by Jayne Castel
The silence stretched between them, and eventually Annan raised his arm to give Saba the order.
Realizing he had better speak now, or lose his head, Aldfrid spat out two words.
“I apologize.”
“It’s not me you need to address,” Annan replied coldly. “Look at my wife and tell her you are sorry for insulting her.”
Aldfrid’s stocky body quivered with outrage but his gaze shifted to Saewara and stayed there.
“I am sorry, Milady, for insulting you.”
Saewara stared back at him, not responding to the words that so obviously meant nothing. Glancing at her face, Annan realized that she had indeed spoken true when she had told him that life in her brother’s hall had been difficult and cruel. Seeing the look on Aldfrid’s face, Annan understood that she was nothing to them. They had forced Saewara into a marriage she did not want and then had the gall to insult her for it.
Annan almost wished that Saba would sink his axe blade into Aldfrid’s bull neck all the same. He had not lied to Aldfrid; if he had been the one holding the axe, the temptation would have been too great.
“You have seen that Saewara is alive and well.” Annan was the first to break the weighty silence. “You have seen that I am living here at Exning for the summer. What else would you know?”
“This fortification – what is your reason for it?”
“It defends my south-western border,” Annan replied without hesitation. “Roman roads intersect here; many traders use this route to travel between kingdoms. After all that has happened over the last few decades, I would know who is coming and going – as any king would.”
“You break the pledge you made to Penda,” Aldfrid shouted, losing the battle to control his temper. “This will bring his wrath down upon you all!”
“So be it,” Annan replied calmly. “If a king can’t defend his own border then let Penda’s wrath come.”
“Are you a fool?” Aldfrid snarled. “He will destroy you. He will pummel you into the ground. He will make you crawl before he kills you.”
Annan shrugged, concealing the anger that was twisting his gut. “I repeat. A king has the right to defend his borders. Penda should have made his terms clearer.”
Pushed beyond endurance by Annan’s calm refusal to be baited, or to make an outright admission of defiance, Aldfrid turned on his heel and strode back to his horse.
“You will regret this day,” he told the king, swinging up into the saddle. “When Penda hears of this he will bring the might of his army down upon you.”
“Thank you for the warning,” Annan replied, “although I’d go easy on that horse on the way home, if I were you. The poor beast looks fit to collapse.”
Aldfrid bared his teeth at Annan in response and spat on the ground. Then, without another word, he turned his horse around and kicked it into a sluggish canter. Geese scattered, hissing in rage, as Penda’s emissary rode away.
Annan watched him go, keeping his arm loosely around Saewara’s shoulders all the while. They remained there, even after Aldfrid disappeared from view and the sound of his horse’s hooves faded.
“Well,” Saewara spoke finally, glancing up at Annan’s face, “that went well.”
Annan laughed. It felt good; a release of tension after the confrontation with Aldfrid.
“It certainly did.” Annan removed his arm from around Saewara’s shoulders and stepped back from her, holding her gaze. His face grew serious. “I knew the moment would arrive sooner or later. I’m sorry though, that you had to be involved.”
Saewara shook her head. She smiled then, although her eyes were sad. It was an expression he had often witnessed since her arrival in his kingdom. She was strong, his Mercian wife, and proud. Yet, she was unhappy. Annan felt a stab of self-reproach as he realized that he had only added to her melancholy.
“Aldfrid’s words did not bother me,” she replied, holding his gaze for a moment longer. “Truly, I’ve heard worse. What alarms me, is what will happen now.” Her gaze flicked to where Aldfrid had disappeared. “It will take him a while to reach Tamworth, especially since you have blocked this border. He will have to tackle the marshes to the north or ride for days south to skirt the woods. It will give you time, but once he reaches Tamworth, Penda’s reaction will be swift.”
“We should have killed the bastard,” Saba spoke up. The warrior’s face was hard as he stared after Aldfrid. “That would have stopped him from running back to his master.”
Annan shook his head. “It would have only delayed the inevitable. Penda will find out soon enough. I will send out riders today. I need to start gathering my fyrd to me.”
“I will organize it,” Saba replied, his eyes gleaming. He had been waiting for this moment.
Annan’s gaze travelled around the faces of his men who stood nearby. He realized then, that they had all been waiting for this day. The day he defied the Mercians. Live or die, Penda was not their master, and never would be.
Chapter Nineteen
Lovers and Longing
Sabert and Hilda were handfasted on a hot, mid-summer’s day. The ceremony took place outdoors, under a wide blue sky, on the grassy meadows outside Exning.
The couple stood before an arch that had been festooned with wildflowers. Hilda was dressed in a creamy white tunic made of fine wool that accentuated her slender frame. She had daisies threaded through her long brown hair and her face was radiant. Saba stood before her, beaming down at his bride. He was dressed in a black tunic and leather breaches. Numerous gold arm rings decorated his muscular arms and he had tied his dark hair back at the nape with a leather thong.
Watching Saba and Hilda’s faces, Saewara felt her eyes sting with tears. She discreetly brushed at her eyes, not bothered if anyone saw them. After all, many people cried at weddings. Besides, she was not weeping for herself, but for joy that Hilda was finally free and about to start a new life with the man she loved.
The king stood before the couple. Saba had asked Annan to act as celebrant, and although he had been a bit hesitant initially, Annan appeared at ease in this unfamiliar role. Saewara watched him wrap the ribbon about the lovers’ hands, before he stepped back and let them pledge their vows to each other.
A huge crowd had gathered around Saba and Hilda. It was nearly ten days since Aldfrid’s visit, and since then the fyrd – a king’s army of hundreds of spears and axe-men, had been amassing on the grasslands outside Exning. More would come, Saba had promised. He had sent out riders, far and wide over the kingdom to call men to arms – and the men came, quicker than even Annan had expected.
The East Angles readied themselves for war.
Before the kingdom’s defeat to the Mercians just over a year earlier, the East Angles had grown complacent. The Wuffinga kings had kept them safe; it had seemed unthinkable that another king would take their land for his own. Now their complacency was gone, they feared the Mercians and knew that they could no longer pretend the threat was not real. This fear galvanized them, and spurred them to Exning. The huge increase in man-power also meant that Devil’s Dyke was nearing completion months ahead of schedule. Exning was no longer a sleepy village on the fringe of the kingdom but a bustling hive of industry. Forges burned night and day as smiths fashioned a mountain of spear-heads, arrow-heads, axe-heads and swords. Annan spent his evenings in discussion with Saba, Aethelhere, and his most trusted warriors, discussing battle tactics and the best method of defense against the Mercians.
Despite the shadow of approaching war, there was still time for a handfasting. In fact, such an event was celebrated with even more joy than usual. Marriage, like birth, was a life-affirming act. It reminded all present what they were fighting for, and what they stood to lose.
The ceremony concluded with Saba pulling the blushing Hilda into his arms for a passionate kiss. The crowd roared its approval and a thunderous applause followed. Saewara clapped enthusiastically along with the others, but could not help but note that Hereswith and Eldwyn, her con
stant companion, stood with pinched faces, nearby.
Since their arrival here in Exning, Saewara had rarely seen Hereswith smile. Relations between the Northumbrian beauty and Aethelhere had also deteriorated. They often argued, and days would pass in frosty silence. Aethelhere had stopped looking at his bride in adoration, and she ignored him. All had noticed the change in them both – and Saewara wondered what Annan thought of it. He too, had changed since arriving in Exning. His manner toward Saewara had thawed considerably. They would often chat companionably before bed in the evenings and, although they still slept separately, Saewara found herself looking forward to her nightly conversations with Annan. Unlike in Rendlaesham, where it was obvious that Hereswith’s presence had disturbed him, he seemed not to notice her here – either that or he made a convincing show of ignoring her.
Despite that her marriage had never been consummated, Annan’s apparent disinterest in the woman who he had once pined for, gave Saewara a ridiculous amount of pleasure. True, Hereswith’s mood had become even nastier of late – her barbs even more cutting – but it was worth it to see that Annan had decided to move forward with his life.
Warriors carried out long tables into the meadow for the handfast feasting. It was a rare, and pleasant occasion to sit out for a feast under the warm sun. The chirp of crickets chorused with the rumble of conversation and bursts of laughter.
Saewara helped herself to a plate of strawberries drizzled with honey and cream, and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her shoulders. She watched Saba feed Hilda a strawberry and smiled. It was wonderful to see Hilda so happy; she looked a different woman in her beautiful gown and without the iron slave-collar about her neck. She sat straighter; her eyes bright, and her cheeks flushed.
The love of a good man – and freedom – had made Hilda radiant.
The mead flowed and the platters of roast meat and vegetables slowly emptied. A musician started playing a jaunty tune on his bone whistle and couples began to rise from the table to dance. Saba, unsteady on his feet after copious amounts of mead, escorted his new bride into the middle of the swirling dancers.
Saewara watched them with wistful longing. It was the same dance she and Annan had been forced to participate in at Tamworth; only this one had a completely different feel. There were no hostile glares, unless you counted Hereswith and her maid, and everyone was in the mood to celebrate. It did not matter that war approached, for at least they were free. Watching them, Saewara decided that she liked the East Angles very much; and felt a far greater kinship to these people than she had ever felt to her own.
The dancing had been going on a short while when Hereswith rose from her seat and made her way around the table to where Annan sat lingering over a cup of mead.
“Milord,” she greeted him, boldly meeting his gaze. “Will you dance with me?”
Annan stared back at her, surprised. Aethelhere was sitting at the other end of the table, deep in conversation and had not noticed that his wife had approached the king.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Annan protested half-heartedly. “Are you sure you want your feet trodden on?”
“I will take my chances, Milord,” Hereswith replied with a demure smile before she held out a hand to him. “Shall we?”
Saewara watched as Annan got to his feet and took Hereswith’s elbow, leading her into the dance.
She knew she had no right to feel jealous – but the sight of them, golden haired and fair, dancing together, was like a punch to the stomach.
No wonder he wanted her, Saewara thought bitterly. They make a beautiful couple.
The joy of the day suddenly disappeared.
How was it possible to go from contentment to desolation in just a few moments?
Why do I care so much?
A lyrist joined the whistle player and the music stepped up a pace. Annan was, in fact, a good dancer. He moved with grace and ease. Saewara’s gaze tracked him and jealousy twisted her stomach. If she could, she would have clawed Hereswith’s eyes out.
The blonde stared into Annan’s eyes as they danced; her gaze not leaving his for a moment. It was a challenging gaze, a hungry gaze. The look of a desperate woman who knew the effect she had on men.
Disgusted, Saewara looked away. She could not bear to see them together.
Annan’s head spun slightly as he whirled Hereswith around once more. He had eaten and drunk too much; and the dancing was starting to make him feel queasy. It did not help that Hereswith had fastened onto him like lichen – and seemed to have no intention of letting go.
She was still as beautiful as ever. Up close her skin was perfect, and her eyes a luminous blue. Yet, these days he was able to admit this to himself without feeling an aching sense of longing for a woman he could never have. Instead, he had observed Hereswith interact with his brother, and had found himself feeling relieved that he was not married to a woman who seemed constantly displeased with everything and everyone.
“Milord,” Hereswith gasped, pressing close to him, her gaze fusing with his. “I am miserable.”
“You are?” Annan replied, feigning ignorance. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“Your brother is not half the man you are,” she continued. “I wish I had never agreed to marry him.”
Annan’s body stiffened at that and his gaze narrowed. “Aethelhere is a good man; you could do far worse.”
“I know,” Hereswith’s gaze dipped submissively before returning with an intensity that made Annan draw back slightly. “But he is not you. He will never be you. It is you I want.”
“Hereswith,” Annan replied gently. “I too wished for events to unfold differently than they have – but fate had another will. We are both married to others. I have made peace with my new life, maybe you should too. You would be happier.”
“I don’t wish to make peace with it!” Hereswith snapped, the demure façade evaporating as her anger surfaced. “I don’t want to remain married to that oaf! You are the king, you can annul both our marriages and take me for your own. You have decided to defy Penda anyway. There’s no need to remain married to that Mercian drab!”
“Enough!” Annan stopped dancing, nearly causing them to collide with another couple. “You will not speak of Saewara, or my brother, so.” He wrenched himself out of her grip and took a step back, glaring at her. “One is my wife, the other my kin – you would do well to remember that.”
Hereswith’s blue eyes filled with tears – but it was too late. He had heard enough to know that his brother had been saddled with a shrew.
For the first time, it dawned upon Annan that he’d had a very narrow escape. The realization was akin to a bright dawn shedding light over a bleak landscape. He now pitied, rather than envied, his brother.
He could see Aethelhere now, elbowing his way through the dancers toward him with a face like thunder. Taking hold of Hereswith’s elbow, Annan gently pushed her toward her husband.
“Your wife complains of my two left feet,” he said affably when Aethelhere reached them. “She tells me I dance like a troll compared to you.”
“Really?” Confusion warred with jealousy on Aethelhere’s face. He was drunk and spoiling for a fight. Annan had no intention of giving him one. Whatever it took, Aethelhere needed to know that Annan no longer coveted his wife.
“I’m afraid so – just take a look at her face. It seems I’ve put her in ill-humor.”
Aethelhere glanced at Hereswith’s face and frowned. “Are you well?”
Hereswith nodded before favoring her husband with a brittle smile. “I am now that you’ve rescued me from this oaf.”
A wary smile spread over Aethelhere’s face. “An oaf, eh? You really know how to charm women, Annan.”
“My apologies.” Annan backed away with a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to my wife. Saewara will be feeling neglected.”
Aethelhere, satisfied that Annan had not been trying to seduce Hereswith, pulled his wife into the mêlée of dancers
, while the king turned to return to his table. He had not lied about being keen to return to Saewara’s side. After his encounter with Hereswith, it was if a fog had lifted.
Saba had been right – he had been a blind, stubborn fool. Despite that he had fought his attraction to her from the beginning, it had taken him a while to recognize Saewara’s worth.
Too long.
However, upon emerging from the dancing, Annan stopped abruptly in his tracks. His gaze rested on the spot where he had left Saewara a short while earlier.
His wife’s seat was empty.
Annan’s gaze swept over the surrounding crowd, searching for the sensual features of his dark-haired wife. She had worn a becoming forest-green shift today, and was looking even lovelier than usual. He had wanted to tell her so.
Yet, there was no sign of his wife among the revelers. Saewara had disappeared.
Chapter Twenty
A Meeting in the Woods
Exning Woods were dark and unwelcoming. Unlike the meadows beyond, where the sun warmed the earth and a soft breeze ruffled the grass, the air here was damp and cool. Saewara shivered as she stepped over a moss-covered, rotting log and rubbed her bare arms. It was like stepping from one world to another. She did not like these woods, for they were melancholy and sunless, but she sought refuge here all the same.
After watching Annan dance with Hereswith, all the joy of the day had seeped from Saewara, making her feel lost and very alone. The folk of Exning had continued their revelry but, whereas she had found it entertaining earlier, it merely grated upon her now.
Annan and Hereswith had looked so perfect together that it had made her feel ill to look upon them.
She needed to breathe. She needed peace and quiet – and the woods gave her the solitude she craved.
She did not venture far inside the woods, for she was afraid of getting lost; walking just far enough inside so that she could no longer hear the music and ringing voices. When only the chime of bird song and the rustle of forest creatures in the undergrowth surrounded her, Saewara sat down on a tree stump.