“Earl Acwel gifted many of his servants to Lord Ælle, as he was then, when he paid a visit on his way past to Babbanburth.”
“Are you happy in his service?” Æva smiled reassuringly as Lora glanced up, sensing a trap.
“Yes My Lady,” she said conventionally, but then the words flowed more freely, more honestly. “I am much happier now that I am serving Lord Bayan. He is patient with my clumsiness, and forgives my mistakes. And also, now that I am serving you.” She blushed as she said this, and Æva’s own cheeks coloured in response. She still found it odd to think of herself as being waited upon.
Though she questioned Lora several more times, asking about her duties, her free time – which seemed to be scandalously limited – and what she knew of the other ladies – a dead end as Lora would divulge nothing – the girl’s responses were clipped, leading her more often than not to a dead end, and after a while Æva lapsed back into a dejected silence.
The afternoon dragged, but at last Æva thought she could see an end to the snaking procession. A mile away, still just a smudge on the horizon, the weaving column disappeared, swallowed by a long sweeping line that cut across the open countryside. The Giant’s Wall.
The closer she got, the more the scene before her sharpened into focus. The column disappeared into two high archways built into a stone wall that must once have been magnificent. The top battlements had crumbled, and creeper plants stealthily worked their way across the large stone bricks, reclaiming the land. On either side of the archway, two towers stood, intersecting the front wall of the fort. The long years of abandonment and harsh weather had taken its toll on the roofs, and only a few oak beams of the skeletal structure remained.
They passed under the vast arches - a heart-stopping moment as Æva eyed the unstable, eroded stones and willed the line to move faster – and then the sheer size of the place was revealed. Through the gate the road was flanked on either side by blocks of what must once have been low barracks. Now only the footprints of the buildings were left, quickly being concealed beneath rows of tents as servants rushed to provide shelter for the army of soldiers. Beyond that they came to a crossroads, two streets stretching out left and right towards more crumbling barrack buildings and some larger foundations that might have been stores. Wagons of provisions were being arranged there; carts parked neatly in rows by servant boys and exhausted ponies as a fat man bellowed at them, his cheeks scarlet with effort.
In the distance, more tents had been erected. These were grouped around crudely constructed hearths where the earth was scorched black with three days of constant fires; small mounds of rubbish were already accumulating, the bones and scraps of several meals left to stink and rot in the open air. This was the army of the Lord of Bernicia, awaiting the arrival of the King’s men. Somewhere in there were Idin, Ælric and Wulfram.
Close, so close.
Aeva raked her eyes of the camp, but she was too far away to focus on any of the faces she could see, lounging about and looking bored. She hoped they’d go closer, but Lora stopped them before that, leading the horse slightly off to the side. There, taking centre stage in the heart of the fort, stood the Commander’s Headquarters. It was easily the best-preserved building, its walls and the majority of the roof still standing. It was massive, square. On the outside, the walls were windowless, making the building imposing, almost impenetrable, but through the arched gateway she could see a courtyard filled with greenery. Nature had moved in.
Lora halted the mare in front of the arch and Æva dismounted. She looked up, momentarily confused when the other wives continued riding on around the great house. One of them, an anonymous figure swathed in a dark grey cloak, turned to glare at her, jealousy and loathing etched on her features. Æva glanced away at once as she recognised curling wisps of icy blond escaping the hood and framing the venomous, snake-like eyes. Her precarious position as Bayan’s companion had won her few friends.
Lora handed the reins to a waiting servant and led her through the gate into the courtyard.
“If you could wait here, My Lady,” she bowed, timid as always, “I will go and find out where you are to be accommodated.”
She scurried off, leaving Æva alone in the small quadrangle. Looking around, she saw small rooms were built into three sides of the structure, their doors and small windows facing in towards the garden. On the fourth side, directly opposite the arched gateway, stood a much larger house, a wide door framed by several large windows.
The courtyard itself was peaceful, quiet. Though a mass of servants and soldiers bustled about the rest of the fort, here she was alone.
Unwatched.
Æva turned around slowly, watching for concealed eyes, but every window, every doorway was empty.
She should stay here. Lora would be back in a second, and eventually Bayan would come looking for her. He’d expect her to be here, and he’d be angry if she wasn’t.
She should stay here… but she wasn’t going to.
Her pulse quickened as she began to back away from the centre of the courtyard; always watching for movement, for signs of life. Taking a gasping, panicked breath, she turned and darted through the arched gateway, only one thing on her mind.
If they were here, she was going to find them.
ᛏ
Æva skirted around the outside of the building and into the rear of the fort, glancing down the long avenues branching at right angles away from the centre. She had no idea how to begin searching, and her frantically beating heart – energised by the daring of her actions – made it hard to think. Her heart sank as she gazed at row after row of identical tents, eyes falling on the faces of a thousand strangers. She faced an impossible task.
Men, everywhere men. They hunkered around fires; splayed across the dirt floor; lazed on chunks of stone, sharpening weapons; loitered in the doorways of tents. On each face the expression was the same: boredom. These men had been here for days with nothing to do but wait. She had to be sure, though; she couldn’t afford to search in the wrong place.
“Excuse me, Sir,” she approached one lone man, sitting isolated in front of a fire. “Is this the army of the Lord of Bernicia?”
“Aye,” he responded. Then his eyes trailed up her figure, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin that moulded into a leer by the time his gaze reached her face.
“Thank you,” she stuttered, almost tripping over her feet in her haste to back away.
“Think you’ve scared her off,” she heard someone call, followed by a roar of laughter. She cringed, quickening her step. All of the confidence that had propelled her into the camp slunk away. Everywhere she looked men seemed to be gazing at her, and paranoia transformed the stares of interest into ogling sneers. It did not occur to her that she was the first new thing they had had to look at for days.
This was a bad idea. But if she wanted to find them...
She forced herself to lift her head, looking back into eyes that continued to stare. She was not in any danger, she told herself. These were soldiers, honourable men. Skimming group after group, she hunted for a glimpse of Idin’s handsome face; the copper mane of Ælric’s hair; the gleam of Wulfram’s sword. But as she continued to walk, she realised the task she faced. Street after street wound off the main avenue, hundreds of tents squeezed down each one. It would be too conspicuous to wander down every narrow road, and even if she did, she had no guarantee that the men she sought would be outside. They might be inside any one of the tents, or have left the camp altogether to hunt or train or exercise or meet with the newly arrived troops. She cursed her rashness.
She deliberated what to do, her eyes no longer scanning faces but her feet still walking. Afraid of catching the interest of any of the men watching her pass, she didn’t want to stop. She had two choices, she knew: to turn around and head back to the security and safety of the central building, or to ask. She could not continue to wander and trust to fate.
She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting arou
nd. Her gaze fell on a length of glittering iron. For a moment she thought she’d found them, but the legs the sword nestled against were too stout, the belly too rounded to belong to Wulfram. Lifting her eyes to his head she took in a thick, wiry black beard, its bushy abundance at odds with a shining bald head.
“Pardon me, Sir,” the words hung in the air, and for a heartbeat Æva didn’t know if she was the one who had uttered them; her voice sounded strange, high-pitched and unnatural. But the bald man turned and appraised her, his eyes warm and humorous. His amiable expression gave her courage. “I am searching for a man, his name is Wulfram.”
She stared at him, her crossed fingers hidden beneath her tucked arms. The short silence seemed long to Æva. She felt awkward standing there, and suddenly her folded arms seemed rude, disrespectful. She dropped them, clasping her hands at her naval.
“I trust you mean Thane Wulfram?” he asked, his voice stern and disapproving, but his eyes merry. She realised he was teasing her and smiled timidly back.
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, although she was not sure at all. Wulfram was a Thane? He had never told her that, but it would explain the respect he seemed to command and the sword he proudly wore.
“He is in his tent.” His eyes trailed down her body, taking in the fine woollen of her dress and the thick, luxurious cloak she wore, upgrading her from servant to lady. “I shall escort you,” he told her.
She smiled and bobbed once in courtesy, remembering not to drop her head in servitude. He turned on his heel and began to march away from her, a clipped pace that had the rolls of fat cuddling his middle bouncing in time with his footsteps. Despite his size, Æva had to trot to keep up. They hurried past rows of tents, skirting around fires and loose groupings of men. The soldiers nodded to the man as they passed, but she noticed with relief that they now ignored her almost completely, giving only sly glances of curiosity once she had passed.
As they walked, the tents began to get larger, the spaces between them greater. She realised this must be where the important people were stationed: the nobles, thanes and soldiers of rank. She would never have dared to walk here, would have been too afraid of being challenged.
His sword clunking against his legs, the man led her to a large tent, the soft brown leather flaps hanging closed. Without hesitating he reached down and grasped one edge, pulling it aside and peering into the dark interior.
“There is a young lady to see you, Wulfram,” he called inside. Without further comment, he leaned back and held the flap open for her, winking jovially as she darted inside.
Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom inside the tent. Though large, the leather covering was thick and windowless, allowing none of the light from outside to penetrate. Instead several candles provided the only illumination, standing tall on sticks staked into the hard earth floor. Part of the ground was covered by thick furs, a low table in the centre covered in food and wine. Splayed around the table sat three men. Their faces were frozen in surprise, eyes unreadable in the shadowy dark.
Æva came to an abrupt halt just inside the entrance. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but when no one smiled back it wilted. The three men simply stared at her, stunned. She chewed on her lip, not sure what to say and wrong-footed by the less than warm reception. The seconds ticked on until at last Ælric broke the silence.
“Well,” he began, his face stretching into a grin.
Though more quiet followed, his voice seemed to have dispelled the tension thickening the air. Beside him Idin shifted, hoisting his body from the floor. He ambled towards her, his face also breaking into a smile that stretched all the way to his eyes.
“Æva,” he murmured. She smiled timidly at him as he closed the distance, folding her into his chest and hugging her. His embrace was warm and comforting, safe. To Æva’s embarrassment, tears pricked her eyes. She tried to compose herself, but her breathing hitched and broke. Ælric saved her.
“Is it so terrible to see us again?” he asked.
It was a weak attempt at humour, but Æva laughed. Drawing back from Idin, she smiled at Ælric, who winked at her. Her eyes fell on Wulfram, who was watching her shrewdly, taking in the fine clothes.
“Please,” he said, reaching behind him and drawing out a small stool, “Sit.”
He looked pointedly at her, and she realised her hands were resting on Idin’s chest, whose arms were curled around her. Startled and embarrassed at this subtle admonishment, Æva stepped away from the warmth of Idin’s embrace and took the stool.
“You look very well,” Wulfram said.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
More silence. This time she saw Idin and Ælric staring at her clothes. Ælric had one eyebrow raised appreciatively; Idin was frowning. Æva grimaced. She knew how it must look, what they were thinking. That she had sold herself for finery.
“How have you been?” asked the low, gentle voice of Idin.
“Well,” she replied, speaking to the floor. She could not look at him.
“I am sorry,” he said.
Æva glanced up, confused. His face was anguished, the same expression she imagined carved on her own features. What did he have to be ashamed of? Her eyes flitted to the faces of Ælric and Wulfram; they, too, looked uncomfortable.
“It was wrong to leave you like that, with no explanation or farewell. We were told to depart immediately; we had no choice. Lord Bayan was insistent; there was no time to waste.”
Æva’s eyes narrowed. Bayan had been the one to send them away?
“He assured us he would provide for you,” Ælric chimed in, as if he too had guilt that needed to be assuaged.
“Has he cared for you?” Idin asked, and his voice seemed gruffer, deeper than she was used to.
“Yes,” Æva replied quickly, too quickly. “He has been very kind,” she added. She wanted it to be true. It was true. By any other standard he had treated her beyond what she could expect, but still, here, now, in front of her friends, what he had offered her seemed indecent, offensive. And she had agreed to it.
“Hope you didn’t have to sell your soul for that dress,” Ælric chortled, taking another stab at humour to lighten the atmosphere that had once more settled upon them.
He realised at once that he had said the wrong thing. Æva froze, locking down her facial muscles before they give her away. She dropped her gaze to her knees, blinking furiously. The silence stretched through one breath, then another.
Out of sight of Æva, Wulfram glared furiously at Ælric, who looked as if he could have bitten out his own tongue. Idin ignored both of them, his hands clenching into fists.
“Æva,” Wulfram’s rumbling voice was kind, gentle. He waited for her to look at him. Reluctantly, as though lead weighted down her eyes, she dragged her gaze to meet his. He held her stare for several seconds, waiting until she was really looked at him rather than staring blankly in his direction. Æva noticed, for the first time, that his eyes were grey. Not a cold steely grey, but softer. He smiled gently at her, and her lips turned up in response, though they trembled.
“You should never be ashamed of surviving,” he told her.
He reached over and grasped her knee in a fatherly gesture. Æva nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“It’s true,” Ælric chipped in, his eyes pleading his apology. “Once I had to dress as a woman. I got my arse pinched about twenty times.”
“She does not need to know what you do with your own time, Ælric,” Idin rebuked jokingly.
With a monumental effort, Æva dragged the corners of her mouth up into a smirk.
“Well,” she began, her voice husky. She tried to clear it quietly. “You do have a very fine arse, Ælric.”
She blushed to make a joke so crude, but laughter filled the tent. It was false, too loud, but it lightened the mood.
“Tell me,” she said, hoping to change the subject, “what have you been doing?”
It was Wulfram who answered.
“We we
re sent to organise runners to every noble of Northumbria, giving them notice to gather their men and join the King’s army. After that, we joined up with Lord Renwearde and came here.”
“To sit on our fat arses, however fine,” Ælric winked at Æva, his face breaking into a devilish grin, “to await the arrival of our glorious leader.”
Wulfram frowned a warning at Ælric for his careless remarks, but he had already dipped his copper head to inspect the spear in his lap. He ran his finger over the razor-sharp edge, nodding with approval as it sliced through the first thin layer of skin with ease.
“And now what?” Æva asked, “What will happen next?”
“Has Lord Bayan not told you?” Wulfram asked.
“He tells me almost nothing,” she admitted, her voice dropping down to a whisper. She was ashamed to admit this, as if it made her somehow weaker.
“We are marching south to Deira,” Idin told her, reaching out from where he sat beside her and tucking his finger under her chin, which had dropped like her voice. He pulled her face up, so that she stared in his eyes, and smiled comfortingly at her. She smiled back, but it was too difficult to hold his gaze.
“Then what?” she asked.
“We will meet with the armies of the other nobles and prepare to march on Eboric,” Wulfram said.
“If we don’t die of boredom first,” Ælric rolled his eyes. She could see he was itching for action. His eyes had the same zeal that had gleamed in Bayan’s when he had talked of war. It panicked her when Bayan had spoken, but somehow she did not fear for these three. Strong, skilled, intelligent, they were warriors. She had seen first-hand what they were capable of.
The conversation drifted on. They talked of the battle, of what little they knew of the Viking leader, and which nobles would fight alongside the King. The subject of Æva’s time with Bayan was strictly avoided, and she was thankful. What would she say? The tent imperceptibly darkened as the sun sank unnoticed behind the thick bank of clouds. The shadows stretched longer, the tiny flames of the candles burned more brightly, basking the room in a warm glow. Before she realised, night had fallen.
Aeva The Wild Page 14