by Jayne Castel
“Where is he?” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Taken,” Waric replied, his gaze dropping to the ground between them. “Three men from Eoforwic have captured him. Cynn has turned him in to the king.”
Aelfwyn’s stomach twisted. Cynn has betrayed us?
“Why?” she breathed.
Waric’s mouth twisted. “The gild Godwine of Eoforwic offered was too tempting for him to resist.”
Aelfwyn’s mind churned. How could he? Does Gytha know about this?
“How long ago?” she forced out the words as her pulse began to race.
“Just before noon. Leofric was on his way back here when they took him.”
Aelfwyn’s mind raced. It was just after midday now. The pottage was simmering over the fire pit, and she had expected Leofric back at any moment.
Without thinking, she rushed forward and clutched at Waric’s arm. “There’s still time to catch up with him. Gather a group of men and ride after them!”
Waric gently pried her fingers off his arm and stepped back from her. His expression was resolute although she could see the regret in his eyes.
“I’m sorry—but I cannot go against the king’s wishes. Eatta gave Ealdorman Godwine’s men permission to take Leofric away. It would mean death to any of us who went after him.”
Aelfwyn took a deep, steadying breath and tried to quell the panic that was clawing its way up her throat. “Then why have you come?”
“Someone had to warn you.” Waric held her gaze as he spoke. “News will spread soon that the woodcutter has gone, and that his pretty young wife is alone in the woods. You’ve not gone unnoticed these past months; there are plenty of men in the king’s hall who would claim you for their own.”
Aelfwyn flinched at this. Her time with Leofric had done much to heal the scars of the past, but Waric’s words reminded her of how she had felt at Bebbanburg—a lamb amongst wolves.
“You can’t stay here,” Waric continued, his gaze flicking to the hut behind her. “Gather what you can and come to my home—my wife, Bertha, and I will look after you.”
Aelfwyn stared at him. “I don’t understand … why are you warning me?”
Waric’s face twisted and Aelfwyn saw his conflict, his pain. “I’m bonded to the king—I have no choice but to serve him. It cost me my friendship with Leofric, and I will not have his wife’s ruin on my conscience as well.” He took a few swift strides backward then. “Come—before it’s too late. Our house is the third on the left along Well Lane. We’ll be waiting for you.”
Aelfwyn watched the warrior turn and stride away along the path—the same path that Leofric had taken just a short while earlier.
Only he was not coming back.
She turned and stumbled inside, where she sat down next to the fire pit and stared into the flames.
Leofric was everything to her. She could not believe she would never see him again. It seemed incomprehensible. There were signs of him everywhere around her, as if he would walk back into her life at any moment. The piece of rosewood he had been whittling sat on a small shelf against one wall, next to the sword he had taken from Thunred.
A sob rose up within her, but she choked it back. No—she could not accept this was true. Leofric had assured her the ealdorman of Eoforwic would never find him. All this time she had been worried about King Ecgfrith. She had underestimated the man who had exiled Leofric to a monk’s life—they both had.
Aelfwyn buried her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Nevertheless the tears began to flow. They forced their way out from beneath her eyelids and scalded her cheeks.
“No …” she gasped, barely able to get the words out. “God, no!”
Her life had just shattered.
Aelfwyn was not sure how long she sat there, hunched by the glowing embers as the pottage bubbled away beside her. Even the smell of the vegetable stew burning, as it caught on the bottom of the pot, did not rouse her.
Shock had made her turn inward. Her body was a husk; her mind had detached and traveled far away. Leofric had protected her till now. He had kept her safe during the journey south from Bebbanburg and had looked after her in Lincylene—without him she would not survive long.
Waric was right. She needed to leave this hut before crows started to circle.
Woodenly she rose to her feet and went to fetch a leather satchel. She started filling it with the few possessions she would take away with her. With each item that she stuffed inside, Aelfwyn grew increasingly wretched.
She hated feeling so scared, so lost—so weak. If the positions had been reversed Leofric would have been riding after her by now. Yet here she was whimpering like a frightened child.
Scrubbing at the tears that had started to flow anew, Aelfwyn went outside. A wind had sprung up. It breathed through the trees and ruffled the fresh growth of spring grass. The delicate white heads of the snowdrops she had spotted this morning waved gently.
The wind whispered to her, soothed her. She stood there and turned her face up to it, letting the cool air dry her heated cheeks. The fog of panic, grief and fear slowly cleared, and for the first time since Waric had delivered his devastating news, she was able to think clearly.
There was still much she did not know about the man she had shared her life with for the past few months. Leofric could be an enigma, and he did not trust easily. However, she was certain of one thing—he would never have given up on her. She remembered his promise back in Streonshalh, when they had both been barely more than strangers to each other. He had waited six days, and put his own safety at risk, just to give her a second chance at freedom.
She would not repay him by letting despair take over.
Aelfwyn hugged her arms around her chest and closed her eyes. The wind caressed her face like a lover’s touch, giving her strength.
Waric had made a kind and generous offer, but she would not accept it.
After Cynn’s betrayal, Lincylene was no longer her home. There was only one choice she could take, only one that would allow her to live with herself: she would go after Leofric.
She would find a way to free him.
Aelfwyn opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. Clouds danced across its pale blue surface. There were still a few hours of daylight left—she would not waste them. She spun on her heel and raced inside, resuming her packing with renewed vigor. She took all the food they had: a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a collection of worse for wear vegetables. It would be at least a five or six day journey to Eoforwic from here, and she had no gold to buy supplies on the way.
Once she had packed, Aelfwyn changed her clothing. Long skirts would hamper her and make her vulnerable. Instead, she pulled on a pair of Leofric’s woolen leggings. He wore them under his breeches in cold weather. However, they had just been washed and had shrunk so she was able to fit them. She pulled on a long-sleeved woolen tunic that reached her mid-thigh and a leather jerkin over that. On her feet, she wore leather ankle boots which Leofric had bought her at the beginning of the winter. Then she slung her heavy fur mantle over her shoulders.
Unpinning her hair, she tied it in a tight braid at her nape. If she traveled through towns and villages with her hood up, folk might think her a young man at a distance.
After one last look around the cramped space where she and Leofric had shared the past few months, she then took Leofric’s sword down off the wall and buckled it around her waist. She did not know how to use a sword, but she felt safer knowing she carried a weapon.
Aelfwyn went outside, lugging two bulging saddlebags with her, and saddled Windræs. The gelding stood placidly while she fiddled with his bridle and attempted to saddle him. It seemed to take an age, and she was sweating by the time the girth was tight enough. Once again, she was reminded how much she had let Leofric take care of during their time together.
Eventually, satisfied that the saddle was not going to slip round when she tried to mount, and that the bags were secure, she l
ed Windræs out of the enclosure. It took her three attempts to mount—another thing that Leofric had always helped her with—but the gelding waited patiently until she was perched on top.
Windræs was a man’s horse, so strong and tall that she felt a child on top of him. However, she knew he had a stout heart and an even temper. Aelfwyn leaned forward and stroked his neck. “Be gentle with me,” she whispered to him. “Get me safely to Eoforwic.”
Windræs snorted and jangled his bit in response.
Aelfwyn reined him around, glancing back at the hut. Her heart wrenched at the sight of it. Smoke was still drifting from the slit in the roof. She had removed the burned pottage from the hearth, but the embers still glowed. The golden afternoon sun bathed its thatched roof and the lush kitchen garden that Aelfwyn had so carefully tended. The dwelling looked clean, tidy, and well loved—very different to the ruin they had encountered in late summer.
She hated to think she would never return here, but that was the truth of it. Her life at Lincylene had ended. It was time to go.
Aelfwyn turned away from the dwelling and urged Windræs down the grassy path alongside the River Whitham. The wind brought the scent of grass and the pungent smell of river mud.
She urged the gelding into a brisk canter, much to Windræs’s chagrin. The gelding tugged at the bit, keen to stretch his legs.
“Easy, boy.” Aelfwyn murmured. “We’ve got a long road ahead—we’d better pace ourselves.” Windræs had a long stride, which made him a comfortable ride although her arms were already beginning to ache from holding him back. Even so it was exhilarating to ride him on her own; it chased away her nerves and fear.
They thundered through the woodland. Instead of taking the southern fork, Aelfwyn turned Windræs away from the town and rode north away from Lincylene without a backward glance.
Chapter Thirty-four
The Road to Eoforwic
Night had fallen when Halwend finally called them to a halt for the day. They had ridden hard since leaving Lincylene—with Leofric bound and thrown over the back of the fourth horse they had brought with them.
The party stopped under a stand of spreading oaks, where the ealdorman’s sons yanked Leofric off the back of his horse and dumped him against the trunk of one of the oaks. They then bound him tightly to it.
“You’re not getting away again,” Berhtulf promised him.
“Not unless you want my axe in your back,” Wybert added as he finished tying the rope.
“Enough of that,” Halwend spoke up from a few feet away. The older warrior was busy starting a fire. “See to the horses.”
Berhtulf and Wybert did as bid, although not before casting warning glances in their captive’s direction.
Leofric leaned against the tree trunk and wriggled his feet and hands, in an effort to get some feeling back into them. His ribs ached from being slung over the back of a horse all day—and the back of his head was sore from the punches Wybert had used to subdue him outside Lincylene.
He watched Halwend bend low over the smoking fire and blow gently on the tender flame he had just coaxed to life. He then added dry twigs to it, and a few moments later the camp fire roared to life.
Sitting back on his haunches, Halwend glanced in Leofric’s direction. “You’ve been quiet,” he observed. “That’s not like you.”
Leofric shrugged. He had not spoken to any of them since this journey had begun. There was little point. He was not going to change any of their minds about taking him back to Eoforwic—and the ealdorman’s sons needed little excuse to gut him before they reached their destination. “I’ve nothing to say,” he said finally.
Halwend gave him a hard look. “No excuses, no insults? What happened to you, lad?”
Leofric managed a bitter smile but did not reply.
Halwend chuckled before rising to the packs he had unstrapped from the horses. Nearby Berhtulf and Wybert were rubbing the animals down. It was a crisp evening, and the moon was rising above the treetops.
Halwend retrieved some bread and cheese before crossing to Leofric. He then hunkered down and broke off a chunk of bread, before placing a sliver of cheese on top. Then he held it out to his captive. “Here—it’s better I do this. The lads are likely to try and choke you.”
Leofric took a bite before chewing slowly. “Thank you.”
Halwend gave a non-committal grunt in response. Leofric finished the rest of the meagre meal. He was hungry and the bread and cheese were both good. Afterward, Halwend held a skin of water up to his mouth so he could take a couple of gulps.
Then he sat back on his heels and regarded Leofric, his expression inscrutable. “I’d forgotten how much you look like your mother,” he said finally. “It’s uncanny.”
Leofric started slightly—that was the last thing he had expected Halwend to say. He had forgotten that the warrior was the same age as his parents, and that he too had grown up in Driffield.
“Better that than to take after my father,” he replied.
Halwend laughed, earning a look of rebuke from Wybert who was now hobbling the horses nearby.
“How is she?” Leofric asked, feeling a pang of guilt as he asked the question. His mother, Cynhild, was a good woman, but in a household of rowdy, dominant men she had become a faded, exhausted figure. Leofric had inherited her features and auburn hair, although he and his brothers all had his father’s hazel eyes.
“Well enough,” Halwend said with a grimace, “although she was upset over you.”
Leofric did not reply. His mother deserved better than the life she had been given. His father was a callous, rough man who had never shown her any tenderness. He remembered her being pretty as a younger woman, but a hard life had worn her looks away to dust.
Halwend moved away, taking a seat near the fire. Presently, the ealdormen’s sons joined him, and they shared a meal of bread, cheese, onions and ale together. Ignored, and relieved to be so, Leofric leaned against the tree trunk. He gazed up at the sky through the gaps in the branches above his head.
The stars were coming out, twinkling to life one by one. Back in Lincylene, Aelfwyn would be sitting alone in their hut, waiting for him to come home—and worrying.
Leofric’s gut twisted. He did not care what happened to him, but the thought of her alone without him to protect her tore him up inside. She would not be safe there now he was gone. Had someone warned her? Would the king take her into his hall, or give her as a whore to his men?
Stop it.
Leofric squeezed his eyes shut and tried to quell the panic that clawed at his throat. If Eatta touched one hair on Aelfwyn’s head he would take him apart piece by piece—either in this life, or the next.
Aelfwyn awoke to the gentle caress of wind on her face. She opened her eyes and saw that dawn was just breaking. It was an ominous sunrise, a bloodred stain to the east promising bad weather to come.
She got to her feet and brushed leaves and dirt off her clothing. The remnants of last night’s embers still glowed in the small fire she had lit after making camp for the night. Windræs cropped grass nearby, his front legs hobbled to prevent him from wandering off in the night.
Stretching the knots and aches out of her back, the result of a night sleeping rough, Aelfwyn tried to calculate how far she had ridden the day before. True to his name, Windræs had eaten up the furlongs. A little after leaving Lincylene she had let him have his head—she was sure they were not far behind Leofric and his abductors now.
She crossed to her saddlebags and pulled out some bread to break her fast. Chewing slowly she massaged a stiff muscle in her shoulder and tried to come up with a plan.
She did not regret her decision to go after Leofric. But what did she plan to do once she found him? The sword she carried around her waist felt heavy and cumbersome. It was a man’s weapon. She would not be able to wield it without using both hands, and even then she would be as clumsy as a child.
Her mind churned over what lay ahead. What would she do if she caugh
t up with Leofric on the road? The best plan was to wait until after dark before trying to free him. However, if she failed to reach them before Eoforwic she had no idea how she would free him from the ealdorman’s clutches.
Aelfwyn’s bowels cramped when she remembered Leofric’s words about Godwine of Eoforwic. Leofric had offended him deeply. The punishment for crossing him again would be death.
The morning suddenly felt airless. Aelfwyn struggled to breathe as she crossed to Windræs and set about saddling him. The thought she might never set eyes on Leofric again—might never hear the timbre of his voice, see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes or his teasing smile—made her feel as if the sky was pressing down on her.
Life without him would be grey, joyless, and empty. He had brought her back from a dark place and had taught her to trust again. She could not bear the thought of losing him.
Aelfwyn rode through the day, only briefly taking a break to relieve her bladder and water Windræs. They passed settlements along the way, including the bustling village of Torksey, which perched on the banks of a wide canal.
Keeping her hood up, so that folk would not know she was a young woman, Aelfwyn rode through the village. She passed through the market square, through a milling sea of folk who browsed, haggled and bought. The aroma of fresh bread caused her belly to rumble, reminding her that she had little food left. She wished she could have bought some supplies her, but she did not carry any thrymsas. Leofric had been wearing their purse containing the few gold shillings they possessed.
The folk of Torksey paid her little attention as she rode through. This was a busy road, the main route between Lincylene and Eoforwic, and they were used to travelers. Even so Aelfwyn was relieved when she had left the village behind and was riding northwest across gentle folds of heathland, interspersed with hazel thickets. Mid-afternoon, a thick fog rolled in, obliterating the friendly sun. Windræs journeyed tirelessly, his heavy hooves thundering beneath her as they ate up the furlongs.