Dark Under the Cover of Night

by Jayne Castel



  Dark Under the Cover of Night

  A Historical Romance set in Anglo-Saxon England

  Book One

  The Kingdom of the East Angles

  Jayne Castel

 

  Your free starter library is waiting! Join me in 7th Century Anglo-Saxon England and receive a 30,000 word historical romance novella and two full-length novels. Immerse yourself in the Dark Ages!

  Historical romances by Jayne Castel

  The Kingdom of the East Angles series

  Night Shadows (prequel novella)

  Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)

  Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)

  The Deepening Night (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of the East Angles: the complete series

  The Kingdom of Mercia series

  The Breaking Dawn (Book One)

  Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)

  Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)

  All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  Dark Under the Cover of Night by Jayne Castel

  Copyright © 2012 Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com

  Follow Jayne on Twitter @JayneCastel

  Historical Note

  Although Dark Under the Cover of Night is a work of fiction, the historical figure, King Raedwald of the East Angles, did exist. We have few details about Raedwald’s life, but he is thought to have ruled from 593 A.D. to approximately 625 A.D. Many historians also believe that Raedwald was the king buried in the famous Sutton Hoo burial. Sutton Hoo sits on the bank of the River Deben near Woodbridge, Suffolk; a Saxon long ship filled with treasures, including the famous Sutton Hoo warrior helmet. Using Raedwald and his family as inspiration, I created a story based around his daughter, Raedwyn. Despite that some historical figures used in the story are based on real figures, and some actual historical events are mentioned, this tale is entirely a work of fiction. I have also used two pieces of famous Anglo-Saxon poetry, written in old English; an excerpt from The Wanderer and an excerpt from Beowulf. I have used a few words of old English throughout the story, and have provided translations where necessary.

  Jayne Castel, August 2012

 

  Contents

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More Historical Romance from Jayne Castel

  Map

  Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago?

  Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?

  Hwær cwom symbla gesetu?

  Hwær sindon seledreamas?

  Eafa beorht bune!

  Eafa byrnwiga!

  Eafa þeodnes þrym!

  Hu seo þrag gewat,

  genap under nihthelm,

  swa heo no wære.

  Where is the horse gone? Where the rider?

  Where the giver of treasure?

  Where are the seats at the feast?

  Where are the revels in the hall?

  Alas for the bright cup!

  Alas for the mailed warrior!

  Alas for the splendour of the prince!

  How that time has passed away,

  dark under the cover of night,

  as if it had never been.

  Excerpt from ‘The Wanderer’

  Translated from Old English

 

 

 

  Prologue

  Rendlaesham – Kingdom of the East Angles, Britannia

  608 A.D.

  “Come, Wuffa. Come!”

  The child’s voice echoed out across the stableyard. The object of her attention – a tiny puppy with floppy ears, a soft brown coat and mischievous eyes – glanced back at his mistress. Then, willfully ignoring her, he put his head down and barreled towards the gates.

  “Wuffa!” The little girl raced down the steps leading from her father’s hall and tore across the wide expanse after her puppy. Her blonde curls flew out behind her as she ran, dodging men and horses, over hard-packed earth and through the gates that led out into Rendlaesham. Ahead, she caught sight of a scrap of brown heading straight towards the rear town gates.

  “Wuffa, no! Bad puppy! Come back here!”

  The girl picked up her skirts and dashed after her birthday gift. Ahead, the town gates loomed. It was nearing dusk and the gates were still open, allowing in folk returning from the orchards and fields behind the Great Hall. Her parents would be annoyed if she left the confines of the town without an adult present, but the fear of losing Wuffa was greater than that of a growling from her father.

  She ran across the wide road that circuited the town walls, and into the apple orchard. The orchard was vast; a wide swath of leafy trees that covered one side of the shallow valley behind Rendlaesham.

  Close to tears, for she could no longer see her quarry, the girl called out as she wandered down the narrow lanes between the trees.

  “Wuffa, where are you? Wuffa, please come here. Wuffa!”

  Eventually, distraught and frightened, the girl began to cry. Wuffa had only been hers a day, but she already loved him so. The thought that she had lost him made the little girl’s heart feel as if it were breaking.

  “Are you looking for this?”

  A boy, a few years older than her, stepped out from behind an apple tree. He was thin and sharp-featured with a mop of dark hair that flopped over his eyes. In one hand, he held an apple with a bite out of it, and in the other, he held her precious puppy.

  “Yes!” The girl rushed forward and the boy released Wuffa into her arms. The puppy eagerly licked her tear-streaked face and wriggled excitedly. He liked this game.

  “Naughty, naughty Wuffa!” she chastised him as he wriggled into her neck.

  “Thank you.” She looked across at the boy, who had taken a bite of his apple and was watching her thoughtfully. “He was my birthday present.”

  “You called him Wuffa?” The boy took another bite of his apple. “Doesn’t look much like a wolf to me.”

  “He will be.” The girl lifted her chin haughtily. “When he is grown, he will be ferocious!”

  “So today’s your birthday,” the boy replied with a shrug. “How old are you?”

  “I’m four,” she announced proudly, her cheeks coloring when he laughed.

  “Four! You’re a baby. I’m much older than you, I’m nine. I’m Caelin by the way, and you must be Raedwyn.”

  “How do you know my name?” The girl wiped away any remaining tears with the back of her arm and struggled to keep ahold of Wuffa, who was now trying to wriggle out of her grasp.

  “I’ve seen you about – the king only has one daughter,” Caelin replied, watching with amusement as Raedwyn tried to keep hold of her puppy. “If you’re not careful you’re going to lose him again. Here, I’ll hold Wuffa for a while.”

  Caelin threw aside the half-eaten apple and relieved Raedwyn of
the wriggling pup.

  “Come on, I’ll take you back to the Great Hall. Your parents will be wondering where you’ve gone.”

  “I’m not allowed to stray from the town,” Raedwyn informed her new friend, falling in step beside him. “Mōder says I’m too little.”

  “You are,” the boy replied with the air of knowledge that only children possess. “I told you, you’re a baby.”

  “I’m not a baby!” Raedwyn drew herself up, her tiny hands balling into fists. “I’ll tell my brothers you said that!”

  Caelin laughed at that. “And they’ll agree with me. Come now, hurry up a bit. They’ll be closing the gates soon.”

  The two children slipped inside the town gates and made their way along the dusty street that led up to the Great Hall. Dusk was settling over the town and amber streaked the pale sky. It had been a hot day, one of the most beautiful of the summer.

  Caelin and Raedwyn entered the stableyard and stopped in their tracks as a tall, handsome man with a mane of golden hair and dark blue eyes strode towards them.

  “Raedwyn!” he boomed. “Where have you been?”

  “I’m sorry fæder.” Raedwyn rushed forward. “Wuffa ran off and I had to find him. Caelin helped me.”

  “Did he?” Raedwald, King of the East Angles, scooped his daughter up into his arms and looked down at the boy holding Raedwyn’s birthday gift. “Well done Caelin. You’re Ceolwulf’s boy are you not?”

  Caelin nodded, seemingly struck mute in front of his king.

  “I thank you for bringing Raedwyn back safely.” The king’s gaze settled on the puppy in Caelin’s arms. “And for rescuing the dog – although I can see I’m going to regret my choice of gift.”

  “Don’t take Wuffa away from me fæder,” Raedwyn squealed, wriggling free of the king’s embrace and gently taking the puppy from Caelin. “I promise I won’t let him run away again, I promise!”

  King Raedwald sighed and smiled down at his young daughter.

  “No one is going to take Wuffa away from you my love,” he rumbled. “Run along now and see your mother.”

  Raedwyn clutched her precious puppy to her flat chest and, with a darting glance of thanks to Caelin, took off up the steps towards the Great Hall. Raedwald watched her go before turning back to the boy before him and grinning.

  “Only four years old and already able to twist men around her little finger,” he observed dryly. “You wait till she grows up.”

  When Caelin merely stared back at him, uncomprehending, the king shook his head.

  “Never mind.” He reached down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’ll understand one day. Now off you go, back to your father’s hall before he tans your backside for idling!”

  Chapter One

  Kingdom of the East Angles, Britannia

  624 A.D.

  The dragon’s head broke through the rolling banks of mist and glided towards the riverbank. A sleek long ship followed in its wake. Silent, despite its great bulk, the Saxon ship emerged from curling tendrils of mist that moved like caressing fingers over its curved bow.

  Raedwyn stood next to her mother, on a hill above the river, and watched the long ship approach. Despite that she had been looking forward to this day, nervousness tugged at the pit of Raedwyn’s stomach and she glanced sideways at her mother. Sensing her daughter’s unease, Queen Seaxwyn reached across and squeezed Raedwyn’s hand. Neither of them spoke as they continued to watch the long ship dock.

  On the shores of the River Deben, Raedwyn’s father, Raedwald, King of the East Angles, stood with his son, Eorpwald, waiting to welcome Cynric the Bold. Nine winters younger than his king, Cynric was one of Raedwald’s most trusted ealdormen – one of noble blood. Cynric the Bold would soon become a member of the illustrious Wuffinga Dynasty, for tomorrow at noon he and Princess Raedwyn would wed.

  King Raedwald had just passed his fifty-fourth winter but still stood tall and muscular, although silver now threaded his thick, golden hair and his strong face was lined with care and grief. Raedwald had never recovered from the loss of his son, Raegenhere, eight years earlier. Eorpwald, quiet and diffident in comparison to his charismatic older brother, was a poor substitute for Raegenhere.

  The gentle splash of oars broke the stillness as the newcomers maneuvered their craft towards the water’s edge. Raedwyn’s gaze fastened on the group of men on-board, searching for Cynric. Despite the twenty-five years age difference, she had heard the ealdorman was still a striking warrior to behold.

  The long ship came to rest in the deep mud at the riverbank and a group of men disembarked. As they heaved the ship closer to the bank through knee-deep mud, Raedwyn caught sight of Cynric at last. He was a big, broad-shouldered man and was dressed more richly than his companions. Gold rings sparkled across his chest and his arms were heavy with silver bracelets and arm rings – all tributes to his heroism in battle. A thick fur cloak hung from his shoulders. Raedwyn was too far away to pick out the details of his face but she could see he had a short blond beard and thick sandy hair flecked through with gray. Raedwyn felt a thrill of excitement. She had hoped he would be handsome.

  Satisfied his long ship would not be washed away by the incoming tide, Cynric turned and climbed the river bank. He raised a hand to salute his king when he caught sight of Raedwald awaiting him. Cynric pulled himself out of the mud, strode towards Raedwald, and king and ealdorman clasped each other in a bear hug. Raedwyn could hear them laughing and talking together. She glanced across at her mother and beamed, squeezing Seaxwyn’s hand tightly, her earlier trepidation forgotten. Seeing her daughter’s obvious excitement, the queen smiled gently back.

  The morning was dank and sunless but the mist cast an ethereal beauty over the land. Raedwyn turned from admiring her betrothed and cast her gaze over the mounds of earth behind her. She stood before a row of enormous barrows – burial mounds. Raedwald’s forebears were entombed here, as Raedwald himself would be one day. It was a sacred place for her kin but nonetheless the towering barrows made Raedwyn feel uneasy.

  A pair of ravens suddenly wheeled through the mist towards the mounds and landed atop one of the barrows with a loud screech. Woden’s messengers were afoot. Woden, the father of the gods, had two ravens, Hugin and Munin; one representing thought, and the other memory. The ravens sat on Woden’s shoulders and whispered in his ears about the events they saw in their daily flights over the earth. Raedwyn cast a jaundiced eye over the birds before dismissing them.

  This morning, nothing could dampen her spirits.

  Mother and daughter walked back to where the servants stood with their horses. The men would join them shortly and then they would begin the long ride back to Rendlaesham. The late summer air was sultry, despite the encircling mist. Raedwyn mounted her shaggy bay mare and arranged her long skirts. Glad of the mild weather, she had shrugged off her cloak. She hoped that Cynric would like the forest-green dress she wore. The dress was made of heavy linen, girdled below the bodice and with a wide, embroidered neckline that showed off her neck and shoulders, leaving her arms bare. Raedwyn, although she had her father’s coloring, had her mother’s build. Queen Seaxwyn was tall with a swelling bosom and rounded rear, both accentuated by a small waist. Over the years, her mother’s curves had spread to plumpness but she was still a stunning woman with a thick mane of auburn hair only lightly touched with white, and quick gray eyes.

  Male voices carried through the fog and gradually became louder as the king and his companions rode up the incline towards them. Raedwyn’s stomach fluttered once more, this time in excitement. She pushed back her long, blonde curls off her shoulders and wished she had not forgotten her comb.

  Then her father and brother appeared, followed by Cynric and a knot of horsemen. Raedwyn’s gaze fastened on Cynric. The warrior stared back, before his gaze slid down her body and back up to her face. Finding her shape to his liking, Cynric smiled, revealing good teeth for a man his age.

  “Cynric, may I p
resent my daughter, Lady Raedwyn.” Raedwald made the introductions. The king’s voice was hearty, but knowing her father as she did, Raedwyn saw the hint of sadness in his face.

  Cynric swung down from his horse and strode across to Raedwyn. Then, taking her hand, he kissed it.

  “My Lady…”

  “My Lord,” Raedwyn replied demurely, even as her heart hammered against her ribcage. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

  Cynric released her hand and turned to Raedwald.

  “My Lord, I will need to leave some men behind to guard the ship. Can you spare four spears?”

  The king nodded. “Coenred, Aldfrid, Oswyn and Yffi will stay with your men.”

  The four warriors Raedwald had nominated reined their horses back and retreated to where the long ship was docked.

  “We must make haste.” Cynric strode back to his horse. “If we are to make Rendlaesham by this eve – I am eager to wed this fine Anglian beauty!”

  The men guffawed loudly at this and Raedwyn blushed. Cynric mounted his horse and winked at her.

  “There will be plenty of time to woo my daughter Cynric,” King Raedwald grumbled, spurring his horse forward, “let us ride now.”

  ***

  They rode northwest, across soft folds of feathery heathland, interspersed with clumps of bracken and brambles. Gradually the heath gave way to woodland and, finally, they rode through open terrain interspersed by clumps of coppicing oaks and thickets of lime wood. A crisp wind blew in, chasing away the mist. The sun was dipping beyond the flat western horizon when they reached Rendlaesham at last.

  Raedwyn caught sight of the high roof of the king’s Great Hall and felt an unexpected pang of sadness. The high-gabled timbered hall towered above the low thatched huts spreading out from the center of the settlement. Her father’s hall had been the only home she had ever known and in a day’s time, she would be leaving it. Cynric lived far to the south and she doubted they would make many trips here – especially once they had begun a family. Raedwyn chided herself for her sudden melancholy and urged her horse on, through the tangle of timber dwellings and along the winding dirt road that led up to the King’s Hall. Crowds of townsfolk gathered at the roadside to welcome them. Everyone was in high spirits, for there was to be a wedding tomorrow. A day when ealdormen, thegns, ceorls and slaves – the four classes under the king – all took a day of rest and made merry.