by Jayne Castel
The king sat watching her steadily. He could have an unnerving calmness about him at times.
Hea closed her eyes and focused on clearing her mind; she blocked out the sunlight flowing into the alcove, the chatter of voices in the hall beyond. Everything receded into the shadow. Suddenly there was nothing but this still, dark place. She stood upon the threshold between two worlds.
With her free hand, she began to beat the drum. She started slowly, tapping in time with Ecgfrith’s pulse, which she felt with her forefinger. Once again it was an intimate gesture between them. Yet doing so did not make Hea nervous.
Fortunately, the king had never shown any sexual interest in her.
Hea breathed deeply and slowly in time with the rhythmic beating of her drum. She relaxed further and the world around her receded. Suddenly there was nothing except for the dark, shimmering water of a great lake before her. A moment later she was no longer staring down at it, but swimming deep under the surface—only to find that it was not a lake but a dark void.
She had entered the land of shadow where her ancestors dwelt.
Over the past year Hea had often thought of going in search of her mother here, but Lewren had vehemently forbidden her from doing so, telling her that it was folly for a seer to go looking for dead relatives on the other side. It was a misuse of their gift, her mother had told her, and that to do so would only end in madness.
Hea drifted, weightless, through the darkness, remembering her mother's warning that the other side did not welcome the living; and that those who dwelt here only barely tolerated the presence of folk like her. Even so Hea was glad to be here. She enjoyed the peace, and the darkness and solitude that cocooned her. Around her the shadows swirled and gathered. She saw the outlines of figures— men and women—some of them still, others dancing and flitting in the shadows.
Out of the darkness she heard a chorus of voices; a few whispering, while some were more strident. They knew she was here, but did not seem to mind.
When she reached their midst, Hea halted and stretched out her hand. Silently, she called out to them, making her request on Ecgfrith’s behalf.
A heartbeat passed, and she felt the air shift around her. Moments earlier it had been calm; the spirits had not been bothered by her presence. But now she felt them stir. The voices changed; muttering and hissing now filled her ears. Sometimes this happened when she delved deep and requested things on behalf of the king.
The spirit world rebelled against the arrogance of his requests. The living could not cheat death, and should not know what wyrd, fate, held in store. This time she felt the resistance keenly. Would Ecgfrith be satisfied with the answers she found here today?
Hea’s eyes snapped open.
A few feet away, the king was watching her, his gaze keen. “You were away for a while,” he noted. “I hope that bodes well?”
Hea blinked, her surroundings rushing back. It felt as if she had been gone for days rather than moments. Even though the alcove was dimly lit, her eyes smarted from the flickering candlelight and the last rays of sun that poured in from the open window.
“What did you discover?” the king pressed.
Hea closed her eyes, sorting through the fragments of detail she had learned while she had been on the other side. “They have a warning for you, milord,” she said finally.
Ecgfrith’s eyes widened. “Go on.”
Hea released his hand, breaking the connection between them. “They say the shadow of war hangs over the north.”
The king made a scoffing sound. “When hasn't it,” he replied. “What else do the spirits say?”
Hea held his gaze and fought a wry smile. Ecgfrith did not really understand her gift of second sight. Hea certainly could not control the messages she received when she ventured into the world of the dead. “They say that a man must not underestimate his enemies,” she replied. “Whether you instigate it or not, war is coming.”
Ecgfrith leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “From whom? The south? The north. From across the sea? Is it Bridei I have to look out for or someone else?”
Hea shook her head. “They only say you must be ready, sire, for the days of peace are coming to an end.”
Ecgfrith gave a huff of frustration. He then rose to his feet and brushed off his breeches. “Those spirits of yours … why must they always speak in riddles?”
Hea watched him. Ecgfrith wore a long tunic girded at the waist with a heavy belt that had a gilded buckle. Dressed simply, he was not a physically imposing man. However, he had presence, and Hea could see how some women might find him attractive.
She climbed to her feet and picked up her drum. “The spirit world does not give away its secrets easily, milord,” she replied. “You should be grateful for what you have learned today—few leaders get such a warning.”
Ecgfrith’s gaze widened at her tone. Few women would dare challenge him thus; yet over the past few months Hea had grown comfortable in his company. After a few moments he smiled. “You’re right, Hea. I grow impatient that's all. I would like to know into the hearts and minds of men like Bridei mac Beli. I want to know whether he is here to slide a knife between my ribs, or whether he has some other subtler plan.”
Hea answered with a smile of her own. “Then perhaps you need to speak plainly with him.”
A chill, sunless afternoon was sliding into a grey dusk when Hea walked back toward home. Around her the daily life of Bebbanburg was drawing to its usual conclusion. The market before the low gate had packed up for the day and folk were returning to their homes. The smell of cook fires drifted through the cool air, and she inhaled the aroma of roasting mutton and the sulfurous odor of overcooked cabbage and turnip.
Hea passed the mead hall. It was a long, low-slung and windowless building with a thatched roof. The hall crouched between a byre and an armory; it was the only part of the fortress that was busy at this time of day, for many of the men residing here—warriors, merchants, tradesmen and farmers—came to the mead hall for company and conversation at the end of a long, hard day's work. A group of leather-clad warriors waited outside the entrance to the hall. They were Picts—their plaid cloaks and blue tattoos made them stand out amongst the other men inside the fort—although Bridei was not among them.
She felt the weight of the Picts’ stares, their curiosity, as they gazed upon her red hair. One of them gave a low whistle as she passed, while his companions followed it up with laughter. Hea did not dignify them with a response, but kept walking, ignoring the catcalls of appreciation that followed her. She had learned over the years that the best response to men like this was no response at all—it just seemed to encourage them.
Hea continued on, following the Dragon’s Back. She passed numerous timber dwellings, and heard the clank of iron pots as women prepared supper, along with the chorus and rumble of children’s and men’s voices from within.
A sense of well-being flowed over Hea. She felt safe here within the high wooden palisade; as if the rest of the world could never intrude. However, if her visions were true, the peace she had known since birth was rapidly drawing to a close. The messages she had received from the spirit world had been jumbled and difficult to decipher, as usual, but the threat of war had been clear.
Her belly clinched at the thought that everything she knew and loved might be at risk. Invaders, whether from the north or the south, might attack her home.
Hea’s thoughts turned to Bridei then. Despite her warm memories of him, despite the fact that she had once worshipped him, she knew the Picts posed a very real threat to Northumbria. If the warnings from the other world were to be believed, Bridei mac Beli was a herald of dark tidings.
Turning right off the Dragon’s Back, Hea made her way through the tangle of alleys toward her home. A sudden memory of that day years ago now, when Bridei had broken Rinan’s nose, intruded. He had truly been her savior that day. Yet the man who had returned to Bebbanburg and now sought audience with Ecgfrith could very well turn ou
t to be her enemy.
Chapter Nine
The King and the Steward
Bridei picked up the figurine and eyed Ecgfrith across the board. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”
The Northumbrian king meet his eye and gave a cool smile. “It was you who chose the weaker of the two armies,” he pointed out.
The two men played Cyningtaefl—King’s Table—a game where two unequal armies fought upon a checkered board. The black pieces, which gathered at the center of the board, represented the weaker force of the two, with the fewest pieces; whereas the white pieces that ringed the edge of the board made up the stronger.
It was true that Ecgfrith had let Bridei choose which army he would lead. It was also true that the Pict had deliberately chosen the black army. Bridei smiled back, showing his teeth this time. “I like taking the side of the underdog.”
Ecgfrith threw his head back and laughed, a deep belly laugh that unlike his smile moments earlier was genuine. “I'd forgotten your pithy sense of humor,” he remarked.
It was growing late. Most of the king’s hall had retired to their alcoves or had laid out furs on the floor around the four fire pits. The embers in the hearths burned low, casting a red-hued light across the space. A few oil-filled cressets lined the pitted stone walls, illuminating the table upon the high seat where the two men sat playing Cyningtaefl.
Bridei completed his move, shifting the carven piece forward a square, toward one of Ecgfrith’s spearmen. His opponent's mouth quirked. “A prudent though conservative move.”
Bridei shrugged. “I'm not a man given to acting without thinking first.”
Ecgfrith raised an eyebrow, observing Bridei coolly. “We’re alone now,” he replied. “I think it's time we both spoke our minds.”
Bridei sat back and took a sip from his wooden cup of mead at his elbow. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t do so earlier.”
“I'd rather not have an audience. Some conversations are best kept private.”
Bridei observed Ecgfrith. He did not trust this man, not for a moment. He knew the Northumbrian lord to be cunning, and if this was some new ploy he was already on his guard. “Very well … I'm here to discuss the nature of our relationship,” he replied.
Ecgfrith held his gaze. “It’s clear: I am your overlord and you are my steward of the north.”
Bridei inhaled deeply, gathering his thoughts. Even though he had been expecting this, Ecgfrith’s response galled him. There it was—the thing that rankled him the most. This Northumbrian king, a man who had never set foot in Dundurn, sat here before him and calmly claimed rule over lands he had stolen.
“Unlike my father, I'm not a man who suffers an overlord,” he countered. “Surely you've heard of my attack on Dunnottar, my campaign against Orcadia, and the war with Dàl Riata?”
Ecgfrith’s expression did not change as he nodded. “I have—and I complimented you earlier today on your prowess as a warlord. Do you wish me to congratulate you again?”
Bridei forced back a smile. His dislike for Ecgfrith ran deep—but the man's dry wit amused him nonetheless. “I mention those campaigns again because they show what sort of man I am. I’m not your steward but a king in my own right—and I ask you to recognize me as such.”
There it was—the reason for his visit had been laid between them.
He would no longer be ignored.
Ecgfrith picked up his king figurine. It was a beautiful piece, carved out of bone and yellowing with age. “So you see yourself as my equal?”
“I do.”
“Your father bent the knee to me … yet you will not?”
“I don't wish to be your enemy, Ecgfrith,” Bridei replied, his tone unyielding. “I only wish to reclaim my lands.”
The king stared down at the figurine, studying it, although Bridei could see that in reality Ecgfrith’s mind was working, scheming—trying to turn this situation to his advantage.
“I don't wish to make an enemy of you either, Bridei,” he said quietly. “However, if I give you independence, I will be seen as weak.”
Bridei watched him carefully, on guard now. This was a new side to Ecgfrith, one he had never seen before. Yet he was sure it was a ruse. Ecgfrith was not a weak man and was certainly not a weak ruler. He cared little for how others perceived him.
As such, Bridei decided he would not soften. He would not try to negotiate with the Northumbrian ruler. That was what Ecgfrith wanted; to weave a net around Bridei with his words, to ensnare him and make him agree to something he did not want. Far better to speak plainly and avoid confusion.
“Recognize me as an independent ruler of the north, and we shall part as friends,” he said.
Ecgfrith sighed heavily and placed the king figurine down with a gentle thud. His gaze met Bridei’s once more. “I can't do that. The lands you oversee are mine—they are part of Northumbria.”
Bridei shook his head, quelling the anger that rose within him. “My people and I will not suffer your yoke.”
Ecgfrith picked up his cup and drained the dregs, waving Bridei away as if he were a moth that had just fluttered into his field of vision. “Come now, it is late—let us discuss this further tomorrow.”
“There's nothing to discuss,” Bridei ground out. “It’s simple—give me what I want, and I will never bother you again. Deny me and you will wish you hadn't.”
Ecgfrith rose to his feet. They had not finished the game, but since the conversation had taken a turn for the worse neither man was in the mood for it. “Words have power,” Ecgfrith reproved him softly. “Don’t make threats unless you intend to follow-through on them.”
Bridei's gaze narrowed. “I don’t talk merely to hear the sound of my own voice,” he replied, his tone equally soft. “I meant every word.”
The two men held gazes for a few moments more. Ecgfrith broke eye contact first, a sardonic smile curving his lips. “You were a conceited lordling when you lived here,” he said finally, “and I can see your arrogance has only increased with age. It seems I must repeat myself: we will discuss this again tomorrow. Make sure you think hard on how you will approach me then.”
Without another word, King Ecgfrith turned, stepped down from the high seat and made his way across the hall to toward his alcove.
It was a dark and moonless night as Bridei walked through Bebbanburg. Cool air, laced with the scent of wood smoke and the briny tang of the sea caught in the back of his throat. Muffled sounds of voices emerged from behind wattle doors and wooden shutters. Beyond that he heard the boom and hiss of surf on the shore below, accompanied by the roar of the wind.
The song of Bebbanburg, so different to Dundurn.
Sometimes within this wooden palisade it was easy to forget that they perched on the edge of the sea. Yet the rumble of the surf was a constant reminder when all other sounds ceased.
Bridei’s men, including Heolstor, had all retired for the night, but after his conversation with the Ecgfrith, Bridei could not settle. Anger and bitter resentment churned in the pit of his belly. Years on, and Ecgfrith still knew exactly where to aim, what words would rile him the most.
Bridei had bested many men over the years and had subdued many a northern war chief. He had brought lands that his father had lost under his control. But the one territory he wanted was the one his fort of Dundurn stood upon. That was his land, and he would not share it with Ecgfrith of Northumbria.
Deep in thought, he walked down to the empty market square and looked around. Fires burned in the watch towers above, and he could see the outlines of men on the walls, their spears bristling against the night sky. Bebbanburg was both familiar and foreign; after so many years away it felt odd to return here.
As a boy this fort had seemed bigger, more imposing. As a man he realized that his memories had made the stronghold far greater than the reality. Ecgfrith was just a man, and a man could have his mind changed. He would have one more chance tomorrow to bend Ecgfrith to his will. Bridei was not afraid of w
ar—he had waged many in the past five years—but he knew that the Northumbrian king could be a powerful ally, if kept onside.
I won't lose my temper, he promised himself. Tomorrow I will make one last attempt at negotiations.
Bridei found himself walking along the Dragon’s Back; a street he had once spent many an afternoon on with Heolstor, as a lad. Once again, his memory of this street had been grander, the walls around him higher.
I was shorter then too, Bridei recalled with a rueful smile.
Without realizing, it his feet carried him toward the end of the Dragon’s Back. Then he turned right down a narrow lane that led toward the fort’s northern watch tower.
A short while later he found himself standing before a familiar hovel. It looked exactly as he remembered it. He could see the outline of the high, wooden fence behind which Lewren had grown her herbs and flowers. The news that Hea’s mother had passed away still shocked him. Lewren had been a force of nature; he could not imagine her gone.
Hea lived here alone now.
The thought made Bridei frown—it was not safe for a young, attractive woman like Hea to live unprotected, even in Bebbanburg.
She must have the king's protection, he thought. She’s his seer, but what other services does she provide him.
The thought made Bridei’s frown deepen. The thought of the winsome Hea lying beneath Ecgfrith disturbed him—although truthfully, he had thought about her rarely over the years. When he had, Bridei had imagined her to be wedded with a brood of children by now. He had not expected her to follow her mother’s path. As beautiful and fiery as Lewren had been, there had also been sadness in her that ran deep. A woman who chose an independent path made a difficult life for herself.
Bridei was not sure why he had come here, but now that he stood outside the seer’s door he hesitated.