Dark Under the Cover of Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  “Lord Eafa!” A man’s voice hailed them from behind.

  Eafa cursed under his breath and turned, still holding Raedwyn fast at his side. Raedwyn’s cousin, Annan, approached. As usual, Annan was in good spirits. He walked with a jaunty stride, seemingly oblivious to Raedwyn’s terror or Eafa’s irritation at his interruption.

  “What is it?” Eafa growled. “Why do you disturb us?”

  “A messenger has arrived from Tamworth with urgent news for you, Milord.”

  Eafa dropped Raedwyn’s arm. “Where is the messenger?”

  “He awaits you in the hall with the king,” Annan replied.

  Raedwyn forgotten, Eafa pushed past Annan and stalked back up the street between rows of thatched huts. Annan watched him go before turning to Raedwyn.

  “Is all well with you Raedwyn?” Annan’s face clouded. “You are deathly pale.”

  Raedwyn forced a smile. “I’m just a bit tired after being inside all day. I think I’ll take a stroll around the walls.”

  “I’ll see you back at the hall then,” Annan replied. “You’d better hurry that walk or you’ll get drenched. A rain squall’s on its way.”

  Raedwyn watched Annan turn and follow Eafa back up the street, before she took a slow, shuddering breath.

  Her marriage to Eafa would only end in death – but would it be his or hers? Her hand trembled as she felt beneath her tunic, her fingers clasping around the blade she had secreted.

  Would she have the stomach to use it? Raedwyn’s grip tightened on the knife. Courage Raedwyn, she told herself, you are of Wuffinga blood. None of your male kin would allow themselves to be brutalized, and neither will you. You will fight him, even if he kills you for it.

  ***

  Night fell over Rendlaesham in a thick rain-swept shroud. The storm had cut short the slaves’ work in the fields, and so Caelin, Alchfrid, Immin and Sebbi had returned before dusk. Muddy and shivering, they had seen to the horses and cleaned the plough, before retreating inside the stable to dry off.

  They had depleted their stock of half-rotten and rancid food – left-overs from Raedwald’s hall – and their bellies were hollow and aching. Hunched over a pitiful fire, Sebbi’s thin face was a picture of misery.

  “How do they expect us to work,” he growled, “if they don’t feed us!”

  “It’s the boon of having slaves,” Alchfrid replied through chattering teeth. “If one drops dead while polishing his lord’s arse, there are plenty more to put to work.”

  “Sebbi’s right,” Caelin spoke up. “We must eat. Yesterday I saw Eafa’s men cooking a stew in the western wing of the stables. I’d wager they have supplies there still. Even if its stale bread and moldy onions, we need something to fill our stomachs. Shall I go and see?”

  Alchfrid gave a low whistle at that, while the other two merely gazed at Caelin, their eyes huge on their drawn faces.

  “You’ve got bollocks, I’ll give you that.” Alchfrid shook his head. “But if Eafa or his men find you there, you’ll be given much worse than a whipping.”

  Caelin grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dimly lit stable. “It just makes the challenge all the sweeter!” He replied recklessly.

  Alchfrid, Sebbi and Immin watched Caelin slip away into the shadows before they exchanged glances.

  “I can’t decide whether he’s brave or mad.” Immin shook his head. “You wouldn’t catch me going anywhere near the west wing tonight.”

  Alchfrid’s gaze flicked back at where Caelin had disappeared before he replied, “A bit of both I’d say. Have you not noticed? Since the king announced Raedwyn’s marriage to Eafa, Caelin has changed. He’s careless, angry and bitter.”

  His companions’ eyes widened at that. Obviously they had not observed any change in him.

  “You mean...” Sebbi began, as the full implication of Alchfrid’s words hit him, “that the fool is lovesick?”

  “The man is miserable with longing for her. Can’t you see it?” Alchfrid replied.

  Immin nodded slowly. “Now that you mention it... he always goes quiet and serious whenever anyone mentions Raedwyn.”

  “He has hidden it well though,” Sebbi added, “and I’d wager he wouldn’t thank any of us for mentioning it. I’ve never met such a proud fool.”

  Alchfrid nodded, his face thoughtful. He warmed his hands over the embers of their fire and decided to let the matter drop. “Let us hope that our proud fool comes back from his forage,” he replied, “or it will be a hungry night for us all.”

  ***

  Thunder boomed overhead and the thick veil of rain aided Caelin as he moved around the edge of the stable complex, towards the western wing where Eafa’s men stabled their horses. His boots squelched in the mud but there was no one about to hear him. Water sluiced down his face and ran into his eyes. Caelin blinked it away and slowly edged his way around the building. The first entrance he came to was too busy to risk entering. Behind the wattle door, Caelin could hear the rumble of men’s voices and the smell of cooking meat. His mouth filled with saliva; he had not eaten since his stale bread at breakfast and his stomach growled in protest.

  Passing the door, Caelin edged farther up the building and came to a narrow door at the far end. Carefully, Caelin pulled the door ajar. Beyond he could see nothing but darkness. The smell of horse filled his nostrils. Slipping inside, Caelin pulled the door closed and crouched low, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

  Eventually, Caelin could make out the edges of the stalls and the outlines of the horses. Some munched on hay, while others fidgeted in their stalls. Caelin was sure they smelled him but, fortunately, his presence did not startle any of them. Moving quietly, Caelin crept down the aisle between the horses. He reached a partition between the horses and the men, and it was here that Caelin discovered the food store.

  He could hear men’s voices just beyond the thin partition and firelight shone through the thin wall in fine shafts, illuminating the shadowy corner where Eafa’s men kept their food supplies. Caelin felt around inside the store, discovering sacks of onions, carrots and cabbages. He moved quickly, filling a small sack that he had brought with him, before he discovered a side of salted pork. Grinning at his stroke of luck, Caelin took out a small knife that he used for boning fish, to cut a thick slice off. He now had the ingredients for a half-decent stew.

  Caelin was about to continue searching through the store, just to see if he had missed any other delicacies, when he heard someone approaching on the other side of the partition. He had just enough time to fling himself into the next stall and crouch down next to its occupant, when the door opened and light flooded into the stables. The horse snorted nervously and shifted away from Caelin as the silhouette of a tall man appeared in the doorway.

  “Where did you put the onions?” the man called back over his shoulder.

  “At the front,” came the answer, “and find us some carrots for this stew while you’re at it.”

  Caelin held his breath as the man foraged around in the store, and the odor of mead reached him. The men had been drinking – and Caelin hoped that in the man’s inebriated state, he would fail to notice the horse pawing and snorting next door.

  “Milord!” the voice that had asked for the carrots, rang out across the stable, followed by the respectful chorus of “good evening Milord!” from the other men present.

  Caelin froze, his hands clutched around his sack of food. There was only one man that made others that nervous.

  Eafa the Merciful had paid his men a visit.

  The man searching for onions and carrots, hurriedly exited the store with a handful of vegetables, and pulled the thin wattle door closed behind him.

  “My Lord Eafa,” he greeted the newcomer, “will you join us for boiled mutton and pottage?”

  “I have already eaten,” came Eafa’s cool reply. “I did not come here to break bread with you Yffi – instead, I bring news that will affect you all. My uncle, the King of Mercia is dead.”

&nbs
p; Silence followed Eafa’s words. They had all been expecting this, for King Cearl had been ailing for a long while. His twenty-year rule, a time of relative peace for Mercia, was now at an end. They now stood before their new leader – for it was Eafa who was in line to succeed him.

  “My father died while I and my brother Penda were babes,” Eafa continued, “and Cearl stepped in, taking the throne for himself. He should have handed it over to me when I came of age but no, the old goat hung on to it like it was his birthright. Now he is dead and I finally have the lands I was born to rule. Kneel before your king!”

  Caelin heard shuffling as the men hurried to do their lord’s bidding. Even from behind the partition, he could taste their fear of this man. Just his voice made Caelin’s blood run cold.

  “That’s better.” Eafa’s voice was quieter now. “Rise and listen to me now. There is no time to waste. The greatness of Mercia depends on the actions of us all now. Tomorrow, I will wed Raedwyn the Fair, daughter of Raedwald, King of the East Angles – and after the ceremony, while Raedwald feasts and drinks to my health, I will kill him in his own hall.”

  Caelin heard the sucked-in breaths of Eafa’s men, and a shocked silence followed before Eafa continued speaking.

  “It is time that Mercia took her rightful place, as Britannia’s leader. We cannot lead if we are mice. I have brought fifty spears with me; enough men to justify my protection on the road to Rendlaesham, but not enough to arouse suspicion. If we take the Great Hall and kill Raedwald and all his male heirs, and take the women as hostages – the Kingdom of the East Angles will be ours!”

  “My Lord,” Yffi ventured, his voice brittle. “The hall will be full of Raedwald’s ealdormen, thegns and those loyal to him.”

  “Then we will have to kill them all,” Eafa replied decisively. “My spears will encircle the hall. Nobody will be let out alive, unless they swear their allegiance to me, and forswear all loyalty to Raedwald.”

  The silence in the stables lay heavily after Eafa the Merciful had spoken. Eventually, Yffi, obviously the leader here for the others had lost their voices, answered his king.

  “My Lord Eafa, we have little time to prepare. Have you planned the deed? If we are to do this, nothing can go ill or Raedwald will have us all butchered like pigs.”

  “I knew there was a reason I brought you with me Yffi.” Eafa’s dry wit did not elicit any laughter among his men – for he had not meant it to. “Of course I have a plan. Once the handfast ceremony is completed, we will sit down to a feast. There will be honey seed cakes served for the bride and groom, as is customary, at the end of the meal. At that point, I will rise from my seat and go to Raedwald with my cup raised, as if to toast him. Instead, I will slit his throat and I expect all my men in position to act the instant I kill Raedwald. Eorpwald, Eni, and his whelps – all must die.”

  “Yes My Lord,” Yffi replied. “I will gather your spears now and explain your orders to them.”

  “Just one more thing Yffi,” Eafa said, his voice dispassionate, as if he were arranging a hunting expedition rather than a massacre. “Raedwyn must not be touched. Spread the word that all male Wuffingas must die but I will disembowel any man who lays a finger on my bride.”

  ***

  Caelin slipped out of the stables, back into the wet night, clutching his sack with numb hands. The rain fell heavier than before, and Caelin was soaked within moments. Moving quickly, for Eafa’s men were now moving about, passing word of their new orders, Caelin made his way back to his fellow slaves.

  Sebbi’s face split into a delighted grin when he saw Caelin emerge, dripping, from the darkness carrying a sackful of food.

  “Woden, you did it!” He rushed forward and took the sack from Caelin, emptying the contents onto the pitted wooden board that he used for preparing food.

  “Salted pork!” he exclaimed. “Caelin found us salted pork boys!”

  “Well done!” The fatigue lifted from Immin’s face. “Let’s get started on a stew then, I’m so hungry I could eat it raw!”

  Only Alchfrid saw the drawn expression on Caelin’s face.

  “What is it?” he asked as Caelin stepped up next to him in front of the fire and warmed his chilled hands. “You look like you’ve just seen your father’s ghost!”

  “Worse than that,” Caelin replied quietly, “I have just overheard Eafa the Merciful planning to kill Raedwald after the handfast ceremony tomorrow.”

  Caelin looked up from the dancing fire into the shocked faces of his friends. Sebbi and Immin had abandoned their preparations for the stew. Their faces had gone slack as they struggled to comprehend what Caelin had just told them.

  “It cannot be the truth,” Alchfrid hissed. “Even Eafa could not murder a king in his own hall in cold blood. There is no honor in it!”

  “He is a king now too,” Caelin replied. “Cearl of Mercia is dead, and Eafa will be crowned upon his return to Tamworth.”

  “And what glory, to return home with the head of the King of the East Angles,” Immin added bitterly. “Alchfrid is right. The man has the honor of a carrion crow!”

  Sebbi spat on the ground, his face twisted in disgust. “You insult crows!” he growled. “We are slaves, and have more reason than most to loathe Raedwald of the East Angles, but to murder a king at his own table, after you have just wed his daughter, is detestable!”

  “That it is,” Caelin agreed. “If Eafa succeeds it will be a dark day, not just for East Anglia, but for all Britannia.”

  His gaze swept over their faces: Alchfrid, Immin and Sebbi – three of the best men he had ever met.

  He was about to find out if they were also the bravest.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Raedwyn and Eafa’s wedding day dawned, gray and cool. A veil of misty rain shrouded the world from view, enveloping Rendlaesham and Raedwald’s Great Hall in an iron curtain. Standing at her bower window, Raedwyn looked out into the murk and thought that there was no weather more fit for the ceremony that would take place today.

  Tired from a sleepless night, Raedwyn turned from the window and cast her gaze over her wedding dress, which lay spread over her bed. It was so beautiful – yet she loathed the touch of it against her skin. Once the dress was on, Raedwyn stood patiently while Seaxwyn tied the intricate laces at her back. The two women did not speak. Seaxwyn had no words of advice for her daughter this time, and Raedwyn had no words at all.

  Raedwyn looked down at the delicately embroidered sleeves of her gown; needlework that she had done herself, and felt a pang. It was hard to believe that she had once dreamed of this day.

  Seaxwyn finished tying up her laces, and left her daughter alone to finish dressing. Raedwyn retrieved the knife from its hiding place under her furs and strapped it to her right thigh – as she had done each morning since Eafa the Merciful arrived in Rendlaesham.

  What are you doing Raedwyn? A small voice warned at the back of her mind. What will your new husband do when he beds you this evening – and finds you armed? Are you planning to kill him before he takes you away from here?

  Raedwyn had no answer to give. Strapping on the knife was instinct. She was not sure what would happen when she and Eafa were alone tonight. She imagined Eafa would be clever enough to keep his fists to himself while they were still under her father’s roof. Still, a bleak fatalism now gripped Raedwyn. If she was doomed, she did not intend to become an object of pity.

  Raedwyn emerged from her bower to find the Great Hall a glorious sight to behold. Wreaths of spring flowers hung from the walls and garlanded the ceiling. The interior of the hall sparkled after the thorough cleaning the day before.

  Feeling everyone’s eyes upon her, although Eafa was thankfully nowhere to be seen, Raedwyn walked across to where Eorpwald was breaking his fast, and took a seat opposite her brother.

  “Good morning, Eorpwald,” Raedwyn took the plate of bread smeared with butter and honey. “Could you pass me a cup of mead?”

  Eorpwald nodded, making no comment about th
e fact that Raedwyn never usually drank mead at this time of day. They both knew she needed something to take the edge off what was to come. Raedwyn’s gaze met his, and she was relieved to see no pity in her brother’s eyes – just sadness. Usually, bread, butter and honey was Raedwyn’s favorite way to break her fast, but this morning it merely choked her. She took a couple of mouthfuls and washed it down with a second cup of strong mead.

  “Eorpwald,” Raedwyn said finally, her voice low so that they were not overheard. “Brother, I know that you have fought father on this, and I thank you. We were never close as children, and that was my fault not yours. I have realized your true worth too late.”

  Eorpwald’s face went still for a moment and the enigmatic mask he wore slipped. His eyes glittered with sudden tears and he reached across the table and covered Raedwyn’s hand with his.

  “You talk as if we shall never see each other again,” he replied quietly.

  Raedwyn smiled, realizing as she did so, that her expression must have appeared forced.

  “You know the truth Eorpwald,” she replied gently. “We need not speak of it.”

  Eorpwald’s face had gone pale. He squeezed Raedwyn’s hand and she could see the effort he was making not to say more.

  “Raedwyn,” he whispered. “I wish things were different.”

  “So do we all.” Raedwyn removed her hand from his and took a deep draught of mead.

  ***

  Caelin was shoveling muck next to the stables when he saw Eorpwald make his way down the steps beneath the Great Hall. The king’s surviving son looked serious, his eyes downcast, as he strode across the stable yard towards the gates.