The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (8 page)

Woden
, she had
stirred him.

Even now, he was not sure what had come over him. Yet, as
exciting as the sensation had been, it did not please Annan. If his bride had
been another, he would welcome such a rush of desire. Yet, this woman was the
sister of a man he deeply despised. Penda sought to crush both Annan and his
people – and was using this marriage to do so.

I will not bed her,
Annan resolved, staring
down at the remains of his barely touched meal before him.
I will not have
Penda make an even bigger fool of me than he has already.

Chapter
Seven

In the
Darkness

“Are you ready?”

“Almost, just give me a moment.”

Saewara rolled up the last of her long woolen over-dresses and
stuffed it into the sheepskin bag that stood on the rushes at her feet. She
owned little, so packing for the trip to Rendlaesham had taken moments. Next to
her stood Cyneswide, who had done her best to help Saewara make preparations
for her departure from Tamworth.

Around them, the Great Tower of Tamworth was alive with the
morning’s activity. Women were baking griddle bread at the far end of the hall,
while a group of ealdormen’s wives sat gossiping at looms nearby. Children
played with dogs in the center of the hall while a group of slaves stood
gutting rabbits at one of the long tables.

Annan of the East Angles was nowhere in sight. Saewara guessed
that he was already outside, impatient to depart for home.

“Do you have everything?” Cyneswide asked, still fussing over
her sister-in-law. Despite that her face was serene, Saewara noted the anxiety
in her sister-in-law’s voice. The two women were friends, and even though
Saewara was relieved to be leaving her brother’s malevolent presence, she knew
she would miss Cyneswide.

“I think so,” Saewara replied, pulling the drawstring at the
top of the bag closed. “Although I’m sure even if I’ve forgotten something it
won’t matter. I shall be a queen too soon, remember?”

Her bitterness was palpable and Saewara saw Cyneswide wince.

“It will not be so terrible,” she replied in a low voice,
aware that Penda was now waiting near the doors, ready to escort his sister out
to her betrothed. “Annan does not seem unkind – and he is handsome…”
Cyneswide’s voice trailed off when she saw Saewara’s look of disdain. The
Queen’s eyes filled with tears and she stepped forward, clasping Saewara to her
in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Saewara,” she whispered in her ear. “Words will
not put this right. Yet, I wish you well. I wish that happiness will find you.”

Saewara nodded, softening toward her sister-in-law. This was
not Cyneswide’s fault. It was unfair to take out her bitterness on the one
woman here who had befriended her.

“Saewara!” Penda’s voice echoed across the hall, quietening
the rumble of voices. “I am waiting – come!”

Saewara picked up her bag and made her way across the crowded
floor to where Penda stood before the oaken doors.

“My wife has kindly gifted you one of her slaves.” He motioned
to a brown-haired girl dressed in a shapeless, homespun tunic and a woolen
traveling cloak, who stood next to him. “She will serve you on the journey to
your new home, and at Rendlaesham. Give her your bag.”

The girl took the bag and met Saewara’s gaze blankly. Saewara
recognized her; the girl’s name was Oswyn and she had been taken as a slave
three winters earlier after Penda razed her village on the Welsh border and
slew all her kin. The girl had been a ghostly presence within Penda’s hall; a
slave who bore her master a quiet, simmering hate. She masked it with a blank
stare but Saewara could see the loathing in her eyes.

Saewara stared back at Oswyn for a few moments, reflecting on
the fact that there were those far worse off than her, before turning her
attention back to her brother.

“Very well,” she said coldly, meeting his hard stare. “Let us
be on our way.”

Saewara stepped out into a mild morning, although the air was
heavy and the sky a little cloudy. The East Angles awaited her; a grim mob on
horseback in the yard before the Great Tower. Amongst them rode one of Penda’s
warriors, a surly young man who would bring word of the couple’s handfasting
back to Tamworth.

Annan sat at the head of the group, his expression shielded by
the intimidating iron helmet he wore. Sitting there, towering over her as she
made her way over to the shaggy bay pony that awaited her, he appeared incredibly
intimidating.

Wordlessly, Saewara mounted the pony, while Oswyn clambered up
on the back of the wagon that carried supplies.

“Goodbye, Annan of the East Angles.” Penda stepped forward and
looked up at Annan’s iron-shielded face. “And remember. You are bound to me
now. You will do as I tell you.”

Annan sat motionless and did not respond to the Mercian King.
Yet, Saewara could see the tension in his shoulders. She could feel the rage
emanating from him. Penda treated him like his dog. The smirks on the Mercian
warriors’ faces, as they looked on from behind their king, only added to the
humiliation. The faces of the others in the East Angle party were thunderous.

You go too far brother,
Saewara
thought with a shiver.
One day you will bring hate down upon our people.

Annan turned from Penda then and urged his stallion into a
brisk trot. He sat deep in the saddle, the iron rings on his vest jingling as
he led the way out of the yard and into the streets below.

Saewara did not farewell her brother. Instead, she turned her
own mount and followed Annan, urging her pony into a jolting canter in order to
keep up with him. They navigated the streets of Tamworth, ignoring the hostile
looks and jeers of the townsfolk. Saewara closed her eyes as she felt something
wet splatter against her skirts. Folk could be so cruel, she reflected. The
people of Tamworth cared not that she was marrying to forge a political
alliance – to them she was simply marrying the ‘enemy’. To them, she was
betraying her people.

I’d better get used to this,
she told
herself grimly,
for I will be treated far worse in Rendlaesham.

They travelled east across green, rolling hills and through
the dark woodlands of Mercia. The East Angles set a fast pace, eager to return
to their own realm. They spoke little amongst themselves as they rode, and,
judging from their scowling faces, were not in the mood for celebration or
joviality. Penda’s emissary rode at the back, ignored by all. Annan rode at the
head of the column, his back ramrod straight.

He spoke to no one all morning.

Saewara soon tired of attempting to keep up with her
betrothed. Her pony would be exhausted by the day’s end if she tried to match
the pace of Annan’s stallion. Instead, she dropped back so that she rode
alongside the wagon. However, Oswyn’s surly face and cold gaze did not make for
pleasant company.

They spent the rest of the day riding through bucolic
landscape; wooded valleys and meadows strewn with spring flowers. It was lovely
countryside but the East Angles did not appear to appreciate its beauty. They
would not relax until they were no longer riding on Mercian soil.

That evening, they camped in the middle of a wide meadow, not
far from a gently babbling brook. It was a mild night, but the men lit fires
nonetheless. Annan and his warriors sat around the fire, deep in conversation.
Their voices were hushed, as if they were taking care not to be overheard.
Realizing she was not welcome at the fire side, Saewara retired to her tent,
which she shared with Oswyn. The tent was made of tanned goat-hide and had a
slit in the roof to allow the smoke out. Inside, the slave girl resolutely
ignored her mistress, except to do her bidding when ordered. She was little
company and Saewara wished she could have the tent to herself. Oswyn’s surly
face did little to lift her spirits.

The fresh air and a day in the saddle had exhausted Saewara.
She sat, watching the glowing embers of the small fire pit in the center of her
tent as she finished a light supper of bread and cheese; feeling her eyelids
grow heavier by the moment. She had not thought that she would sleep well that
night, but she was wrong. Saewara fell asleep next to the fire and did not
awake until first light, when the noises of the men packing up camp roused her.

They continued east with the dawn. Unlike the day before, the
sun did not show its face. The morning passed swiftly, and as they rode east,
the weather gradually worsened. By the time they stopped at noon, the sky was
completely overcast and the air had turned chill. Saewara took a bite of bread
and cheese and glanced up at the sky. It looked to her as if their journey was
about to turn damp.

The men ignored her while they ate a brief meal and took swigs
of water from their water bladders. They discussed the journey ahead in low
voices, although Saewara heard them mention that they would not likely cross
the border into the Kingdom of the East Angles until the following morning.
They would remain on Mercian soil for a while longer, it seemed. Saewara could
see that this chafed them; every moment they remained in Penda’s kingdom was a
reminder of their subjugation. None of them looked her way, preferring to
pretend she did not exist. Strangely, Saewara found the anonymity a relief. She
had been the center of attention over the last few days, and had hated every
moment.

It was starting to spit with rain when they resumed their
journey. Shortly after, they left the hills behind and entered thick woodland.
Saewara had heard of these woods and knew that they stretched for leagues in
every direction. Once they emerged from them, the East Angles would be in their
own kingdom once more.

Despite the worsening weather, the mood of Saewara’s
companions gradually improved as the day wore on. She hung back with the wagon,
while ahead the rumble of men’s voices drifted through the trees. Around them,
the rain fell gently in a fine veil; coating the woodland without stirring so
much as a leaf or a blade of grass. A narrow road, barely more than a faint
track in places, led through the woods. Saewara noticed that the warriors kept
a close eye on their surroundings as they rode. Woodland was a favorite spot
for outlaws to pounce on unwary travelers. A king and his entourage, heavily
armed and prepared, were an unlikely target but, despite this, the warriors
were alert and watchful.

At dusk, they made camp in a small clearing not far from the
road. A misty rain continued to fall as the warriors erected three tents; one
for Annan, one for his betrothed, and one for Saba and a few of the other
warriors who were not taking their turn to watch over the camp.

They lit a fire pit in Saewara’s tent and carried in furs for
her to sleep on, while Oswyn busied herself with making a pot of soup over the
fire. Outside, Saewara could hear the men conversing in low voices as they
cooked their evening meal over a large fire pit. Once again, she had the
feeling they were deliberately keeping their voices quiet. 

Saewara cared not for their conversation; instead, she was
glad to be able to spend the evening in private. She hung up her and Oswyn’s
sodden cloaks to dry near the fire. She then sat down on the furs and watched
the slave girl add a sprig of thyme to the onion soup she was preparing. Observing
the girl’s taut face and dead eyes, Saewara felt a pang of sadness. The iron
slave collar about her neck was a constant reminder of her status, of her
servitude.

Is there a woman alive who is not a slave?
Saewara
wondered sadly.
If we’re not bound to our fathers, brothers or husbands, we
are shackled to our masters. A woman has no will of her own.

Saewara did not share her thoughts with Oswyn. The girl had
made it clear that she had no interest in conversing with her mistress. She was
polite and respectful when spoken to, but her eyes told another story.

***

Outside, just yards from the East Angles’ camp, five hostile
gazes watched the travelers make camp for the night. Hidden in the undergrowth,
and lying as still as possible, the five men breathed slowly and bided their
time.

The one who led this group, shifted his weight slightly to
ease a cramp in his leg. He did not see why Coenwal could not have joined them.

After all, it was he who wanted the woman.

The others could not have cared less about her. Instead,
Coenwal was sitting in front of a warm fire, waiting for them to deliver his
prize, while the rest of them suffered on his behalf.

The outlaw’s gaze rested on the tent nearest their hiding
place. He had seen Saewara and her slave girl enter it a short while earlier.
His gaze shifted then, to the two other tents nearby. It was a cramped clearing
and when they moved from their hiding place, they would need to work quickly
and quietly.

It was a long, cold miserable wait, but in many ways the
perfect weather for an abduction. Only those watching the camp would bother to
linger outside once the night drew out. It was then that they would make their
move.

The outlaw’s chilled fingers flexed around the bone hilt of
the knife he clasped. Although he and his companions had hidden themselves
well, he was cautious. He blinked rain out of his eyes and continued his vigil
on the camp before him, watching as a tall, blond man of regal bearing strode toward
one of the tents, after helping the others see to the horses.

King Annan of the East Angles.

After tonight, he would have to find himself another bride.

The soup was good and Saewara sat with her fingers clasped
around her clay bowl, enjoying the warmth. For the first time in a long while,
she felt a sense of well-being seep over her. She knew it would not last, this
precious solitude. This was what she had been seeking at Bonehill – a quiet
refuge to spend the rest of her days in. Yet, the chaos of a king’s hall would
not have this peace.