by Jayne Castel
Less than a year ago, Annan had met Penda in battle, and the Mercian had humiliated him. Penda had bested him in sword combat but, instead of killing Annan there and then, he had taken him prisoner. They both knew it was a blow to any warrior’s honor. Better to die with a sword in your belly, than to limp home defeated.
And here we are again.
Annan walked amongst his men, checking that they were all in good spirits and readying themselves mentally for battle. He need not have worried. He saw determination on his warriors’ faces, and fierceness in their eyes. Many had waited long for this moment.
They would have their reckoning against the Mercians, or die trying.
Annan returned to the front, and dared to hope that the coming battle would go their way. This was a different army to the one Penda had encountered last time. Last autumn, the East Angles had been scattered and leaderless. Sigeberht had refused to lead them and instead, an unknown – a man called Ecgric, who few liked or trusted – had led the East Anglian fyrd into battle. It had been a disaster from the outset. This time, the East Angles had their king. This time they had hope.
Taking refuge from the driving rain, under a wide awning between two young oaks, Annan sat down on a stump that someone had thoughtfully covered with sacking and attempted to dry himself off next to a hissing fire. His clothing and armor stuck to him like a second skin and weighed down on his limbs. It would have to stay that way though; he would not be taking it off until the battle was over.
Annan was eating a piece of bread and cheese, and staring into the guttering flames, when Saba joined him.
“Morale is good,” the ealdorman grunted as he took a seat opposite Annan and helped himself to some bread and cheese.
“I noticed the same,” Annan replied with a smile. “Better than I thought.”
“It will take more than a bit of rain to douse these men’s spirits,” Saba countered. “They would go anywhere if you asked.”
Annan’s smile widened. “I knew there was a reason I kept you at my side, Saba.”
Saba shrugged at that. “It’s true – I wouldn’t say it otherwise.”
“I know – but after all that’s happened, it surprises me that they follow me.”
“They don’t blame you for Barrow Fields.” Saba frowned at the memory of that battle; for he too had been taken prisoner. “That was another king.”
“Still, they know I was made to ‘bend the knee’, and that I agreed to marry Penda’s sister. No other Wuffinga king has sunk so low.”
“Certainly, you don’t still regret Saewara do you?” Saba’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t seem sorry to have wedded her this afternoon.”
Annan looked away, suddenly embarrassed by the turn their conversation had taken.
“Saewara is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he said finally, his voice quiet, “and I’d be a fool to deny it.”
Saba grinned at him wolfishly. “Hilda said something had changed between you – but I didn’t believe her until today. I am glad.”
Annan met his friend’s gaze once more, his smile returning. “You were always a bit on the slow side.”
Saba snorted at that before taking a bite of bread and cheese. “You took your time,” he said with his mouth full.
“Time I can never get back,” Annan agreed. “I need to survive this, Saba. I need to return to her.”
“You will,” Saba’s voice held so much force that Annan could not help but believe him. “We both will.”
“I hope you two left some food for me?”
Annan and Saba’s conversation halted as Aethelhere stepped under the awning and shook himself like a dog.
“Thunor’s hammer, it’s foul out there.”
“As long as it drowns the Mercians in the night, I care not,” Annan replied, handing his brother a hunk of bread and cheese. “Here.”
Annan made room for Aethelhere on the tree stump and threw a few more damp twigs on the fire.
“So it starts at dawn?” Aethelhere’s gaze met his brother’s.
Annan nodded. “If we want to use the bowmen, we will need light.”
Aethelhere nodded, his youthful face creased in thought. “I wonder if Penda has thought to employ the same tactic. After all, we all know how much Penda loves his shield-wall.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Annan replied. “There will be no shield-wall in woods this thick. “If our bowmen can take down a few Mercians before our axes and spears reach them, it will help us no end.”
Both Saba and Aethelhere nodded at that. Using bowmen in warfare had been a tactic used by the Romans, although ever since their departure, those of Britannia preferred to use their longbows for sport rather than war. Annan, who was a skilled archer, had always thought it a waste. Traditions sometimes turned men blind.
The three men fell silent then, each sinking into his own private thoughts. There was plenty to think on this night – on who they had left behind, on regret for those things left unsaid, and on what lay in wait for them all at dawn.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Saewara’s Decision
An entire day passed before someone brought word of the battle to Exning. In the interim, a tense silence had descended over the settlement. It seemed desolate, now that the fyrd had emptied out. Only the women, children and elderly remained. The village appeared abandoned, forsaken.
The storm had continued all through the night and for most of the next morning. When it finally spent itself, heavy skies, leaden with the promise of more rain, hung overhead. The weather cast a gloomy shadow over Exning and the atmosphere inside the hall was little better. The servants moved silently about the strangely empty space while the few noblewomen residing here, sat at their looms or distaffs near the fire.
Saewara could not stay seated for long, especially since to do so meant keeping company with Hereswith and Eldwyn. She was full of nervous energy and frustration at not being able to be of any real assistance to her husband. She helped Hilda clean the hall. They took advantage of the men’s absence to replace the soiled rushes on the floor and carry furs outside to air. When she was not keeping busy, Saewara spent a great deal of time skirting Exning’s perimeter; often straying beyond the fence to watch the path that led into the woods.
Saewara was outside, feeding the geese, when the messenger arrived.
“M’lady!” A thin figure limped out of the grey dusk and staggered toward her.
He was a young man, barely out of boyhood. His left arm had been hurriedly strapped to his body and dark blood seeped through the bandages. His face was pale with pain and loss of blood.
Saewara rushed to his side and led him into the hall. He leaned heavily against her, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Inside, Hereswith and Eldwyn hurriedly moved aside so that the young man could sit down in front of the fire.
“What news?” Saewara asked him. “Is the battle over?”
The young man shook his head. “We have fought them since dawn – with heavy losses on both sides. The battle is not yet done. The Mercians have pulled back for the night, and we have done the same. The fighting will resume at daybreak.”
“And the king?”
“He lives,” the warrior assured her with a brave smile, before his gaze shifted to Hilda and then to Hereswith, “as do your husbands.”
Saewara ceased her questioning then and set about tending to the young man’s wounds. His arm had been sliced deeply, presumably by an axe. Fortunately, the bone had not been shattered. However, it would take a while to heal and the resulting scar would coil around his bicep.
“Can you bind it up?” the boy asked anxiously. “I need to return to the battle.”
“You won’t be fighting with an arm in this state,” Saewara told him crisply, “so let’s have no more talk of you rejoining the army.”
“But my king needs me,” the warrior protested weakly. “I was proud to be an East Angle today, M’lady. The King fought like Woden himself. I want
to return to his side.”
“You can’t use your fighting arm,” Saewara responded with a shake of her head. “You have fought bravely, but how long do you think you’d survive, fighting crippled?”
The young man glared at her sullenly, but did not answer. They both knew she spoke the truth.
“The king sent you to bring word, and you have done so, despite your injuries,” Saewara continued. “Let us take care of you.”
The warrior hung his head, the fight going out of him. Saewara glanced across at Hilda, who had put water on to boil over the fire pit, in order to clean the wound. Her friend’s face had gone the color of milk, yet she gave Saewara a tremulous, brave smile.
Saba was alive, and so was Annan.
The battle had not yet ended. There was still hope.
A still, watchful night settled over Exning.
Saewara stepped outside of the hall and breathed in the damp air, stained with the tang of wood-smoke. She pulled her fur cloak around her shoulders and attempted to gather her chaotic thoughts.
An idea – one that had germinated the night before, as she lay awake, alone in bed – returned once more.
She hated feeling so useless; hated having to wait while wyrd decided Annan’s fate. She wanted to see him. She wanted to fight at his side.
I am not weak and useless, she thought, clamping her teeth together in frustration. I have more skill with a longbow than most men. I am no longer Mercian. I want to be part of the army that opposes them – the army that bests them. Only then will I truly leave my past behind.
Such thoughts were treacherous. Women did not join men on the battlefield. Women stayed behind and tended the home until their menfolk returned. Annan would be enraged; he would send her away.
Yet, what if Mercia triumphed?
That hurried farewell would be the last she ever saw of Annan. She could not bear the thought. She had to see him, even from afar.
It would be best if he did not know that she had joined his fyrd. If he was unaware that she had slipped into the ranks of his bowmen, he would not be able to send her away – and she would be able to help without causing a distraction.
That is what I shall do, she decided, excitement making her stomach pitch wildly, I shall dress as a man, shroud myself in a hooded cloak and take my place alongside the bowmen. Annan will not know I am there.
She would not be able to tell anyone. They would all think her mad and would try to stop her. None of them – even Hilda – would understand.
Yet, her mind was made up. Whatever the outcome, she would do it.
Annan’s hall slept when Saewara slipped from her bower.
For the first time in her life, she was dressed in men’s clothing. It felt odd to wear breeches and leather boots cross-gartered to the knee, instead of long skirts. She had stolen the clothing from one of the women in the hall, who had just finished mending the items for her twelve-year old son. On her top-half, Saewara wore a heavy tunic and a chain-mail vest that was too big for her. It was the smallest she could find in the armory, but it nearly reached her knees. Around her shoulders, she wore a thick cloak with a deep cowl. Saewara wrapped it tight about her, lest anyone see her leave, hiding her clothing from view.
She padded down the stairs into the open space beyond. The fire pit had died down to embers, casting the interior of the hall in a faint light; just enough for Saewara to make out the forms of those sleeping on the ground around it. Prudently, she skirted them, keeping close to the walls.
Holding her breath, Saewara gently pulled one of the heavy doors toward her, opening it just wide enough for her to be able to slip outside. She had just stepped away from the door, her thoughts focused on the next step of her plan – retrieving her longbow and quiver from the storehouse – when a hostile voice made her freeze mid-step.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
A figure had slipped through the door behind her, and although it was too dark to make out the woman’s features, Saewara recognized the voice instantly.
Hereswith.
“None of your business.” Saewara swallowed the knot of panic in her throat and backed away from the door. “Go back to bed.”
“Sneaking off, are you?” Hereswith’s voice was wintry. “Hoping to find your brother and betray us all?”
“I’m going to fight,” Saewara replied flatly, “alongside my husband.”
Hereswith made a rude, unladylike noise, halfway between a laugh and a snarl. “Fight? You?”
“Yes, unlike you, I can do more than sew and gossip,” Saewara shot back, momentarily losing her calm. “I learnt to use a longbow as soon as I could walk.”
“What a strange woman you are,” Hereswith replied. “Not feminine at all.”
“Annan might disagree with you there.”
“Really? It is me he wants – surely you know that.”
“Maybe he did want you,” Saewara admitted, “once… but then he realized, as most men do when given time, that you are a nasty bitch.”
She heard Hereswith’s hiss of outrage. She thought that the woman might lunge at her; but moments passed and Hereswith did not move.
“I’m going now,” Saewara said coldly, “and while your husband – who you don’t even pretend to love – is fighting for his people, why don’t you give some thought to what will happen if the East Angles lose this battle?”
Saewara let her words sink in before continuing.
“I grew up among the Mercians, I know their ways. If you think my brother will be merciful with the widows of his enemies, think again. When Penda whores you to his men and you learn what they are truly capable of, you will wish you had treated Aethelhere better.”
A shocked silence followed, and Saewara backed away into the shadows. She did not have time for this. Hereswith was close to ruining everything.
“I do care for Aethelhere.” Hereswith spoke once more, her voice oddly subdued. “I don’t want him to die in battle.”
“Then it’s a pity you never told him,” Saewara replied. With that, she turned and moved away toward the storehouse.
“I’ll raise the alarm.” Hereswith’s voice followed her, although it now lost its earlier conviction. “You won’t get far.”
Saewara did not respond. She had no control over what Hereswith chose to do next. All she could do was walk away and pray that her sister by marriage held her tongue.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Captive
Saewara slipped out of Exning and hugged the shadows around the high paling fence, avoiding the elderly men who were standing guard around the perimeter. Annan had left a garrison to watch over Devil’s Dyke but, fortunately, Saewara was not travelling in that direction. Instead, she followed the narrow path into Exning Woods.
Once inside the woodland, it was as black as pitch. Stumbling over tree roots, Saewara waited until she was far enough away from the edge of the trees before taking the cover off the oil lamp she had removed from the storehouse. She let out a long breath in relief as pale golden light illuminated her surroundings. Gloomy even in daylight, the woods had a vaguely sinister air at night. A tangle of branches surrounded her, with the darkness impenetrable beyond.
Directly southeast – that was what the lad had told her. She had managed to extract the information from him after the injured messenger had downed a few cups of hot, spiced mead to take the edge off his throbbing arm. She had phrased the question so it sounded innocent enough, and the lad had answered her without hesitation. According to his reckoning, the East Angle army was camped quarter of a night’s travel from Exning.
If she kept straight in her current direction, she would run into the back of Annan’s fyrd soon enough.
It was hard going, and slower than she had anticipated. The ground was boggy from the storm and although this area was relatively low-lying, the land was anything but flat. Soon, Saewara found herself scrambling up banks, down gullies and across streams. All the while, she kept a death-grip on her
little flickering lamp. Without it, she knew she would easily lose her way.
On and on she journeyed, deep into the dark woods. The farther she travelled, the more nervous Saewara became. What if she was going the wrong way altogether? What if she had accidently skirted the edge of the fyrd, and was unwittingly blundering straight toward her brother?
The last thought was enough to make her break out into a cold sweat.
Don’t be a fool Saewara – you’re going the right way. Just keep walking.
Eventually, dripping with sweat now, her quiver heavy on her back, Saewara caught the whiff of wood smoke. She slowed her step, quickly covered her lamp, and followed the smell. The most difficult part was ahead; she would need to become a ghost. Presently, she spied the glow of firelight through the trees. Her heart started to pound and her palms grew clammy.
Suddenly, her plan seemed all too real.
Annan’s fyrd lay before her and once she entered the camp, there would be no turning back. However, here cloaked in darkness, it was not too late – she could turn back and slip away without anyone knowing.
Saewara felt the strength go out of her legs. She crouched and breathed deeply, calming the fear that threatened to release her bladder. All the while, she kept her gaze upon the fires ahead.
What will it be – forward or back? You can’t stay here all night?
Recovering from her paralysis, Saewara slowly rose to her feet. Then, squaring her shoulders and whispering a prayer, she moved toward the sleeping encampment.
***
“M’lord.”
A voice roused Annan from where he dozed by the fire. He stirred on the damp furs and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“What is it?”
A warrior stepped into the tent, dipping his head under the low roof. It was a cramped space that had only enough room for the tiny fire pit, and a bed for the king. Still, it was luxury after the day he had spent fighting knee-deep in mud, blood and gore.