by Mary Yarde
He raised his head slowly. She didn’t open her eyes straight away, but when she did he was frowning again.
“I need to warn you about King Oeric.” He had lowered his voice so they would not be overheard.
“Because I am a Saxon?”
“No, because he is lecherous, and you are beautiful, so you will draw his attention.”
“I am not beautiful.”
“You are not beautiful?” Alden shook his head in disagreement. “Fine, if that is what you really think, but you are not going to disagree that you are in fact a woman?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Of course I am a woman,” she said.
“Then he will notice you. Just promise me you will stick with our story. He will not touch you if he thinks you are my wife.”
Annis inhaled deeply. He leant forwards and kissed her again. “You are my wife,” Alden reiterated. “Don’t worry; we will not be here long — one night, maybe two.” He glanced about them. “Do you want to have a look around the market?”
“Yes, but don’t you have to wait on the King first?”
Alden smiled. “That would be the right thing, but I can say we got lost, which is partly true. I did give Octa the slip just now so I could come and find you. Come on. It is way past time you experience your first trip to the market, but young lady, I have no money, and unless you want me to completely destroy what I have left of my reputation you will have to shop with your eyes only.” He held out his hand to her.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Annis asked as she placed her hand in his, and they entwined their fingers like lovers often do.
“The only thing I have ever stolen is you,” he said against her ear as he pulled her against him.
“I wish you’d stop doing that,” Annis gasped as the pleasure of his breath against her neck made her shiver.
“No you don’t,” he answered.
He knew what he was doing to her, then. She whacked him on his arm in mock outrage. In answer he just pulled her closer and because it was him, she didn’t resist.
11
Annis’s mother once had a bird in a cage. She remembered when she was six years old, watching the bird and feeling so sorry for it. What a horrid life it had being stuck in a cage. At the first opportunity she lifted the latch and let the bird out. The bird hopped out, but it was so startled by its newfound freedom that it flew around and around the room so quickly and so fast that Annis, at first having giggled, began to fear for its life. It was going to hurt itself if it did not slow down. She was right; the bird flew into a wall, fell out of the air and landed on the floor. Dead. Annis felt like that bird as she strolled, arm in arm, around the market with Alden. She felt like her cage had been opened. She could sense Alden laughing at her, although he was too polite to say anything; but his eyes sparkled with amusement when she looked into them.
She must appear comical, but she couldn’t help it. She had squealed in shock as they watched a company of street entertainers juggle fire, and she laughed along with the crowd when one of the jugglers sought reluctant volunteers to assist him on his high wooden stilts. And when he put out one of the flaming torches with his mouth, she had clapped and cheered along with everybody else.
Alden watched her, trying to imprint her face, the way she laughed, the way her eyes lit up, into his memory. He could not lose her, not now. He knew his obligations, for they weighed heavy on his shoulders; but he also knew he was a better person when she was around. She made him forget the bad things that had happened to him. She turned towards him, giggling, and he took her hand again, needing the connection. For the briefest of time, they allowed themselves to forget about the King of Kent waiting for them, or the King of Wessex wanting to kill them. They simply lived in the moment.
The real world was there, though, waiting. And as time trotted on, Alden realised they could not linger any longer. They left the hustle and noise of the town and the marketplace behind them and followed the road that led to the castle. The town had slipped away, until it felt like they were in the middle of the countryside again. Annis could just make out the battlements in the distance, but apart from that she could easily have forgotten that she was still in the castle grounds.
Sheep, fat with the promise of spring lambs, grazed on the winter grass. They bleated to each other every now and then, just to reassure themselves that all was right with their world.
The road they travelled on was quiet. They passed a few locals travelling to market and bid them good day. Dressed as they were, they easily passed as peasants. It felt good to be an equal for a change, Annis thought. She wondered what Alden thought about it, but she sensed he enjoyed being just another normal soul as much as she did.
“Oeric’s house.” Alden finally broke the silence and pointed to a fine-looking building. “It was Roman originally,” he explained as Annis stopped and stared. “You can see where Oeric has extended it.” He pointed to the wooden structure. “It has a bathhouse.” Alden said, smiling. “I wouldn’t advise you use it. Oeric won’t waste his money repairing it, not that he would know how to if he did.”
“I guess he has more important things to spend his money on like protecting his people from my father. Alden, can I ask you something before we go in?” Annis turned her attention away from the house and looked at him.
“You can ask me anything, you know that.”
“Why do men like my father, men like you, seek power? Why can you not be content with what you have?”
He shook his head and laughed. She always caught him with those unexpected questions. “I don’t know how to answer that. I have never really given it any thought. I did not conquer Cerniw, I inherited it.”
“Is there a difference?” Annis asked.
“I did not seek power, it sought me.”
“Yet you accepted it.”
“I accepted it. Merton was too young and Budic had no claim to it. It should have fallen to Garren, but…” his voice trailed off.
“Did it make you happy? Being a king?”
“It gave me a purpose. The responsibility sometimes felt more of a burden than an honour. Maybe that is the reason Wessex conquered my lands. Maybe I wasn’t enough.”
“Men do not sacrifice themselves if they think what they are trying to protect is merely a burden.”
“My wise Annis.” His eyes were gentle when he looked at her. “I am responsible for Cerniw and for what has happened. If I could make it right for my people by losing my life, then I would. That doesn’t mean that I am selfless. If I could choose a different destiny for myself, I have no doubt that it would be catastrophically selfish.”
“What would you choose if you had the choice?”
“If I had a choice?” He took her hands gently in his and laid them on his chest. “I would marry you.” He smiled when he saw her surprised expression. “Right now,” he added.
She curled her fingers into his tunic and pulled on the material tightly, shaking him slightly. “Now I know you are jesting,” she said, annoyed. “You really are impossible.” She shook him again.
His hands crept up to her waist and he stepped a little closer. “I’m not jesting,” he said seriously. He leant his forehead against hers. “I’m not jesting,” he said again just before he kissed her.
“Du Lac, where the hell have you been?” Octa marched towards them and Alden, with annoyance flashing in his eyes, raised his head.
Octa cast Annis a withering look. “You are not going to make any friends by whoring with that woman outside my father’s house.”
“Be very careful, Octa, your tongue will be the death of you,” Alden replied, his voice soft but sharp.
“Not by your blade it will not. You forget yourself. You are in my country, du Lac. I can say what I want. Now, are you coming in or not? You have kept him waiting long enough already. The insult has been felt.”
“I have given no insult. The only insult I see is the one you just so elegantly bestowed on my wife.”
“You are going to get him killed.” Octa pointed a finger at Annis and she took a step back like a frightened child, using Alden as a shield. “Then again, you have been doing a pretty good job of doing that on your own,” he said to Alden. “Perhaps I should have left the pair of you to die outside in the cold.”
“Perhaps you should have. But you didn’t. Is he willing to receive me?”
Octa looked back towards the impressive building behind him. “He is. For the love of God, Alden, I beg you to reconsider this folly. Leave her. You cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds.”
“I cannot believe that you of all people would look me in the eye and say that. How long have we been friends?”
“Long enough for me to know that you are making a terrible mistake.”
“She is my wife. Like it or not, that is what she is.”
“Can you really not see it? Why would Cerdic’s daughter rescue you from the bowels of death? It is a set-up. See it for what it is, man. She is the enemy. She has no loyalty to you. She is her father’s daughter, through and through. She is using you.”
“That is not true,” Annis said. “Don’t listen to him, Alden, please.”
“I will not listen to your voice. Hold your tongue, woman,” Octa spat in distaste.
“Take me to your father,” Alden ordered softly, “before you say anything else that we will both regret.”
“And what do you want to do with her?”
“My wife stays with me.”
Octa let loose with a string of obscenities. “It is your funeral.”
“Funny, I’ve heard that said before. And you are forgetting that we all have to die.”
“But we don’t have to choose suicide, do we? And that is what you are doing. You are bringing a Wessex amongst us.”
“No.” Alden said forcefully. “There is no Wessex here. Annis is a du Lac.”
“Then you sully the name.”
In a moody silence, Octa escorted them through an archway made up of the bare thorny branches of a dog rose. They walked along a pretty cobbled path and into a beautifully paved courtyard, which led to a dazzling white building. Annis followed closely behind Alden; her stomach was making embarrassing noises, and she didn’t know if it was from fear or the fact she hadn’t eaten since daybreak. She stumbled on a loose stone and Alden held his hand out behind him as he walked. She gratefully grasped hold of it. Her hands were cold. His were reassuringly warm.
Octa led them up a flight of six wide stone steps, through a large doorway and into a well-lit, square hallway. In the centre of the hallway, there was a rectangular pool. The water in the pool shimmered in the weak winter sunlight. So this is what a Roman villa looked like, Annis thought. They followed Octa through a pretty square garden, which led to the newer part of the building, the Grand Hall.
The Grand Hall was lavishly furnished. A little too richly furnished for Annis’s taste, but maybe that was because she didn’t want to be here and she was looking for faults.
Huge tapestries hung from the walls, bright and expensive. There were no windows, no fresh air, which made the room feel stuffy although the reeds on the floor were new. There were long tables on both sides of the room and one at the head. Above the head table, there was a large tapestry in garish red, depicting the King of Kent’s crest.
Oeric noticed them and Alden stopped walking and bought Annis to his side. Alden bowed and taking his lead, Annis curtsied.
“Alden, I heard you were taken. I must say I did not believe my son when he said that he had found you.” The rest of the hall fell silent; the kind of silence one often heard when an innocent man was being sentenced to a horrible death.
Alden raised his head. “I escaped.”
“Well, I did not think he would hold you. It was a bad business. I am sorry I could not offer you troops, but we have our own problems protecting our borders from the bastard as it is. I have offered shelter to some of your kinsmen. Cerdic razed the place, Alden. Your fort was completely destroyed.”
A victorious army in an enemy kingdom was bound to cause devastation. Alden had feared as much.
“Then you have relayed my worst fears. Has a message been sent to Budic?”
Oeric shook his head. “The weather has been unpredictable and Merton wanted to deliver the message himself, but he has not been well.”
“Merton is here? He is safe?” Hope burst in Alden’s chest.
“He is safe. He had some minor wounds, but they have been treated.” He crossed the distance between them and lowered his voice. Annis could only just make it out. “I fear he is disturbed. He is not the man we knew.”
“I want to see him.”
“You will,” Oeric stated. “You will…later. But prepare yourself. I hear you surrendered,” he said, a faint hint of glee in his eyes.
Alden, who was still contemplating what Oeric had told him about his brother, looked up. “Good news travels fast.”
“As does bad.”
“It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I had no choice.”
“That is what they all say, isn’t it?” Oeric laughed. “And who is this fine-looking woman by your side?” Oeric turned his attention to Annis.
Annis raised her head reluctantly. She had never met King Oeric, although she had heard a lot about him, mainly about his skill as a warrior from her brother, who liked to talk about worthy opponents to anyone who cared to listen. His appearance surprised her. Oeric was an old man, older than her father was. His hair was a soft white, his face wrinkled. His eyes were watery and the colour of a foggy blue sky. His clothes were lavish and skilfully embroidered. He smiled a welcome, showing gaps in his mouth where his teeth had been knocked out. Alden was right; she could see he was mentally undressing her with his eyes. He made her feel sick.
“What is your name, my dear?” Even the way he spoke to her was lewd.
“Annis.”
“Annis?” Oeric raised his bushy white eyebrows. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.” He licked his lips. “And what are you doing in the company of Lord du Lac?”
Alden had to stop himself from saying king. The slight on Oeric’s part hit its mark well.
Annis nervously glanced at Alden. “I am his wife,” she whispered, fearing the lie.
“His wife?” he whispered back and then he laughed, turning his attention away from her and back to Alden.
“You lose a kingdom, but have the time to find a wife. Where did you pick her up? The dungeons?” Those gathered in the hall laughed at their king’s jest. “What did you do, my dear? Was it something horrid?” he asked Annis, stepping closer to her.
Alden’s arm shot out and pulled her closer to him. “The where and why has nothing to do with you.” There was a warning in his tone that he meant for Oeric to hear.
“You speak to me like a King. You forget yourself,” Oeric said, his eyes blazing with anger. “You cannot speak to me as an equal anymore. Annis, Annis.” He rolled her name over his tongue. “Of Wessex?” he stated, his eyes widening. “You married his daughter?”
Before Alden could form a reply, there was a loud bang as a chair toppled to the hard floor behind them and a man appeared from the shadows.
“Did I just hear that right?”
Annis turned slowly around to look at Alden’s brother, who was leaning rather heavily against the back of another chair.
“Answer me, damn you.” Merton yelled, his hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly that his knuckles showed white.
“She is Annis du Lac, my wife,” Alden replied.
“But before she was a du Lac, she was a Wessex? How could you?” Merton picked up the chair and threw it across the room. It hit the table and fell to the floor. He then grabbed a
goblet from the table and raised it to his lips and downed the contents. Some of the golden liquid dripped down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand and walked unsteadily towards them. He bumped into a chair and cursed loudly.
“Annis of Wessex,” he repeated, slurring her name.
Annis took an involuntary step back. She knew not which man posed the greatest risk to her. Was it King Oeric or Alden’s brother? One was vulgar and the other drunk.
“Merton,” Alden said, keeping his voice level while his eyes pleaded for understanding. “I feared you were dead.”
Merton snorted. “I can see that. But you got over my death pretty quickly and found yourself a wife. Life goes on and all that.” Merton shrugged and raised the goblet to his mouth again. Finding it empty, he threw that across the room too.
“You are drunk,” Alden stated.
“I am. And so would you be if you were me.” Merton said and staggered closer.
The smell from his brother was overwhelming. Merton was still dressed in the clothes he had last seen in him, which were stained with blood and mud and God knows what else. His hair was matted, his eyes glazed; and he smelt of the battlefield, smoke and death.
Merton stopped and stared at Alden in surprise, as if he had only just noticed him, as if the conversation they had just had had not occurred. “Alden,” he hiccupped. “Where did you come from? I thought you were dead. They told me you were. Those blasted fairies.” Merton pointed his finger at Alden, and then his eyes became fascinated with his own hand, much as a newborn would when he had just discovered his fingers. Merton frowned and lowered his hand. “I shall have words with them,” he mumbled to himself.
“They sometimes get these things wrong.” A childhood memory flashed through Alden’s mind of the time he and Garren had convinced Merton that fairies existed. They had crept into his room while he slept at night and quietly rearranged some of the furniture. They left him presents of sweet pastries, which they had stolen from the kitchen. Merton had been convinced, until their father had found out and put a stop to it. Merton had been upset when he learnt the truth, but Alden always suspected it was because of the loss of the pastries more than anything else.