Dawn of Wolves (The Kingdom of Mercia)

by Jayne Castel

  Aethelthryth’s shrill voice was still echoing through the hall, but at least he did not have to see the hatred on her face. He already had enough self-loathing to fill the entire world.

  Wulfhere stumbled across to the high seat, his limbs leaden with exhaustion.

  “Mead!” he croaked. He was not usually a heavy drinker, but today he wished to drown himself in mead until oblivion took him.

  His wife’s maid, Wynflaed, brought him a large jug of mead and a cup, wordlessly setting it down before him before she took a hasty step back to the edge of the high seat. The young woman’s pretty face was red and puffy from crying, her green eyes glistening from unshed tears.

  “Milord,” she murmured, her voice quivering with grief. “I am so sorry—”

  “Leave me,” Wulfhere snarled. He had not focused his anger upon Wynflaed, although it would be all too easy to lay the blame for Ermenilda’s loss at her feet.

  Tears spilled down Wynflaed’s cheeks, but she heeded him. Wulfhere ignored her departure, instead pouring a large cup of mead and draining it immediately.

  The pain inside him was still there, pulsing like a hot coal, and so he poured another cup. And another. He drank until the sharp edges of the world receded, and he felt wrapped in a cocoon of soft wool. Only even then, he did not forget.

  He would never forget.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Hild

  Ermenilda awoke to find water dripping on her face from the leaves above. She had slept under a spreading oak, too exhausted to go any farther.

  Blinking, she sat up and stretched, groaning at how stiff and sore her limbs were. Yesterday had been endless, a panicked flight from Tamworth that had taken all her strength to endure. She had spent most of the day glancing over her shoulder, sure that at any moment Wulfhere would appear out of the mist on horseback, his wolf running at his side, and drag her back home.

  However, the day had stretched out, and night had fallen without any sign of those she knew would be out searching for her.

  It’s too early for me to relax, she reminded herself, getting to her feet and brushing leaves off her clothing. I won’t be able to do so until I’m far from here.

  Ermenilda glanced around at her surroundings, taking note of where she stood. She had been too tired last night to pay any attention to where she was or to care.

  This morning, she realized that she stood in the midst of an oak thicket. The rain had ceased overnight, although a heavy curtain of cloud lay thick over the land, and mist snaked like wood smoke through the trees. The sun had just risen to the east, and Ermenilda tried to guess, as she had done yesterday after leaving the river, which direction was southwest.

  Bonehill Abbey lay to the southwest.

  Apart from those directions, Seaxwulf had given her little else to go on. She could only hope that she was taking the right path.

  Her belly rumbled, reminding Ermenilda that she had not eaten since her two mouthfuls of bread with her broth the previous morning. She had no water either, although she had managed to scoop some out of leaves the night before. She did so again now, just in case she did not come across a waterway during her journey.

  After slaking her thirst, she set off through the thicket. She wound her way through the trees till the oaks drew back and she made her way over bare, windswept hills. The clouds were so low here that she could only guess she was traveling in the right direction.

  Damp mist swirled around Ermenilda, clinging to her bare arms. She was fortunate to have made her escape in high summer or she would have died of exposure by now, especially without her fur mantle. Even so, the dampness chilled her, and she kept up a brisk pace to ensure she kept warm.

  As she walked, Ermenilda’s thoughts traveled back to the moment she had made her escape.

  She had not wanted to deceive Wynflaed.

  The girl was loyal and bighearted, but she would never have let Ermenilda run away without raising the alarm. Even so, Ermenilda had known that Wynflaed would not leave her alone at the river’s edge for long, so the moment her handmaid disappeared into the trees, Ermenilda had acted.

  She had sprinted up the riverbank and unslung her cloak, before throwing it out into the midst of the Tame. Her mantle billowed in the air before settling upon the swirling water. Then, it began to move downriver.

  Ermenilda had dropped her basket at the river’s edge and had begun to run. She followed the river for about a furlong, before cutting southwest into woodland—and had not stopped running since.

  I hope he does not blame Wynflaed.

  The worry, which had surfaced shortly after Ermenilda had made her escape, returned to plague her. Wulfhere’s rage would be terrible when he discovered his wife missing. Ermenilda only hoped that he would think she had drowned herself in the river.

  If he thinks I have run off, he will never stop hunting me.

  The thought made Ermenilda quicken her step even further.

  The morning drew out, and Ermenilda’s rumbling belly turned into a hard knot of hunger. She started to feel faint and wondered how much farther she would be able to go on. Unused to walking so far, her limbs felt leaden, and her feet now throbbed.

  Seaxwulf had told her that Bonehill was a day’s journey on horseback from Tamworth. Ermenilda had been traveling on foot since yesterday morning. Surely, she could not be far away from her destination.

  It was nearing noon when she came across a small hamlet at the end of a shallow, windswept valley. It was tiny—a scattering of thatched huts around a trickling brook. Sheep grazed on the hillside as she made her way toward the settlement. Their bleating did not travel far on this misty, windless day.

  I must be careful, she warned herself. They must not know who I am. They must not suspect I have run away.

  Ermenilda made her way toward the nearest dwelling, which lay on the farthest edge of the hamlet, apart from the other houses. She could see it was the home of a poor man, with a thatched roof in dire need of repair.

  As she approached, a boy emerged from the dwelling. He carried an empty pail, clearly on his way to collect water from the brook. When he saw Ermenilda, he stopped short.

  The boy stared, his eyes growing huge. Ermenilda gave him an encouraging smile and was about to greet him when the boy opened his mouth.

  “Ma!” he shouted, his gaze never leaving Ermenilda. “There’s someone here!”

  A woman’s voice, slightly irritated, responded. “Who is it, Eglaf?”

  “It’s a lady,” the boy replied. “A stranger.”

  Ermenilda heard the shuffling of feet from inside the dwelling, and moments later, a young woman, around her own age, emerged. The woman was slender and blonde, like Ermenilda, but the similarities ended there. She was dressed in a worn, shapeless tunic. Her face was gaunt, and her eyes had dark circles under them. Ermenilda could see the woman should have been pretty, but hardship had drained the youth from her face.

  The gaze that met Ermenilda’s was not friendly.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry to trouble you,” Ermenilda replied, keeping her voice gentle, “but I’m traveling to Bonehill Abbey and seem to have lost my way. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  The woman’s mouth thinned, and she looked Ermenilda up and down, as if she was making her mind up about her.

  “You’re not that lost,” she admitted grudgingly. She jerked her head behind her, to where the brook trailed its way west. “The abbey sits at the other end of this valley, around half an afternoon’s walk.”

  Hope rose in Ermenilda’s breast. She had feared she had been unwittingly traveling farther and farther from her destination, but instead she was closer than she realized.

  “I thank you,” she said, smiling. The young woman merely stared back at her, blank faced.

  Ermenilda did not want to leave things like that. She could see the woman was unhappy. By the looks of things, she and her boy lived alone, and Ermenilda wanted to help in some way. />
  “Here . . .” She reached up and removed the amber necklace from around her neck. It was a rich gift, but she would not need wealth where she was going. The necklace, which Wulfhere had given to her as a morning gift, was also a link to her husband. Now that she had escaped, she wished to cast off any reminders of their life together.

  Ermenilda stepped forward and offered the woman the pendant.

  “Please take this for your kindness.”

  The woman’s eyes went as wide as her boy’s had when he had spotted Ermenilda.

  “I only gave you directions.”

  “You’ve helped me greatly.”

  The woman took the necklace and tucked it away in her pocket, almost as if she expected its giver to snatch it back.

  Ermenilda smiled once more, wishing she could do more to help this woman and her son, and stepped back. She was just about to bid her farewell when the young woman spoke again.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Ermenilda hesitated before nodding.

  “I can give you some bread and boiled eggs to take with you,” the young woman said, motioning to her front door. “My name’s Myra, by the way. Follow me and I’ll get them for you.”

  Ermenilda did as bade, following the woman into the smoky, dimly lit interior. It was a tiny dwelling and unadorned, yet Ermenilda could see the dirt floor had been swept clean, and the wooden worktable near the fire pit had been scrubbed. The boy followed them inside, his gaze glued to Ermenilda.

  “Eglaf, go fetch that water,” Myra ordered, ushering him away. “Stop gaping at our guest!”

  The boy did as he was told, although not without one more stolen glance at their guest. Ermenilda smothered a smile and watched the woman cut a thick slice off a loaf of coarse bread. Although his mother regarded their guest with curiosity, no doubt wondering over her rich dress and highborn speech, the lad did not bother to hide his fascination.

  “It’s good to see Eglaf show interest in something,” Myra said. “Ever since his father died, he has been so withdrawn. I have worried for him.”

  The grief on the young woman’s face was evident; it was clearly a fresh wound.

  “What happened?” The question was out before Ermenilda could prevent it, but Myra did not appear offended.

  “He was a king’s man,” she said quietly, looking down at the slab of bread she had just cut, “and would spend periods away from us. But, he was earning the gold he needed to give me and Eglaf a better life, so I understood.”

  Ermenilda nodded. It was the unfortunate lot of many lowborn women to keep the home fires burning while her man labored elsewhere.

  “It happened while he was riding back from the Kingdom of the Kentish,” Myra continued. “It was only an escort, bringing back the king and his betrothed, but they were attacked. Earic died on Saxon lands, and they burned his body there.”

  Ermenilda stared at the young woman. The air was warm and close inside the dwelling, but a chill settled over her. Earic had been one of Wulfhere’s warriors—one of the many who died on that bridge.

  “I am sorry, Myra,” she managed finally, “for you and Eglaf.”

  The young woman gave her a tired smile before reaching for a square of linen. She wrapped the bread up with two hard-boiled eggs, still in their shells. She passed the bundle to Ermenilda, along with a bladder of water.

  “As am I,” she replied. “I loved him very much.”

  A weighty silence fell, and Ermenilda was at a loss for words. She had no idea what to say, for she did not want to fill the silence with empty, trite platitudes. So, she said nothing.

  Myra did not appear to notice or mind. She followed Myra outside into the misty daylight and saw Eglaf toiling toward them with a bucketful of water. He was walking so fast it was sloshing over the side and soaking his breeches. Ermenilda turned to Myra.

  “Thank you for the food and drink.”

  “It should see you through to Bonehill,” the woman answered with another brittle smile.

  Ermenilda left mother and son and made her way around their cottage before she continued west. She glanced over her shoulder once and saw they stood side by side watching her go. A strange sensation needled her. Was it guilt? Surely not. She was not responsible for Earic’s death. But her mother and aunt were . . . and she was kin.

  Ermenilda quickened her step and did not look back again.

  She reached Bonehill Abbey in the late afternoon.

  It had been a much easier walk, especially with a full belly, compared to the morning’s march. Knowing that her destination lay ahead made it easier for her to remain focused. She was now far enough away from Tamworth that she had started to relax a little.

  As Myra had told her, the abbey sat at the far end of the valley, in the cradle of low hills. A tall palisade surrounded it, and from the hillside above, Ermenilda could see that it was a decent-size structure. There was an older timbered building at the front and two larger wings on either side made of stone farther back. Around the buildings, Ermenilda could make out trees, shrubs, and an extensive garden.

  Her vision blurred with tears.

  Finally.

  Nearly running in her haste, Ermenilda descended the hillside and made her way to the gates. There were no guards here—not in a holy place—just high gates with a hatch where the nuns could greet visitors. A bell hung from a chain next to the gates, and Ermenilda rang it.

  She waited awhile for someone to come. While she waited, Ermenilda stole a nervous look around her. It was an exposed valley, despite the encircling mist, and she suddenly felt vulnerable standing out here on her own.

  Eventually, she heard footfalls beyond the gate. Moments later, the hatch slowly slid open to reveal a woman’s face. She was of middle years, with sharp blue eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, was clipped.

  “What is it?”

  “I have come to take my vows,” Ermenilda replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

  The woman frowned, her gaze traveling over Ermenilda before it scanned the area behind her. “Did you travel here on your own?”

  Ermenilda nodded. “My husband was a king’s thegn. When he died, my family wanted me to remarry, but I refused. They told me that if I wished to become a nun, I would have to travel here on my own.”

  The woman looked horrified, her sternness dissolving.

  “But you have no cloak, no one to protect you!”

  Ermenilda gave the woman a pained look. “They are cruel . . . but I was determined to reach you.”

  Her words had the desired effect, for the woman stepped back, drew the hatch shut, and unbolted the gate—opening it just far enough for Ermenilda to enter.

  She stepped into another world. Outside, it was gray, bleak, and shadowy; but inside the walls of Bonehill Abbey, it was lush green and the air smelt of wild herbs. Ermenilda could hear the trickle of water flowing—the brook she had lost sight of earlier resurfaced here. She could also hear the chant of women’s voices, the nuns at Vespers. She had stepped into a wide courtyard lined with urns of rosemary, lavender, and thyme. The oldest part of the abbey, the wooden hall, lay before them.

  Ermenilda remembered her manners and tore her gaze from the beauty of her surroundings, focusing upon the woman before her. She was roughly the same height as Ermenilda, so it was easy to meet her eye.

  The nun wore a gray habit of coarse linen, girded at the waist by a length of rope. Upon her bosom, which even under her shapeless habit was impressive, lay a beautiful rosewood crucifix.

  A white veil shrouded her hair from view, similar to the more elaborate headrail that both Ermenilda’s mother and aunt wore. Unlike a headrail, which draped across the wearer’s shoulders, this nun had tucked her veil into the neck of her habit, so that only her face was visible. Upon her feet, she wore rope sandals.

  Perhaps the woman noticed Ermenilda’s scrutiny of her, for she smiled.

  “I am Abbess Ardwyn of Bonehill,” she said pleasantly. “And what is your name, child?”
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  Ermenilda met her gaze, only pausing for a moment before she made her decision. Her new life would start here, with a new identity.

  “Hild,” she replied.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Lost

  Wynflaed finished winding the wool in her basket onto her distaff. The spindle was full, and she would have to start on another—and another still—when that one was done. It was tedious, repetitive work, but she welcomed it.

  She would have worked at her distaff day and night for the rest of her life if it would bring Ermenilda back.

  Inhaling deeply, as she struggled not to weep, Wynflaed looked across the hall. Her gaze rested upon the high seat. She had been trying not to look in that direction, but eventually the pull had been too great.

  The king was still there, seated upon his carved chair. Dressed in leather breeches and a sweat-stained woolen tunic, his pale hair in disarray, Wulfhere stared vacantly at the scarred top of the oaken table before him. Wynflaed could see the despair etched into his face; the skin had drawn tight across his cheekbones, giving him a wild appearance. His gaze was hooded, dangerous.

  I am so sorry.

  He had not appreciated her one attempt at apologizing, so Wynflaed resisted the urge to go before the king once more and beg forgiveness. Wisdom told her it was best to keep out of Lord Wulfhere’s way for now. Eventually, he would emerge from his fog of pain and would be looking for someone to blame.

  She would have her chance to plead for mercy then.

  Wynflaed shuddered, suddenly cold despite that she sat next to the fire pit. There was no one else to blame but her, and, sooner or later, the king would realize that.

  I need some air.

  Wynflaed put her distaff aside and rose to her feet. Highborn women worked nearby at their distaffs or weaving at looms, their whispering and pointed stares following her. Ignoring them, she retrieved her basket and a woolen shawl, and headed toward the door.