They could have done with resting for longer, particularly Halinard, who was still in a lot of pain from the deep cut in his side, but with each passing moment, Cynan felt the pressure mounting, like water rising behind a dam in a stream. He could not put off for much longer returning to Stagga to face the consequences of his actions. He missed Eadgyth, and Athulf and Aelfwyn, and, if he was honest with himself, he missed Beobrand and the other warriors of his warband. This mountainous region, beautiful as it was, was not his land. It vaguely reminded him of the home he had known as a boy, but he was a Bernician now. Stagga was his home. Cynan did not regret coming to Rheged, but his quest here was done.
Almost.
Bumoth had told them much, as he’d writhed in agony on the mountainside. But it was not until the second night at the steading that Cynan had learnt of the dark past between Leofman and Ludeca.
It was Cynan’s turn on guard and he stood with his back to the farmhouse wall. The sun had long since disappeared behind the mountains. Stars glimmered in the darkening sky, but a smudge of light still shone behind the dark peaks, the memory of the setting sun.
The night was still, the only sounds the talking of the people within the house, and the distant stamp and snort of the horses from where they had been corralled. The door creaked loudly, and Cynan listened to the uneven footsteps as someone walked around the building to where he stood.
A tall form loomed in the darkness.
“Leofman,” said Cynan with a nod he was uncertain the older man would see.
Leofman cleared his throat.
“Here,” he said, and Cynan could just make out in the gloom that he was proffering a cup. Taking it, Cynan sniffed the contents. “Mead,” said Leofman. “I’d been saving it. Thought now was as good a time as any to drink it.”
“My thanks.”
Cynan took a sip. The liquid was sweet and warming.
For a time, the two men stood in silence, each holding their cup of mead, and staring into the gloaming. One of the horses nickered. A man laughed from inside the house. Cynan thought it was Brinin.
“I owe you my gratitude,” said Leofman, without warning. His words were clipped, as if his throat was constricted.
“There is no need to say anything,” replied Cynan.
“Perhaps. But when I think what might have been…” Leofman’s voice trailed off.
“Your family is safe now. That is all that matters.”
The silence grew between them again.
“When I saw him outside Sidrac’s hall,” said Leofman, “I thought it must be a shade, a phantom.”
Cynan shivered, recalling Ludeca’s twisted neck and gurgling laugh. Thoughts of his brother had clearly consumed Leofman ever since they had first spied Ludeca at the midden.
“I have never before met a man who needed to be hanged twice,” said Cynan.
“He was dead, wasn’t he?” asked Leofman, panic rising in his voice. “When we left him?”
“He was dead.”
Leofman sighed and drank.
“I should have known he’d survived,” he said after a long while. “He always had the luck of the Devil.”
“It seems his luck has run out now.”
“I worry it is an evil thing I have done. Slaying one’s own brother is a terrible sin.”
Cynan thought of what Bumoth had told them of the plot against Leofman and his family.
“It is surely no sin to kill one such as Ludeca. He seemed more animal than man at the end.”
“No,” said Leofman, “he was no animal.” For a heartbeat, Cynan worried that he had offended the man by speaking about his brother so. But as Leofman continued, all thoughts of offending him fled. “An animal takes no pleasure in killing,” said Leofman, his tone filled with sorrow and regret. “Ludeca was a monster. We were still boys when I first began to suspect what he was. He would always offer to kill the pigs at Blotmonath, and I saw the gleam in his eyes as he plunged the knife into the beasts’ throats. He seemed to enjoy the sensation of their squirming as their blood pumped out.
“Then, one day, I found him with the kittens.” Leofman stared into the darkness. He sipped from his cup, his hand trembling. Cynan did not speak, worried that if he interjected, the spell would be broken and Leofman would fall silent once more.
“He was cutting the poor creatures,” Leofman said, and in his desolate tone, Cynan could hear the anguish in the memory. “He skinned one alive. I will never forget its pitiful mewling. And all the while Ludeca laughed. He believed he was alone, but I saw him. Our mother had died only weeks before and I was too scared to tell our father what I had seen. Later, I wished I had spoken up. Perhaps things would have been different.”
Leofman drew in a long breath of the cool night air.
“A few years later, a young shepherdess vanished.” He paused, as if anticipating a question. Cynan did not speak and Leofman continued. “Everybody went out on the hills searching for her. Ludeca too. But she was never found. Some of the people believed she had been taken by wolves, though it was strange that no sheep from her flock had been slain and the girl’s body was not found. Not then, anyway.” Leofman drank. “Others wondered if she might have been snatched by passing brigands, for the land was dangerous, with many armed men seen on the roads and paths. But I looked at Ludeca’s eyes whenever the girl was mentioned, and I had my own thoughts about what had happened to her. But he was my brother, and I buried my suspicions.
“That was before I had this land. Before Hefenfelth. When I returned from the war, all I wanted was to work the land that Oswald had gifted me. My father was very old by then. Too old to help with all the work that was needed. But Ludeca was strong and able. He helped me to build this house.” He reached out and caressed the timbers of the eaves above their heads, perhaps recalling lifting the beams into place. “It had been years since I had found him torturing those poor kittens. I rarely thought of it any longer, and when I did, I told myself he had been a troubled boy whose mother had just died. He was a man now. That was all in the past.
“When a girl went missing from a nearby steading, the memories came flooding back. I did not join the search, but rode to the place where I had seen Ludeca with the kittens all those years before. It was not too far from my lands, but I had never gone back, frightened at what I might find.” Leofman hawked and spat into the darkness. “I had been right to be scared. She was there. In the shallowest of graves. I uncovered her face in moments of scratching at the earth. Ludeca had barely made any effort to hide her.” Leofman made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob. “Or the others. Nearby were more graves, so shallow that animals had strewn the bones over the ground. I will never rid my thought-cage of what I saw there. The skulls of his victims stared at me, condemning me. I had known about Ludeca and done nothing.”
Leofman passed a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes as if he could erase what he had witnessed.
“Our father was already very ill, but I think it was finding out about Ludeca that broke his spirit. I will never forget his expression when I told him what I had found. We were both horrified, but I saw in his face the same feeling that had gripped me: knowing acceptance of a suspicion proved, rather than the shock of a revelation. Our father had known, just as I had, and the realisation that our silence had cost the lives of at least two girls destroyed him. He made me swear that I would put an end to it. Like a moonstruck dog, he said. Until we saw him again at Sidrac’s hall, I believed I had fulfilled that vow.”
“How did he survive?” Cynan asked.
“I know not, but his neck bore the reminder of the day I hanged him. Perhaps he managed to free himself, or someone cut him down. Mayhap the rope parted, for I did not tarry long after the deed. I had overpowered him in his bed, then taken him deep into the woods at night, bound and gagged. Before I left him swinging there, I cut away the ropes from his wrists and ankles and removed the cloth from his mouth. If he was found, better that he be thought cursed for taking h
is own life, than for me to be thought of as his murderer.” He let out a slow breath. “Though of course, the Almighty sees all. He knows the truth of what I did, even if I have kept it secret for all these years.”
“You did what you had to do, as any good man would.”
Leofman snorted.
“A good man?”
“Aye,” replied Cynan, nodding in the dark. “A good man. A good husband. And a good father.”
Leofman sighed.
“I’m not so sure. I am glad he is dead. The thought of him with Eadwig makes me sick to the stomach.”
“I am certain that slaying Ludeca was not an act of evil.” Cynan drank the last of his mead. Far off, in the darkness, an owl hooted, a plaintive sound. “How do you think Ludeca came to be with Sidrac after all these years?”
Leofman shrugged.
“I have thought much on this,” he said. He drained his cup and sniffed. “Perhaps it was mere chance. Ludeca must have wandered far in the years since. God alone knows where he has been and what he might have done. Maybe he joined Sidrac’s warband and they later found the connection between us that would help Sidrac steal my land, and the mine. Who can say?”
They fell silent again, each lost in his own thoughts.
“I have never spoken of this to anyone,” said Leofman. “Not even Sulis. I was ashamed of what I had done. I thought by not speaking of Ludeca, the memory of him would disappear.”
“Did that work?”
Leofman chuckled. There was no mirth in the sound.
“No, it did not.”
Cynan handed him back his empty cup. “Thank you for telling me the tale, dark as it is.”
“I did not do it for you,” said Leofman, his tone bitter. “After holding the secret within me for so long, I hoped that if I spoke of what had happened all those years ago, I might be done with the nightmares. The shame.”
“Do you think it worked?”
Leofman said nothing, but limped away into the darkness where he could be alone with his memories.
In the wolf-grey light before dawn, Cynan had roused his men and told them to prepare for travel. On hearing them moving about in the dark, Sulis had awoken. She had wrapped a leg of ham in a linen cloth. The day before, she had baked bread and she put the loaves that remained into a sack and handed them to Brinin, despite Cynan’s protestations.
“You have done so much for us,” she whispered in the smoky darkness of the house, her breath warm on his cheek. “It is the least I can do. You must eat.”
It had not taken them long to ready themselves. Now they were all gathered outside the house, the smell of woodsmoke thick in the air from the newly rekindled fire. Bleddyn, Brinin and Raedmund led an extra horse apiece; the rest of the animals that they had taken from Sidrac’s men Cynan left for Leofman and his family.
The sun rose over the hills in the east, painting the land with golden light. The sky was sharp and clear. Cynan’s breath steamed in the chill air and he was glad of his woollen cloak, but the day would soon be warm.
The rest of the men had said their farewells and were now waiting, astride their horses. The last to mount had been Raedmund who had knelt beside Eadwig. Leofman had tensed, taking a step forward, but Sulis placed a hand on his arm and they all watched as the boy wrapped his arms around the tall youth. Raedmund whispered something to the child and his cheeks were wet with tears when he clambered up onto his horse and took the lead rope for Bumoth’s tall horse.
The time to leave had arrived and Cynan stepped toward Leofman, holding out his right hand. After a heartbeat’s hesitation, the tall, older man, grasped his forearm firmly in the warrior grip.
“You are sure you do not wish me to travel with you?” Leofman asked. “You do not know these lands.”
Cynan shook his head.
“It is better this way, Leofman. Better that you are no part of it. Rest, mend. Tend to your animals and land. Put this behind you. Look after your family.”
Leofman’s face clouded, as if Cynan had insulted him.
“You are a good man,” Cynan went on, holding his gaze. “What you need now is time. Time to heal.” He glanced at Sulis and Eadwig. “All of you. I will see to it that nobody else questions your claim to this land.”
Leofman nodded.
“May God bless you and guide you,” he said.
Cynan turned to Mierawin, but Sulis stepped forward, halting him. For the merest of instants, he longed to pull her into an embrace, to hold her tight against him and bury his face in her hair. But Leofman was frowning at him in the dawn light, and the man’s son clung to her hand.
“Thank you for coming,” Sulis said, her voice small.
He stared into her eyes and wondered what thoughts lived behind them. He found all women difficult to understand, but Sulis was like one of the deep mountain lakes of Rheged to him. He could see all of the surface clearly, but it merely reflected himself back. He could never hope to make out what was lurking in the cold depths far below, where the light of the sun never reached.
“I am glad I came,” he said, realising with a start that it was true. He had long wondered what might have been if he had left Beobrand all those years before and travelled into the west with this woman. He could at last close the door on that yearning. He smiled, truly pleased that Sulis had found happiness. And by coming here, his feelings for Eadgyth had become clearer than they might have been had he remained at Stagga.
“You ride for Ubbanford now?” she asked, shattering the silence that had fallen between them.
Cynan shook his head.
“Soon,” he said, swinging up onto Mierawin’s back. “But there is something I must do first.”
With a final nod to the sullen Leofman, and a last lingering look at Sulis’ beauty, glowing in the bright dawn, Cynan pulled his mare’s head around, touched his heels to Mierawin’s flanks and cantered away from the farm. His men followed behind.
Chapter 34
It took them the best part of a day to reach Dacor. Cynan had pushed them hard. He was done with Rheged and wanted nothing more than to return to Ubbanford and Stagga.
The sun was low in the sky when they rode down towards the settlement that nestled on the tree-choked banks of a winding beck. It had been a hot day and the men were dusty and tired, their throats parched. There was some shade here, beneath the ivy-tangled trees that lined the path, and the riders welcomed it after the heat of the sun as they’d crossed the bleak high land.
Cynan’s mouth was dry as he looked at the busy settlement through gaps in the trees. As he watched, two riders galloped away from the great hall that towered over the other buildings. The riders, on fast horses, sped up the slope towards Cynan and his gesithas.
“Do you think they are riding to intercept us?” asked Brinin.
“No, lad,” said Ingwald. “Those men wear no armour. And there are only two of them. What could they hope to achieve against the six of us?”
“They look like messengers to me,” said Bleddyn.
Cynan agreed and he reined in, waiting for the riders to reach them. They were lost from view for a time, but soon enough they were speeding towards them along the tree-lined track. As they approached, the two horsemen shouted at them to make way. Cynan did not move, nor did any of his men. Their horses filled the path and at the last possible moment, the galloping horsemen were forced to rein in their mounts, in a clatter and scrape of hooves.
“Are you deaf?” shouted the older of the two, a man of about thirty with short brown hair and a long moustache. “Allow us to pass.” When still nobody moved, he shouted, “I carry a message for Lord Tohrwulf’s youngest son.”
“Sidrac?” asked Cynan.
“The same,” said the rider. “Now stand aside, man.” With a glance, he took in Cynan’s sword and the shield that was strapped to Mierawin’s saddle; the armed, hard-faced men who rode behind him. “You have heard the tidings already, it seems, but Sidrac must hear the king’s message.”
�
��Sidrac will hear nothing,” said Cynan, his tone final.
“Come now,” said the other rider, attempting a conciliatory tone where his comrade had tried bluster. “We must carry the news that Oswiu has called up the fyrd once more. There is no time to waste.”
“Do you ride together?” Cynan asked. “To Sidrac?”
The young rider shook his head.
“No, I am to take the message to old Wistan. He has a dozen good men.”
“Then you should ride on,” said Cynan. He nudged Mierawin, making way on the path. The two riders spurred their horses forward, but Cynan held up a hand. “Not you,” he said to the first horseman.
“What do you mean, man?” the messenger said. “The sun will be down soon and I need to cross yonder peak before dusk.”
Cynan shook his head.
“I would spare you a wasted journey. Now, if you would lead me to Lord Tohrwulf, I must inform him that his son is dead.”
*
The hall was filled with men and noise as Cynan stepped through the portal. The moustached messenger, who he had found was called Thurferth, walked beside him. Thurferth had not believed Cynan at first, but the Waelisc warrior’s severe expression and the stern faces of his men soon changed that. Thurferth was clearly nervous of how the news of Sidrac’s death would be received, and he shuffled beside Cynan, all of his swagger gone.
Cynan felt naked and exposed, surrounded by so many men he did not know. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders, pulling himself up to his full height. He thought of Ingwald’s words to him. It did not matter what he felt inside, he must show no fear. He had ordered Ingwald and the others to remain outside with the horses. They watched over his weapons, but his finely tooled leather scabbard, golden belt buckle and the iron-knit shirt he wore spoke of his worth. The rings that glimmered on his arms told of his battle-fame and prowess.
For Lord and Land Page 30