctant to emerge and the mare grew increasingly weaker. The groom feared for the lives of both, but at last his careful manipulations enabled the foal to be birthed. However, the gangly creature barely moved and died within moments, and the mare herself was, by now, in desperate need of careful tending in order to survive her ordeal.

His good mood of earlier considerably dampened, Eadwulf brooded on Leoflaed’s developing pregnancy. Many women died in childbirth; infants could be stillborn or, like the sad little foal, not survive for long. The thought of losing Leoflaed was too painful to contemplate and he wandered back to the hall in the hope that Aethelred’s playful laughter would lift him from this bleak mood. But it seemed that peace was not to be had. No sooner had he settled next to his wife and Aethelred clambered onto his lap, than Wigstan appeared in the doorway, his brother on his heels.

‘Selwyn’s had reports of strangers approaching,’ the ealdorman panted as Selwyn heaved the door closed.

Eadwulf tried to assess the relevance of that. ‘But why is that of particular concern? Travellers do occasionally pass through Elston.’

‘Some of our men spotted a group of five or six crossing the meadows from the river,’ Selwyn elaborated, moving into the room. ‘But they hadn’t come on horseback, or in wagons along the Fosse Way like the usual travellers. They’d sailed up the Trent – from God knows where – in some kind of foreign-looking ship, and moored along the banks yonder. After crossing the Fosse they headed this way. The rest of their crew must have stayed with their ship.’

The two men joined Eadwulf and Leoflaed, just far enough from the firepit to avoid hampering the servants placing meats to roast. Wigstan patted his balding pate, his face puckered in thought. ‘Perhaps they’re hoping to trade around here – though why they haven’t continued up to Nottingham to do that beats me.’ He fixed Selwyn with a questioning look. ‘No carts or suchlike with them, or big sacks on their backs?’ His brother shook his head. ‘Did they appear to be armed?’

‘Wigstan, our men were too distant to see that,’ Selwyn replied with a tolerant smile. ‘In any case, five or six lone men couldn’t expect to do a great deal of raiding.’

‘Point taken,’ Wigstan said, grinning, ‘but I’ve lived long enough to be wary of all strangers. A mere few can herald the arrival of countless others.’

Eadwulf’s first thought was that Olaf had come with news of – of what, exactly? Surely Olaf would not return simply to verify that news of Ragnar’s death had been duly delivered? ‘Could your men tell where the ship hailed from, Selwyn?’ he asked.

‘They didn’t say they did, so I imagine the answer to that is no.’

‘Then I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see if they come here,’ Wigstan said with a shrug. ‘I’ll post a few guards about the place, just in case.'

*****

Eadwulf felt content. He’d spent some time teaching Aethelred to play knucklebones – at least, in a manner suited to a three-year-old – and was anticipating enjoying the meal soon to be served. But keen to check on the mare, he handed his son back to Leoflaed and headed out into twilight’s gathering shadows.

The air held a definite chill now that the sun had descended to its other world, and he quickened his pace, greeting a couple of Wigstan’s men still on alert for intruders. He strode on, mentally preparing himself for bad news from the groom. But the news was heartening: the mare was recovering well. Relieved, he headed back to the hall.

‘Psst.’

Uncertain as to whether he’d actually heard anything, Eadwulf gave no more than a cursory glance about and carried on.

‘Psst.’

This time he spun round, knowing his imagination was not playing tricks. ‘Whoever you are, show yourself,’ he hissed, cursing the fact that he was unarmed. ‘Olaf, is that you?’

‘Good guess. Ulf. But it’s not Olaf.’

Eadwulf flinched. No one but Olaf had called him Ulf in years. ‘Show yourself so I can see that for myself,’ he replied, edging toward the storage huts where he’d located the voice.

‘Get rid of the guard dogs over there and you’ll do just that.’

The guards were happy to entrust the last of their watch to Eadwulf, and once they’d disappeared into the hall he moved cautiously toward the hut. But before he reached it a figure stepped out. Eadwulf gawked inanely at the red hair hanging loose to the man’s shoulders, and the grinning face – just as he remembered it.

‘Not pleased to see me, then?’ Bjorn’s grin widened as he held out his upturned hands. ‘Pity, we’ve come a long way to see you . . .’

‘At this time of year too,’ Hastein added, stepping out to join his cousin, his clean-shaven face creased with mirth. Like Bjorn’s, his hair was unbraided, though his gingery mane was held by a patterned band around his forehead. ‘We braved October seas to make this visit, and must do so again to get home. Haven’t we at least earned a tiny smile for our efforts?’

‘I can’t believe what I’m seeing . . .’ Eadwulf’s half-choked voice caused further chuckles.

‘Then let’s greet each other properly,’ Bjorn said, moving to clasp him in a firm embrace before pushing him back to arm’s length. ‘You’ve no idea how much we’ve missed you, Ulf. We’ve so much to speak of, yet so little time to do so. But I rue the day I let you go.’

‘We felt we’d truly lost one of our own,’ Hastein agreed, shoving Bjorn out of the way to take his turn at a hugged greeting.

‘Barely a day goes by that I don’t think of you all,’ Eadwulf managed at last. ‘I thought of you constantly during the year you sailed to the Middle Seas. I ached to know of your exploits, couldn’t bear not knowing whether you’d all come back alive.’ He glanced towards the hut. ‘Leif? Leif isn’t . . .’

‘. . . isn’t dead, you mean? Do I look very dead?’ the old helmsman asked, grinning as he emerged from behind the hut. ‘It’d take more than a few Moors to get rid of me.’

Eadwulf grasped the older man by the shoulders and embraced him warmly, choking on the lump in his throat. ‘I should have known Bjorn wouldn’t go far without you! You haven’t changed a bit – still got the halo of grey hair around your bald patch.’

‘Oh, my hair’s deserting me bit by bit.’ Leif grinned back. ‘I’ll give it another couple of years before I’ve a head like a babe’s backside.’ He looked Eadwulf up and down. ‘Aye, you look well, lad. But I preferred you with a beard. Don’t I recall you saying that
all
men should have a beard?’

‘You do, Leif,’ Eadwulf replied, smirking at Hastein. ‘But I’ve come to realise that a man’s attire and grooming are his own affair – and not to be influenced by the preferences of others.’ He looked purposely towards the storage hut. ‘So, there are two or three others with you?’

‘Ah, it seems we were spotted.’ Bjorn thrust out his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. ‘I do hope your father-by-marriage is a friendly type, Ulf. We’re here as friends, after all, and I should very much like to meet this lovely wife of yours. Olaf tells us you have a son, too.’

‘Let’s relieve the poor man’s suspense first,’ Hastein said, signalling to whoever was behind the hut.

The sight of the commanding figure that strode out to meet him was enough to make Eadwulf gasp. ‘You look taller than ever, Aethelnoth,’ he quipped as the two friends hugged each other, laughing out loud.

‘And you’re dressed like the lord you were born to be. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way. I couldn’t be happier for you. Leoflaed, isn’t it?’ The big man beamed as Eadwulf nodded. ‘Olaf told us all about your new life here.’

‘I’d guessed that was how you knew where to find me. It was good to see Olaf again; he’s a rare old man.’ Eadwulf focused on Bjorn and heaved a sigh. ‘You’ll know of your father’s death, then?’

‘We know, Ulf, and we’ll speak of that later. Right now, I think you’re keen to know who else is with us.’ The inflection in Bjorn’s voice turned the statement into a question, and Eadwulf nodded as Hastein again gestured towards the hut.

The figure that materialised was that of a tall and leggy youth; a boy not quite yet into manhood. Eadwulf stared at the long fair hair, the set of the square jaw and the almond-shaped eyes. His stomach lurched. ‘Jorund, is that you?’ The youth’s face lit up and he threw himself at Eadwulf. ‘I can scarce believe how much you’ve grown – you’re almost as tall as me. You’ve been a child in my thoughts these past years.’

‘Then it’s a good thing I’ve come to disillusion you of that. I’ll be fourteen soon.’

Jorund’s boyish features exuded mischief and Eadwulf wondered how much of Hastein’s irrepressible good humour had rubbed off on him.

‘I’m heartily glad you have come. After all these years of hoping that you and Yrsa are well and happy . . .’ He let that thought hang, not wishing to sound ungrateful for the care Hastein had given to his young siblings. ‘And how is our little sister? Yrsa must be, what, eight or nine now?’

‘She’ll be nine at the Yule, and a bit of a vixen if you ask me. Always wants her own way; stamps her foot and throws her arms about if she doesn’t get it.’

The listening men guffawed and Eadwulf couldn’t help doing likewise. ‘Then I hope you don’t always let her have it. We men have to stand up for ourselves.’

‘I
do
stand up for myself!’ Jorund retorted. ‘But Freydis never sees Yrsa’s tantrums and thinks I bully her when I shout back. Even my lord Hastein has never witnessed one of her really
big
outbursts.’

Thrown by the mention of Freydis’s name, Eadwulf was momentarily silent.

‘Just seeing you all again will keep my memories alive for many years to come,’ he said, collecting himself, ‘though the wrench of your leaving again will be hard.’

‘Then we must make the most of the time we have,’ Bjorn said quickly. ‘Besides giving you the pleasure of our company, we’ve certain issues to discuss with you, and I wasn’t jesting when I said we’d be delighted to meet your family. Do you think your father-by-marriage would perhaps permit us to enter his hall?’

‘Would he also allow us to share your meal?’ Jorund added, with a hand on his belly.

‘I’m sure Ealdorman Wigstan would welcome you,’ Eadwulf said, wishing he’d made the suggestion himself. ‘But perhaps I should inform him of your arrival first. It could be a bit of a shock if you all just walked in.’

*****

Aethelred hid behind his mother whenever any of the strangers looked his way, and knowing he would eat little in their company, Leoflaed bundled him off to his room with Odella, instructing a servant to follow with their meals. Thankfully, she could now consider the visitors without constant interruption as she supervised the serving.

She was still stunned by the similarity between her husband and the man called Bjorn. The jarl not only looked so much like Eadwulf, many of his mannerisms were the same: the way he grinned and shrugged his shoulders, listened attentively to what people said, and nodded at their words. Perhaps Eadwulf had simply grown to maturity with Bjorn as his hero, and unwittingly emulated his ways. And endowed with the same colouring and build, she supposed the semblance was not so strange. Observing the fair-headed, clean-shaven Hastein, she realised that his jovial, relaxed manner was also similar – but since he was Bjorn’s cousin that made a kind of sense.

Watching them all together Leoflaed felt a pang of unexpected jealousy. These were the people her husband had so missed since his return to Mercia. Bjorn’s thrall he may have been, but friend and ally was what she perceived. And the old seaman, Leif, treated Eadwulf with a fondness that was obviously reciprocated.

After checking that the meats were ready, she scrutinised Aethelnoth and Jorund.

Eadwulf had often spoken of his childhood friend and how they’d found each other again after so many years, and the strong bond between them could not be missed. Aethelnoth was a huge man, bigger than any of the others, including Eadwulf. He had shoulders like an ox and thick, flaxen hair and beard, and although he was the son of a royal reeve, little of his origin was apparent.