by Jayne Castel
“What’s your name, lass?” he murmured in her ear.
“Cerwen,” she replied, her voice a gentle purr. Her lilting Cymry accent caressed him, making his manhood swell even harder.
Gods, how he wanted her.
It was getting late. Seward had moved to the far end of the hall. He was now seated at a table, where a group of men had continued drinking and swapping stories, long after the evening meal had ended. Two pitch torches hung from the wall, casting a flickering orange light over the table.
Beyond, many residents had laid out their cloaks upon the rushes and stretched out for the night. Merwenna, who had been glaring at him all evening, had finally given up and taken herself off to bed. The princesses had retired to their bower, cloaked from view by a tapestry, and the queen had climbed up to her quarters on the platform above.
There were few folk about to witness Seward’s boldness as he reached out and squeezed the girl’s rounded rear. The others at the table were so drunk, they did not appear to notice, or care.
The girl squealed, her eyes teasing in the torchlight.
“Milord!”
‘Milord’ – I like the sound of that.
Seward could get used to living in the Great Hall of Tamworth.
***
Merwenna awoke to the feel of cold, damp stone against her back, and tried to ignore her protesting bladder.
She had used the privy before retiring for the night – but now she needed to go, again.
She lay next to the wall, inside the Great Hall; far from the glowing hearths. Around her, she could hear the rustle of breathing and a chorus of gentle snores. She was warm under her cloak, and loath to struggle outside to relieve herself.
Merwenna lay there for a while, and mulled over the day’s events. She ruminated over her brother’s drunkenness. His behavior this evening had drawn far too much attention to them; she would have to speak with him of it on the morrow.
Then, her thoughts returned – as they often did – to her betrothed.
Mercia had beaten Northumbria – Beorn was coming home. Tears of relief stung her eyelids as she relived the moment the queen had informed them of Penda’s victory. She clasped her hands to her breast under her cloak and whispered thanks to the gods, and prayed that Thor had watched over her love.
Yet, her prayers could not distract her from the fact she needed to use the privy.
Merwenna reluctantly pushed her cloak aside and rose to her feet. Then, she carefully edged her way around the room, stepping over the slumbering bodies of men, women, children and dogs. She reached the door that led out into the Great Tower’s entranceway, and stepped out into a long, narrow antechamber, lit by flickering torches. Corridors led off it, to the left and right, to storerooms. There were great oaken doors at one end – the way outside.
The privies lay through those doors, in the yard beyond the hall. Merwenna hurried toward the doors. She was half-way across the space, when a sudden noise made her pause. It was a muffled groan – and it was coming from one of the narrow corridors that led down to the tower’s store rooms.
She swiveled toward the sound and looked into the shadowed passageway to her right.
What she saw there, froze her to the spot.
Seward and the slave girl he had flirted with earlier in the evening, were coupling in a frenzy. Her brother had the girl up against the wall and was thrusting into her. The slave’s skirts were hiked up around her hips, her shapely legs clasped around him.
Merwenna stared, her shock turning to horror.
What, for the love of the gods, are you doing?
What should she do? Part of her wanted to shout at him, to make him stop, whereas another just wanted to turn tail and run.
Had Seward completely lost his wits?
At this precise moment, the young man did not appear to care about the consequences of his actions. Instead, his mouth devoured the girl’s. His hand’s clasped her buttocks as he rammed into her.
Merwenna could watch no more. She was too mortified to say anything. She did not want him to know that she had witnessed this. It was best if she slipped away quietly; best if she continued on her way to the privy and pretended she had seen nothing.
She backed up two steps and collided with a hard wall of muscle and leather. She cried out in alarm and tried to side-step the obstacle – but an arm clamped around her torso in an iron band. She looked up and saw the stone-hewn face of Rodor, the warrior who had led the queen’s guard earlier in the day.
Rodor ignored her. Instead, his cold gaze was riveted on the couple entwined in the shadows just yards away.
Chapter Five
Seward’s Shame
“I am truly sorry, Milady,” Seward repeated, his voice low.
Merwenna glared at the back of his head and fought the urge to kick him. It was a bit late for apologies.
The queen regarded Seward impassively. Her two daughters and three sons had gathered behind her, looking on wide-eyed at the young man who had just given an account of himself.
A poor one, in Merwenna’s opinion.
Dawn had just broken over the Great Tower of Tamworth. Pale light filtered in from the narrow windows high up in the tower, illuminating the dust motes that drifted in the air. Inside the hall, the mood was somber. Servants moved gingerly about the edges, preparing griddle bread and rousing the glowing embers in the fire pits. Many were distracted in their work; their gazes flicked constantly to the small group that stood before Queen Cyneswide.
Merwenna waited behind Seward, her cheeks burning in humiliation. The slave girl stood next to Seward. Her head was bowed; her hair a dark curtain shielding her face. The girl’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, trembling slightly as she wept. Ever since Rodor had interrupted the lovers, the girl had not uttered a word.
“I know you come from an isolated village, Seward,” the queen spoke eventually, “and perhaps you are ignorant of the ways of others. Yet, I cannot believe that you did not know that to touch a king’s slave is forbidden.”
Merwenna’s stomach twisted at these words. Cyneswide spoke calmly, yet there was no mistaking the flinty edge to her voice.
“Please forgive me,” Seward bowed his head and Merwenna caught the sincere regret in his voice. “I never meant to give offence. I’m a fool.”
“Indeed you are,” the queen sighed, exasperated. “You do realize that if this girl bears your child, the king will deal with her harshly.”
Seward looked up and glanced over at where the slave stood, her head still bowed.
Merwenna caught a glimpse of his face, and the purple bruise that was forming around his left eye. After hauling Seward off the girl, Rodor had hit him so hard that Seward had fallen, senseless, to the ground. The warrior stood now, a grim sentinel, to Seward’s right, awaiting the queen’s orders.
“I d…did not think,” Seward stammered. “Please don’t punish Cerwen for my mistake.”
Rodor suddenly lashed out, striking Seward across the face. Her brother staggered backward and collided with Merwenna.
“Slaves don’t have names!” he growled.
“Rodor, please,” Queen Cyneswide interrupted, her voice still gentle. “That’s enough.”
Merwenna noted that the queen had not even flinched during the exchange. This woman had probably seen many men slain before her in this hall. The awareness made Merwenna’s legs start to tremble.
Cyneswide turned her attention back to Seward, her gaze narrowing. “You are both responsible,” she replied gently. “Cerwen knew what she was doing.”
Merwenna looked down at her feet, wretched. Seward could lose his life for one impulsive act. At that moment, she saw no way out of the mess he had got them into.
“It is fortunate for you that my husband is not here,” Queen Cyneswide continued. “He would make an example of both of you. Still, I cannot let this go unpunished. You will both be whipped this morning. After that, you must leave Tamworth, Seward, never to return. Cerwen will r
emain here, and I only hope that you have not planted a seed in her womb.”
The slave girl gave a muffled sob and looked up, her emerald eyes pleading. Next to her, Seward’s body went rigid; Merwenna could see from the set of his shoulders that he was outraged.
“But Milady,” he burst out, “we did not…”
“I remind you again,” Cyneswide interrupted him. “Had you come before my husband, you would be dead now – your head on a pike outside the town walls – as a reminder of what happens to those who abuse the king’s hospitality. I would advise you to hold your tongue. For your own good, it’s best if you are far from Tamworth when the king returns.”
Merwenna felt danger in the air around them; Seward was close to crossing an invisible line. She hated the thought of him being whipped, but if it meant that he would walk out of Tamworth alive, then he would have to suffer his punishment.
“Merwenna,” Queen Cyneswide turned her attention from Seward then. “Come forward.”
Merwenna did as bid, keeping her gaze downcast. She could feel stares boring into her and felt her cheeks burn hotter still.
“If you wish it, you may stay on here and await your betrothed’s return.”
Merwenna looked up, shocked by this offer. She had not wanted to leave Tamworth without knowing of Beorn’s fate. Yet, how could she remain here after what Seward had done?
“Milady,” she gasped. “You are kind – but I should leave with my brother. We have caused enough upset here.”
Queen Cyneswide smiled, the anger that had flared while addressing Seward vanishing.
“You are not to blame for your brother’s behavior.”
“But, I can’t stay here without his protection,” Merwenna replied. “I cannot travel home alone.”
“I will ensure you come to no harm here,” the queen promised her. “And if your love does not return, I will have the king’s men escort you home.”
Merwenna stared at the queen, momentarily struck speechless by the offer. She was desperate to know that Beorn was safe, but she had to stay with her brother. She turned to Seward then and discovered he was glaring at her. His hazel eyes – so like his father’s – were almost green; a sure sign he was furious.
“What will you do?” he asked, his voice flat.
His manner made Merwenna draw back.
She was willing to go with him, and abandon her search for Beorn. Yet, he was staring at her as if she had betrayed him. It was not her fault the queen had made her that offer. It was not she who had shamed the pair of them. She had been worrying about him while he was only too ready to think the worst of her.
Merwenna had been about to tell Seward that she would return home with him, but now she hesitated.
“What should I do?” she asked him, deliberately keeping her tone neutral.
“You can’t stay here – not without my protection.”
“But the queen has guaranteed that I will be safe here and escorted home if Beorn doesn’t return.”
Seward’s gaze narrowed. “You would let them cast me out and not follow? I only came here because you begged me to!”
Merwenna stared back at him and felt her own anger rise. It was an odd sensation – both hot and cold. It made her reckless.
“I’m staying here, Seward,” she snapped. “Travel home without me.”
Merwenna stepped back from her brother. Her brief flare of anger faded when she saw the hurt in his eyes. They had always been close, but she had now driven a wedge between them. Merwenna felt sick to her stomach as she turned back to Cyneswide and gave the queen a brittle smile.
“Thank you, Milady. I shall stay.”
Queen Cyneswide nodded and turned to Rodor.
“Take Seward and Cerwen outside and give them each ten lashes of the whip.”
The warrior nodded, his mouth thinning with satisfaction.
“Very well, Milady.”
Merwenna watched, horrified, as two warriors hauled the slave girl across the rushes toward the doors. Cerwen struggled, her tears drying as she realized that the queen would show her no mercy. Instead, she started cursing in a tongue that Merwenna recognized as Cymraeg. She had seen a few of the Cymry in Weyham over the years, traveling over the borderlands between Powys and Mercia. Like Cerwen, many were raven-haired and blue or green eyed.
Rodor turned to Seward and gave him a slow, dark look, as if challenging him to make a similar scene. Instead, Seward stared back – the light-hearted mood of the day before a now distant memory. Then, his gaze shifted to his sister.
Merwenna stared back, tears suddenly welling. She was so sorry it had come to this – yet pride would not let her back down.
“Good-bye dear sister,” he said, his voice harsher than she had heard it. “We shall meet again in Weyham.”
The words sounded more like a threat than a promise. It was as if she did not know him at all. Her free-spirited brother had turned into a cold stranger.
Seward turned and let Rodor lead him from the hall, without a backward glance.
Chapter Six
The King’s Return
Merwenna wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist and squinted down at the tunic she was mending. It was unbearably stuffy here inside the Great Hall. The air was so close that it made her feel light-headed. It was difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.
The aroma of baking bread mingled with the odor of stewing cabbage and onion, and that of stale sweat. Despite that it was one of the hottest afternoons of the summer outside, the two fire pits within the hall smoldered. Slaves were baking griddle bread over one of the fire pits; placing thin discs of dough on a hot iron plate. A simmering cauldron of pottage cooked over the second fire pit.
She sat with the other women, opposite to where the two princesses, Cyneburh and Cyneswith, embroidered pieces for a new banner. It bore the Mercian crest – pale gold with a wyvern, a two-legged dragon with spread wings, at its center. The banner was to be a gift to their father for his victory, and it was nearly finished. The princesses had both proved to be haughty and unfriendly toward Merwenna, in stark contrast to their mother’s warmth.
Queen Cyneswide perched at a huge loom, not far from her daughters, where she, and two ealdormen’s wives, worked at a tapestry. It was half-finished, but Merwenna could see that it was to be a panorama of green hills and verdant forest, with a great tower in its center – Tamworth.
Merwenna looked down at her mending and tried to swallow the nausea that had plagued her ever since she had watched her brother walk outside to be whipped that morning. She was already regretting her decision – only now it was too late to put things right. Without Seward’s reassuring presence, she felt vulnerable in the king’s hall.
Despite Cyneswide’s graciousness, the other women here were not welcoming. Merwenna had caught them whispering, and could only imagine it was about her. Once or twice, she had caught some of the women staring – and their gazes had not been friendly.
Merwenna did not belong here. She was a village girl, and by rights should not have been sitting with the high born ladies. Her father had once served Raedwald of the East Angles many years earlier, but now he was of lesser rank. These days, he served Weyham’s ealdorman. Merwenna had been proud of her father’s rank at home, but here she realized that he would have been treated as a landless peasant among folk such as these. It was only the queen’s generosity that allowed her to remain here, and everyone present knew the truth of it.
Merwenna’s gaze traveled then to Cerwen. The slave was sweeping food scraps away from the hearth. The girl’s pretty face was pale, her eyes hollowed. Merwenna’s gaze shifted to the collar about Cerwen’s neck and felt her own throat constrict. She had not been among the eager crowd that had followed the lovers outside, clamoring to witness their whipping. Still, from inside the hall, she had heard Cerwen’s screams. From her brother, she had heard nothing.
Suddenly, Merwenna could not stand to be inside the Great Hall a moment longer. Sh
e felt as if the walls were closing in on her. The sharp glances from the other women were like boning knifes, stabbing and twisting till she could bear it no more. She needed air.
“Excuse me,” Merwenna put her mending aside and rose to her feet. “I must visit the privy. I shall be back soon.”
Whispers followed her, as she crossed the floor. She could feel the weight of their stares pressing between her shoulder blades.
Merwenna let out a long breath of relief as she stepped beyond the doors. Outside, the afternoon sun slanted onto the wide yard, cooking the hard-packed dirt. It was so hot that the dogs that usually prowled the space had taken refuge in the shade, tongues lolling. The sun was a white orb in a hard blue sky. Yet, despite the heat, Merwenna’s breathing steadied. At least here, she was not scrutinized.
She made her way down the stone steps to the yard and moved into the shade, near one of the panting dogs. The beast paid her no mind; it was too intent on snapping at flies that buzzed too close.
Although she was lightly dressed, in her best green wealca, a tube linen dress with shoulder straps attached with broaches, she felt sweat begin to slide down her spine. There were few folk about on this unusually hot late summer’s afternoon. However, Merwenna spied two warriors, sweating in boiled leather, guarding the gates leading into the yard.
“What are you doing out here on your own, girl?”
A rough male voice sounded behind Merwenna, causing her to start. She whirled to see Rodor standing a couple of feet behind her, his cold gaze fixed upon her. His sleeveless tunic was dark with sweat, and he smelled of horses.
“Just taking some air,” Merwenna replied nervously. There was something about Rodor that put her nerves on edge – that and the fact he had been the one to whip her brother. Rodor said little but thought a lot; she could see it in those gimlet eyes. There was also cruelty in the lines of his face.
“Careful,” he smiled. “Wandering off alone makes you look as if you’re looking for the same kind of trouble as your brother.”