by Jayne Castel
Freya’s gaze tracked him, willing him to turn around, to meet to her gaze. She knew that such wishes were folly. He had given her a choice and she had made it. If he kept his distance from her now, it was for good reason.
Memories of that stolen moment by the well, of his mouth on hers, his arms about her, his hands stroking her, flooded through Freya. She tried not to think about it, but at unguarded moments the memories came flooding back – and with them a strange emptiness. In Aidan’s arms she had felt alive. Nothing had mattered; nothing in the world had existed but him. She had briefly been given the taste of another life. One she could never have now.
***
Smoke settled over the thatched roofs of Rendlaesham. It was a balmy evening and the scent of wood smoke, along with the less savory aroma of cabbage and turnip pottage, wafted through the air. Glancing up at the sky, Freya realized it was far later in the day than she had thought. She had dragged the cart laden with soiled rush-matting, out of Rendlaesham, and down to the dust-heap. The heap lay just beyond the orchard, not far from the road that snaked its way through the fields. Once every few moon cycles, when the heap reached a certain size, the townsfolk set fire to it.
Freya off-loaded the rush-matting and frowned up at the pink and gold sunset that blazed overhead. She should have completed this chore earlier, instead of returning to the hall to help Hilda. It was foolish to linger outside the town’s walls at this hour.
She had initially left Rendlaesham by the top gates, but there would be no time to return that way. At this rate, she risked being shut out for the night. Freya shook her head as the irony of her situation hit her. Not too long ago she would have welcomed such a chance for escape. Yet, after her disastrous attempt, she worried about angering the king further. He had shown her mercy once, she doubted he would do so a second time.
Deciding that she would make for Rendlaesham’s main gates, which were closer than the top gates, Freya picked up the handles of her cart and towed it along the bumpy track. Ahead of her, she could see the last of the peasants who worked the fields, filing inside. The guards were starting to close the gates. Freya picked up her pace, heedless to the rattling cart.
“Wait!” she called, breaking into a run.
Freya slipped inside the gates, just as the guards were closing them.
“That was close girl,” one of the guards glowered at her. “Next time we’ll lock you out!”
Freya ducked her head in apology and towed her cart across the dusty square. Leaving the guards behind, she made her way towards the thoroughfare that led up to the Great Hall. She passed closely packed houses and noted that there were few people about. At this hour, everyone was indoors eating their evening meal before bedding down for the night.
Deep shadows stretched across the road. Freya could hear the sounds of muffled voices inside the wattle and daub dwellings she passed.
Halfway up the street, she reached Rendlaesham’s mead hall. The focal point of the town, the mead hall was a long, bow-sided, windowless structure with a thatched roof. Light blazed from its open door and the rowdy sound of men’s voices and singing echoed out onto the deserted street. The sound made Freya’s heart quicken; this was the other reason she would have preferred to use Rendlaesham’s top gates this evening. It was not safe for unescorted women to walk the streets after dark.
Freya was just passing the entrance when a handful of drunken men staggered out onto the street.
Her heart sank when she saw that Ecgric, and his hanger-on, Oeric, were among them.
In the light emanating from the mead hall, Ecgric spied her immediately. Despite his swarthy complexion, she could see that his cheeks were flushed with drink. He staggered towards her, and grabbed hold of the side of the cart to steady himself.
“Hōre,” he leered at her. “Slut. So the king has let you out of his sight at last has he?”
“Lūtan!” Freya snarled back without thinking. “Lout, leave me be!”
“Go on lads.” Ecgric waved his drinking companions away. “I’ll take great pleasure in escorting this whore back to the hall.”
“Let us all have some fun with her,” Oeric protested. “Go on, she’s had it coming for weeks!”
“Push off!” Ecgric slurred, shoving Oeric in the direction of the departing warriors. “Find your own whore to play with.”
The other warriors departed with crude laughter and ribald comments, while Oeric trailed sullenly behind them. Freya watched them go with rising panic; she did not want to be left with this man. She stared at the warriors’ retreating backs and attempted to follow them.
Ecgric grabbed her arm and pulled her up short.
“Why the haste?”
“Let go of me!”
“Not so fiery now are you?” Ecgric yanked Freya away from the cart and pulled her towards an alleyway a few yards up the street. “Not when I’ve finally got you alone.”
Fear clawed at Freya, momentarily suffocating her. He was much stronger than her; his grip was an iron clamp around her upper arm. Nevertheless, she began to struggle. Once he pulled her into the shadows, she knew what he intended to do.
“The king will be furious if you touch me!” She dug her heels into the dirt and shoved at him with her free hand. “Loose me!”
Ecgric turned and slapped her hard across the face.
“Shut your mouth! What do I care if the king discovers you are no longer a virgin. With any luck he’ll give you to my men afterwards.”
Despite his command, fear gave Freya courage. The pain from his slap merely galvanized her. If he was to rape her, it would not be without a fight.
She screamed and, closing her hand into a fist, punched him as hard as she could in the jaw.
Ecgric staggered back, his face black with rage. Recovering swiftly, he grabbed Freya by the hair and propelled her towards the alleyway. Freya fell forward on to her knees and was scrambling to her feet when Ecgric leaped on her. His breath was hot and stank of mead. With one hand he grasped her around the neck, cutting off her breathing, and any chance that she might scream again; while with the other hand he yanked at her clothing, struggling to pull up her skirts.
His nearness only caused Freya to fight harder. She twisted in his grip, panic coursing through her as his hand pressed down on her windpipe. She brought her knee up hard, into his cods.
Ecgric released her with a strangled wail. Freya wriggled free of his grasp, knowing she had but moments before he grabbed hold of her again, and bolted up the street.
“Filthy hōre!” he yelled after her, his voice raw. “You won’t outrun me!”
Freya’s bruised throat constricted in terror. It was still a distance up to the gates of the Great Hall. He would surely catch up with her before she reached them. She could hear him gaining on her with every stride. That blow to the cods should have felled him, but still he came after her.
His ragged breathing, and gasped curses drew ever closer. Freya stifled a sob. He would catch her.
Ahead, she spied the outlines of two men. They were walking downhill, presumably making their way to the mead hall. It was possible they were brutes like Ecgric, but Freya had no choice but to hurl herself in their direction.
“Please!” she gasped. “Help me!”
She hurtled into the arms of the man closest to her, almost knocking him off his feet. He recovered swiftly and reached out to steady her.
Freya looked up into Aidan’s face. He stared back at her, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Freya?”
“The whore’s mine!” Ecgric loomed through the shadows towards them. “We have unfinished business. Give her to me.”
Aidan put his arm around Freya’s shoulders, squeezing firmly as he did so, and turned to face Ecgric. Beside him, Freya recognized Lothar. The Frank’s blond hair gleamed in the half-light. Ecgric halted before them, his hands balled into fists.
“What’s this?” Lothar’s mouth twisted. “The king’s favorite stalking the streets of Rendl
aesham after dark, molesting maids?”
“Shut your mouth Frank,” Ecgric sneered, turning to Aidan. “Give the whore to me.”
Silence followed Ecgric’s words before Aidan eventually spoke.
“Call her a whore again and I will kill you.”
Ecgric stared at Aidan, his eyes bulging with the force of his rage. There was a calmness in Aidan’s tone, a coolness, which convinced Freya he would do exactly as he promised if Ecgric did not heed his words.
“Filthy foreign dogs!” Ecgric spat at their feet. “The girl is mine.”
“Freya is the property of the king,” Aidan replied, with the same calm voice as earlier, “and you will not touch her again.”
Freya’s legs trembled as she watched the anger boil in Ecgric’s face. He looked at Aidan with pure loathing. In aiding her, Aidan had just made an enemy for life.
“You may have the king’s ear, but we know you for what you really are,” Lothar growled, his hands straying towards the knife he wore strapped to his thigh.
“Turn around and walk away,” Aidan added, his voice like cloaked steel. “I won’t warn you again.”
Moments passed, and Freya was sure that Ecgric would attack them. Aidan and Lothar had just grievously wounded his pride; he could not let that pass.
“You just want to put your cock in her,” Ecgric growled. “You want her for yourself!’
Without bothering to warn Ecgric again, Aidan leaped forward and hit him hard.
Ecgric’s head snapped back and he staggered. Clutching his eye, he swore foully.
“Do you have anything else to say?” Aidan asked.
“I will not forget this.” Ecgric backed away. “You’ll pay for this.”
With that, Ecgric turned and staggered away. Moments later, the shadows swallowed him whole.
Aidan released Freya and turned to face her.
“Did he hurt you?”
Freya shook her head. Now that the ordeal had passed, she felt on the edge of tears. “He hit me a few times but I managed to escape before he raped me.”
“What in Woden’s name are you doing out on the streets alone at this hour?”
“I had taken a load of rush-matting to the dust-heap,” Freya replied, her voice quivering, “but I didn’t realize it was so late. I only just made it inside the main gates before they closed them.”
Aidan slowly let out the breath he had been holding. Even in the half light, Freya could see the concern, warring with anger, which played across his features.
“Wyrd has been kind to you this eve,” Lothar spoke up. “He would not have been gentle. You must be more careful in future girl.”
Freya shuddered at the reminder. “I know. I am grateful to you both. Now, please escort me back to the hall; my absence will soon be noticed.”
Aidan turned to Lothar. “You go on ahead. I’ll take Freya up.”
“Very well.” Lothar’s gaze settled on Freya’s face, before moving to Aidan’s. He paused a moment, as if considering something. When his gaze met Freya’s once more, it was thoughtful. A moment later, Lothar turned and strode off down the hill towards the mead hall.
“Come Freya.” Aidan gently took hold of her arm. “Let’s get you inside.”
They walked in silence. The only sounds were the muffled voices inside the dwellings they passed, the barking of a dog in the distance, and the wail of a babe. As they walked, Freya started to feel increasingly uncomfortable. This was their first contact since Beltaine; a terrible parody of what they had shared in the darkness on the night of the fire, the drums and the dancing.
“Lothar speaks true,” Aidan spoke up finally. “You must be wary around Ecgric in future. He has watched you since his arrival here, waiting for his chance. He will not be foiled again. Next time, I may not be around to help you.”
There was something in his tone that stung Freya. She almost preferred the old Aidan, the arrogant warrior with the honeyed words. Of late, he had become serious and withdrawn. This evening, there was a bitter edge to his words.
“I will watch him,” she replied stiffly.
Ahead, the gates to the Great Hall loomed. They would not be alone for much longer. Freya turned to Aidan, attempting to catch his gaze, although it was now almost dark.
“I thank you, again, Aidan.”
“Good eve.” One of the guards at the gate eyed their approach.
“One of the king’s sheep lost its flock.” Aidan flashed the guard one of his cocky smiles, his teeth white in the darkness. “I found her wandering the streets alone after setting out too late on an errand. Make sure she gets back inside the Great Hall safely will you? I’ve got a stool at the mead hall being kept warm for me.”
The guard laughed at that and took hold of Freya’s arm.
“Consider it done.”
Freya watched as Aidan turned, without so much as a glance in her direction, and walked off down the hill. His behavior was a slap across the face after what she had just endured. His dismissive manner made her anger rise for the first time since Ecgric had accosted her. Her mother had been right to choose a life alone in the forest, with only her daughter and animals for company. The world of men was a callous, brutish place.
***
Aidan ducked his head as he stepped inside the mead hall. His gaze swept over the rowdy interior until he spied Lothar. Rendlaesham’s mead hall was a long and narrow structure with tapered ends. A fire pit glowed in the center with two narrow tables stretching from one end of the hall to the other either-side. Two boys were roasting a row of spitted rabbits over the embers and, as ever, the mead flowed.
Pushing his way through the throng, Aidan reached Lothar’s side and sat down on the low bench. Lothar pushed a cup of frothy mead across the table and raised an eyebrow.
“Is the maid safely indoors?”
Aidan nodded and took a deep draught of mead.
“Have you seen Ecgric?” he asked the Frank, casting his gaze around the hall as he spoke.
Lothar shook his head. “The Eager is off somewhere licking his wounds. He won’t show his face, or that black-eye you gave him, in here again tonight.”
“I’d like to take an axe to that man’s head,” Aidan replied, his gaze meeting Lothar’s. “He’s had it coming for a while.”
Lothar chuckled at that. “You’d have no protest from me; although the king might not be pleased.”
“Before that worm wriggled his way into our lives, I had a purpose and a place at Sigeberht’s side. I don’t know how he’s managed it, but he has won the king’s loyalty and praise without having to prove himself. I’ve been left with nothing.”
Lothar listened to Aidan, his face creasing into a frown.
“It’s not just Ecgric,” he reminded Aidan. “Sigeberht was looking for a way to dispose of you after you refused to stay on at Iken. Ecgric soothes his conscience; whereas you are a constant reminder of what he had to do to claim the throne.”
“If this isn’t the life he wanted, then why did he go after it?” Aidan replied, bitterness making his voice harsh.
Lothar did not reply. His face was troubled and Aidan realized that his explosion of vitriol had worried his friend. He had not meant to unleash his bitterness on Lothar but he could not keep his anger hidden any longer.
Unlike Aidan, Lothar was happy. His life had improved greatly upon his arrival in Britannia. He and Aedilhild had now wed; their handfast had taken place shortly after Beltaine. Lothar now spent his nights in Aedilhild’s father’s hall; a modest dwelling after living so long under Sigeberht’s roof. Yet Aidan envied him his autonomy. In truth, he envied Lothar most things these days, and this realization galled him even more. He would never have imagined he would become one of those individuals who ruminated on the wrongs done them, while envying others their good fortune.
Aidan and Lothar sipped their mead in silence, while around them drunken voices roared like waves breaking on a shingle shore. Eventually, Lothar spoke up.
“You ar
e changed Aidan. And I think it is more than just Sigeberht’s favor for Ecgric. I saw the way you looked at that girl earlier. Are you in love with her?”
Lothar’s words made Aidan choke on his mead.
“Hwæt?”
“You heard me. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before. In my defense, I’ve been a bit preoccupied recently. You want the girl. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
“Lusting after a wench and being in love with one are two different things, as you well know,” Aidan responded when he had finished spluttering. “Freya is fair, but I’m not the first to have noticed that.”
Lothar gave Aidan a penetrating look in response.
“There’s no shame in admitting it Aidan,” he said quietly. “There’s no weakness in love.”
“Soft-headed cuckold!” Aidan snarled at his friend before shoving his cup of mead to one side and getting to his feet. “If this is what wedded bliss does to a man, I’d gladly do without!”
Lothar watched his friend stalk off, shouldering his way through the group of men who were standing near the door. The Frank then turned back to his mead with a sly smile and a nod.
“It’s true then,” he said to no one in particular. “The man is most definitely in love.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I have decided.” Sigeberht surveyed his retainers over the rim of his cup. “I cannot stay on in Rendlaesham any longer. My hall at Beodricesworth is ready, and my heart lies there.”
It was a warm, late summer’s eve. The doors to the Great Hall were open, allowing a sultry breeze to waft through the stuffy interior. Freya sat on the matting, next to Hilda, topping and tailing blackcurrants. They had spent the afternoon collecting the berries from where they grew wild next to the brook behind the orchards. Tomorrow, they would make the berries into a pie, and some into jelly.