by Joan Wolf
His eyes searched hers. "No," he said after a long moment. "What you ask is impossible. The Saxons must be crushed; that belief is stronger in me than anything else in the world, stronger even than the ties of blood. You cannot have it both ways, Niniane. If you choose him, then you are my sister no longer."
She was as pale as he, but her answer came without hesitation. "He is my husband, Coinmail. My husband and the father of my child. God's law on the subject is quite clear: my duty lies with my marriage."
"Then farewell," he said. He might have been carved out of marble. "You had best return home before you are missed."
"Come along, my dear," said Alanna when Niniane neither moved nor spoke. "Gereint will see you safely back to Bryn Atha." And Niniane allowed Naille's wife and son to take her out of the room.
* * * *
It was dark when Niniane returned to Bryn Atha; as she rode into the courtyard, she saw that the windows of the thanes' quarters were yellow with candlelight. Niniane's already heavy heart sank further. It was the hour for dinner, and the thanes were not at the villa. That meant they had not yet been fed.
There was one thane waiting at the villa, however, for a man came out of the front door to hold her horse while she dismounted. "The prince was growing worried about you, my lady," he said.
Niniane recognized Wuffa's voice before she could clearly see his face, and she asked him the question that was most concerning her at the moment. "Have the thanes eaten, Wuffa?"
The reply, as she had feared, was negative. "Oh, dear," she said, "and it is so late. You must be hungry. I will see to dinner right away."
"I'll help Gereint with the horses," Wuffa offered.
"Yes, Gereint"—she turned her head—"it is too late for you to go home now. Stay the night and return to your father's farm tomorrow." Niniane was certain Naille had sent the boy with her to keep him out of Coinmail's way.
"Thank you, my lady," the boy replied. "I will." The two men began to walk the horses toward the stable, and Niniane went into the villa.
Amena was waiting for her in the atrium. "The prince took the baby to your bedroom, my lady. I was walking Cerdic myself in the sitting room, but there was nothing I could do to quiet him. I did my best, but he is hungry."
Amena's feelings had evidently been wounded by Ceawlin's removal of the baby. "Thank you, Amena," said Niniane. "I understand dinner has not yet been served?"
"No, my lady. The thanes returned from the hunt only a short time ago."
Niniane frowned. "Well, then, go to the kitchen and make sure the food is being readied. I want it served as soon as possible. If the men have been hunting all afternoon, they will be hungry." Then Niniane turned away to walk along the gallery, leaving Amena to follow.
She heard her son as soon as she passed the kitchen. The crying lessened instead of increasing, however, as she drew closer to the bedroom wing of the house. She reached the door to her room and pushed it open. The crying was intermittent now, not angry as it had sounded when she was farther down the gallery.
Ceawlin was walking up and down the room, his son in his arms. He looked at the door as Niniane came in, but did not pause in his pacing. "Where were you?" he demanded. His eyes sparkled with temper but he kept his voice quiet so as not to frighten the baby.
"Naille's farm."
"In the name of all the gods, what were you doing riding out to Naille's farm so late in the day? You must have known it would be dark by the time you returned. There is no dinner ready here and the thanes are hungry. The baby is hungry. I am hungry." He was really in a temper. "Those girls are worse than useless. I arrive home to find no dinner, no wife, and my son screaming because the stupid slut who is taking care of him is jiggling him up and down and making him sick!"
Niniane came to take the baby from his arms. "Did you get the wolf?" she asked. She sat in the old wicker chair they had brought into the room and began to unfasten her gown. Cerdic, sensing he was soon to be fed, began to scream with impatience.
"I know just how he feels," Ceawlin muttered.
"You didn't get the wolf."
"No, we didn't get the wolf. I will have to put a guard on the livestock until we do."
Niniane put the baby to her breast, and silence fell on the room. She looked up from her son and found Ceawlin watching her. He sat on the edge of the bed directly across from her chair. "Why did you go to Naille's farm?" he asked.
"Coinmail is there," she answered.
His eyes opened wider. "Your brother?"
"Yes. He heard that we were here at Bryn Atha. He heard about Cob Ford. He came home to find out what was happening." In his greediness, Cerdic lost the nipple and began to scream. Niniane gave it back to him and returned her eyes to her husband. He was looking thoughtful.
"What did he say?"
"He told Naille he did not want the Atrebates cooperating with you."
Ceawlin quirked his eyebrows. "And Naille?"
"Naille said that in his judgment, cooperating with you was in the best interest of the tribe. That the tribe agreed with him. Coinmail is going to go back to Glevum, I think. He is to marry a princess of the Dobunni."
"Hmm," said Ceawlin. His eyes were on his son's head but they wore an abstracted look. He was thinking about Coinmail. Niniane shifted the baby a little, also thought of Coinmail and their interview, and looked assessingly at Ceawlin.
He had turned nineteen last week and Niniane and the girls had cooked for days, preparing a great banquet to celebrate the occasion. The biggest sign of his advancing age, however, was the fact that he was finally beginning to grow a beard. Niniane could see it now, glistening like silver thread under his skin.
"Have you ever thought of shaving, Ceawlin?" she asked, following this train of thought. "My father's razor is still here at Bryn Atha. Coinmail was nicely clean-shaven this afternoon. The old Roman razors still work well."
A pair of blue-green eyes moved from the baby to meet her own. "Shave? Take off my beard?"
"Yes. Your skin is so nice ..." Her voice trailed away. The astonishment in his eyes was almost funny. "I suppose that is not the Saxon way," she ended.
"It certainly is not. If your people wish to take off their beards on purpose so they look like women, that is their business. But don't expect me to do it!"
Cerdic's sucking had slowed down considerably. She took him from the breast and put him on her shoulder to pat his back. "The next thing, you will be wanting me to cut off my hair," Ceawlin said.
"I will never want you to cut off your hair. I love your hair." She frowned. "Except, it needs to be washed."
He got off the bed. "Niniane, there are more important things to talk about than my hair and my beard! Did Naille come back to Bryn Atha with you?"
"No. Gereint brought me home."
"Ah. And how did Gereint deal with your brother?"
"Not well. Gereint has become your devoted admirer—as you well know, having gone out of your way to attach him."
"I have done nothing in particular," he replied blandly.
"Take him wolf-hunting and he will love you even more."
Ceawlin gave her a long thoughtful look and left the room. Niniane put the baby in his basket to sleep and went to the kitchen to see about the dinner.
* * * *
Sigurd met with his father in Helwig's bakery the day after his arrival in Venta. Cutha was glad to see his son and anxious to learn how Ceawlin's thanes had survived the winter.
"Very well," Sigurd replied to Cutha's question. "Bryn Atha has much fertile farmland and the harvest was a good one. There has been plenty of food for the winter."
"I wondered how you would fare," Cutha said slowly. "Ceawlin can lead a war band into battle, of that I have no doubt. But I was not sure how he would fare as a provider."
"It was Niniane more than Ceawlin whom we have to thank for our well-being," Sigurd replied evenly. "She is the one who insisted we grow our own food. She is a careful and a thrifty manager. Ceawlin is fort
unate in his wife."
"Grow your own food? You are not saying that you worked in the fields yourselves?"
Sigurd grinned. "Yes, Father. We worked in the fields ourselves. It was not so bad."
"None of the thanes revolted at being put to work like common ceorls?"
"How could we object, when our prince was out there working with us?"
Cutha's clear blue eyes searched his son's face, but, "I am surprised," was all he said.
"Well, we are in good heart and good health, Father. Ceawlin has sent me to you to find out if there is any hope of further recruits for his war band. The good weather is coming and he is getting ready to move."
"What is he planning?" Cutha's voice was as expressionless as his face.
"I don't know, precisely. He just said he has no intention of sitting at Bryn Atha to wait for Edric. He will go on the offensive, somehow. I know Ceawlin. It is not in his nature to do otherwise."
"I have been thinking I would move to Banford myself," Cutha said carefully. Banford was the property east of Venta that Cynric had given his cousin soon after the king had begun to build Winchester. It had at one time belonged to a prince of the Belgae tribe and consisted of a large farmhouse with surrounding fields.
Sigurd's gray eyes were puzzled. "But why, Father? If you are going to leave Winchester, wouldn't it be wisest to go to Ceawlin at Bryn Atha?"
"I might be of more use to Ceawlin by leading a war band of my own. That would give Edric two fronts on which to fight. He would have to split his forces."
Sigurd frowned. "I do not think Ceawlin would want you to do that." His voice was positive. "If there are thanes in Winchester who wish to fight for Ceawlin, send them to Bryn Atha."
Cutha was annoyed. "I was fighting with Cynric before Ceawlin was born. Allow me the wisdom of experience. I do not doubt Ceawlin's courage, but he has had limited experience of battle and even less experience of the strategy that makes for success in battle. You may tell him that I will be taking the field myself this spring, on his behalf of course. Let him keep to the north. I will see what I can do about driving Edric, the queen, and her bastard out of Winchester."
Nothing Sigurd could say would change his father's mind. It was a matter of pride; the son finally saw that. His father, Cynric's kinsman and eorl of Winchester, did not want to put himself under the command of a young and untried prince. He would fight for Ceawlin, but he would do it his way.
It was a distinctly troubled Sigurd who rode north to Bryn Atha the following day. Ceawlin was not going to like his news. Of that he was quite certain.
* * *
Chapter 18
Ceawlin was indeed angry when Sigurd brought him the news of Cutha's plan. "He is tying my hands behind my back by doing this," he said to his friend as he paced up and down the floor of the family chamber in Bryn Atha. "Surely you could have made him see that? My forces must be concentrated. It will do no good at all to have two war bands in the field."
"I told him you would not like it, Ceawlin," said Sigurd. His troubled eyes were on the hard, angry line of the prince's mouth. "It is a matter of pride with him, you see. He is so much older than you, so much more experienced. He does not wish to put himself under your command."
Ceawlin stopped in his pacing and looked directly at Sigurd. The rest of his face was as hard as his mouth. "Does he wish to be king also?"
Sigurd's eyes widened with surprise. "Of course not! That is not what is in his mind. He is fighting for you, Ceawlin. He does not seek the kingship for himself."
Ceawlin's mouth did not relax. "So he told you."
"So he told me. And I believe him." Gray eyes held blue with unflinching honesty.
Ceawlin's mouth looked fractionally less grim. "All right. But it is still a mistake not to join our forces. Divided we are less strong, less effective than we would be united. Cutha is playing into Edric's hands by doing this."
"Perhaps. But that is the way it is to be. He will go to Banford and bring with him the thanes that are loyal to him and to you. Edric will have to move against him. With any luck, my father will make away with Edric's forces before ever we have to lift our spears."
Ceawlin did not look as if he placed much hope in that happening. But all he said was, "Who is likely to go with Cutha?"
"Oswald is the only eorl. The others do not care for Edric, but my father says they are likely to wait and see who will emerge the victor before they declare themselves."
"A fine council of eorls my father created," Ceawlin said with scorn.
"They were loyal to Cynric, but now the power is there for the taking and things are different."
Ceawlin rubbed the palm of his hand against the silvery down on his cheek. "So there will be Cutha and his thanes, and Oswald and his thanes, against the rest of Winchester."
"My father says he can count on others from the king's hall to join with him."
Ceawlin cursed, thrust his hand through his hair, and resumed pacing up and down the room. Sigurd sat in silence and watched him with resigned sympathy. There was nothing Ceawlin could do—which was why he was so frustrated, of course. The door of the room opened and Niniane looked in.
"Ceawlin? I have something I must speak with you about." Her eyes fell on Sigurd, sitting in Coinmail's old chair. "Sigurd! I did not know you were back."
He smiled at her. "I just rode in, Niniane."
Her small face lighted with a returning smile. "I am glad to see you safely home. These trips to Venta make me nervous." Then, to Ceawlin, "I shall come back later."
"No, you might as well come in now." He continued to pace the floor, not looking at her. "Well, what is it?" This, when she closed the door but stood in silence, her back against it, watching him. "I warn you, though, Niniane, do not say anything to me about the livestock or the fields. I am in no mood for playing farmer just now." His tone of voice was noticeably disagreeable. Sigurd frowned.
"I wish that was all I had to bother you with," Niniane said.
Ceawlin stopped pacing and stared at her. "What is it?" His voice was hard.
"Wynne is pregnant," she answered. "She has named Penda."
Ceawlin's eyes narrowed to slits of turquoise. "You are saying that Penda has corrupted her?"
"Yes."
He cursed, long and fluently. Then, almost shouting, "I told you to get rid of that girl!"
"I know you did, Ceawlin, but I needed her help. With all these men, there is so much to do—"
"I don't want to hear about how much you have to do! Gods! For the sake of a few miserable meals and lengths of cloth you have put me in an impossible position! Gods," he repeated, his voice becoming less furious as he began to think about what he must do. "I could choke you, Niniane."
"Ceawlin." Sigurd was horrified by the way Ceawlin was speaking to his gentle wife. "It is not Niniane's fault. What did you expect? There are no women here and the thanes have healthy appetites. I'm surprised you haven't had a rape on your hands all this long winter. If it wasn't Wynne, it would have been some other woman."
Ceawlin's eyes flicked his way, but otherwise he ignored Sigurd. "He will have to marry her," he said to Niniane.
"I know."
"He will marry her and I will pay a fine to her family."
Niniane nodded. Her eyes looked huge in her small face. "I am sorry, Ceawlin," she said miserably. "I suspected there was something between Penda and Wynne. I should have told you ..."
Her voice trailed off. He was looking at her in utter disgust. "You suspected something and yet did not tell me?"
She bit her lip and nodded. She looked so small, so helpless standing there in the blaze of Ceawlin's wrath. Sigurd wanted to reach out and gather her safely into the shelter of his arms.
"Well, pray to your crucified god that Naille and her parents will accept the fine and the marriage as recompense for the loss of their daughter's virginity," Ceawlin said to his wife. "If they do not, then I will be forced to have Penda executed. And he is a man I cannot
afford to lose." His voice was deeply bitter.
All the color drained from Niniane's cheeks. She looked stricken. "You wouldn't do that," she whispered.
"I will have no choice. I cannot lose the goodwill of the Atrebates." He picked up a small pottery cup from a table and threw it on the tile floor, smashing it into pieces. "Gods!" he said again forcefully, pushed by Niniane as if she were not there, and slammed out the door.
The two left in the room listened to the sound of his footsteps going down the gallery. Then Sigurd said, his voice very gentle, "It is all right, Niniane. It is not your fault. Ceawlin should have foreseen something like this was bound to happen."
"But he did, Sigurd." She was still standing forlornly by the door Ceawlin had slammed closed. "He told me to send Wynne away and I wouldn't. And at Christmas I saw a look pass between them ... Ceawlin is right. I should have told him." She looked so distressed that he crossed to her side and put a brotherly arm around her shoulders.
"Do not fret. It will all come right. Ceawlin will make Penda marry her."
He could feel her shoulders trembling under his arm. "I knew he would be angry," she said.
"It is not just your news that upset him. I had to tell him that my father is planning to lead his own war band, not join forces with Ceawlin. He was angry before ever you came into the room. He just took his temper out on you." Sigurd did not sound as if he approved of his friend's behavior.
Niniane's shoulders had stiffened as soon as he spoke of Cutha's plans. Now she said, her voice sharp with alarm, "What does this mean, Sigurd? Cutha is going to lead his own war band? Does this mean he is seeking the kingship for himself?"
"No." He let his arm drop away from her. "Ceawlin asked me the same question. I cannot believe that either of you could think such a thing. It is merely that my father, as the older and more experienced warrior, feels he can serve Ceawlin better by leading his own men."
Niniane tipped her head back to look searchingly into his face. Her neck was long and slender as the stalk of a flower. Her bright hair hung straight to her waist, a shining fan of coppery brown. "Ceawlin was counting on additional men," she said.