The doors swung open.
Outside, the day was bright. The light silhouetted the figures standing in the doorway, leaving them nothing but shadows.
Slowly, one by one, the shadows came into the hall, becoming real and solid as they did so.
First, a priest, but one tonsured in a manner unfamiliar to the king, his hair a ring about his head. With him came a monk, well known to Oswiu: Utta. Then the retainers, the men sent by him and by Kent to guard the princess on her long journey north. As the journey was not yet over, and the princess not yet presented to the king, they alone of all men who sought entry to the king’s hall were permitted to enter with their swords hanging from their belts.
Following the men were Eanflæd’s women, the four ladies who had come on this journey and would stay with her: her hearth companions.
And then another woman.
She walked alone, with the bearing of a queen, but she wore the scarf of the mother of a holy house. At the sight of her, whispers rippled around the great hall, starting among the servants, many of whom had served King Edwin, then moving to the benches where the king’s men sat, before moving up the hall to the high table and the judgement seat.
“Æthelburh, Æthelburh. Queen Æthelburh.”
One of the servants ran to her and, falling to his knees, took the queen’s hand and pressed it to his forehead. Another followed, and another, until the queen was surrounded by a group of weeping, exulting servants.
Naming them, the queen lifted them to their feet, one by one.
“Eadstan; Drythelm; Heiu; Botild; Cynferth.” As she said their names, the servants rose and stood aside, eyes wet shining with tears, until at last Æthelburh was able to continue on through the hall.
As the old queen was speaking to the servants, Oswiu looked past her, to the final person in the procession, eager for a first sight of his new bride.
But he could not see Eanflæd’s face. She was veiled, the golden cloth moving with every breath, but never moving enough to reveal the face behind it.
As the procession resumed, Eanflæd followed her mother up between the rows of benches, the men standing now, craning their heads to better see the new queen. Fresh whispers rippled round the hall, following on from the wonder of seeing Queen Æthelburh.
“What’s she like?”
“Can’t see her.”
“Edwin’s daughter.”
The two priests leading the procession stopped in front of the high table, before the king’s judgement seat. The small priest, the one with the circle of hair, bowed low, while Utta made the courtesy. Behind them, the men charged with bringing their precious charge to Oswiu’s court slowly parted so that the women might pass through them.
“My lord.” The small priest bowed again. “I am Romanus, a priest of God and a man of the Franks who has lived for many years on this side of the narrow sea, in the kingdom of Kent. As charged by King Earconbert, I have brought this, the most precious of his kingdom’s gifts, to King Oswiu, lord of Bernicia, overking of Rheged and the lands of the north, that the two thrones may be forever joined, in friendship and in blood.” The priest turned and bowed to the woman standing beside him. “And at her request, I have also brought one known to many here, for she would see again this land where she was queen: Æthelburh; mother now to the holy house in Lyminge.”
Queen Æthelburh stepped forward.
The king rose from the judgement seat and, striding forward, he stepped up and over the high table, not caring that he knocked cup and bowl aside, and jumped down in front of Æthelburh.
“Welcome.” The king spread his arms wide. “Welcome! For one who has come so far, for one who returns to where she once was queen, it is only fit that I, the king, should come to meet you at the end of your journey.”
And the queen answered Oswiu’s smile with one of her own.
“I have heard much of the generosity and cheer of this court and its king. I see the tales are true.”
“But you have brought me the greatest and most precious of gifts, Queen Æthelburh. You have brought me the flesh of your flesh. What greater gift is there than that?”
And all in the king’s great hall turned to look at the veiled figure who stood, silent, behind the queen.
Queen Æthelburh held out her hand. The veiled figure came forward, and stood beside the queen.
“You are right, King Oswiu,” said Queen Æthelburh. “There is no greater gift I can give you than this, my daughter; of the royal houses of Kent and Deira; granddaughter to the high king, Æthelbert of Kent; daughter to the High King, Edwin; descendant of the kings of the Franks.”
Silence and awe fell upon the hall, for great indeed were the sires from whom this new queen came.
Slowly, Queen Æthelburh lifted the veil from her daughter’s face.
“Eanflæd.”
Oswiu looked, for the first time, at the face of his queen. Her eyes were downcast, but as she felt his gaze upon her, she raised her eyes to his.
He moved his lips to try to speak, but no words emerged from them.
Eanflæd looked into her betrothed’s eyes. “W-will I do?” she asked.
Oswiu tried again to speak, but still his mouth would form no words. Instead, he nodded, and the movement served to release his tongue.
“Y-yes,” he said.
Eanflæd lowered her eyes again.
Oswiu swallowed. He looked to the steward, to call him to set the feast. And while he did so, a quick, secret glance passed between Eanflæd and her mother, a shared smile that the king’s daughter, standing beside him, alone saw.
“I’m Ahlflæd,” she said, stepping forward. “I’m the king’s daughter. He has a son too, my brother, who’d be here today, only he is being fostered at the court of King Penda.”
“Ahlflæd, what are you doing?” said Oswiu, reaching for his daughter. But she skipped out of his reach.
“No, no,” said Eanflæd. “I have heard so much of your children. I would meet them.” She turned to the girl. “So you are Ahlflæd.”
“Yes,” said the princess. She looked closely at the woman in front of her. “You are pretty; as beautiful as my mother.”
“But not, I think, as pretty as you.”
“No,” said the girl. “No, not as pretty as me.”
“Ahlflæd…” began Oswiu. But the queen put a hand on his arm. He looked at Æthelburh in surprise.
“When I married Edwin,” said the queen, “he had two grown sons, who did not receive me well at first. Leave my daughter to speak to your daughter for a while, that there may be friendship between them, and let us speak while the steward prepares the feast and the priests prepare for the marriage.”
Oswiu glanced at his daughter and wife-to-be, saw that they were speaking earnestly together, then nodded his agreement. As the steward directed servants around the hall, and the men ran the new arrivals at court through the gossip mill, Æthelburh quickly told the king of their journey north and, most particularly, of their visit to York and their reception by King Oswine Godfriend.
“Do not blame my daughter for this,” the queen finished. “The fault was mine. I greatly desired to look on the face of my husband again, but I should not have taken Eanflæd with me when I travelled upriver to York. Now I have brought upset to your relations with Deira, and made it the more difficult for you to claim the throne there. But I say again, do not hold my daughter responsible for this, but me instead, and say, in light of this, whether you still wish the marriage to proceed.”
Oswiu looked over at Eanflæd. Feeling his glance, she looked up from her conversation with Ahlflæd, and smiled.
“I will marry your daughter, Queen Æthelburh. I will marry her in gladness.”
*
“Hwæt!”
Acca took his place by the great hearth fire. Round him, men settling into the final stages of feasting readied themselves for the last public act of the day: the wedding tale of the scop.
“Give us a riddle like before!”
That was the drunken yell that went up from many of the men in the hall. For while they had drunk much already, yet their heads were not so fuddled that they could not remember the last time they had feasted Oswiu in marriage and the riddle Acca had posed them then – a riddle many of the men still dragged from memory when they wanted to make a maid blush.
The scop, turning round the great hall, held his finger to his lips. And though most of the men were drunk, yet they saw Acca’s gesture, and slowly obeyed it. Shouts and laughter and the thrum of conversation died away to the bare minimum of cups being refilled and the whisper of anticipation.
“You call for a riddle.”
Shouts and cheers greeted Acca’s words. But the scop waited again for quiet, and the catcalls died away.
The scop pointed to the high table.
“See you who sits there?”
Acca turned, taking in all the hall, locking every eye upon him.
“See you who sits there?”
Acca gestured once more to the high table.
“Our king – and two queens! Queen Æthelburh, beyond all hope, beyond all expectation, has returned to us, and you drunken louts want me to tell a dirty riddle. Shame on you! Shame, I say! The queen is mother to a holy house now, she is door warden to heaven’s great hall – and you want me to sing a filthy song. Well, I won’t.” Acca turned through the silent hall, where not a man spoke, and few could hold his eye. “Well, not yet.”
A great cheer went up, releasing the tension that the scop had carefully wrought.
Acca held his hand up for silence, and quickly the men gave it to him.
“But now, I will sing a new song, a riddle song, a song fit for our queens.” The scop picked up his lyre and strummed the six strings, sending their golden sound through the hall.
“I will sing a dream, dreamed by Coifi.” Plucking the strings, he played the start of an old, familiar lament: “Riddle me this.”
“It was years ago, or so I remember,
that I was torn from the trees’ edge,
ripped from my root.
Strong enemies gripped me,
made me a spectacle,
swung their criminals from me;
“I carried men on my crossbeam
until I was fixed on a crag;
many enemies set me there.
I saw mankind’s Lord walk boldly, quickly,
eager to climb up.
“There I could not, against the Creator’s will,
quiver or fall, though I saw quake the earth’s surface.
I was able to slaughter all the enemies,
but I stood firm.
“The young man, Heaven’s King, cast off his clothes,
strong and firm spirited;
he stood on the gallows
bravely, beheld by many,
to break mankind free.
I trembled as the man embraced me;
I dared not topple to earth, fall to the ground;
I had to stand fast.
“As a cross I was raised, carrying the mighty king, heaven’s lord.
I could not lean away.
They drove dark nails into me;
the dreadful cuts are still seen, open, malicious wounds;
I dared not harm one of them.
They insulted us both together;
I was all besmeared with blood from the man’s side
once he sent forth his spirit.”
Acca’s voice died to silence. He looked around the hall. Not a man, or woman, or child, made a noise, nor moved. Even the dogs were quiet. He looked to the high table, and saw tears coursing down the king’s face, and beading the eyes of the queens.
Slowly, Queen Æthelburh rose to her feet.
“That is a dream of the rood,” she said. “The song of the great high tree that joined us, once more, with heaven.”
“Yes,” said Acca simply. He sought for more words, but there was nothing more to say.
The queen looked at old Coifi, and wide was the smile on her face, although the tears still brimmed her eyes.
“And you dreamed this dream, old friend?”
The priest rose from where he had been sitting, cloak wrapped around his shoulders, squatting close to the fire, that he might search its heart.
“I dreamed it, Queen Æthelburh.”
“Then I am glad for you, and envy you too, that you saw such things, for few indeed have seen them.”
The king rose from the judgement seat.
“I will have these words set down, inscribed in a great stone rood, that all may know them, and know the tree that we must climb to reach our great lord’s hall.”
Acca made the courtesy. “I thank you, lord. But would it be too much to ask that you might give reward in the more usual way too?”
Oswiu laughed and, taking a gold ring from his own arm, he sent it spinning through the air to the scop, who caught it with one hand, while taking up the lyre with the other.
“Now, you have the lyre; give us another song,” said the king, “for the hour is yet early, and the time not come for me to go forth with my bride.” Oswiu looked to the woman beside him. “But it will come soon.”
And as the men put up a cheer, and Acca strummed his lyre and launched into the telling of a quite remarkably filthy riddle, the king reached over and took the hand of his new queen.
PART 3
Strife
Chapter 1
“Father.”
Oswiu looked at the young man standing in front of him. “You used to call me Daddy before you went,” he said.
“I was a boy then.”
“Yes, you’ve grown.” Oswiu put his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “When you left, your head came to my shoulder.”
“You’ve grown too, Father.” Ahlfrith reached out and patted his father’s stomach.
Oswiu laughed, and struck his fist to his belly. “All muscle,” he said.
“If it is muscle, why did your fist bounce?” asked Ahlfrith.
“Ha, I hoped you’d come back with Penda’s war plans, and instead you’ve returned with your sister’s cheek.” Oswiu gazed at the face in front of him. Ahlfrith had returned a man, with a beard fuzz on his cheeks and with a man’s strength in his grasp. “Ah, but it is good to see you again.” And he clasped his son in his arms.
They were standing by the old road of the emperors. Ahlfrith had ridden north with his men, the small group of retainers who had gathered around him during the latter part of the time he had spent at Penda’s court. These were lordless men who had come, seeking a hall and an oath lord, and had attached themselves to the young ætheling, either through the raw recking of power – for a man who bound himself to an ætheling who went on to claim a throne might climb very high with him, whereas making pledge to an established king such as Penda was to take a place at the bottom of a ladder that had already grown very high – or through love and friendship, for in the dangers of the hunt and, even more so, in the dangers of war, a brave ætheling might bind many men to him through his courage and generosity. Ahlfrith, grown into his manhood, had taken leave of Penda and his court, and ridden north along the great road of the emperors, having sent word to his father that he was returning by this route. He had expected to meet Oswiu at one of his father’s royal estates, but Oswiu, on receiving word of Ahlfrith’s return, had ridden to meet him, setting camp and his tents by the Perch Inn.
“Is Ahlflæd with you?” Ahlfrith asked, looking round at the grouped men for sign of his sister.
“No. She waits for you at our hall in Hexham.”
Ahlfrith shook his head. “That is for shame. I would have seen her.” He grinned. “I have a message for her – from Peada.”
“Penda’s son?”
“No less.”
“Why should he send message to Ahlflæd?”
“Why? For the wish he holds for her in his heart – and in other places, I should think. When Ahlflæd was yet young enough to visit me, Peada would al
ways come to find her, bringing her gifts – which she spurned – and generally mooning around her like some young goose.”
“What is the message he sends to her?” asked Oswiu.
“That enemy thrones may be united by marriage, and become each the stronger for it.”
Oswiu blew the breath through his teeth, sounding as the wind through the trees.
“Peada asks marriage with Ahlflæd? Would his father stand for it?”
Ahlfrith shook his head. “No. But Peada chafes against Penda’s bit, chewing and working it, seeking always more men and greater power – both of which the king is loath to give him. Peada recks himself a war leader, but his father gives him no leave to wage war, and he grows restless.”
“Does he have support in the witan?”
“Little as yet.” Ahlfrith smiled. “It would be as if I sought to take the throne from you, Father, still with only half a beard and little glory to my name.”
“Nevertheless, we may make use of this when the time comes.”
“Indeed.” Ahlfrith’s smile grew broader. “It is why, when we have met again after five years, I tell you this first of all, rather than asking after Mother, or Grandmother, and the rest of the family, that you may hear as well as see that I have grown.”
Oswiu nodded, looking with even greater interest at the young man standing in front of him. “You have indeed grown.” He laughed. “Maybe I should follow Penda’s lead, and be wary of handing too much power to a son.”
“You should – if I was like Peada. He has no patience, and less subtlety. There were rumours that Penda does not think him throne-worthy, and instead favours his younger son, Wulfhere. But this may be simply the opinion of bored men gossiping through winter nights. Wulfhere is still young.” Ahlfrith paused and looked pointedly at his father. “Although he is older than your new son.”
“Ah. So you have heard about Ecgfrith?”
“Yes. A son to the king of Bernicia by the daughter of Edwin: that is the sort of news to pass through all the kingdoms faster than a man might ride.” Ahlfrith stopped. He looked carefully at his father. There were yet few signs of age upon him, other than the thickening of his girth and some lines upon his face. But looking closer, Ahlfrith saw the first few hairs frost touched by the passing years. Penda had more, but they were seldom seen, for near always he went about hooded, his single black eye peering out upon the world from the shadow beneath his hood.
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