by Jayne Castel
A wife.
Alchflaed felt an odd pang, and was shocked to recognize it as jealousy.
Goose, she chided herself. You have no claim on him.
“We arrived home days earlier than we had anticipated and I refused my friends’ calls to join them in the mead hall, instead hurrying to Gytha. We had a house, not far from the Great Tower of Tamworth, which I had built for us to live in after our handfasting. It was the early evening, and I rushed inside, expecting to find her cooking or spinning, but instead I…”
Maric broke off here. Alchflaed started to reach out to him, but halted when she saw the expression on his face.
“They were coupling… she and my brother.” His voice faltered, as the words choked him. “They were naked. Gytha was crying his name…”
Alchflaed gazed at him, horrified. However, now that Maric had begun his tale, he could not stem it.
“When they saw me there, neither was sorry. They dressed without uttering a word and then Gytha demanded to know why I was back so soon. Kenrick told me: ‘She’s mine, Maric. She has always been mine. It is time you knew.’”
Alchflaed did not want to hear the rest. It was too raw. Maric tore his gaze away from the fire and looked at her. His eyes glittered.
“I was the elder brother, you see. I saw Gytha first and placed my claim upon her while my younger brother secretly resented me for it. I never knew how either of them felt, although looking back now I can see there were signs – lingering glances and smiles – that I chose to ignore. I joined the king’s fyrd, which meant many months marching to war away from Tamworth, while my brother apprenticed as a weaponsmith. Every time I left Tamworth, they were together.”
Maric ran a hand over his face. The mask of detachment he wore had now completely fallen away.
“Kenrick drew his seax and came at me. Until then I had just stood there, frozen to the spot like a fool, unable to believe my eyes.”
Maric looked down at his hands. Alchflaed’s gaze followed his, noting that he had fine hands, strong, yet with long tapering fingers.
“He took me by surprise but as soon as I recovered my rage flowed, battle rage. I drew my own seax and fought him. Kenrick was no longer my brother. He was my enemy, to be cut down. I could hear Gytha, screaming for us to stop. Kenrick wanted her at any cost but I wanted his blood. I remember nothing else till I stood, dripping with blood – his and mine – over his twitching corpse.”
The words were brutal, but Maric was not done yet.
“Gytha held him against her breast and cursed me. She told me that she had never loved me, that she had merely done her duty. Kenrick was the man she had wanted.”
“What happened to her?” Alchflaed asked quietly, fearing the worst.
“She left Tamworth and returned to her kin in Lichfield,” he replied. “I have not seen her since.”
“Do you miss her?”
Maric’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Our love was a lie. Everything I miss about Gytha was a dream, not the truth.”
Alchflaed inhaled deeply, reeling after the violence of his tale. “And so you were punished…”
“I was brought before the king to answer for my crime. Penda demanded I tell him what happened. When he learned of my brother’s betrayal he spared my life on the condition I would fight for him, and his kin, till my death. I would remain his thegn but I was no longer a free man. I would not remarry; I would not buy my freedom.”
“And your family?”
Maric shook his head. “From the day of Kenrick’s murder, I became a nithing, forfeiting all honor and respect. I became dead to their eyes.”
“And you’ve been alone ever since,” Alchflaed finished the tale for him, her voice subdued.
“A king’s thegn is rarely alone,” Maric replied, with a shake of his head. “I would have welcomed solitude. After my rage faded, I was sorry for what I did. He was my brother. I will go to my grave sorry for it.”
Alchflaed took hold of his hands and squeezed them gently.
“It was not murder. He attacked you.”
Maric held her gaze. “He was my brother, and I killed him. There is no greater crime.”
Don’t be so sure of that. Killing your husband in cold blood is worse.
His mouth then curved into a wistful smile. “So you see why I cannot take you away?”
Alchflaed bit her lip. “Forget that I asked that of you – it was a foolish, rash request.”
“But, why are you so determined not to marry Paeda?”
Alchflaed shook her head, ignoring his question.
“I have not been myself of late,” she replied.
Maric frowned and she saw the concern in his eyes. He sensed there was something more, something that terrified her.
“Alchflaed,” Maric squeezed her hands tightly. “Tell me what this is really about. Maybe I can…”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “No, Maric. I have a duty and I will fulfill it.”
Maric looked at her for a few moments before he reached out once more and gently stroked her cheek. His touch sent a shiver of longing through Alchflaed and it took all her will not lean toward him for a kiss.
“I have never met a woman like you,” he murmured, his eyes glittering. “Brave, proud, willful and beautiful – Paeda is a very fortunate man.”
Alchflaed blinked back fresh tears and managed a smile, although inside she felt as if she were dying.
Paeda was not fortunate at all.
***
Maric was awake long before dawn. He emerged from the largest tent, and his breath steamed in the chill air. A blanket of silver frost had settled over the sleeping world, sparkling in the torchlight, crunching underfoot. He walked to the edge of the encampment, and relieved the warrior taking the last watch.
Maric was glad for a moment of privacy before the final leg of their journey to Tamworth commenced. He felt drained, exhausted, after his conversation with Alchflaed. Being in her presence was sweet agony. The look in her eyes, glittering with tears, had nearly undone him.
The sun rose over the edge of the trees, sending fingers of gold across the eastern sky. Little by little, the world awoke. Men emerged from the tents, roused the embers of last night’s fires, heated water and broke their fast.
Maric joined them, although he had little appetite this morning. They were starting to pack up the encampment and preparing to ride south, when Alchflaed emerged from her tent.
The sight of her, made Maric stop and stare.
In a richly embroidered green gown, with a gold circlet at her throat, Alchflaed of Bernicia was a regal sight. Maric was not the only one who noted her appearance; many other men stopped work to gaze upon her. She had brushed out her hair so that it fell in russet waves across her shoulders and down her back.
“Milady,” Maric greeted her.
She favored him with a smile. “Good morning, Maric.”
There was no sign of the emotions he had seen the night before. Desperation, panic, pleading, compassion, and resolution – all had gone from her face – replaced by a schooled expression of calm. This morning, she was truly a highborn lady.
All they had talked of would now remain in the past. He had spoken to no one of his brother, but the rawness of her desperation had spurred him to share his story with her. He had thought he would regret doing so but strangely, he did not.
Still, the thought of riding away with this woman, of taking her to a forgotten corner of the world where they would both be safe, was tempting indeed. Had they not both been bound by duty – and if life had not damaged him so deeply – he would have found it impossible to deny her.
PART TWO
THE QUEEN
Chapter Nineteen
A Chill Welcome
Alchflaed realized they were nearing Tamworth when they reached a verdant valley with a river flowing through the center of it. Cottars worked the land, and a patchwork of fields stretched along the riverbanks. The road was the busiest it had
been since they had left Eoforwic, with ox-drawn wagons and peddlers burdened with heavy packs; a sign that a town lay nearby.
Maric broke the silence between them that had stretched for most of the day.
“This is the River Anker,” he told her. “It will lead us straight to Tamworth.”
They rode side by side at the head of the column. Now that they were in Mercian territory, Alchflaed’s escorts had unfurled their pennants. The blue and gold of the Mercian banners fluttered in the chill breeze. Alchflaed glanced across at Maric, and their gazes met.
“Maric,” she began quietly. “What you said about me last night… did you mean it?”
Maric drew his gelding in closer to her, so that their legs were almost touching.
“Aye, Alchflaed. Every word.”
Alchflaed inhaled deeply. “I am Oswiu of Bernicia’s daughter and I have always known he would choose a husband for me. I only wish...”
“Please stop,” Maric interrupted her, his voice sharpening. “No good can come of this conversation. By this time tomorrow, you will be wedded to Paeda of Mercia and I will return to my life as a thegn in the king’s hall. Wishes are useless now – they will bring nothing but pain.”
Alchflaed stared at him, stunned by the vehemence of his response. However, she saw the panic in his eyes and knew that to continue was folly. He did not want to hear the truth from her.
Tears filled her eyes and she looked down so that he would not see the anguish on her face. Maric reined his gelding back slightly, allowing her to draw ahead, and they did not speak again.
It was late afternoon when they approached Tamworth at last. They continued to follow the course of the River Anker south, past farmed fields and clusters of sturdy timbered or wattle and daub houses.
Then, over the tops of trees to the south, Alchflaed caught sight of the ramparts of a massive grey tower.
Her stomach clenched; their journey was almost over. Closer still, they passed huge grass-covered barrows, the burial sites of Mercian kings. Ahead, the River Anker flowed to the south of the town and intersected with another waterway, the River Tame, a wide river that flowed slowly west.
A high wooden rampart encircled Tamworth, and beyond Alchflaed spied the thatched roofs of the many houses and timbered halls packed within the palisade. The Great Tower of Tamworth loomed over it all; a cold grey sentinel that was nothing like the warm red of the rock of Bebbanburg.
The early evening was bright and cold. The fragrance of wood smoke and roasting chestnuts drifted through the crisp air. The setting sun cast a golden hue over Tamworth but it did not make the town appear any more inviting to Alchflaed. The shadow of despair, which had followed her south, threatened to smother her. She did not like this place. She did not want to go one step farther.
Folk appeared at the roadside to greet them. News of their king’s bride-to-be had raced ahead of the company. They were curious to see this Northumbrian princess, although not all the faces that Alchflaed gazed upon were friendly. As if sensing this, Maric and Edgard rode close to her, flanking Alchflaed on both sides just in case one of the onlookers wished her harm. This realization depressed Alchflaed, for it was just another reminder of the antagonism between their two kingdoms. Just like Cyneburh, she had been sent to weave peace – but in many ways, the act was merely symbolic.
One wedding would not be enough to end decades of war.
They rode into Tamworth through the low gate. Inside, Alchflaed was instantly struck by how populated this town was. The streets were narrower, the dwellings more tightly packed together, than Bebbanburg. Pavers covered the main street, which led up a gentle incline toward the high gate and the inner palisade. A crowd gathered to watch the newcomers.
Amongst the din, the hiss of heckling voices reached Alchflaed’s ears and her heart quickened in response. She had been so consumed by dread at her father’s orders that she had not paused to ponder of how folk here would respond to her.
She only hoped her reception inside the Great Tower would be warmer than the chill welcome outside it.
***
Alchflaed crossed the floor, fresh rushes crunching beneath her feet, toward the heah-setl – high seat. Shoulders back, spine straight, she ignored the stares and strode purposefully toward her betrothed.
Maric, Edgard and Bryni followed close behind, and although she no longer needed their protection, Alchflaed was grateful for the warriors’ presence. They were three familiar faces upon a wintry landscape. She was used to a king’s hall and the deadly games played within its walls, but she was a stranger here and was wary of the men and women awaiting her on the heah-setl.
She recognized Paeda immediately. He was as swarthy as his father had been pale, although his hair was even shorter than she remembered. His face was different too, harder. He lounged in a high-backed wooden chair that was ornately carved with dragonheads. His expression was impassive as he watched her approach. She had expected him to smile upon seeing her, or to show some sign of relief or excitement – after all, he had betrayed his father for her hand. However, his face was a cold mask.
Alchflaed’s stomach knotted. She tore her gaze from her betrothed to the woman and two men standing behind him.
The female was older, of around fifty winters. She had thick golden hair, threaded through with grey and a face that had clearly been beautiful in her youth. She would still have been lovely now, if it had not been for the look of exhaustion and bitterness that lined her face and drew her mouth downwards. Alchflaed realized this woman was Penda’s widow – Queen Cyneswide.
Next to the Queen Mother stood two striking men. One, in particular, was the image of the late Penda. Tall with pale blue eyes and a shock of white-blond hair, the man watched her under hooded lids. The man next to him had similar bone-structure and the same cool eyes, although his hair was darker blond and cut short against his skull.
Alchflaed’s gaze returned to Paeda’s face as she drew up at the foot of the high seat and curtsied low.
“My Lord Paeda, I bid you good afternoon.”
She watched a slight smile shape his lips.
“Welcome to my hall, Princess Alchflaed, daughter of Oswiu of Bernicia. You are late in your coming. I was about to send out a search party for you.”
Paeda’s gaze shifted to where Maric stood, just behind Alchflaed’s left shoulder and he frowned.
“What kept you?”
“We were delayed by bad weather in the north, Milord,” Maric replied. “Days of snow south of Eoforwic prevented us from continuing south as quickly as we wished.”
Paeda’s frown deepened and he fixed Maric in a hard stare. Watching him, Alchflaed was struck by her husband-to-be’s sharpness. Her heart sank in the realization that she was about to wed a man who missed nothing. Such a man would be difficult to fool, or kill.
After a few moments, Paeda’s gaze shifted back to Alchflaed and his frown eased.
“You are here now,” he conceded, “and I am grateful to the Lord for keeping you safe. I would have escorted you myself, but urgent matters required me here.”
Her betrothed’s referral to the Roman god, rather than to Woden, Thunor or Frea, drew Alchflaed’s attention to the man, dressed in an undyed woolen tunic, who stood at the back of the high seat. He was small, thin, and of middling years. A wooden cross hung about his neck, and his hair had been shaved into a tonsure.
Alchflaed recognized the monk instantly. He was Seaxwulf, one of the monks who had set up the monastery on Lindisfarena, the largest of the islands off the coast of Bebbanburg. Seaxwulf did not meet her gaze, but kept his eyes downcast.
Alchflaed was surprised to see the monk here. Long had he advised her stepmother; although it appeared that Eanflaed had sent him south to continue his work as a missionary, even before Mercia’s defeat. Unlike his father, who had been a proud pagan, Paeda had sworn allegiance to the Christian god as part of his pledge of loyalty to Oswiu.
Her betrothed’s intense stare drew her at
tention back to him.
“You shall weave peace between our kingdoms,” Paeda continued, “although it may take some time for my people to accept you.”
The king’s gaze flicked back to Maric before shifting to the two men who stood beside him.
“The three of you brought my betrothed safely to my hall, and you have my thanks. Now, I entrust you with her protection here in Tamworth. I cannot always ensure my Lady Alchflaed’s safety. There will be times when she will wish to move about Tamworth on her own. Come forward and swear an oath that you will protect her with your lives on behalf of your king.”
Alchflaed opened her mouth to protest. She wanted to tell Paeda that no such oath was necessary. She did not want these men to potentially sacrifice their lives for her – but no sooner had the king spoken when Maric, Edgard and Bryni stepped forward. All three of them sank on to one knee before Paeda.
“I swear to protect your queen with my life,” Maric spoke, his voice low and firm. A moment later, Edgard and Bryni followed, their voices equally sure.
Paeda smiled and cocked his head to one side.
“It appears you have won my warriors over, Lady Alchflaed.”
In response, Alchflaed was not able to manage more than a strained smile.
Paeda then appeared to remember that he was not alone upon the high seat. He waved lazily toward the woman standing at his right shoulder.
“This is the Queen Mother, Cyneswide,” he drawled, barely glancing her way before gesturing to the two men at his right, “and these are my brothers, Wulfhere and Aethelred.”
The Queen Mother merely looked back at Alchflaed without acknowledging her. Cyneswide’s face was expressionless, her deep-blue eyes cold. Next to her, Paeda’s brothers nodded coolly. Alchflaed suppressed a shiver; her fears were confirmed. Indeed, it was far frostier inside the Great Hall than outside.