"And if you do not live?"
"Then you will not be safe in Albion anywhere that Penda's hand might reach. If such should happen, you would do well to seek refuge with Eorcenberht, King of Cantware, far to the south. Or with the Christ monks on Hii, in the north and west." Beobrand thought of Yffi and Wuscfrea, slaughtered by Wybert over the Narrow Sea in Frankia. If Eowa fell, would his sons be safe anywhere? A king's power stretches far.
"But let us not think of the worst here in the dark. We all yet live, and in the light of the day, we may see things more clearly. For now, we both need sleep."
"I will stay with my husband," she said, lowering herself onto a stool beside the bed.
Beobrand nodded and made to leave. His eyelids drooped and he could barely think of ought save allowing the darkness of slumber to bring him peace for a time.
"Lord Beobrand," Cynethryth said, halting him with his hand on the door.
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
He looked down at Eowa's pale face. In the dim light of the small rush flames, the scars on his nose were vivid and clear.
"You have nothing to thank me for," he said, and left the chamber.
*
Beobrand awoke early. The sun was barely in the sky when Eowa's men began to rouse themselves. Men shouted at thralls for food, as they prepared to ride out to summon those loyal to their lord's banner. Outside, Beobrand could hear horses being readied. Snorts, hooves and the rattle of harness were loud in the grey dawn stillness. There was an urgency in the air. The attack on their lord and the announcement of impending war had riled the hall, like a stick prodded into a hornets' nest.
For a while, Beobrand lay still, vainly hoping for sleep to return to him, but his head ached, as it often did since his injury in the great ditch of East Angeln years before. He pushed himself up with a grunt. Gods, he felt as though he had drunk a barrel of the strongest mead. His head was pounding as if it had been used for an anvil by the local smith. His mouth was dry and sour, with the acrid taste of the poison in the back of his throat. He stood, brushing himself down. He had slept where he had found space, wrapped in his cloak like a ceorl, with the hounds. He had been beyond caring, such was his tiredness the previous night.
Acennan saw he was awake and brought over a cup of ale.
Beobrand took a swig, sluiced the drink around his mouth and spat into the ashes on the hearth. A thrall, who was trying to coax the embers back to life, cursed him in the musical tongue of the Waelisc. Beobrand ignored the boy and emptied the cup in three large swallows.
"Any tidings of how Eowa fares?" he asked.
Acennan shook his head.
"Let's find something to eat first. You look as though you drank more than your fill of that poison."
Acennan halted a passing thrall girl.
"Fetch us food," he said.
The girl was pretty, with dainty features, and long, unruly auburn hair. She could have been Reaghan's younger sister. Or perhaps her cousin. Perhaps she was Reaghan's kin, mused Beobrand. He knew not where Reaghan's people had lived. She had been too young to recall, merely knowing that when she had been captured by the Angelfolc, they had brought her east. She had talked little of her past to Beobrand. Could it be that more of her kin had been brought into slavery and sold to other lords? Reaghan had never mentioned any sisters. He had thought all her kindred slain, so he had pried little into the details of her life before Ubbanford. He shook his head. By Woden, this was too much to be fretting about now. There were more pressing matters to attend.
Beobrand handed her his empty cup.
"And some fresh ale," he said, "with our thanks."
The thrall dropped her gaze and hurried away. He watched the swish of her skirts, imagining the curves beneath with a twinge of longing, which was just as quickly replaced with a stab of guilt. He'd been away from Ubbanford and Reaghan for too long.
Acennan and Beobrand walked to the open doors of the hall to stand under the lintel and watch the hostlers and riders preparing their mounts. Some horses were already saddled and harnessed. As they watched, one young man with long dark hair that was held away from his face in long braids leapt onto a grey mare and galloped off to the east.
"Whatever happens now," Beobrand said, "Cynethryth will be travelling north with the boys. A few of Eowa's hearth-warriors will guard them."
"Where will they go?"
"To Ubbanford," Beobrand replied, his breath steaming in the early dawn air, "at least for now. If things do not go well against Penda, they will have to flee further afield. Choose two men to lead them. And," he said, with a hand on his friend's shoulder, "bear in mind that we need the best fighting men with us."
Acennan nodded. He would send a couple of the younger lads with Cynethryth and the children. It would give them a purpose and spare them from the horror of the shieldwall. Beobrand hoped that Cynan and the others had made good progress north and would meet them with Oswald before the clash with Penda. He cursed silently at having weakened his warband thus by sending some to escort the thralls. Perhaps he should have just sent the women back to their burnt homes. He pressed a hand against his forehead in a vain effort to halt the pounding. There was nothing to be gained from worrying about it now. He would have to trust Cynan to return with his gesithas as quickly as he could.
"Lord?" came a voice from behind them.
A young man stood there. A thrall.
"There is some cold meat, cheese, bread and ale awaiting you to break your fast," he said, beckoning them to follow him. Beobrand glanced around for sight of the girl with the auburn hair. There was no sign of her.
"It seems," said Acennan with a smirk, "that your pretty thrall was frightened to return, for fear of falling under the spell of the mighty Beobrand."
Beobrand frowned and shook his head. There was no time for this. He followed the man back inside, but could not stop himself having another look around the hall for the girl.
Behind him, he heard Acennan's laughter.
*
The chamber was dark. Outside, the summer sun was in the sky and the morning chill had been banished for another long hot day. Through the walls of the room came all the usual sounds of life. Somewhere far off, wood was being chopped. Nearer by, from within the main hall, came the lilting sounds of the women's weaving song. Men raised their voices and there was the clatter of weapons and shields from where the warriors practised their battle-play, out on the open stretch of land that was flanked by birch trees. Beobrand had sent Acennan and his own men down there with Eowa's. If they were to stand against a common enemy, they would do well to get to know one another. There was not much time, he hoped they could build some trust between the two warbands.
"How does he fare?" Beobrand asked in a whisper.
Cynethryth raised her head from where she sat. She was pale, her hair more dishevelled than when he had left her the night before. But to Beobrand's surprise, a response did not come from her but from the man on the bed.
"I owe you my life, it seems," Eowa croaked. His voice rasped in his throat, but he was awake and strong enough to prop himself up on one elbow.
Beobrand smiled to see him so much improved.
"Scur saved your life," he said, "not I."
Eowa closed his eyes and let himself fall back onto the pallet. He sighed.
"He was the most loyal and bravest of gesithas. I will miss him."
"He honoured his oath to you," Beobrand said.
For a long while, Eowa said nothing. Cynethryth reached out her slim hand and he clasped it. The women had stopped their singing in the hall.
"Cynethryth has told me of the offer you have made her. I thank you, Beobrand. It will be easier knowing that my family is far from here, away from the grasp of Penda should the worst befall me."
Beobrand stepped further into the room. It was warm and the air was stale.
"You need not offer me thanks, Eowa. You have cared for my son as if he were your own these past months. I merely
offer your kin the same in return."
Eowa looked up at him from the bed, His eyes glistened in the gloom.
"I will not forget this," he said. "You have ever been good to me."
Beobrand shook his head. The scars on Eowa's face told a different tale. Beobrand took in a deep breath. But what else could he have done? He too was bound by oaths as strong as iron.
"I heard horses earlier," said Eowa, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen on them. "Have all the messengers left?"
"Yes. The men have ridden out. There is no time to waste. I feel the weight of the moments passing. Penda has been plotting and planning for a long time, it would seem. I fear any delay will play into his hands. I pray we will not be too late."
"Oswald will already be on the move no doubt. My fyrd-men need time to gather, but we will not tarry. We will march in two days with however many men we can bring to my banner by then."
Beobrand took in Eowa's pallor, the dark rings around his watery eyes.
"Will you be strong enough?" he asked.
Eowa smiled grimly.
"I will have to be."
Chapter 13
Beobrand reined in Bera and looked back at the slow-moving column of men. Most of the warriors who had answered Eowa's call to arms came with spear and shield. A few bore old swords that had been handed down from father to son for generations. Very few came with their own horses. As always, a warhost travelled at the speed of its slowest warrior. And the delay chafed at Beobrand's nerves. The anxiety of not knowing what had befallen King Oswald's host gnawed at him, the way a hound chews and grinds on a bone under its master's table. Eventually, after enough chewing, the bone would shatter under a dog's strong jaws. Beobrand wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. He felt close to snapping under the pressure of uncertainty.
The days were long and warm, and he insisted that Eowa's Mercian host march until there was scarcely light in the sky. And he roused them each morning shortly after dawn, shouting and cajoling them until they were on their feet and trudging dustily along the crumbling road that had been laid down generations before by the men from Roma, far to the south. Beobrand knew the men hated him, whispering insults and spitting as he rode past. But they were all careful not to allow him to hear their words, or to witness any slight against him. They may begrudge him pushing them to march at such a pace, but all men had heard of Beobrand Half-hand, and none there would rather face his wrath than take their chances of standing in a shieldwall. Better the possibility of death in the future, than the certainty of it facing the fair-haired giant from Cantware with the frosty blue eyes that loured from a face as hard and scarred as a cliff overlooking the thundering North Sea.
"We should have travelled west," Beobrand said to Eowa, who sat astride a fine white steed. Eowa blew out a long breath and rubbed his face.
"Must we again have this argument?" he asked. "What were your orders from Oswald King?" He made no attempt to hide the frustration in his voice. They had travelled the path of this discussion many times in the last three days and they had always come to the same destination.
"You know the answer to your question," Beobrand snapped.
"I do, but you seem intent on raking over these embers again. As ordered, we will travel north on the Earninga Stræt, then west on Hēah Stræt until we join with Oswald's host and Oswiu's force from Rheged."
"But it only adds days to our journey," said Beobrand. He knew that the time for such conversation had long since passed, but he could not be rid of this worry that they were wasting precious time.
"To travel west directly," said Eowa, clearly resigned to explaining himself yet again, "would not only have been against your – no, our – sworn lord's command, it would also have been foolhardy. The terrain is rugged, and if you think the men are walking slowly now, you should see armed men walking into the hills of the Pecsætna. They are a strange people, who do not take kindly to visitors. Perhaps they have offered their spears to my brother. And even if we had crossed the hills without problem, what then?" he asked, pushing his long hair out of his face and behind an ear in a way that reminded Beobrand of Cynethryth. "We might have come across Penda's host on the western side of the hills. Do you really think this meagre warband could defeat Penda, if he is arrayed with his Waelisc allies and all his ealdormen and thegns?"
Beobrand sighed and nodded grudgingly. Eowa offered him a thin smile. The Mercian's skin was still sallow, his eyes rimmed with the darkness of illness and exhaustion following his poisoning, but he had not once complained on the gruelling march.
"Besides," said Eowa, "in this way, we know that the path northward is clear." He looked up to where the sun was lowering towards the forested hills in the west. "Come, let us reach that copse of beech trees. We can make camp there, and tomorrow we should join Hēah Stræt." Eowa touched his heels to his horse's flanks and Beobrand nudged Bera forward to follow. Acennan cantered up beside them, bringing with him more dust in a cloud kicked up by his mare.
The three of them rode towards the stand of beech that was hazed in the distance. Their scouts had ridden back to them some time ago and told them of the place as suitable for a camp.
As they rode, Beobrand thought of Eowa's words, and called out to him.
"You think Cynethryth has left already?"
"She gave me her word she would leave the day after us. That is one woman I know I can trust not to break her word to me."
Beobrand nodded.
"Still, I wish we knew they were all safe, far from any battle, and the reach of your brother."
He thought of little Octa and how the boy had clung to him when he had said they were riding to war. He had needed to push his son away in the end and hand him to Cynethryth so that he might mount his great brown horse. There had been tears in Octa's eyes and on his cheeks.
"Be brave, my son," Beobrand had said. The words had been hard to speak over the lump in his throat. "You will be in Ubbanford soon, with Reaghan."
Octa had cuffed the tears from his face, apparently angry at his own weakness.
"May your blade strike true and your shield hold strong," he had said, his face sombre.
Beobrand had laughed with joy at the boy's serious words. Octa had misunderstood his father's response, imagining Beobrand to be making jest of him. Tears had welled in his eyes anew.
"Look for me to the south and I will return to you as soon as I am able." Without waiting for a further reply from Octa, Beobrand had nodded once, curtly to Cynethryth and ridden after the warhost that had already begun marching north.
"Do not forget your words to me, Beobrand of Ubbanford," Cynethryth had called after him. He had not turned, instead he had raised his mutilated left hand in a silent acknowledgement. By all the gods, he hoped he would be able to keep her husband alive. But they rode towards battle and death.
And no man's wyrd was certain.
Acennan trotted close to Beobrand.
"I wonder what Eadgyth is doing right now," he said, staring into the northern distance, as if he thought he might be able to see her all the way in his hall, Stagga. "And Athulf and Aelfwyn. I wonder if they are playing by the stream. It is a hot day, perhaps they have been wading in the water. Aelfwyn loves that."
"I am sure they are all well and awaiting your safe return," Beobrand said with a smile. He hid his envy well. He might be Acennan's lord, with a hoard of treasure hidden in his hall, but he coveted that which Acennan had with Eadgyth. He had no such easy affection with Reaghan. Years ago, he had thought they might find such a thing, but it seemed the longer that went by, the more distant they became. She was still his woman and he did not doubt her fidelity, but there was no closeness now. Perhaps, no love.
"What about you, Beobrand?" asked Eowa. "You have been far from Ubbanford for weeks now, you must miss your woman too."
"Yes," Beobrand said, "I miss Reaghan," he said, but realised something with a start as he spoke the words. He did not truly miss Reaghan.
He
missed the memory of her.
Chapter 14
Reaghan hummed a tune under her breath. She was not aware she was making the sound, so intent was she on the weft and warp of her weaving. Maida recognised the tune. It had been old when their grandmothers' grandmothers had woven cloth. Every girl in Ubbanford knew the melody. She added her own humming to Reaghan's. They had been silent for a long while before then, sitting in the porch of the new hall.
Maida and Elmer's sons, Ealred and Frethi, played in the shade of the great oak. Their eldest child, Bysen, sat on a stool beside her mother and wove with a look of rapt concentration on her face. She was a serious girl, and would often sit with the womenfolk. Her weaving was of the best quality. She was quick and controlled, her fingers darting over the threads and the tablets. Bysen did not join in the hummed melody.
Reaghan smiled at Maida as she realised they were both humming the same song. She could sense that the older woman wanted to talk, but she was content to remain silent, or just to hum. There was little to speak of. They sat together most days and shared the tasks of carding, spinning and weaving. Reaghan knew that Beobrand had once ordered Maida to watch over her when he was away, but at some point in the intervening years, the two women had become friends. Sometimes barely a word passed between them, but they had a deep understanding of one another, and Reaghan looked forward to the time she spent with Maida and her children.
Ealred and Frethi screamed and whooped, climbing on the lower limbs of the huge oak.
"Careful, Frethi," shouted Maida, in a voice that expected nothing but obedience. "Get down from there before you break your neck."
The boy swung for a moment, hanging from his thin arms, before dropping to the ground and offering the women on the porch a beaming smile. He turned to his older brother.
"You can't catch me," he yelled and sped off towards the other side of the hall with Ealred chasing behind him.
Maida shook her head and resumed weaving and humming.
Reaghan smiled. She gazed down the hill at old Ubba's hall. There were figures moving about down there in the settlement, but there was no sign of Rowena. Reaghan had half expected her to join them today, but it was never easy to predict the old lady's whims. On the occasions when Rowena did come to the new hall on the hill, Reaghan enjoyed her company. She would often speak of things that were news to Maida and Reaghan. She seemed to have a great supply of tidings of the comings and goings of the nobility of Bernicia and beyond. Some of it came from visits to her daughter, Edlyn, far in the south in the hall of her husband, Lord Fordraed. More came from Bassus and his travels to Berewic for trade. The sailors there bore tidings from all over Albion and even from other distant lands. They spoke of kings of far off Hibernia and the exotic lands of Frankia, where they drank wine in place of mead. Some said they had travelled to lands so distant and hot that the skin of the people there was burnt almost black. They told how the nut-brown merchants rode huge, hump-backed creatures that carried them over endless seas of sun-baked sand.
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