by Jayne Castel
“You would cry over Hereswith?” he asked, amused. “She would have had you strung up outside the gates without hesitation upon your arrival in Rendlaesham.”
“I know she would have,” Saewara replied with a wry smile, blinking away more tears. “And I would have cheerfully drowned her in a water barrel – but times change. People change.”
“Yes they do, wise Saewara.” He smiled down at her without a trace of mockery before reaching out to caress her cheek. “You and I are proof of that, are we not?”
Epilogue
The Baptism
One year later…
A hot, late summer’s day drew to a close, casting long shadows across the grasslands outside Exning. The sun slid toward the western horizon, the last rays glinting on the glistening surface of a large pool, surrounded by draping willows.
A man, a woman and a monk stood at the edge of the pool.
The man was tall and blond, and appeared regal in a black tunic and breeches with a fine fur cloak hanging from his broad shoulders; and the woman was small and curvaceous with a mane of dark hair and eyes the color of a thundercloud. In her arms, the woman carried a babe. The infant was barely older than a moon’s cycle but with a shock of dark hair like her mother’s. Tiny fingers clasped at the warm air, and eyes that were already showing signs of being deep-blue, like her father’s, stared up at the sky.
A monk dressed in a rough, homespun tunic, stepped close to the couple. He was a middle-aged man with a kind face and work-worn hands. Not far from the edge of the pool, hidden behind the bright green of the willows, was a low-slung thatched hall where this monk and his companions lived and worked the small gardens around it.
This pool was known by those who lived locally as St Mindred’s Well – and it was here that the King and Queen of the East Angles had brought their daughter to be baptized.
Saewara smiled at the monk – Swidhelm was his name – and gently handed her daughter to him. Aethelthryth made a faint mewling sound in protest at being parted from her mother but soon quietened in the monk’s gentle embrace. Under the king and queen’s watchful gazes, Swidhelm brought the infant girl to the edge of the pool, where he knelt and dipped his hand into the water. The waters of St Mindred’s Well were warm this evening, after a sweltering day that had kept most folk inside. As such, the baby did not squall when the monk dripped water onto her forehead.
Saewara looked on as Swidhelm murmured the words of the baptism in Latin over her daughter. When the monk had finished, he handed Aethelthryth back to her mother with a smile.
“It is done – may the Lord bless you all.”
Saewara looked at her husband, and he met her gaze steadily.
“Is that it?” Annan asked, incredulous. “If I’d known a baptism took such little time and fuss, I’d have agreed to it earlier.”
Saewara gave Annan a quelling look and fell into step with him as they walked away from the pool.
“Come – a feast awaits back in Exning.” Annan put an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “The folk have got a boar roasting on a spit. Let’s join them.”
They walked across the golden fields, through the softly whispering grass, enjoying the balmy evening and the rare moment alone. Saewara took a deep breath of the warm air, laced with the scent of dry grass and warm earth, and felt a sense of well-being steal over her. Above her, the wide East Anglian sky, now decorated with lilac and pink ribbons, stretched for eternity. It was a beautiful, peaceful country. She had grown to love living in Exning. Life was gentle here; the folk welcoming and kind.
Still walking at Annan’s side, she voiced her thoughts to him.
“Can’t we stay on here? Do we really have to go back to Rendlaesham?”
Annan smiled at her questions – it was not the first time he had heard them over the past days. Ever since he had announced that they would have to return to Rendlaesham at Winterfylleth – the period of the year when autumn slipped into winter – she had tried to convince him otherwise.
“I know you don’t have fond memories of Rendlaesham,” Annan told her, “but you’ll see that this time it will be different. The people will accept you now. I am king, and my place is there. Our victory against the Mercians has bought us additional time at Exning, but if I stay away any longer, the people will start to feel their king is not doing his duty. To rule a kingdom requires sacrifice, Saewara – but it’s a small price to pay. There are worse places than Rendlaesham. Don’t worry, we shall return to Exning next summer.”
“I know,” Saewara replied, meeting his gaze. “It’s just that we have been so happy here. I know it is my past speaking, but I worry that our happiness is fragile, and that the moment we leave, things will change.”
Saewaera watched Annan frown. Her words had cast a shadow over the balmy evening. She had not wished them to; but these worries had plagued her for days and she had not shared them. She wondered if she had done the right thing in doing so now.
“Saewara.” Annan halted, forcing her to do the same. “Do you really think what we have will not last?”
Saewara flushed at his implication. “I don’t doubt our love, of course not. We have gone through too much to reach this point for me ever to doubt that. No, I doubt forces beyond our control. My brother still lives, and while he draws breath you and I will never be truly safe.”
Annan returned her gaze, although the fact that he had not instantly denied her fears only made anxiety curl in the pit of Saewara’s belly.
“We can’t let Penda cast a shadow over what we have,” Annan said quietly. “If we do that then he has won. There may come a day when I meet him again in battle – but we can’t live in dread of that day. He has gone quiet for the moment, licking his wounds and rebuilding his strength. For now, the Kingdom of the East Angles is safe, and will prosper. We have many things to look forward to, Saewara. Let’s not let Penda ruin our happiness.”
Tears stung Saewara’s eyes as she listened to her husband. “I know you speak the truth,” she replied quietly. She was sorry now that she had brought this subject up, for although Annan had done his best to assuage her fears, he had not denied them. It had been foolish to expect him to – the threat was still there. It always would be.
They walked on, and soon Exning’s paling fence bristled against the sunset.
“Battle, death, honor and vengeance,” Annan spoke once more, his tone subdued. “They are a part of our world. I’m a king and I cannot escape the fact that they affect me more than most. I knew this when I was crowned. I never wanted the responsibility, especially given the pledge I made to your brother. I wanted it even less when he forced me to marry you.”
His words hung between them for a moment before he continued. “Yet, all that has changed. Penda unwittingly gave me one of life’s greatest gifts. He meant to break me, but instead he made me stronger. Now that I am happy – now that I have you by my side – I need not fear what comes. This peace may not last, but while it does I intend to enjoy it.”
His gaze met Saewara’s then and he smiled – a warm, carefree smile – as if sharing these thoughts with her had freed him of any nagging worry and doubt. He was strong; she had seen that in him from the first. It was more than just a warrior’s strength – the courage to meet your enemy in battle and stare him in the eye – but a quieter, deeper strength that comes from making peace with who you are. Annan knew exactly who he was – the good and the bad.
“You speak true again,” she smiled back, a little of her own tension easing. “You always do.”
“Music to mine ears,” he laughed. “Let me remind you of that next time I enrage you.”
“You make me sound like a harpy!” She playfully punched him on the arm, causing Aethelthryth to squawk in protest.
Their gazes met then, and held. Saewara felt her breathing still when she saw her own hunger reflected in his gaze. Since Aethelthryth’s birth, Annan had stayed from her bed; the birth had been difficult and he had been afraid of hurting her. Ho
wever, the time apart was weighing upon them both.
I am fortunate, she thought. I have a husband and a child; I love and am loved in return. I am no longer alone in the world – I no longer rail against my lot.
Things could have turned out very differently. It had been a surprise to find herself pregnant with Aethelthryth – for she had thought herself barren. Her pregnancy had been an unexpected joy; she hoped there would be others.
“Tonight, you will come to my bed?” she asked, blushing at her own directness.
“Is it not still too early?” he asked, hope flaring in his eyes.
Saewara shook her head. “I have missed you.”
A grin spread across Annan’s face then and he put an arm around her shoulders, once more, as they crossed last stretch of grass to Exning’s gates. “Then tonight I will have to give you the attention you deserve,” he replied, injecting a sultry undertone into every word. His smile was private and wicked, making promises for later.
Saewara smiled back, excitement fluttering at the base of her stomach.
Annan is right. Saewara’s fears melted away into the recesses of her mind. Worrying about the future was as pointless as trying to hold back the tide. Who knew how much time any of them had? All she knew was that at this moment, there was no happier, or luckier, woman alive.
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Prologue
The Promise
The village of Weyham, Kingdom of Mercia – Britannia
Spring 641 AD
“Will you marry me?”
Merwenna’s breath caught. Had she heard correctly – had he really uttered those words?
“Excuse me?”
“Merwenna.” Beorn stepped close to her, his gaze longing, his voice tender. “Will you be my wife?”
The young couple stood alone in the woods, surrounded by skeleton trees.
Warmth had not yet returned to the world, although it was early spring, and nature still lay dormant. They had both donned heavy fur cloaks for their walk, as the morning air held winter’s bite – yet Merwenna did not feel the morning’s chill. Joy bathed her in warmth as if she stood next to a roaring fire.
A smile broke across her face and she flung herself into his arms. She had not been dreaming. The moment she had longed for had finally come.
“Of course I will!”
Beorn laughed, his relief evident. His arms tightened around her and he pulled her close. “Thank Woden – for a moment there, I thought you would refuse me.”
The feel of his young, strong body against hers made her pulse quicken.
Beorn pulled back slightly and met her gaze. As always, she was struck by the blueness of his eyes, and the beauty of his chiseled features.
“Refuse you?” Merwenna stared at him, incredulous. It had taken her nearly three years of gentle encouragement to reach this point. “I was beginning to think you would never ask!”
Beorn flushed slightly, embarrassed, and looked away. They both knew he valued his freedom highly. Like her father, Beorn served Weyham’s ealdorman. They were warriors who farmed the land around the village by day, but would ride to war with the ealdorman, if commanded. However, unlike her father, who had lived a warrior’s life for many years before wedding her mother – Beorn was young, and chafed at the thought of spending the rest of his days in Weyham.
Merwenna gazed at her betrothed, drinking him in. Wavy blond hair fell over his shoulders and since autumn he had worn a short beard, which suited him.
She waited for him to say something else. She expected an excuse for making her wait so long. Yet, he remained silent.
“Beorn?” she said finally, realizing that he was still avoiding her gaze. “Is something the matter?”
The young man looked up, and shook his head. “The thing is…,” he began hesitantly, “the handfasting itself will have to wait.”
A chill stole over Merwenna at these words, and her joy dimmed.
“Hwaet?”
“The king is gathering a fyrd,” Beorn continued, the words rushing out as he gained momentum. “He intends to march north and face King Oswald of Northumbria. I’ve decided to join his army.”
Merwenna stared at him. Her shock turning to upset.
When she did not respond, Beorn’s face grew serious. “Merwenna?”
“You ask me to marry you,” Merwenna replied, her voice quivering as she struggled to stop herself from crying, “and then in the next breath announce that you are going to war. Why did you even bother to propose?”
“Because I love you.” Beorn took hold of her hands and squeezed gently, his gaze earnest. “I want us to be married. It’s just that we shall have to wait a little.”
Merwenna took a deep breath, cursing the tears that stung her eyelids. She always cried too easily; it made her look feeble. “And I love you,” she answered, blinking furiously. “But, I have just passed my twentieth winter. At this rate, I shall be an old maid before we wed.”
“Just a little longer,” Beorn replied, squeezing her hands once more. “Then, I will return to Weyham and we shall be handfasted. I promise.”
“You’re going to war.” Merwenna’s tears spilled over as desperation seized her. “You can’t make that promise!”
She ripped her hands from Beorn’s. Then, she turned, her cloak billowing, and started to run in the direction of Weyham. Dead leaves squelched underfoot and the chill air burned her lungs, but Merwenna paid it no mind. She had almost reached the outskirts of the village when Beorn caught up with her.
“Merwenna, wait!’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her up short.
She turned, tears streaming down her face, and tried to shrug him off. “Let me be!”
“I made you a promise and I intend to keep it,” Beorn insisted, his gaze imploring. “I will return to you!”
Merwenna’s tears flowed without restraint now. Sobs welled up and she had to choke them back. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” He set his jaw stubbornly.
“Men die in battle,” she reminded him, “and when two king’s armies meet there will be a great slaughter, surely you realize the danger.”
“Penda’s the greatest king Britannia has ever known,” Beorn countered with the supreme confidence that only young men possess. “His fyrd will be mighty. The Prince of Powys is also sending a large company of warriors to join our army. The Northumbrians won’t withstand our combined might.”
Merwenna wiped away her tears and shook her head wordlessly. She cared not if the whole of Britannia was rallying at Penda’s side. The thought that Beorn would go off to battle and might never return made her feel as if she was being buried alive.
“Penda is a mighty king,” Beorn insisted, staring down at her with fire in his eyes. “He will be victorious.”
Merwenna stared back at him. Her cheeks stung from the salt of her tears and it took all her self-control not to start sobbing uncontrollably. This was folly – why could he not see it? However, it was clear Beorn’s mind was made up.
“When will you leave?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Tomorrow morning.”
Merwenna stared at him. If he had punched her in the belly, it would have hurt less. Suddenly, her world was crumbling around her. Just moments ago, her heart had been bursting with joy. Now, her future looked bleak.
The man she loved was riding to war, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
***
Beorn of Weyham struggled to tighten the saddle’s girth. He nudged his shaggy pony in the belly with his knee, until the stubborn beast exhaled. Then he tightened the girth another notch. The last of his preparations dealt with, Beorn turned to the small group of kin and well-wishers who had gathered to see him off.
He had not been looking forward to thi
s. Good-byes were not something he had a lot of experience in. His mother and sisters were all weeping, a sight which upset him. His father, at least, was stoic.
“Serve the king well, my son.” Horace stepped forward and clasped Beorn in a bear-hug. “Make me proud.”
“I will, fæder.”
Behind him, Beorn could hear the other warriors gathering; the low rumble of their voices, the snort of their horses. It was just after dawn. A light frost covered the ground and the lightening sky promised a day of good weather ahead. They stood in Weyham’s common, a stretch of grass in the center of the village. A collection of squat, wattle and daub homes with thatched roofs surrounded them. It was the only home he had ever known, and shortly he would be leaving it – perhaps for a long time.
Beorn stepped back from his father and took a deep breath. He was anxious to be off. Saying goodbye was harder than he had anticipated.
Yet, first, he had to see Merwenna.
She stood a few yards away, patiently waiting. When he turned to her, Merwenna stepped forward to speak to him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but that did not detract from her loveliness. In her build and coloring, she resembled her winsome mother – small and brown haired with startling blue eyes. However, there was a seriousness to her face that gave her some of her father’s look. One of her most startling features was her beautifully molded, rose-bud mouth.
Beorn had always been captivated by her lips, and her breasts, which were impressively full for such a small female. They gave her a womanly look on an otherwise girlish frame.
“Farewell, my love,” Merwenna spoke, her voice quivering from the effort it was taking her to hold back tears. Despite that she was swathed from neck to shin in a heavy rabbit-skin cloak, he could see she was trembling. Suddenly, Beorn felt as if his heart had lodged in his throat. She was not making this any easier.
Although Beorn was eager to ride south-east to Tamworth and join the king’s fyrd, he was also sorry that he and Merwenna could not be handfasted first. He longed to bed her, to tear the clothes off that delicious body. He could have wed her before leaving, but she deserved better. When he returned to Weyham, victorious, their joining would be all the sweeter. He wanted to make her proud of him; he wanted to come back to Weyham sporting silver and gold arm rings, prizes from the king for his valor. He wanted to be worthy of her.