Ethelwin leaned forward and pushed one of the bowls towards a group of cups.
“How long until Penda reaches Bebbanburg, do you think?” he asked.
Attor peered at the items on the table, evidently imagining the movement of horses and men across the landscape of Bernicia, rather than cups and plates over the linen-covered board.
“I think he could be here as soon as tomorrow,” he answered at last.
“So soon?” asked Fordraed, his voice rising in consternation and fear.
Attor nodded.
“With the numbers of men Beobrand has with him, I cannot imagine he will be able to hold the Mercians up for long.”
All the men looked perplexed. Ethelwin sighed and, turning to one of his warriors, he began asking about how best to deploy the men they had on the walls. They were starting to discuss how to divide them into separate bands of men, so that some could rest while others would be on the walls to defend the fortress, when Eanflæd interrupted them.
“Apologies, noble lords,” she said.
They all turned to look at her. Her mouth grew dry under their gaze.
“Have you tired of acting as the servant of the peasants?” asked Fordraed, his tone contemptuous.
How would her mother have dealt with this repulsive man? Eanflæd glowered at Fordraed for a moment, raising her chin so that she peered down her nose at him.
“On the contrary,” she said, “I believe I can yet serve. But perhaps you were right and the best way for me to do that is not to carry loaves and ale.”
Fordraed let out a guffaw and was about to reply, but Ethelwin cut him off.
“My lady,” he said, “however you can help would be welcome, but as you can see, we are busy preparing the defences.”
“Indeed, lord Ethelwin,” she replied, “and I do not wish to keep you from this most important of tasks.” She hesitated, unsure how to proceed.
Ethelwin raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“What did you wish to say to us?” he enquired gently.
Eanflæd drew in a deep breath.
“I came to ask about the supplies of salt.”
“Salt?” asked Fordraed. “Lady, we have more important things to discuss than the next meal.”
Eanflæd rounded on him.
“Do you truly, Fordraed?” Her tone was calm, but her heart raced, the blood rushing in her ears. She let her gaze take in his quivering jowls and the soft paunch that swelled like proving dough over his belt. “You of all people look like you might be worried lest we should run out of provender.”
Ethelwin smiled and Fordraed glowered.
“What are you proposing?” Ethelwin asked.
“I believe that Brytnere is overwhelmed. With so many people flooding into Bebbanburg, I think he would welcome help from one who can tally and plan.”
“One such as yourself, my lady?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I know how to sum and subtract and I was trained in logic and rhetoric by the greatest minds in Cantwareburh. I should help him. But I thought I should seek the approval of my husband’s warmaster and the lord he set to govern Bebbanburg first.”
“And the salt?” asked Ethelwin.
“If we are besieged here for many days, food will become our biggest problem. We must slaughter the animals that have been brought onto the rock. We’ll need salt to preserve the meat.”
Ethelwin was nodding, but Fordraed still glared at her.
“When I have seen the stores and we have set about preparing the meat, I will draw up plans for rationing the food. We have plenty of water from Waltheof’s Well, but we will need to keep the food in one of the storehouses and I’ll need some men to help with the animal slaughter and to guard the stores.”
“You think people would steal food?”
She thought of Ecgfrith, the colour in his cheeks, the sound of his laughter. And then, the memory of the hacking cough that had racked his tiny body for so long.
“The men and women here may well be brave and able to resist temptation should it come to it,” she said. “But hunger is a strong goad and crying children might well push parents to do something rash. I pray to God that you brave men of Bernicia can defeat Penda quickly, but if we cannot, we must plan for a siege.”
Ethelwin stared into her eyes for a time. She met his gaze, unflinching.
“Very well, my queen,” Ethelwin said at last. “It is clear that you have thought much on this and I am sure that Brytnere would welcome the offer of help from one with such a sharp mind.”
Eanflæd let out her breath, feeling a great sense of gratitude for the old warmaster’s belief in her abilities. She started to move towards the hall doors, her shoulders set, her back straight. She had walked a few paces when she halted. She turned back to the men.
“Lord Fordraed,” she said, her voice as soft and sweet as honey. “Do I have your blessing to continue to serve the people by helping Brytnere to organise the food?”
He loured at her. From the board before him, he picked up a cup and filled it with ale. Colour flushed his plump cheeks and Eanflæd was certain that he longed to throw the cup at her, such was his fury. She kept her expression open and expectant, a slight smile on her lips as she awaited his response. Fordraed glanced at Ethelwin, but the warmaster merely shrugged and said, “Well, man? We have matters to attend.”
Fordraed opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it. Draining the cup of ale, he offered her a perfunctory nod, before turning his attention back to the movements of warriors and plans for the defence.
That would have to do, she supposed, as she strode away down the hall towards the bright sunshine and chaos awaiting her outside. What had made her taunt the man that way? But as she walked out into the light, she knew. She was Edwin and Ethelburga’s daughter. Royal blood flowed in her veins and she would not suffer fools and bullies such as Fordraed. Her husband might have placed him in command of the fortress, but the fat toad would never command her.
She made her way across the yard. Several of the ceorls stopped what they were doing to watch her pass. Fordraed was of no consequence. It would be strong men, the likes of Ethelwin and Beobrand, who would defeat Penda. Spotting Eanflæd, Seaxburg waved. Eanflæd smiled back. These were good people. Her people. And she would do all she could to help them.
She found Brytnere in the main storeroom. Several thralls were assisting him in stacking provisions. He was a severe-looking man, with short-cropped grey hair and sharp features. A burly man swung a sack of grain onto his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a bag of autumn leaves.
“Over there,” Brytnere barked, pointing into a corner where several more sacks were piled high.
The thrall, evidently knowing that it did not do to keep the steward waiting, turned quickly to do his bidding. He almost collided with Eanflæd, who had entered the storeroom silently. He grunted and had to sidestep quickly to avoid knocking the queen to the ground. The man staggered for a moment and she thought he might fall, but he righted himself and flung the sack down where he had been told.
“Sorry, my lady,” he mumbled, red-faced and bowing low. He was clearly terrified of what might happen to him. Slaves had been flayed for less than making a queen gasp in fright.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Caillen,” said Brytnere, taking in the scene instantly. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing. “The queen should know better than to enter here unannounced. Now, my lady, what can I do for you? As you can see, I am very busy.” His tone was brusque and Eanflæd felt the anger at being dismissed so readily begin to rekindle.
“I know you are busy, Brytnere,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm. “That is why I am here.”
“Explain,” he snapped, and then, as if realising suddenly that she was not one of his thralls, he added with a rueful smile, “my lady.”
Despite his gruff tone and his rapid dismissal of her, she found herself warming to the man. She had spent little time with him before, but she
realised he was direct and energetic. He certainly appeared to be a man not to be trifled with.
She repeated what she had told Ethelwin and Fordraed. As she spoke, Brytnere’s face broke into a broad grin. As his smile widened, she felt her anger swelling so that by the time she had finished speaking she was ready to scream at his insolence. Here was another like Fordraed, a man who thought that no woman was capable of doing more than cleaning, cooking or carrying his children. Even the queen, it seemed, was incapable in their minds of being more than a peace-weaver between kingdoms, a brood mare to bear the heirs of the king.
For a moment, she stood there, seething as he smirked.
“Well?” she asked at last, her tone clipped.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” he replied.
She was confused. What did he mean?
“Say so?” she asked, feeling foolish.
“That you were here to help me,” he said, his smile broadening even further, something she would have thought impossible. “You are right, of course. There is too much for me alone to do, what with so many people behind the walls. And you are clearly as sharp of mind as you are beautiful, my lady.”
She blushed at the sudden compliment.
“Well, it seems you have already thought about preparing the meat. How about you take Aibne and Caillen here and start organising the killing?”
The rest of the day was a blur of work. Despite the complaints from the owners of the animals, they began the slaughter of the larger beasts. She found barrels of salt and ordered the precious commodity to be rubbed into some choice cuts of the meat before being hung from the beams in the halls. Thinner strips of meat were also prepared to be dangled over the smoky hearth fire. This would dry into a leathery consistency that would last forever, or close enough. Yet more of the salt was mixed with water. Into this brine, fresh meat was submerged.
It was after dark when Godgyth came to her and ordered her to rest. Before going to her bed, she kissed sleeping Ecgfrith’s brow. Godgyth told her he had barely coughed the whole day and he had eaten well. A peaceful warmth enveloped Eanflæd as she lay in her bed. War was coming and the future was uncertain, but she had purpose, her son was well and her body and mind were so tired that sleep rushed over her like the tide flooding the sand between Bebbanburg and Lindisfarena.
The next day she awoke early. She ate a few mouthfuls of porridge and was pleased to see Ecgfrith emptying the bowl Godgyth fetched for him. The boy was smiling and bright-eyed and Eanflæd was sure that she could already see him putting on weight.
With a new sense of focus, she once again set about directing the slaughter and preserving of the meat ready for the possible lengthy siege that might follow. She also spoke at length with Brytnere and together they began to come up with the plan for rationing the food. There were many things to consider, but her mind was quick and she revelled in sharing her thoughts with Brytnere who in turn seemed overjoyed to have found someone to not only confide in, but to share the load of catering for a fortress full of people.
It was another long, dry day and still more refugees arrived from the lands to the west. The sun was low in the sky, setting ablaze the few clouds that floated over the western horizon. Eanflæd wiped the sweat from her forehead as she watched the last of the salting. There had been fewer complaints today. She had addressed the people that morning, and they had resigned themselves to sharing what they had for the common good. But it was still exhausting work for those doing the killing, salting and storing of the meat. Eanflæd, too, was weary. There were so many things to think about that she started to grow dizzy in the afternoon sun and Seaxburg led her into the shade of one of the shelters and made her sit a while, sipping water and eating a small piece of bread.
She soon regained her strength, but knew she must rest before long. There was nothing to be gained if she grew ill from lack of respite or food. She would oversee this last animal’s preparation and then she would return to her chamber. There was still much to do, and tomorrow would be another busy day, she was certain.
A shout came from the western palisade and everyone turned to look up at the guards there, shadowed against the red sky.
“Riders approaching!” came the cry.
The gathered throng quietened as the men and women listened intently. Was this the beginning of the anticipated siege? Was Penda’s host even now marching towards the gates of Bebbanburg?
Eanflæd remembered climbing the palisade just a few days before, the excitement hammering in her chest at the sight of Beobrand. For a moment, she thought of running to the wall again. Nobody would deny her and she longed to know who came. But it would not do. She was their queen and they looked to her for strength. They were not best served to see a giddy girl desperate for a glimpse of one of the thegns. One of her husband’s oath-sworn men. Besides, she told herself, there was no place for Beobrand in her mind or her heart.
She fixed her gaze on the men before her. Sweat drenched their limbs, and their kirtles and breeches were dark with blood. They knew what they were about now. This was the last of many animals slain and prepared that day, but she watched them intently.
For what seemed a long while, no more word came from the wall. The crowds were subdued, listening for the next piece of news. After what seemed an age to Eanflæd, one of the wardens shouted out again, loud enough for all to hear.
“They are Black Shields.”
A murmur went through the crowd. These were the fabled warriors of Beobrand of Ubbanford. Their prowess was legendary and to hear that they would be at the defence of Bebbanburg brought a ripple of relief to the people.
Eanflæd did not take her eyes from the grisly task before her. Caillen had hacked through the final haunch of the skinned ox, and was placing the fresh meat into a barrel, into which Aibne then poured brine. All the while, Eanflæd stared at the activity. Her back was to the main gates and she refused to turn around. Gone was the weakness of the flesh that had so befuddled her. She was the Queen of Bernicia and she had important tasks to carry out to prepare the fortress to withstand a siege. The defence of the wall and Beobrand’s Black Shields were not her concern. She straightened and resolutely watched Caillen working.
She did not move at the rasping squeal of the great gates being hauled open. And she did not turn at the clattering of hooves and jingle of harness and battle gear as the riders entered into Bebbanburg.
But she let out a long pent-up breath when she heard his voice.
There was no mistaking Beobrand’s tone, still bearing the unusual inflections of a Cantware native. He called for someone to see to the wounded.
Her heart jittered and her blood roared in her ears. She stood watching the thralls lifting the brined meat into its barrel and did not turn to see Beobrand’s return. She was stronger than that. But it seemed she could not contain her relief, for, though she made not a sound, at hearing Beobrand’s voice, unbidden, hot tears rolled down her cheeks.
Chapter 16
“They’ll be upon us soon,” Beobrand said with a sigh.
He leaned on the timber palisade and stared out to the western horizon. Smoke hazed the distance. He stretched, rubbing at the small of his back. It ached from riding. Further along the wall, Beobrand could make out several of his gesithas, all staring into the west. They knew what was coming and their faces were sombre.
Attor joined him on the ramparts. The slim fighter scanned the horizon to the south. He said nothing, but Beobrand knew he was looking for any sign of Cynan and the fyrd.
“How do Eadgard and Fraomar fare?” asked Beobrand. Both men had been wounded in their final skirmish with Penda’s outriders. Eadgard had taken a slashing cut to his leg and Fraomar had received a terrible blow to the head. It had come from an overarm hacking swipe of a langseax, knocking Fraomar to the ground and denting his helm. Grindan had leapt to his aid, disembowelling the Mercian. Beobrand had pulled Fraomar to his feet and they had fought on. Eadgard’s injury had bled profusely, and after they had
slain half of the Mercians and chased the rest away, they had bound his thigh tightly before setting off for the final gallop back to Bebbanburg. They had harried Penda as much as they could, but there was nowhere left for them to hide and so they had run for the fortress. Beobrand cursed silently as he remembered that last frantic ride. He should have seen that Fraomar’s injury was bad. But he had not. The young warrior who had led Beobrand’s men in his absence had grown pallid and confused as they rode. Beobrand had only understood the gravity of Fraomar’s wound when the man had toppled from his mount.
Hurriedly, they had dismounted and rushed to his side. Fraomar was senseless, pale and drenched in sweat. Beobrand had gingerly removed his dented helm and found blood trickling from his left ear. There had been nothing they could do. Penda now knew where they were and would send fresh warriors after them, so Beobrand had ordered them to lash Fraomar to his saddle and they had galloped on. Beircheart had led Fraomar’s horse and Beobrand had winced every time the young man’s head flopped and lolled against the animal’s flanks.
Attor’s face was sombre now and he did not meet Beobrand’s gaze.
“Eadgard is as strong as an ox,” he said. “He’ll live.” He reached up and touched the Christ rood that hung at his throat. “Fraomar is close to death. He has not awoken and Coenred says he is in the Almighty’s hands now. I have prayed for him.”
Beobrand nodded, but said nothing. If he had stayed with the men, would Fraomar have been injured? He knew that no good came of thinking so. The past could not be changed. And yet he chewed over the events of the last few days like bitter gristle that he could not swallow.
When they had arrived at Bebbanburg, they had found it thronged with the people of Bernicia who had fled from the approaching Mercian force. It was overcrowded and noisome. Beobrand wondered how long they would be able to hold out against a determined siege. Ethelwin told him that Eanflæd was assisting Brytnere, organising the slaughter of animals, rationing food. Beobrand had seen her as he’d dismounted. He’d recognised her golden tresses and the slender curve of her neck. But she had her back to him and did not turn to face him. She had not come to the hall that night. It was good that she was helping with the preparations for what lay ahead. She was quick-witted and had as sharp a mind as anyone he had ever met. But no matter how cleverly the rationing of the food was handled, if the siege lasted more than a few days, they would soon need to slay their precious horses. That would feed them all for a few more days or weeks. Beobrand thought back to Din Eidyn and the slovenly camp that surrounded the rock and its imposing fortress. It was not an easy thing to besiege such a place, any more than it was a simple thing to be besieged.
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