by Jayne Castel
Bridei’s actions had been deliberate, that much was certain. He had wanted to bait Ecgfrith—and seeing the fury on her king’s face as he surveyed the remains of Jedburgh, she realized he had achieved his goal.
“That maggot will feel my blade,” he had snarled, before turning away, his wolfskin cloak billowing behind him. “He will pay for this.”
And yet they had not yet caught him.
The Pict army now cut north, leaving the ruins of border villages behind them. Ecgfrith’s fyrd was in hot pursuit. However, last eve, Hea had overheard Ecgfrith arguing with his ealdormen and most trusted thegns. Some advised him against following Bridei so far north, warning the king he could be riding into a trap, but Ecgfrith cast aside their worries.
Perhaps they were having the same argument once more, for Ecgfrith’s face had gone stony, and he was glaring at Rinan, whose own face had reddened. The warrior was one of the group who had questioned Ecgfrith’s decision.
The Northumbrian king was not a man who liked to have his actions second-guessed.
Watching them, Hea felt frustration swell in her breast. For days now, she had tried to get close enough to the king to speak to him. But on the few occasions she had managed to get his attention at the end of the day, he had been too tired and preoccupied to talk to her.
“They’re bickering again, aren’t they?”
Oswald’s voice behind her made Hea turn. Still pink in the face, his attention was now focused upon the king and his retainers below.
Hea nodded, watching the priest warily.
“The king should listen to them,” he muttered. “We have no business traveling this far north.”
“We’re still on Northumbrian lands,” Hea reminded him.
Oswald frowned. “They’re ours in name only,” he replied, keeping his voice low so that no one would overhear him. “Look around you—what real hold do you think Ecgfrith has over this place?”
Hea held his gaze for a moment, surprised by his candor. She wondered at his decision to confide in her. Yet after ten days of being shunned by most of the warriors he rode amongst, Hea was likely the nearest thing he had to a friend.
Although she would not voice it, she agreed with him. “So you think it’s folly to follow him north?”
“Aye—only a fool would follow a wolf into its lair. Bridei mac Beli will know this land well, and he will be gathering more men to him as he travels north.”
Oswald looked away then, breaking eye contact. His lean body tensed and he moved away from her, as if realizing that he had perhaps said too much.
Hea glanced back down at where Ecgfrith had just terminated his discussions and stormed off.
A horn blew across the hills; a long, lonely wail that never failed to make the hair on the back of Hea’s neck prickle. The noon rest was over; they were moving on once more.
That night they camped on the hillside above a clear brook. As soon as the fyrd stopped for the day, Ecgfrith’s men fell into the routine they had established on the first day out from Bebbanburg. Some rubbed down and watered and fed the horses, before tethering them, while others unrolled lengths of hide and fashioned low tents around four large fire pits.
There were few trees in this landscape, so most nights they burned peat on the fires; its pungent odor drifting over the encampment.
Hea did her share of the work alongside the men, helping with the horses before assisting with supper. Meals consisted of barley and vegetable pottage, roast rabbit or water-fowl, and hastily prepared griddle bread: simple but hearty fare that would keep an army on its feet.
Although she had left Bebbanburg with a knotted stomach, ten days on the road had made Hea’s appetite return quickly. She was ravenous at the end of each day riding.
Her mouth watered now, as she roasted a row of rabbit carcasses on a spit over the fire. She had never appreciated food as much as she did on this journey.
A few feet away, Ecgfrith sat upon a stool by the largest of the firepits, a cup of ale in hand. His expression was introspective as he stared into the dancing flames. Hea wondered if the disagreements with his most trusted warriors were beginning to erode his confidence. Yet Rinan and the small group who agreed with him were the minority here.
Tonight, the mood in the camp was cheerful. A group of men were singing as they passed around a horn of mead; she could hear one of them boasting of his exploits in battle, while his companions heckled him. This game would likely last all night.
Feeling Hea’s gaze upon him, the king glanced up. He blinked, as if he had not even realized she was present. After a moment, he favored her with a smile. “Enjoying the march north?”
Hea smiled back. “Well enough, milord.”
“None of the men are giving you any trouble?”
“No, sire.” For the most part, the men had welcomed her on this journey. Hea had predicted victory for this campaign; she sensed that having her with them reassured some of the warriors.
Ecgfrith nodded. “I require you this eve,” he said, after a moment. “Can you come to my tent after supper?”
Hea inclined her head, pleased she would finally get the opportunity to speak with him alone. “Of course, milord.”
A gentle dusk settled over the hills of Fortriu. Hea was making her way from her own small tent, across the clearing to the king’s considerably larger one, when the sound of singing made her halt.
Somewhere in the camp, a man’s deep voice rang out. A warrior seated around the fire sang a strident ballad. Clutching her seeing drum to her breast, excitement feathered across Hea’s skin as she listened.
The warrior must fight
The warrior must stand
Behind the shield
Before the wall
For victory, for honor
The warrior must slay
The warrior must lay waste
Destroy his enemy
Defend his land
For valor, for honor
Hea stood there a while, listening to each verse, her breath catching. The man had a mesmerizing voice. Yet at the same time, the song unnerved her. It was a reminder of what was to come … of the slaughter in that bleak valley.
She forced herself to move on, and crossed the last few yards to Ecgfrith’s tent.
Hea pushed aside the flap and ducked inside. Her boots sank into thick furs, and her gaze swept over the interior, taking in the intricately patterned tapestries hung from the ceiling, covering the hide walls. A brazier burned in the center of the space, throwing out a circle of warmth. The tent was cavernous compared to Hea’s cramped lodgings, and a hanging made from rabbit pelts shielded the king’s sleeping area at the back of it.
Ecgfrith himself sat upon a stool near the brazier. He was smiling as he listened to the final verse of the song.
“Morale is high amongst my men.” His gaze shifted to Hea. “Thanks to you.”
Hea smiled back, although nervousness fluttered in her belly. “I think you are the reason, milord,” she replied. “Your men are loyal, they trust their king.”
His shrewd hazel gaze met hers then. “And you know that for a fact do you?” he challenged. “Have you seen it in your visions?”
The sharpness in his tone made her draw back slightly. Was he still sore over the fact that some of his retainers disagreed with his relentless pursuit of the Picts north?
“No, milord,” she replied, holding his gaze. “I do not need to consult the spirit world to know such things. I see it in their faces. They will fight for you, and they will die for you—without question.”
The look on his face then surprised, and unsettled, her. He wore an odd expression: a blend of regret and longing.
“You are so like her,” he murmured after a pause. “The same fire, the same courage.”
Hea tensed. Whom was he speaking of … her mother?
His next sentence confirmed her suspicions. “Lewren was never afraid to speak her mind … even when it wasn’t in her best interests to do so.”
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br /> She stared back at him. A queasy feeling rose within her when a suspicion dawned.
“Were you lovers?” She had asked the question so quietly, breathed it, that for a moment she had thought he had not heard her. It was a bold thing to ask—something he was in his rights to punish her for, yet the words were out before she could stop them.
Ecgfrith’s face tightened, and he held her gaze for a heartbeat longer before tearing his own away. He stared into the flames of the brazier, his expression unreadable. “Aye … for a time. Many years ago now.”
Hea’s heart started to pound against her ribs like a seeing drum.
Suddenly, it was as if a veil had pulled back. To her knowledge, her mother had only ever given herself to one man … Hea’s father.
Chapter Twenty
The Bastard
A wave of nausea swept over Hea. She stared at King Ecgfrith of Northumbria, as if truly seeing him for the first time.
Suddenly, the few details her mother had shared with her over the years fell into place. For the first time she understood why Lewren had been so vague about the man who had fathered Hea. Her tale of him riding away to war and never returning had been a deliberate lie to throw Hea off the scent.
To hide the identity of her real sire.
Hea swallowed with difficulty. “You’re my father?”
Ecgfrith’s face twisted. “You look horrified, Hea—did you really never suspect?”
Hea shook her head. Her tongue felt cloven to the roof of her mouth. She remembered her mother’s final, bitter words on her deathbed—it all made sense now.
“Did you ever ask yourself why your mother and you both lived unmolested in my stronghold?” Ecgfrith asked.
Frankly, Hea had thought it was due to their positions as seer. However, the king’s words felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of cold sea-water over her head.
“Why … why did she never tell me?” Hea finally managed. Her legs felt weak, and she stumbled over to a stool to the left of the brazier, where she seated herself without asking for the king’s permission—something she would never have dared do … until now.
“I warned her from doing so,” Ecgfrith replied. “I had just been made king, and was awaiting the arrival of my betrothed from East Anglia—I could not have word reaching my new bride that I had sired a bastard.”
Hea flinched at the word, but Ecgfrith did not seem to notice. Instead his gaze was upon the dancing flames of the brazier as he continued to speak.
“Not that it would have mattered if Aethelhild had learned of your existence—for she was a frigid bitch who refused to lie with me.”
So you raped her handmaid instead …
Bile rose in Hea’s throat. She had heard the tale about the young, innocent Aelfwyn, and what the king had done to her.
This man is my father.
If Hea had been alone, she would have wept. “Did my mother lie with you … willingly?” she finally choked out. She had to know the truth. Had Lewren loved this man?
Ecgfrith’s eyes narrowed and Hea studied his face. She had spent little time gazing at her own reflection, just a few instances in a still pond over the years. Yet she knew that she bore no resemblance to him.
“Did I rape her, you mean?”
Hea’s pulse accelerated, but she held firm and nodded. “Did you?”
A nerve feathered in Ecgfrith’s jaw, and she saw anger flicker across his lean face. But she did not care if her boldness earned her a flogging, or if he sent her away. The shock of learning she was his bastard had made her cast aside all her cares.
She wanted the truth.
“I was young when I met Lewren,” he growled finally. “Far younger than you are now, as was she. And when you have that age, you care not for the future. We had one summer together, and then her womb quickened. We could not continue to see each other, but Lewren took a while to accept that.”
Hea choked down her own anger. She imagined her mother’s hurt when her lover turned on her. Now she understood the bitterness that had festered within Lewren for years.
“A flower seller and a king.” Ecgfrith ran a hand through his short sandy hair, and Hea was surprised to note that his hand trembled slightly. “What would my kingdom think of that? I’d have been reviled, a laughing stock. A king must wed to strengthen his political alliances, to secure his borders … not for love.”
Hea stared at him. “Did you love her?”
Ecgfrith snorted and rose to his feet, pacing the perimeter of the tent. “Women have such a simplistic view of the world,” he muttered. “Your mother did too. What does love matter? What counts is power—the warrior and the sword are the only things of value in this world.”
Watching him, Hea felt a pang of pity. What a hollow existence this man had led. He had forsaken human warmth and kindness for a cold, empty throne. Neither of his wives had produced an heir. If he survived the coming days, he would grow into a bitter old man.
“And yet you did care for her,” Hea observed. “I see it on your face.”
Ecgfrith stopped pacing and whirled round to face her. “It was all a long time ago.” He bit out each word as if they cost him. “Another lifetime. It’s all gone now—all dead and buried.” His voice died away then, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “Except you … my bastard daughter. My gifted daughter.”
Hearing him claim her as his caused panic to grip Hea’s ribcage in a vise. Confusion turned her mind to porridge and robbed her of her wits. She did not know what to say, or how to respond. There were no words that could convey how she felt at that moment.
As a child she had lain awake at night imagining what it would have been like to be reunited with her long-lost father. What if he had not died in battle, but returned victorious? She had imagined how happy she would be—how the three of them would become the family she had always craved.
Never in her wildest imaginings had she suspected this.
Alone in her tiny tent, Hea wept.
She had gone to the king, thinking he wanted her counsel. It would have been the perfect opportunity to caution him about his single-minded pursuit of Bridei’s army north. She had wanted to advise him against being reckless and overconfident.
None of that seemed to matter now though … not in the face of what she had just learned.
Hea’s chest constricted as she attempted to muffle her sobs with her hands. Why now? Why reveal the truth about her parentage on the road to war?
Perhaps Ecgfrith had become aware of his own mortality of late—maybe he had wanted her to know the truth of her bloodline … just in case the battle went ill. He was not a sentimental man, she knew that, and yet he was an inherently lonely one. It was his own doing—for he had made choices at a young age that had led to his current state.
Hea scrubbed at her burning eyes. She had come north hoping to make a difference, but hopelessness now consumed her.
My mother lay with that man.
The truth was that although she was loyal to Ecgfrith—for he was her king—she hated the thought of him being her father. He was a cold, calculating, and selfish individual. A chill went through her as she considered the truth.
His blood runs through my veins … perhaps I am a little like him?
The rain pelted down, great sheets tearing across the land of green hills and shallow valleys. It was not cold, just unrelentingly wet—the rain had started shortly after dawn and as noon approached it showed no sign of ceasing.
The army moved steadily north, although the mood had changed this morning. There was a tension in the air that had not been there a day earlier; as if the men sensed battle was approaching. Even the horses seemed on edge, including Hea’s pony, Rowan. She had to keep him on a short rein, as he jogged, tossed his head, and snorted.
Even so, Hea found it hard to pay attention to her surroundings as she traveled in the rear guard of Ecgfrith’s mighty fyrd. Ever since the king’s revelation the night before, she had been in a daze.
; She had not seen Ecgfrith since their conversation—in fact she had made a point of avoiding him at sunrise. She still found it difficult to accept who he really was … who she really was.
Up ahead, the line of horses drew to an abrupt halt. Jolted out of her brooding, Hea pulled Rowan up short and peered through the curtain of rain. “Why are we stopping?” she called out to Oswald. “Is it noon already?”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his face drawn with exhaustion. “Not yet.”
“Something’s happening up ahead,” the warrior riding next to Oswald informed them. “Riders are approaching.”
Hea tensed at this news, for she knew that Ecgfrith had sent out scouts ahead of his army. What news had they returned with?
It took a while for the word that had reached the fyrd’s vanguard to filter down through the rest of the army—by which time Hea, Oswald, and the others around them had dismounted and were consuming a meal of dried meat and soggy bread.
“What news?” Oswald asked as the surrounding warriors muttered amongst themselves, ignoring him. “What word from the north?”
“War draws near, priest.” One of the men cast Oswald an irritated look over his shoulder. “The Pict army has gathered on a plain around fifty furlongs north of here.”
Oswald went still at this news, while Hea’s heart fluttered. She looked around her, confused; for the first time that day she properly took in her surroundings. This was not the landscape she had seen in her vision—the hills were too low and rounded, the sky too large. She had seen a narrow valley with rock-studded sides rearing overhead. The news could not be right.
And yet, judging from the fierce looks on the men’s faces, it was.
A horn blew one drawn-out, mournful note that seemed to go on forever—a call to arms.
The warrior who had spoken looked over at Hea and Oswald. “You two aren’t much use in a shield wall. Stay behind the army where you’ll not get underfoot.”