The Whispering Wind (The Kingdom 0f Northumbria Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  The ealdorman nodded. “Pleased to be of service, milord.”

  Watching them, seeing the way the two men discussed her as if she was not even present, made fury surge through Aelfwyn’s body. She met Ecgfrith’s gaze.

  “That’s all I’ve ever been to you, isn’t it? Prey.”

  The king stiffened, the smirk fading from his face. His eyes narrowed. Aelfwyn held his gaze boldly. She knew she would pay for this later but right now she wanted everyone here to know who Ecgfrith really was.

  Her gaze flicked to Aethelhild.

  “He raped me.” The words lashed across the hall. “He waited until you had retired for the night, and then he came to my alcove.”

  The queen held her gaze, and Aelfwyn saw the sorrow in her friend’s eyes. Aethelhild was no fool, she had imagined as much. Aelfwyn then shifted her gaze to the ealdorman. She met Godwine’s eye, hoping that he might come to her aid. He had sought reckoning for his daughter’s honor—perhaps he was a protector of women.

  It was a vain hope, but the only one she had left.

  “He humiliated me, hurt me,” she continued, her voice trembling from the effort to rein in her outrage. “The next morning I ran from Bebbanburg and tried to end my life in the sea—but the waves washed me up on Lindisfarena, where Leofric saved my life. He didn’t run from the isle to save himself but to protect me. He knew what the king is, and what would happen to me if I returned to Bebbanburg.”

  Aelfwyn finished speaking and held the ealdorman’s gaze. The reality of her and Leofric’s flight from Bebbanburg was not quite as noble as she had painted—but this was not the time for the truth.

  Tension crackled through the air, as if a thunderstorm approached. Nausea rose within her when she saw Godwine’s mouth twist. The ealdorman looked over at Ecgfrith, his grin widening.

  “Clever wench, looking to me for sympathy. She’s got a lot to say for herself, this one.”

  The king did not smile back. His hazel eyes had hooded, his long face was all planes and angles as he fought to contain his anger. Aelfwyn began to sweat; Ecgfrith would make her pay for unmasking him before his wife and retainers.

  “She wasn’t this mouthy at Bebbanburg,” Ecgfrith said finally, his voice frighteningly calm. “Her time with the outlaw has ruined her.” The king then cast a cold glance in his wife’s direction. “Your sweet-faced little maid has turned into a bold-tongued slut.”

  “I’m not!” Aelfwyn shouted at him, her voice ringing high into the rafters. The force of her anger astounded her. “Leofric never made me his hōre—you did!”

  “Silence!” Ecgfrith hissed, leaning forward in his chair. “One more word, and I will have you flogged to death right here.”

  Aelfwyn held his gaze. She did not doubt him not for a moment.

  “Lower your eyes, girl,” the ealdorman rumbled. “You stand before your king.”

  With great difficulty Aelfwyn obeyed him—although her heart hammered like a spear beating against a shield wall before battle. She did not care what Ecgfrith did to her now. She wanted the world to know who the king really was.

  She sensed the mood in the Great Hall had changed. Folk murmured amongst themselves; a ripple spreading out from her, like a stone dropped into the middle of a still lake.

  Aelfwyn glanced over at Leofric. He was watching her, a look of awe on his face. However, she saw the anguish in his eyes. Like her, he knew Ecgfrith would make her suffer for humiliating him.

  Aelfwyn looked down at the rushes beneath her feet and waited for the axe to fall.

  Ecgfrith eventually broke the tense silence. “A shrewish woman is vexing, do you not think, Godwine?”

  “Aye,” the ealdorman replied.

  “A good woman knows her place, but it seems I have been cursed with shrews,” the king continued. “I wed a cold bitch who refused to spread her legs for me—so what’s a man to do?”

  “A woman should obey her husband,” Godwine agreed.

  “My wife refused me so I took my pleasure with her maid,” Ecgfrith concluded. “This is all your doing, Aethelhild.”

  Aelfwyn looked up to see the queen’s face crumpled in anguish. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her shoulders trembled. Behind her, Bishop Wilfrid stepped close and placed a reassuring hand on her arm. His long, angular face was taut with outrage, and he cast a look of censure in the king’s direction.

  “Stand back, Wilfrid,” Ecgfrith snarled. “I tire of you whispering into my wife’s ear like Satan’s serpent.”

  The bishop flinched. Reluctantly he removed his hand from the queen’s arm and took a few steps back on the high seat.

  Ecgfrith then turned his attention back to Aelfwyn. His cold smile and pitiless eyes warned her that she would not like his next words.

  “You could have remained at Bebbanburg and served me,” he said gently, his gaze snaring hers. “But you thought yourself too good for it. Since you have so willingly given yourself to this outlaw, you can die at his side.”

  Ecgfrith straightened up, his gaze meeting the ealdorman’s. “When you strike off his head in three days’ time, you can do the same with hers.”

  Leofric lunged forward, his face contorted in rage. “You bastard!”

  The hall dissolved into chaos. The screams of Leofric’s mother and sisters echoed amongst the rafters as the ealdorman’s sons leaped upon Leofric and pummeled him to the ground with their fists.

  Aelfwyn cried his name and tried to wrench herself free of the two men holding her, but they had a grip of iron. A roar went up around her, and the world tilted. Tearing her gaze from where Leofric struggled against the two men who had pinned him to the ground, she looked up, catching the king’s eye.

  Ecgfrith was smiling.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Courage

  Aelfwyn squeezed her eyes shut and winced as something foul splattered across her face. Around her the folk of Eoforwic hooted and jeered, encouraging the group of lads bearing slop buckets, who circled the two prisoners.

  The wooden jaws of the stocks held her fast. She was unable to move, unable to flee. Misery swamped her—how would she endure three days of this?

  “Keep your eyes closed, Aelfwyn,” Leofric muttered from beside her.

  She was just about to reply when an egg hit her between the eyes. Aelfwyn cried out, gagging at the sulfuric stench of rotten egg as it slid down her face.

  “How long will they do this?” she gasped.

  “As long as it takes for them to get bored.”

  Aelfwyn went against his advice then and glanced across at Leofric. Rotten food and excrement splattered his face, although his gaze was defiant; a murderous green that told her he was far from beaten.

  They knelt in the heart of a wide square before the high gate. It was a slightly sloping, unpaved square flanked by the fortified wooden gate on one side, with the church and the Great Hall at its back. The gate was open this morning to allow townsfolk in to see the prisoners.

  The afternoon was cool with spots of rain in the air. Above them the sky was the color of slate—threatening rain. Despite that she and Leofric would get soaked, Aelfwyn welcomed the rain. It would wash the filth off them and hopefully drive away their tormenters.

  “Slut!” One of the lads scooped up a handful of oxen dung and hurled it at Aelfwyn. It splattered over her, and she closed her eyes once more, blocking out the world.

  “Cowards,” Leofric growled next to her.

  “Why?” The word came out in a sob. “We’ve never wronged any of these people.”

  “That doesn’t matter to them,” Leofric replied, his voice flat with anger. “When there’s a chance to bring others down, most folk leap to be part of it—remember what happened in Lincylene?”

  Aelfwyn did, and she knew she should not be surprised, but the viciousness of this crowd shocked her all the same.

  Aethelhild Queen of Bernicia sat at her husband’s side upon the high seat and picked listlessly at her supper. Around her the men discu
ssed the upcoming hunt.

  “We can wait till after the execution if you wish, sire,” Godwine said.

  Ecgfrith shook his head before spearing a piece of mutton with his knife. “No need. We’ll only be away two days at most and back in plenty of time. All I ask is that we leave the prisoners well guarded while we’re gone.”

  Godwine nodded, glancing across at where his two sons sat opposite. His gaze then shifted to the big man with shaggy brown hair and piercing blue eyes who sat at the opposite end of the table. “Halwend—you, Berhtulf and Wybert will guard the prisoners in our absence.”

  Wybert, the youngest of the ealdorman’s sons, grimaced. “I was looking forward to the hunt.” He cast a jaundiced look at where his mother and sister sat further down the table. “I don’t want to stay at home with the women.”

  “You’ll be of greater use to me here,” Godwine replied, his tone brooking no argument. “I need to know Leofric and that wench are being watched.”

  “I will see it done,” the older warrior named Halwend replied.

  Aethelhild stared down at the congealing mutton stew in her trencher. She clenched her jaw and attempted to calm her breathing, to still her hammering heart. Next to her she was aware of Bishop Wilfrid’s steady presence. He had said little since taking his place upon the high seat, but she sensed his disapproval, his indignation.

  Like her, he had suspected that Ecgfrith had played a role in Aelfwyn’s disappearance. Only now their worst suspicions had been confirmed.

  Aethelhild raised her gaze and observed the king. She had loathed her first husband—a hulking bully who was free with his fists—but her hatred for Ecgfrith went far deeper. To look at him, you would not have thought he was cruel and sly. Slim and well mannered with bland good looks, he fooled most folk for a while before they saw the man beneath.

  Godwine met the king’s eye and grinned. “Worry not, milord—Halwend and my sons will ensure our prisoners stay put. Let’s go hunting.”

  “Excellent.” Ecgfrith raised a cup of mead to his lips and drank deeply. “We depart at dawn.”

  Later, when night shrouded Eoforwic, Aethelhild sat by the window in the large alcove she shared with Ecgfrith and awaited her husband’s arrival. Usually she would retire much earlier than him and feign sleep when he joined her.

  Tonight she waited up for Ecgfrith—for there were things she needed to say.

  Putting aside her distaff, Aethelhild rose to her feet and crossed to the small shuttered window on the far wall. She opened it and gazed outside.

  The Great Hall stood high upon sturdy oaken foundations and commanded a view for many furlongs distant. A moon was riding high in the cloudy sky. There was a shimmery halo around it, warning of coming bad weather. The thatched roofs of Eoforwic tumbled down the hillside to the ramparts, the fires upon the watchtowers reflecting off the glittering waters of the River Ouse beyond.

  Aethelhild sighed. Suddenly she felt indescribably weary. She knew marriages such as hers were the lot of a highborn woman. She had no right to expect more of life—but even so life as Ecgfrith’s wife had taken its toll upon her. Even her strong faith brought her little solace these days.

  Today had made certain things impossible to ignore.

  Ecgfrith eventually joined her. She heard him bid the ealdorman and his men goodnight and caught his light tread across the rushes before he stepped up onto the platform that ran around the perimeter of the hall. A moment later, he pulled the heavy tapestry aside and stepped inside the alcove.

  “Still awake?” he greeted her, raising a sandy eyebrow.

  “Aye,” she replied. “I was waiting for you.”

  He gave a soft, humorless laugh and began to undress—unbuckling the leather vest he wore over a long-sleeved tunic. “That’s a surprise.” Ecgfrith then met her gaze, and she saw the challenge in his hazel eyes. “Apologies, wife, but I no longer desire you—in case you hadn’t noticed. I take my pleasure elsewhere these days.”

  Aethelhild took a deep breath and ignored the jibe. “I need to talk to you, Ecgfrith.”

  “Can’t it wait till morning?”

  “At dawn you ride out with the ealdorman, there will be no time.” Aethelhild rose to her feet. She was a tall woman, and her gaze was level with her husband’s. “I must ask two things of you.”

  Ecgfrith’s mouth twisted into a sneer. He shucked off his shirt and started unlacing his breeches. “A wife demands nothing of her husband.”

  Aethelhild ignored him. “I’ve asked you before—please let me leave Bebbanburg and take up residence at Streonshalh. You’ve said it yourself many times before: I am a poor wife. Cast me aside and find another woman who would suit you better.”

  Ecgfrith stopped undressing, his gaze holding hers. “I would let you go, if I thought doing so would make you miserable. However, you yearn to take your vows and live as a nun for the rest of your life. Why would I do anything to make you happy?”

  Aethelhild’s chest constricted at these words. He was so unnecessarily cruel. He had made a mistake in wedding her but would not set her free so that both of them could make new lives for themselves.

  He shrugged then, an impatient gesture. “What’s the second thing you wanted?”

  Aethelhild pushed aside her own misery—the sensation of being buried alive—and forced herself to focus on the situation at hand. “Aelfwyn.”

  Ecgfrith smiled coldly. “I thought you might bring her up.”

  “Please spare her life,” Aethelhild went to him and, reaching out, grasped his arm. Ecgfrith’s gaze widened, for she had never willingly touched him in private before. Aethelhild ignored his reaction and pressed on. “She does not deserve such a death. Don’t leave her out there at the mercy of the rabble.”

  Ecgfrith watched her steadily for a few moments, before he reached down and pried her fingers off his arm.

  “You refused me.” His voice was low and cold. “And Aelfwyn was your punishment. If I spare her life, her fate would be far worse—for I would give her to my men to enjoy before making you watch me take her. You should be thanking me for this clean death.”

  Bile rose in Aethelhild’s throat. There was no talking to Ecgfrith, he would twist every word against her and find other ways to punish Aelfwyn before her execution. Without thinking, Aethelhild lashed out at him. The crack of her palm striking his cheek was obscenely loud in the slumbering hall.

  Ecgfrith staggered, caught off guard by her violence, before he struck her back. His fist slammed into her left eye, knocking her clean off her feet. With a strangled cry, Aethelhild fell back onto the rushes.

  She sat up, clutching her injured eye, to find her husband looming over her.

  “One more word, Aethelhild,” he warned her, fists clenched, “and I will beat you bloody.”

  She stared up at him, despair crashing over her. In his eyes she saw no hope, no mercy—no future.

  Aelfwyn shivered as a cold wind buffeted across the exposed square. Even with her traveling cloak wrapped around her shoulders, the chill bit into her. Her legs had gone numb, her shoulders throbbed, and the skin of her face and hands felt tight from the layers of encrusted filth that folk had thrown at her.

  The expected rain had not yet arrived, even though the air was heavy with moisture. Mercifully the tormenters had eventually tired of throwing rotten food at them and of hurling insults. As dusk settled over Eoforwic they had eventually slipped away, back to their warm hearths and waiting suppers.

  Now that darkness blanketed the town, the square was deserted. The ealdorman had posted guards around the perimeter of the square and by the high gate. Aelfwyn caught two of them standing around ten yards in front of her, their silhouettes outlined against the indigo sky.

  “Aelfwyn.” Leofric spoke up, his voice husky with fatigue. “Are you well?”

  She gave a soft laugh, wincing as the stocks pinched the skin on her neck. “Well enough considering the circumstances.”

  Silence stretched between them for
a few moments before Leofric spoke once more. “This is all my doing—I’m so sorry.”

  Aelfwyn had never heard him like this—defeated, broken. It tore her up inside.

  “This is not your fault,” she began huskily. “You were betrayed. Cynn turned you in to Godwine’s men.”

  Leofric went still. When he finally answered, his voice was rough with anger. “Cynn betrayed me?”

  “It appears the price of your head was of more value to him than your friendship.” Bitterness choked Aelfwyn as she spoke. She still had difficulty accepting what Cynn had done.

  “Did Gytha know?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Neither of them spoke for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Aelfwyn knew that Leofric would find Cynn’s betrayal hard to accept. She had not wanted to tell him, but he deserved to know the truth.

  “I don’t care what happens to me,” Leofric said eventually, his voice subdued, “but I can’t bear the thought of you coming to harm.”

  Aelfwyn considered his words. She twisted her neck so she could glance at him. Yet it was too dark for her to make out his features. “You think I shouldn’t have come after you?”

  Leofric sighed. “I wish you hadn’t.”

  Tears stung Aelfwyn’s eyelids. “I didn’t have a choice in the matter, Leo. Staying behind would have killed me.”

  “Following me will do the same.” She heard the bitterness in his voice.

  “They tore you away from me,” she replied, grief twisting inside her, “without even letting me say goodbye. This way I have the chance to see you, to speak to you again … before the end.”

  Aelfwyn heard Leofric inhale. The sound was ragged, and she realized that he was struggling to control his emotions. “I don’t deserve you.” He spoke the words so softly that she barely caught them. “I did nothing of worth till the day I helped you escape—and even then I did it for me. I never spent a moment of my time thinking about anyone but myself …”