by Katy Moran
The king raised a thin red eyebrow. “So Egric’s your lord? He was fostered up here with my uncle when we were boys.” He laughed. “He’s always been a cunning one – trust him to get thee for himself, an atheling from the house of Ad Gefrin.”
Essa remembered Cai smiling, saying, A sly move, Egric.
It was true, then. Elfgift was King Godsrule’s sister. Suddenly, he saw in his mind Hild meeting them at the gate of the village all those years ago, looking at him so curiously, saying, “Is it—?”
She had known, too. Everyone had known who his mother was, and that she was alive. Everyone but him. So why should he care what happened to the village? He could trust no one but himself.
Not even Lark. The thought made him breathless with anger and sorrow.
“My lord. Any day now, Penda will march on the Wolf Folk. He’s scores and scores of men at the border. He waits only for his son to arrive with Eiludd Powys’s daughter as a hostage, to stop the British coming from the west while he looks to the east.” Essa paused, half sure someone would guess who Wulf was, that they would be denounced. But no one did. No one was paying any attention to Wulf and Anwen – all were staring at him, even the king. “My lord, if Penda attacks the Wolf Folk, there will be war the rest of the year till none are left alive. Will you send a messenger to the border, ordering Penda off?”
Godsrule laughed, and Essa felt a chill of horror. They had come all this way so that the High King could laugh at them. He glanced at the others. Anwen’s face was set in anger, Wulf looked close to tears. Their eyes locked. Essa knew now that the rings on their fingers and their pact meant nothing. If there’s no way of stopping Penda, then we’ve no choice but to fight each other. Wulf was first to look away, and Essa thought perhaps he was relieved, he could go back to obeying his father’s every word, loyal to Mercia till the end.
“My lord,” Essa said. “Is there nothing you will do? Will you send a messenger to Penda? You could threaten to double his taxes!”
“Who are you to tell the High King his business?” said Godsway.
But Godsrule just laughed again. “Nay, lad. Let them fight. I’ll not bring Penda up here again, not till I’ve a host to crush him. He killed so many last time it’ll be years before I meet him on the battlefield again. Why should I move, when I have the biggest prize of all, here in my hall?”
The Fox looked angrily at his brother; Godsway shook his head.
“Well, then,” said Essa. “If it pleases your lordship, we will stay one night to rest our horses, and ride south. We must fight.” He glanced at Wulf again, who looked away. We must fight, and on opposite sides.
Godsrule’s smile faded. His face was hard and lean as if it had been carved from one of the grey fellside rocks. “It does not please me that you should go, Aesc, son of Cai. Tha’s Edwin’s kin, my nephew, and you’ll stay here, along of me. Tha’s bound to Egric the Atheling no more, for you’re an atheling, same as him.”
“I will not hear this!” Essa knew he was risking his life to raise his voice, but he could not stop himself. “My lord, you must help! If Penda takes Anglia, what is to keep him from—”
“Ah, shut tha mouth, tha’s just like that bitch your mother.” The king reached out and cuffed the side of his head: a sharp, ringing blow that made his ear sting. Essa hissed through his teeth, stepping backwards. Squinting, he found he could not see, his sight was clouded by red shadows and his breath felt hot in his lungs. He moved quickly, full of elf-magic, curled his left hand into a fist and let it fly. There was a shout of rage and he felt another blow, hitting his nose this time. Hot blood filled his mouth. People were shouting, screaming in horror. He was fighting the High King of Britain. He was going to die, but he did not care; his fists flew, he kicked out in a frenzy. Someone grabbed his arm, he snatched it away, wrenching around and digging his knee into their crotch. A stunning blow to the back of the neck sent Essa to his knees, and both his arms were wrenched behind his back.
He heard someone say, “Jesu, he’s mad.” Now they were dragging him along; he writhed and twisted like a landed fish but the hands that gripped his arms were strong and he was weak after the long journey, and limp with shock. The hall rang with voices, people were shouting but he could not make out the words. They dragged him past the long table, the mead benches: the Silver Serpent left behind on the floor. They were probably going to take him out into the yard and cut his throat. Bright rugs hung on the walls; torches flickered, sending long coils of smoke up to the high beams criss-crossing above his head. He could see the carcass of one of last winter’s pigs hanging up there, cured and blackened by the smoke from the fire. That was all he would be in a moment – just a carcass, a piece of meat.
They dragged him outside, and all the while he expected to feel a blade at his throat, but the cold touch never came. He caught glimpses of shocked faces, watching as he was dragged across the yard; a door opened. Shoved forwards, he fell to his knees just as the door slammed behind him. He heard the bolt being drawn home, and then, all around him, a ragged howling noise rose up: hounds baying and barking.
They had shut him in the dog-hall, and the hounds were hungry.
The air was thick with their scent, their feelings flashed through him – they were tired, they had been chasing deer through the greenwood only that afternoon, and they were hungry, so hungry. He felt their anger at being invaded by a stranger, their curiosity too, but mostly anger stoked by the intense need for meat.
Was he to be torn to pieces? As he kneeled there watching them, his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom in the dog-hall. Thin streams of evening light poured in through small, high windows. The hounds were all around him – a score or more, long, lean shapes writhing about each other. Where was Fenrir? He could not see her. He would have to find her later.
Staying on his knees, he looked up. A host of liquid-dark eyes stared back. He picked out their leader, the dog closest to him – a huge black-haired deerhound – a good hand span taller than Fenrir. The hound sat back on his haunches, and his lips peeled back from his teeth as he let out a low growl that made the ground hum. He was huge – nearly the size of a yearling colt. Essa drew in a breath – if they knew he was afraid, he would be finished. He could feel their hunger. Some hunting-men did this: kept their hounds without enough meat so they were always ready for the chase. But these dogs had killed recently; he could feel it in the air, the savage thrill of the hunt, the trace of blood like the taste of wet iron. They had killed, but no one had fed them yet. What a mad thing to do, throwing a prisoner into a shed full of starving hounds.
He felt naked without the weight of the sword-belt at his waist and shoulder. This was the first time he had been without the Silver Serpent since the day Cai left him in the village, five years ago. She had hung on the wall in the smithy, too heavy for him to lift at first, but always there, always within his reach. And now she was gone.
At that moment, the huge black hound stepped closer. Essa did not move. The bone-handled knife was hidden in his boot, but he did not want to use it. He reached out his hand instead.
Come, my friend, I mean you no harm. Essa closed his eyes, let his thoughts spill from his mind like dried barley from a sack; he had to do this now, he had to fly free of his body and get inside one of the dogs, see if he could steer its thoughts. Nothing happened and he felt sick with the fear that he would not be able to do it. But then came the twisting feeling in his guts.
For a moment, he was a pack of hounds, all gathered round the kneeling figure of a boy. They had been running in the greenwood all that morning and afternoon, and they wanted to eat: they wanted fresh meat.
So that’s how it works, he thought. When they’re all together, their spirits mix. That’s how they hunt in packs. Maybe it’s how men hunted, too, long ago. For a moment, he felt a flicker of regret. It was cruel, really, this trick of his: these were such noble creatures, and he was like a cuckoo edging into another bird’s nest. But you must do it. Then he was insid
e the body of the black deerhound – he could feel its fiery spirit flickering all around him, only Essa’s was stronger, and then he felt its thoughts.
Two-legs over there smells of rage, what’s he doing in here with us? He’d best do no harm to my brothers and sisters.
Then the new female came forward, the stranger. That’s my brother, Fenrir said. Harm him, and I shall not take pity on any of you.
The pack’s voice rose in disgust, in shock. She shan’t speak so to us.
I shall.
The pack-leader had a strong spirit; in the forest on the way to Powys, Essa had been unable to make even a thrush fly above the trees. How could he hope to quell the spirit of a huge dog, even with Fenrir’s help? He felt the hound’s fiery essence crackle around him and sent out a thought: The newcomer’s brother means no harm. He means no harm. He means no—
But the pack-leader’s anger was strong; Essa was consumed by it. Why had he and his brothers and sisters not been fed? Where was their reward for running so fast and for so long through the greenwood, for bringing down six spotted roe deer between them? And now this stranger thrust into their midst, sending off waves of rage and fear. Take him instead. We shall feed on him if they give us nothing else.
But he means no harm; he means no harm.
At last, he felt the black deerhound’s anger abate.
Maybe they will come soon with our reward. He’s scrawny anyway: not much to enjoy there.
Essa gasped for air, back in his own body, slumping fowards. Then the pack-leader stepped towards him, and Essa reached out and laid his hand on the hound’s head. Thank you, my brother.
The hounds were all around him now, pushing forwards, nudging his legs with their noses, tails thumping against his thigh, his outstretched hands. And suddenly, he no longer had the strength to sit up. Lying on his back in the corner, he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, full of relief that he was still alive. His body quivered like a plucked string on his father’s cherry-wood lyre. Where was the lyre now? Probably broken in the mud, somewhere outside Penda’s fortress – wherever they had thrown Cai’s body. Essa wrapped his arms around his knees, still sucking in deep breaths, knotted with rage against the arrogant, red-headed man who had struck him across the face. His uncle, the High King of all Britain. The gods were playing one of their tricksy games with him, just as men set cocks in a ring to fight. But he was angrier still with Cai: for his lies and for being dead.
Elfgift was alive, though. His mother lived, and she was with Seobert at Bedricsworth.
Elfgift and Cai
HE HEARD women calling the children in for their food, and drew the rich scent of it in through his nostrils: deer stewed with vetch and coriander, and fresh-baked bread. He heard the men go off up the hills to bring in the sheep with their dogs, muttering about wolves, telling a lewd tale about a woman one of them had been with. Night was falling, the light from the tiny slit-windows had long faded, and with every moment he waited for the dog-hall door to open. They would come for him, and kill him. No one could insult the king in front of his people and expect to live.
How unfair it all was, he thought, that just as he learnt his mother was alive, he was about to die. How would they kill him? He hoped it would be quick. Other than the British spies in Penda’s camp, he had never seen anyone put to death. What was the point in taking a life as payment for a crime when a blood-price was to be had instead? Sheep, or barrels of wine, or cattle were of more use than the corpse of a villain. But there was no blood-price high enough to pay his debt. He had raised his hand in violence against the High King. His mother’s brother. He whispered the words, “my uncle”, trying to make it seem more real, but it did not.
Then, at last, he heard the bolt lift on the other side of the door.
His gorge rose and he stood, Fenrir on her feet beside him in a heartbeat, a deep, low growl coming from the back of her throat. Surely they would take him outside. No one was ever killed in a dog-hall. They would take him outside. It was all so foolish: Anwen and Wulf had tried so hard to keep him alive after the knife wound, and here he was, about to have his throat cut. Or perhaps they were going to throttle him, or bury him alive, weighed down by stones. He had heard of men doing that. Dying with the breath stolen from his body would be worse than anything he could think of. It made him think of that sun-dappled, terrifying afternoon in the beech coppice, of hard fingers closing around his throat.
It’s in tha face. Anyone can see—
And then Essa knew that the man who’d tried to kill him that day had known who he was. He had not been an outlaw driven out of his senses by loneliness. He had been looking for Essa.
Oh, Tasik, he thought. Oh, my father – when I follow you into the next world, I shall not rest till I find you. I will be seeking answers.
Feverishly, he wondered what had happened to Wulf and Anwen. Were they already dead? If so, he’d as good as killed them.
He expected Godsway and the Fox to burst in, with a gang of young men of Ad Gefrin, ready to avenge the insult to their lord. But instead an old woman came in alone, the one who had dropped the pan of cream when she first saw him. The hounds must have known her well; none barked or howled – most of them were dozing, nearly asleep, dazed with their chase through the greenwood, and their hunger.
In one hand the old woman held a bowl covered by a cloth, with a piece of flat bread resting on top. In the other, she held the knotted neck of a large sack. It must have contained the hounds’ food, because she was soon surrounded by lithe, wiry bodies, questing for the sack with their long noses.
Essa, not knowing what else to do, took a couple of quick steps back, hand resting on Fenrir’s neck. She was tense, ready to spring.
“Tha’s alive, then,” said the old woman. “You must have a way with hounds – talk was they’d tear thee to pieces.”
Essa felt another flicker of scorn for Godsrule. What kind of man sent an old woman to find a corpse torn to bits by dogs?
“Peace, child,” the old woman said. “Take tha food that I may feed the dogs. And sit down a while, I want to look at thee.”
Light-headed with relief, Essa took the bowl from her and sat on the floor, watching her shake out the contents of the sack. A large pile of scraps mixed with raw meat slid out on to the floor. The hounds gathered round, their great hunger sated at last.
The old woman came and sat down beside him on the sacks, passing him a spoon drawn from her belt. “Tha looks just like her, though you’re a man. But tha face is same as hers. You walked in here like a ghost, like her spirit.”
“What’s your name?” Essa said, cupping his fingers around the warm bowl, swallowing his pleasure at being called a man instead of a boy or a child.
“I’m Roe; I was tha mammy’s nurse, for I’m bound in service to this hall. But I missed my freedom less for the love of my little Elfgift. I was there when tha came into the world, here in this hall.”
“I was born here?” Essa could hardly believe he had been to Ad Gefrin before, let alone that it was the first place on earth he had ever seen.
Roe nodded. “Tha shan’t remember. Tha was such a tiny scrap when you were taken away, out of Godsrule’s sight. Elfgift was to marry, you see, he and Edwin had arranged it all, and then she was got with you.”
Essa spooned in a few mouthfuls of stew. “Is Godsrule going to have me killed?” Oddly, the fear of death did nothing to lessen his appetite. This was his first real meal in nearly a month, and the rich, dark deer-meat was hot and good.
Roe shrugged. “He may wish to, but he won’t. I’ll get tha out of here the way I got tha and Elfgift out, fourteen year ago and more.”
“How?” Essa tore off a piece of bread and scrubbed it around the inside of the bowl, sopping up every last smear of juice. “And you’ll be in danger if anyone finds out.”
“I’ll do it for tha mammy.” Roe took the empty bowl and held it in her lap. Her hands were thin, blue-veined, spotted with age, her eyes dark with sadness.
“Well, I must go to my lord. I think he’s at Bedricsworth monastery.”
“Then you’ll see her there, too. She’ll be so glad of it.”
Essa felt a quick, hot flame of excitement, and for a moment, the pressing need to return to Egric paled against the thought of seeing his mother. But it all must happen quickly, quickly. Surely Godsrule’s men would come for him soon? “Can you help me get out, then? I’ll need my horse.”
“We’ll let thee out when night’s full and all are sleeping.”
Essa stared at her, shocked. “But—”
Roe shrugged. “Godsrule’s our king, but there were many here loved our Lady, and they’ve not forgiven him yet for driving her away. Even old Edwin wept when she went. She were the light of Ad Gefrin, tha mammy, and there’s plenty here loyal to her still.”
“Why did Edwin not stop him?” Essa’s throat felt tight, his escape forgotten. “He was still alive then, and Godsrule must have been just an atheling – Edwin was the High King. He should have stopped him.”
“He were angry with her too, for he loved tha mammy above all else, and she’d defied him too, by going with Cai. But he wept when she’d gone, all the same. Godsrule didn’t, though.” Roe shook her head. “He’s no true Christian, is Godsrule. He’ll not forgive anyone even the smallest slight.”
Essa nodded. “And my sword? I can’t go without it. I must get it back – I’ll have to do it while everyone’s asleep. Where did Godsrule put it?”
“Na na,” said Roe. “Tha must not. The risk’s too great, but don’t tha worry, it’ll be brought you before tha leaves, and it shall go with thee down the coast.”
Essa jigged his right leg, trying not to let his impatience show in his face. Surely the men would come soon? And what would happen to Wulf and Anwen? They’d be spending the night in the hall with everyone else – those who were still loyal to the Lady, to his mother, and those who were not. How would they get out without anyone seeing? But Roe had been waiting nearly fifteen years to tell her story, and Essa knew he must hear it.