Paths of Exile

by Carla Nayland

  “His lordship has visitors,” commented Severa’s voice, near at hand. She climbed up one more branch, lithe as a cat, and perched a little below him. Luned, it seemed, had sensibly stayed on the ground.

  “Visitors?”

  “The banner. His lordship’s symbol is a wolf’s head –”

  “Very appropriate.” In Anglian custom a wolf’s head signified an outlaw.

  “– and whatever it is on that banner, it isn’t a wolf’s head – Are you all right?”

  The world seemed to grow dark around Eadwine, and he heard blood rushing in his ears. The banner snapped in the wind as the horsemen turned off the road and took their horses to drink at the river under the corner of the fort. A leaping salmon, glistening silver in the sun. The badge of Ceretic of Elmet. And that explained the sudden pursuit. The Lord of Navio might never have heard of Eadwine of Deira, but Ceretic of Elmet certainly had, and was offering a reward for his capture. Was Ceretic in alliance with Aethelferth – voluntarily or by force? Had he unwittingly sent Hereric to his death?

  His vision cleared, to show Severa looking at him with a concerned expression.

  Eadwine ignored it. “How many men in your lord’s warband?”

  Severa frowned, and he was half-expecting an answer as unhelpful as Luned’s reply of ‘lots’ to the same question. “Forty,” she said, after a pause. “Give or take one or two.”

  Forty was not a warband, it was a small army. And there were another dozen of Ceretic’s men at least.

  “Do you know how many are on guard during the night?”

  “One on each gate and one on each wall, same as during the day,” came the immediate response. “I don’t know about inside. We don’t go inside if we can help it.”

  “Not even to deliver the food-rent?”

  “His soldiers and slaves come and take what he wants.” She glanced up. “Next time they want a cartload of something – hay, perhaps – if you are in the village I might be able to distract the guards long enough for you to hide under the load. That would get you into the fort. But I don’t know when that might be. And I can’t see how you get out again. Damn – that isn’t much use to you –”

  “It would also be very dangerous for you,” he said quietly. “I do not ask your help, Severa.”

  “I offer it anyway,” she returned. “Why else do you think I came?”

  “No. I can’t accept. All we have to do is escape –”

  “All!”

  “– but you have to carry on living here, and his lordship will be a very angry man if we succeed. I would not wish his wrath to fall on you.”

  “He’s afraid of me. You said so yourself.”

  “Angry men often forget their fear. Severa, I am grateful but I do not ask or need your help.”

  “No? How are you going to get into that fort? You can’t disguise yourself as a peasant or a slave because, frankly, you don’t look like either and his lordship’s men know everyone in the valley by sight. Also, some of them saw you on the road yesterday and if they recognise you you’ll be dead. His lordship didn’t dare hurt you then because violence on Samhain Eve offends the gods, but he won’t have forgotten you. You can’t climb the walls. You can’t break down the gates. You can’t hide in a sack or a beer barrel because the ones we use are too small. You can’t get in.”

  Eadwine had run through most of those options himself and reached much the same conclusion. “There has to be a way!”

  Severa threw him a flashing glance like a shaft of sunlight piercing clouds. “I said you can’t get in. But I can. And then, after dark, I can open a gate.”

  “No! It’s too dangerous!”

  She gave him a cool, level stare. “You think a life of ever-dwindling hope is worth clinging to at any cost? You of all people? You were my guests. You think I’m going to let that bastard betray my hospitality, break my trust? I mean to get your friends out of there, on my own if need be. For my honour, not for your gratitude.”

  Eadwine understood. This was the ethic that drove warriors into battle or vengeance against all reason, when the fear of death shrivelled beside the need for self-respect. But he could not bear to imagine what the Lord of Navio might do to Severa, if she was discovered.

  “They won’t let you in,” he protested, knowing it was hopeless. “You’re known here –”

  “To his lordship’s men, yes. Not to them.” She nodded to the riders by the river, who were lazing on the grass while their horses grazed. “They’re soldiers in a strange land, and there’s one thing they always need a woman for.”

  Eadwine’s concern was replaced by a stab of jealous shock. “You wouldn’t!”

  “As a matter of fact,” she returned tartly, “I was thinking of washerwoman. But now you come to mention it, the one with the banner isn’t half bad.”

  “Severa –”

  “You mind your business and leave me to mind mine,” she retorted. “I’ll get you into that fort, and together we’ll get your friends out. Are you coming?”

  Her face was alight with excitement and her eyes were sparkling as she disappeared back down the tree with the insouciant ease of a squirrel. This was a side of her he had not seen before. He was reminded of a young deerhound, ears pricked and tail high, eager for the hunt. Or of a young warrior, lissom and lithe and full of life, light-heartedly setting out to the battle that might end in death. He shivered, as if at a sudden cold wind, realising for the first time how thin the threads were that bound her to life. Day after monotonous day, facing the resentment of her sister-in-law and the relentless pressure from her brother, with only the slender hope of her husband’s return standing between her and a lifetime of drudgery in her brother’s household. And she had lived like that for four years.

  Severa was combing out her hair when he reached the ground, and he glared at her.

  “You said washerwoman,” he accused.

  She ignored him, sweeping her hair into a provocative curtain over one shoulder. “Which gate would you prefer, if I have a choice?”

  “The river-gate. That end of the fort looks quieter, unless he keeps his hounds in the stables?”

  “N-no,” Luned faltered, blanching at a terrifying memory “– the hounds live in the big hall.”

  Severa fastened her cloak. “What else do you need to know?”

  “How many guards are in the big central stone building, and where they are. How are you going to tell me?”

  She paused. “Good question. Perhaps I can slip out and back in again.”

  Luned swallowed hard. “I’ll come with you. I can come out with a message.”

  Severa put an arm round her. “Ah, lass, no. I wouldn’t ask you to go in there again –”

  Luned’s chin tilted, giving her a mulish expression. “I’m not frightened.” A sniff that proved she was lying. “I want to help Lilla!”

  Eadwine watched as the two women, hand-in-hand, crossed the road and sauntered over to the men lounging under Ceretic’s banner. It was soon clear that their company was very welcome. Before long two of the men were showing off to Luned with an admittedly very impressive display of swordplay, and most of the rest had clustered around Severa. He could even swear he heard shrill giggles carried on the wind, although that was probably his jealous imagination. The standard-bearer seemed especially taken with Severa, offering her a drink from his flask and then lifting her up onto his horse – taking maximum possible advantage of where to put his hands, Eadwine observed sourly – and taking her for a cheerful canter up the road to a conveniently placed clump of trees where he dismounted and drew her into a very long, very active embrace.

  Eadwine glowered across the valley like a thunderstorm, and scowled even more when Ceretic’s men went into the fort and took the two girls with them. All afternoon he watched the garrison going about its duties, taking careful note of the number of men and their comings and goings. He worked out the guard roster and the watch pattern, and noted that the guards patrolling the wall had a ten
dency to turn well before they reached the corner towers, and sometimes would stay sheltering from the wind in a convenient angle of the gate tower for minutes at a time. All the time he tried not to imagine what Severa might be doing with the burly standard-bearer. It was absurd to be jealous over a woman he had no interest in whatsoever.

  Luned came back to the knoll in the late afternoon, with a message from Severa that there were two guards in the aisled hall and two more at the entrance to the courtyard, and that he should be waiting outside the river-gate after sunset.

  “And she told me to go home,” Luned finished, “and to say she was called off sudden to a birthing if anyone asked where she was.” She sniffed. “You will be able to save Lilla, won’t you?”

  “I believe so,” Eadwine answered. “I can promise you I’ll do my best.”

  “Will you tell him –” she hesitated, and began again. “Last night – he said – he said he couldn’t marry me. Because he had to follow you, see. And I – we – quarrelled.” She scrubbed tears from her eyes. “Tell him – tell him I understand. And look after him!”

  Lilla had a splitting headache and a roiling pain in his stomach. This was not unexpected for the morning after a feast, although usually they did not result from a club and the butt-end of a spear, respectively, not unless you had really offended someone with a very short temper. It was also unusual to be lying face down on a stone floor with your feet tied together at the ankles and your hands tied behind your back. He opened the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. It made no difference whatever. Either he had gone blind or he was in some very dark, very deep dungeon shut away from the sun.

  The second possibility was preferable, so he concentrated on that. Besides, he had a vague recollection of bouncing down a flight of stone steps, and someone falling on top of him.

  “Ash? Drust?”

  A groan answered him, and then Drust’s voice, his Pictish accent thicker than usual. “Ach, Holy Mother, ma heid! Whit in heill dae they put in the mead here?”

  “If you hadn’t tried to fight them they wouldn’t have hit you so hard,” Lilla responded unsympathetically. “Ash? Are you there?”

  A muffled snort, and he became aware that something was wriggling under his feet. He moved them.

  “About time,” came Ashhere’s voice. “Where are we?”

  “Somewhere in the fort.”

  A pause, and then Ashhere asked the question no-one wanted to. “Eadwine –?”

  No answer.

  They all held their breath, observed that no-one else was breathing in the cell, and exhaled a collective sigh of relief.

  “I told Luned to warn him,” Lilla said.

  “Guid laddie,” said Drust, approvingly. “He’ll get us out.”

  Lilla sensibly did not say what the second half of his warning had been.

  They wriggled around in the cell and discovered that it was tiny, about eight feet long by six or seven feet wide, and not high enough to stand up in. The walls were made of square-cut stone blocks and the floor was apparently a single slab of stone – none of them had come across cement before. A short flight of steps led up to a trapdoor, which was either very heavy or very firmly bolted down because they were unable to move it. Much to their puzzlement, the cell also contained some big heavy stone slabs lying on the floor or propped up against the walls, covered in carvings and the strange markings that looked like runes but weren’t. They could not guess the strange stones’ purpose, although Drust was happy to invent one.

  “Wouldna mind a chance tae belt yon guard wi’ one of these,” he muttered.

  “If you sit up straight, and let me get behind you,” Lilla said, squirming across the floor until he was back-to-back with Drust, “I think I might be able to untie you –”

  His bonds did not seem to be tied as tightly as his friends’, perhaps because he was the least beefy or perhaps he had just been lucky? At any rate, his fingers had not gone numb. He worked patiently at the knots binding Drust’s wrists. One of them seemed to be coming loose –

  “Sh!” Ashhere hissed, and they hastily threw themselves flat, Drust rolling onto his back to hide the evidence.

  A crack of light glanced in, followed by the grating sound of wood on stone and a square of brilliant light as the trapdoor at the top of the steps was heaved up. Lilla could make out the silhouettes of two men, one broad and squat like an enormous toad, the other giving an impression of medium height and muscular build. He shut his eye hastily. If they thought he was unconscious there was less chance of being beaten or questioned. They were talking, and the Brittonic words swarmed round his aching head like the buzzing of bees, vaguely threatening but completely meaningless.

  Until a name caught his attention.

  “– Eadwine of Deira –”

  Lilla felt his blood congeal in his veins and his heart skipped at least one beat. He listened for all he was worth.

  Another voice was speaking now, in a high nasal whine. Lilla recognised it as the Lord of Navio who had nearly ridden them down yesterday. It sounded aggrieved.

  “– price of five slave girls in gold, you said –”

  “For the right man,” returned the first voice. It was clipped and hard and confident, and it did not much care for the Lord of Navio. “Not for any random tramp.”

  “– and they’re all alive, like you said –”

  “None of them is him! No, you’ll have to make what profit you can from these on your own account. I’m not paying you for them.”

  “There was another one – the bastard who tripped my horse on the road –”

  “I’m only interested in Saxons.”

  “These are Saxons –”

  “Not the right one.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I was King Ceretic’s envoy to Aelle’s court, and I met Eadwine of Deira last winter. I’d recognise him anywhere.”

  Lilla’s heart bunked off for another short break, and then started hammering against his chest as if trying to escape. Despite his warning, he knew Eadwine would try to rescue them. And he would walk unknowingly into a trap.

  Chapter 14

  Eadwine crouched in the inner ditch beside the river-gate. As soon as the sun had dipped behind the hills and the dusk had begun to descend he had shifted their packs and weapons up to the tiny chapel above Combe village, reckoning that if the locals all thought it was haunted it was likely to be a safe hiding place. Finally he had forded the river where it meandered past the fort and had crawled from shadow to shadow across the meadow. He was sure he had not been seen. Now he had nothing to do but wait, watching the moon rise and torturing himself with thoughts of Severa and the handsome standard-bearer. Let her call him Iddon too, and see how he liked it – !

  Eadwine rubbed his eyes as if trying to dispel the image. He had no idea why he should be thinking such things, nor why they should hurt when he was deeply in love with someone else. How had the wretched woman got under his skin like this? Perhaps Ashhere had a point after all.

  Above his head, the gate creaked. He drew his dagger, which was handier than a sword at close quarters. A line of deeper black appeared as the gate opened a crack, very cautiously, and someone inside whistled a few lines of Attacotti Nell.

  He slid in through the crack like a corporeal shadow and Severa swiftly closed the gate and dropped the bar back into place with hardly a sound. On the wall above, the sentry’s footsteps plodded unconcernedly on. There seemed to be no-one else near.

  Eadwine waited until the steps on the wall passed above the gate, then caught her hand and ran with her to the concealing shadow of the nearest building.

  “Where’s the gate guard?”

  Severa’s voice was a matching whisper. “Waiting for me behind the stables.”

  He scowled in the darkness. “While you find somewhere quiet and private, I suppose.”

  “While I fetch more ointment,” she corrected, dryly. “Being known as the witch has its uses. He has terrible p
iles, poor man.”

  Eadwine stifled a laugh. Drink or food or even a woman could all have been consumed without the guard leaving his post, but an embarrassing ailment demanded privacy. “You have a talent for this.”

  He edged along the wall and peered round the corner towards the interior of the fort. The stone headquarters building reared against the sky, and firelight streamed from the open doors of the hall. It was still early in the evening, the feast was in full swing, and the interior of the fort was busy with people. Servants bringing food, drink, firewood and torches, stable hands seeing to the horses, women fetching water, knots of people standing around gossiping, latecomers strolling to the hall, well-oiled revellers wandering in search of the latrines. There was no chance of passing unseen. The trick was to pass unnoticed.