by Mary Yarde
“But it is cold,” she protested.
“We are not staying here.”
“Alden, you cannot think to carry on. You need to rest. Besides, we can hardly see our fingers in front of our faces. We will get lost.”
“Your confidence in me inspires. We will not get lost. Put out the flames.”
Annis frowned down at him. She wanted to refuse him, demand that they rest. Instead, she found herself stamping on the flames until darkness surrounded them again.
Alden commanded his aching body to stand. He held onto the tree for support for a second, and then he walked rather unsteadily over to the horse.
“Did you see any food in the saddle bag?” he asked over his shoulder as he opened the leather bag.
Annis did not need to answer, for he had pulled out a small loaf of bread. Tearing it in half, he walked back over to where Annis stood. She was looking at the ground, at the remains of the fire; in her hand, she held the braid of hair that Merton had given her.
Alden passed her the piece of bread. “If he is still alive, I will kill him for what he did to you,” he promised softly, although they both knew he did not mean it.
Annis gave the slightest shake of her head. “He was trying to save you.” She looked at him then, her eyes shimmering with emotion.
“What’s the matter?” Alden frowned. He softly cupped her cheek.
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“When I first saw you, it was like I had walked into a sunlit room.”
Alden scoffed at the idea. He was nothing special.
“Those men died for you today. They sacrificed themselves without question.”
“I am — was —” he corrected himself, “their King. It was their duty.”
“They love you.” Annis brushed a tear from her eye. “I could see it in their faces.”
“I failed my people, Annis.” Shame flickered in his eyes. “I failed them absolutely.”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? They still love you.”
“Eat. We have wasted enough time here already.” He turned from her, hiding his emotions. He broke off a piece of bread and forced himself to swallow it, even though he did not feel like eating. His whole life had been changed because of her father. He felt resentment and hatred build up inside him. If he let it, he knew it could take him over completely and he would not allow that. He would not allow Wessex that victory over him.
14
The sun painted the clouds red as it slowly rose in the morning sky. Around them the birds welcomed the dawn. They had conquered another night, they had been given another day to fight for survival, why shouldn’t they sing? Annis appreciated their struggle for survival; she could understand their songs at last. She glanced to the left and saw a streak of grey flash in between the tree trunks.
They were being hunted, and not only by Oeric’s men. Alden urged his horse on. She bucked, almost unseating them both, and then broke into a canter. Alden pulled back on the reins, trying to bring her back under control; she fought him, tossing her head and trying to snatch the reins out of his hand.
“Easy,” he kept his voice gentle, trying to reassure her.
A wolf stood elevated on a fallen oak, watching them. His head seemed far too big for his thin grey body, his eyes hungry. The mare reared, thrashing with her hooves. The wolf stared, its tongue hanging out of its mouth, panting.
Alden shouted in Cerniw, urging the horse on. Annis held tightly to the pommel as the horse bolted forwards. The wolf was smiling, Annis thought to herself; he was enjoying himself, playing with them, waiting for his pack to catch up with him. He raised his head and howled. The howl was answered by another. The wolf’s eyes glistened and then he took up the chase again, running flat out to keep up with the horse. If Annis had not been so afraid, she would have been impressed how the wolf managed to run without hitting anything, for it seemed he had eyes only for them.
Alden kicked the horse on faster; she bucked at the command and then increased her pace. Her neck was soaked with sweat, her breathing frantic. Alden knew she would not last much longer, but they had to outrun the wolves. He would be damned if they got this far only to be thwarted by a pack of wild animals.
The wolf vanished. Annis looked around, trying to find him, fearing he had outpaced them. In the distance, a flock of birds flew up from the tree canopy, cackling a warning to each other. Annis could see nothing up ahead, for trees obscured her view.
Alden slowed the mare with difficulty. Above them the birds flew. They were watching something on the ground. It was not for the first time Alden envied their ability to fly. He twisted in the saddle and looked over his shoulder. The wolf was lying down, its head raised watching them. Alden kept the mare at a steady canter, distancing them from the wolf.
They were following an old road. It was not the main route to Selsey, where Natanleod’s fort was to be found, but it was the road Merton had sang about when he was staggering through the herb garden. Alden prayed Merton had been right and had not been mistaken, for this road was in a state of disrepair and was obviously not used anymore. Considering the wildlife, Alden could understand why.
Annis sat up taller, straining to see what was in front of her. There was something there. It was something big. Something terrifying, like —
“Bloody hell,” Alden cursed and pulled the mare to an abrupt stop. In front of them, blue standards with six bright yellow birds stood out against the red of the sky. His horse whinnied; she was answered by another. Alden closed his eyes briefly and then looked at the heavens. “Why Lord? Why are you doing this to me?” he asked God in Cerniw. But, God did not answer him; instead, he brought the army of Natanleod ever closer.
Soldiers, dressed in blue uniforms, wearing silver helmets and silver armour, escorted Alden and Annis towards their king.
“Sire,” one of the soldiers said, catching the attention of a man who was sat on a light grey destrier and was deep in conversation with a knight by his side.
“Yes?” he asked with irritation.
Annis had expected to see an aged fiend, but Natanleod was one of those lucky people who aged well, and he certainly looked nothing like the monster she had imagined. He had startling blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair, which seemed to lack any grey. He was dressed like his soldiers, only on his head, he wore a silver circlet instead of a helmet. The hilt of his sword, which Annis could clearly see, was encrusted in precious jewels. She shut her mouth, realising with embarrassment that she was gaping at him. He was almost as handsome as Alden, if you liked older men, that was.
Alden frowned at her. He did not like the way she was looking at the King of Sussex, and a wave of jealousy swept through him. He looked up at Natanleod. “We were hoping to avoid you.” He did not even try to keep the anger out of his voice. If he had a sword, by God, he would strike the bastard down who had murdered his sister, but he had been disarmed.
“Insolent peasant.” The soldier hit Alden hard across the head. “Horse thief.”
“Stop.” Natanleod raised his hand. “Du Lac?” he questioned. Surely his eyes were deceiving him. He had never thought to see Alden on his lands again, not after their last encounter.
Alden raised his head and glared at the King of Sussex.
Natanleod rode his horse forward. Annis took a step back, standing on the toes of the soldier who held her. The soldier cursed her and roughly pushed her forwards.
“Tell your men to let us go,” Alden ordered, his eyes shining with hate as he glared at the soldier who dared lay a hand on Annis.
Natanleod gave a slight nod and they were released.
“Where are you going?” Alden asked. Natanleod was going to war and he wanted to know with whom and why.
“Should I not be asking you that?” Natanleod returned, an equally hostile look in his eyes.
“Brittany.” Alden supplied.
“Brittany?”
“We are travelling to Brittany to seek help from Alden’s brother,” Annis stated. She was not going to stand here and listen to these two antagonise each other. It was clear that Natanleod disliked Alden as much as Alden did him, but she could see no purpose in Alden starting a fight with a man whose forces outnumbered him several thousand to one.
Both men turned and stared at her in outrage. She ignored Alden and concentrated on Natanleod. “Your Majesty,” she curtsied. “We hope to charter a boat. We tried in Kent, but Oeric was disobliging.” She smiled sweetly.
“I heard what happened in Cerniw.”
“And you would like to gloat,” Alden said bitterly.
“Hardly,” Natanleod spat. He got down from his horse. “My emissary has returned from Wessex. We were in talks — ”
“I am aware of that.”
“As I am sure you are aware he wants to be named High King. It was bad enough when Arthur had the title; I’ll be damned if I bow down to Cerdic. Of course, he took that as a personal insult and is marching on us as we speak.”
“Nothing could please me more,” Alden replied with venom. “I take it you are planning on meeting him?”
“I am not going to allow what happened in Cerniw to happen here. Only a fool would allow such a thing.”
“He and Oeric are allies,” Annis said hurriedly, placing a restraining hand on Alden. She felt the tension in his arm; he was a breath away from losing his temper, she could feel it. “They attacked Cerniw together.” She ignored Alden’s black look and continued. “The Cerniw army did not stand a chance.”
Natanleod frowned. “Is that true?” He looked at Alden for confirmation.
Alden would have choked on the word yes, if Annis had not beaten him to it.
“Of course it is true, I just told you.”
“Who are you?” Natanleod asked, slightly taken back by this scrap of a woman with awful hair, appalling clothes and a courageous attitude that could rival his generals.
“Annis of Wes —”
“Du Lac.” Alden interrupted.
“You are Annis of Wessex?” Natanleod tilted his head in enquiry.
“She is Annis du Lac,” Alden repeated.
“Yes, I heard you the first time. Do not fear, I am not about to strike a claim.” He winked at Annis. “Although I should, considering at one time we were betrothed.”
Annis blushed and Alden’s temper felt like a fever burning inside him. He purposely tugged her hand into his and glowered at Natanleod with hate.
“I was informed my bride to be had absconded with an escaped prisoner. I did not realise the prisoner was you.”
“Well, now you do.”
“Alden, you could be a little more pleasant, considering you are in my country and you are hoping to convince me to loan you a boat. I have a good mind to send you back to Wessex.”
“Oeric had the same idea.”
“Did he? Well, I can’t say I am surprised. What happened to your arm?”
Annis thought Alden would refuse to answer but then he sighed heavily, as if he was fed up with the hostility. “A wound, courtesy of Oeric’s archers.”
“They let loose at you?”
“Yes, who would have thought? And them being such good allies of mine and everything.”
“One day your sarcasm is going to get you killed.”
“My sarcasm? I have thought of many reasons why Wessex wanted me dead but I never considered sarcasm. Thanks for clearing that up.”
Natanleod chose not to answer, instead he glared at Alden’s arm. “You should see our healer; he’s a good man.”
“I am fine.”
“You are fine.” Natanleod repeated with ridicule. Du Lac looked anything but fine; he looked a mess. He had almost not recognised him, but Alden’s eyes, looking at him with such scorn, were so familiar, for they were just like his late wife’s, only she never looked at him like her brother did now.
“I’m fine,” Alden said again.
“Will you allow us safe passage?” Annis asked. “It is imperative that we get to Brittany. Oeric holds Merton prisoner.”
“You don’t know that,” Alden said. He would not allow himself to believe that Merton had been taken captive.
“I very much doubt that,” Natanleod reiterated, even though he did not know the circumstances. But he knew Merton; he knew what he was capable of when he had a sword in his hand. Well, he had known him; they had not spoken for a long time, not after Rheda died and that unfortunate incident with Alden.
Annis almost smiled. Was this something these two men actually agreed on? Maybe she was a bad judge of character, but she found herself warming to the man she was meant to marry. She now found it hard to believe the stories she had heard about him, but then she remembered Alden’s sister, Rheda.
“You tell me what I want to know about Wessex and Oeric, and I will let you charter one of my boats to Brittany.”
“So generous,” Alden said, as he spat on the floor in disgust.
Natanleod unsheathed his jewel-encrusted sword. The silver blade reflected the sun as he pointed it at Alden’s throat. He would not let such an insult go unpunished.
Alden did not even flinch. “Is that how you killed my sister?” He watched, with a sense of pleasure, as Natanleod’s eyes became dark with anger. “Was she unarmed too?”
“Give him his sword.” Natanleod ordered. “We are going to finish this today. I have had enough of you and your accusations.”
Alden’s sword was handed back to him. “I promised myself I would avenge her.”
“No.” Annis carefully reached up and pushed Natanleod’s blade away. “There has been enough bloodshed.”
“Annis, get out of the way,” Alden commanded.
“And watch you get killed?” She placed her palm on his chest and curled her fingers into the fabric of his tunic.
“Once again your show of confidence is encouraging, sweetheart.” He did not look at her, his attention on Natanleod, but she could see the hard set of his lips and the anger in his eyes.
“You are in no fit state to fight. Alden, please.” She would go down on her knees and beg him if she had to.
“I am fit enough to fight him.”
“I did not kill Rheda.” Natanleod lowered his sword a fraction. “I tried to explain the last time we met, but you were in the same mood as you are in now and you would not listen.”
“I begged Budic not to allow a marriage between the pair of you. I knew how it would end.”
“You have the gall to come to my kingdom, seek my help — ”
“I do not seek your help.”
“And then you accuse me of what…murder?” The knights, who could speak Latin and were listening to the conversation intently, looked at each other. The knight whom Natanleod had been talking to dismounted and withdrew his sword.
Alden eyed the knight with distaste. “You cannot even fight your own battles — why should I be surprised?”
“Rheda was with child.” Natanleod said. He sheathed his sword. He did not want to fight his once brother-in-law. “I was away for one day. I was settling a stupid dispute in one of the villages. I forbade her to ride; she did not seem to consider the safety of herself or our child. She was as reckless as you are, and I do not mean that as a compliment.” Natanleod paused; he did not like to speak of his late wife, for the wound was still fresh. He remembered the thrill he had felt when Rheda told him his seed had taken root. A child at last — he knew in his heart that it would be a boy. He had allowed himself to imagine the child, what he would teach him, what they would do together. For them both to be so needlessly taken away almost destroyed him.
“Continue,” Alden said. His sister was as he said. She loved to ride. As a child she
would wander off frequently, only to be found hiding in the stables with their father’s vicious warhorse, which turned into a little lamb whenever she was around.
“She crept out of the castle, eluding the guards I had ordered to protect her, and went to the stables. I had just brought a new destrier, a beautiful jet-black beast, but he was wild; he had thrown me thrice. What came over her I will never understand. She tacked him up and took him out. My groom noticed he was missing and raised the alarm, but by then it was too late. The horse came thundering home, riderless. It took me two days to find her; she had fallen and broken her neck.” He paused and looked down to the ground.
“And the others?” Annis asked softly not realising she had spoken her question aloud until she saw the look on Natanleod’s face and realised her mistake.
Natanleod looked at her, his eyes full of emotion; he could still see Rheda lying at an angle in a ditch. His dreams of a child died with her. It took him a moment to understand Annis’s question, which brought him back to reality with a crash. How dare she? “My other wives, did I kill them? Is that what you mean?” He shook his head. “I have heard what they whisper about me, in other kingdoms’ courts. I kill my wives because they fail to conceive. It must be true, then, Annis du Lac, if others say so.”
Annis felt her face turn crimson. She looked away, ashamed.
“Is that why you ran with him, to escape me?” He shook his head mockingly. “You thought to save your life by running with a man who cannot even offer you a home? I am surprised he married you; his reputation is worse than mine.”
“I did not kill my wife.”
“Didn’t you?” Natanleod asked in Breton, the language of Brittany.
“Edmee was in charge of her own destiny.” Alden replied in the same language.
“I had no hand in the deaths of my wives either.” Natanleod reverted to Latin. “I cared for them all, but your sister I loved.” His voice shook, though whether with rage or regret Annis could not tell.