Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) (17 page)

With the door closed, the interior of his home warmed
quickly. Maric sat by the fire pit and watched the dancing flames. He was
surprised by how calm he felt here. For a long while after that terrible day,
he had vowed never to return. Yet, on the evening he had accompanied Edgard
home, he had looked upon the dwelling that he had built to share with Gytha and
no longer felt a chill pass through him.

The shadow had lifted – Maric had a home once more.

The winter dragged on, long and cold. During Æftera Geola,
the month after Yule, the snow lay thick upon the frozen ground and blizzards
frequently swirled around the Great Tower of Tamworth. The following month – Sōlmōnath
– the snow gradually thawed only to be replaced by weeks of driving rain that
kept folk indoors and turned the narrow streets of Tamworth into muddy rivers.

By the time Hrēðmonath arrived – the month dedicated
to Hreða, the goddess of fertility – men’s tempers were sour and the interior
of the King’s Hall reeked of mold and damp.

Then, the first of the snowdrops and bluebells pushed
through the damp earth outside Tamworth, carpeting the woods in white and blue,
and winter was over. Upon a brisk spring dawn, with the clouds scudding
overhead, and accompanied by the song of skylarks, Paeda, his brother, and a
handful of his most favored thegns, rode out of Tamworth for a day’s hunt.

Alchflaed arose from the furs with a queasy stomach,
which only eased when she managed to force down a few mouthfuls of griddle
bread. At first, she thought that she had eaten something that had disagreed
with her the evening before, but the meal had been a simple mutton stew that no
one else appeared to have difficulty digesting.

Her mouth dry with dread, Alchflaed went to see the king’s
healer; a cunning man named Glaedwine. He prodded her belly, and asked a few
questions before confirming her fears: she was with child.

Alchflaed did not linger in the healer’s presence after
he delivered the news, but instead retreated to the platform she shared with
Paeda. She sat down upon the edge of the furs and brushed away tears. She felt
as if the walls were closing in on her. She had felt trapped before, but her
pregnancy now shackled her in iron to Paeda.

She should not have been surprised that she was with
child. Paeda rutted her day and night. After the first month of marriage, she
had hoped his appetite for her would lessen, yet it did not. Nor did he gentle
his treatment of her. He swived her like a whore, giving no tenderness or
affection to his wife either while or after he took her.

Drying her tears, Alchflaed crossed the platform to the
leather trunk, where she kept her things. She knelt before it and opened the
heavy lid, before withdrawing the seax her father had gifted her. It still lay
within its leather scabbard. The blade gleamed wickedly sharp when she drew it forth.
The pestle and mortar her father had given her were also buried deep within the
trunk.

How can I kill him now?

She loathed her husband; it was all she could do not to
shrink from his touch. Yet, despite her father’s order, Alchflaed realized she
could not kill him. She often imagined Paeda dead, choking on a piece of meat
or trampled by his horse while out hunting, but she could not imagine herself
being the one to end his life.

Father is far from here
, she
consoled herself as she put away the seax.
He cannot force me to commit
murder.

Alchflaed put on a light cloak and descended the ladder
into the Great Hall. Perhaps a walk outside in the fresh air, with the spring
sun on her face would ease her churning belly. A few of the women who worked at
their looms on the far side of the hall – wives of ealdormen and thegns –
looked at her curiously as Alchflaed walked past. She said nothing to them; most
of the women were terrible gossips, and few of them bore any love for the
Northumbrian princess who was now their queen.

Outside, Alchflaed crossed the stable yard to where Bryni
was grooming a horse.

“Good morning, Bryni,” she greeted him with a smile.
“Where’s Maric?”

“He’ll be at his home, I imagine, M’lady,” Bryni replied,
wiping sweat off his forehead.

Disappointed that Maric was not nearby, for she had a
sudden desire to speak with him, Alchflaed paused. Her strolls through
Tamworth, with Maric at her side, had been Alchflaed’s only moments of joy in
the four months she had been Paeda’s wife.

“I wish to see Maric’s home,” she said finally. “Can you take
me to him?”

Bryni’s eyebrows raised slightly at the request but he
nodded.

Alchflaed followed Bryni out across the stable yard and
into the wide, paved way beyond. Maric’s house, a stout timbered structure, sat
just streets away from the high gate.

The door was ajar, although Alchflaed could hear the
sound of chopping wood coming from the yard behind it. Bryni led her round to
the back, where they found Maric, stripped to the waist, busy splitting logs.

Alchflaed found herself staring. Maric’s naked torso
gleamed with sweat. He was built differently to her husband; Paeda was all
brawn, whereas Maric was lithe and finely muscled. He put down his axe when he
saw them and smiled.

“Wes h
ā
l.”

“Lady Alchflaed wished to see your home,” Bryni explained
with a sheepish smile.

“The king is away on a hunt,” Alchflaed added with a
smile of her own, “and I am tired of being cooped up indoors.”

“My home is a humble one, Milady,” Maric replied, cocking
his head slightly, “but I will happily show it to you. First, can I offer you a
drink?”

“Aye, I would like that,” she replied.

Maric turned to Bryni. “There’s some ale on the table
inside. Bring some out for us.”

The young man nodded and disappeared round the edge of
the dwelling, leaving Alchflaed and Maric alone for a moment. It was the first
time they had been alone together since arriving at Tamworth, for even during
their walks Bryni and Edgard always shadowed them. Their gazes met and held.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Maric admonished her gently.
“Paeda is a jealous man, if he finds out you…”

Alchflaed shook her head and raised her hand, cutting him
off.

“It has been a long winter,” she replied with a brittle
smile, “and I wished to see you. This morning, I have just learned I am with
child.”

Maric’s eyebrows raised.

“Congratulations.”

He said the words so coolly that Alchflaed suddenly
regretted her impulsive decision to visit him. Since Cyneswide’s departure, she
had lived a friendless existence inside the Great Tower. The cunning man would
tell Paeda that the queen was pregnant soon enough, but Alchflaed wished to
tell a friend first.

“Thank you,” she replied quietly.

Maric reached for the sleeveless tunic he had stripped
off while chopping wood and shrugged it on. Alchflaed was relieved he did so,
for the sight of him before her half-naked and virile, did odd things to her
already queasy belly.

Bryni returned, bearing a tray with a jug of ale and
three wooden cups. Alchflaed took the cup he passed her and took a sip of the
pungent ale, before choking back bile. It seemed her delicate stomach could not
tolerate such a strong drink; another mouthful and she would be ill.

Maric and Bryni had both seen her gag. With a wry smile,
Maric took her cup and handed it back to Bryni.

“There’s some fresh milk inside. Fetch Lady Alchflaed
some of that.”

Bryni nodded, his brow creased in worry. “Are you well,
M’lady?”

Alchflaed managed a weak smile. “Aye, the milk would suit
me better – thank you, Bryni.”

Bryni disappeared once more, leaving them alone again.

Maric was watching her under hooded lids, although he
said nothing.

“Are you well, Maric?”

“Well enough, Milady. And you?”

Silence stretched between them. The conversation was
stilted and Alchflaed was growing more uncomfortable by the moment. She should
leave, she should tell him she was very well and bid him good day, yet she
could not force the empty words to leave her lips.

“I am glad you have returned to your home,” she said
finally, evading the question entirely.

She looked about the small yard, ringed by a high wooden
fence. It was a lovely spot, with rosemary and thyme growing around the edges.
Beyond, she could hear fowls scratching about in the next garden. Nearby,
children laughed.

“You did not answer my question,” he answered.

Their gazes met before Alchflaed bit her lip.

“I am unhappy,” she replied simply.

The look on his face made her want to weep; a mixture of
pity and anguish. He opened his mouth to reply, but Bryni chose that moment to
reappear bearing a cup of milk.

“Here, Lady Alchflaed,” he said eagerly.

“Thank you, Bryni,” she replied, avoiding his gaze so he
did not see the tears that glistened there.

***

Paeda returned in an ill mood. He had fallen from his
horse during the hunt and cracked a rib. Even the news from Glaedwine that the
queen was pregnant barely sweetened his temper.

“It will be the first of many sons,” Paeda told Alchflaed
when she came to him. “I will fill your belly with them.”

Stripped to the waist, he sat upon a stool by the fire
pit while Glaedwine did his best to tend him. There was little the cunning man
could do with a cracked rib save rub a salve on the king’s chest and bind the
injury with linen. When the healer took too long tying the bandage, Paeda
cuffed him round the head and sent the man sprawling back onto the rushes.

Glaedwine – a tall, spare man with sharp-features –
picked himself up off the floor and gave the king a look of malevolence. Paeda
did not see the healer’s anger, for he had already turned his attention away
from him. Yet, Alchflaed saw it. She wondered at how many enemies the king was
making for himself amongst those who served him. Paeda did not appear to care
whom he offended.

“Wife, fetch me mead,” Paeda barked.

Alchflaed hastened to obey. She poured a cup of mead and
filled a jug, for one cup was rarely enough. She returned to the fire pit to
find the king arguing with his brother. Aethelred, whose oily manner often
meant he avoided quarrels, had gone red in the face as Paeda berated him.

“It was your doing, brother. You cut me off and caused my
horse to shy.”

“I did not!”

“The stag was mine.”

“You crashed through the trees like a demented boar,”
Aethelred countered with a sneer. “Stalking a deer requires stealth. Making
such a noise, there was no way you would have caught it.”

Alchflaed wordlessly handed Paeda his mead. He took it
without thanks, and turned back to his brother.

“Listen to you, the seasoned hunter,” Paeda mocked. “When
was the last time you brought a deer down on your own?”

It was then that Alchflaed noticed the warrior, dressed
in boiled leather, who strode across the rushes toward them.

“Milord,” she interjected quietly, “one of your men is
here.”

“Silence, wife,” Paeda snarled. “Never interrupt me when
I’m talking.”

However, since Aethelred turned to see who it was, the
king halted his tirade. The warrior reached the fire pit and knelt before him.

“Lord Paeda, you have visitors.”

When the king did not speak, the guard who had evidently
come from the high gate, continued.

“It is an emissary from the north, Milord. King Alchfrith
of Deira is here and wishes to receive your hospitality.”

Alchflaed’s chest constricted when she saw her brother
stride into the Great Hall. His auburn hair was loose, curling about his
shoulders. Physically, Alchfrith was her male counterpart: tall with a proud
bearing. Her brother was dressed in a leather vest and doeskin breeches. His
fur-edged cloak rippled behind him. Alchfrith’s gaze did not shift from Paeda
as he approached.

Behind the King of Deira, his entourage followed him
across the hall. Alchflaed’s spirits lifted to see Cyneburh among them. Her
brother’s wife was as lovely as ever, her golden hair rippling down her back.
She was dressed for travelling in a tunic with a blue, woolen overdress, and a
cloak about her shoulders.

The King of Mercia sat upon the high seat, Alchflaed
beside him. Reluctantly, Paeda rose to his feet as Alchfrith approached. The
King of Deira stopped before the high seat but did not kneel – a sign to all
present that Paeda had bent the knee to his northern neighbors.

“Wes h
ā
l, Paeda,” Alchfrith
greeted him pleasantly, although Alchflaed saw the steel in her brother’s green
eyes. His gaze then flicked to Alchflaed and he smiled. “Sister.”

“Welcome, Lord Alchfrith,” Paeda replied, his tone
guarded. “I did not expect a visit so soon.”

Alchfrith’s smile widened. “My father wishes to have his
interests looked after. He has sent me, and two of his ealdormen he wishes to remain
here as his stewards.”

Alchfrith motioned to the two bearded warriors standing
behind him, next to Cyneburh. “Wada and Alfwald, and their men, will remain at
Tamworth after I depart to look after my father’s interests.”

This comment drew a rumble of discord from the men
gathered around them. The muttering grew louder, like a swarm of angry hornets,
before Paeda silenced them.

“Quiet!” Paeda turned his attention back to Alchfrith. “Does
your father not trust me?”

Alchfrith’s smile faded. His gaze shifted to Alchflaed,
who stood silently at Paeda’s side. “He trusts no one. Not even his own kin.”

***

Paeda put on a feast to welcome Alchfrith of Deira. Since
Oswiu’s son had given no warning of his arrival, Alchflaed did her best to organize
a feast with what was left of their meager winter stores.

The first of the spring greens were only just starting to
grow in the fields outside Tamworth, so the only vegetables available were
turnips, onions and cabbage. Paeda’s hunting trip had not been successful so
there was no fresh meat; instead, Alchflaed had the slaves prepare pies filled
with salted pork, onions and cream. This, she served with mashed turnip and
butter, alongside tureens of braised cabbage.

Alchfrith and his wife ate with the Mercian royal family
upon the high seat. Maric, Bryni and Edgard also joined them, although they sat
at the far end of the table. The monk, Seaxwulf, who had recently returned from
a long stay at Bonehill, sat halfway down the table.

The feasting had barely begun when Alchfrith began asking
difficult questions.

“Where is your brother, Wulfhere?”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the table.

“Exiled,” Paeda finally answered, his morose expression
making it clear he did not wish to speak of his brother. Yet, Alchfrith’s
curiosity had been piqued.

“Why was that?”

“He challenged my authority.”

Alchfrith held his cup up for a passing slave to fill
with wine.

“Such men are dangerous. You should have killed him.”

The monk, Seaxwulf, muttered under his breath at the King
of Deira’s unchristian comment and made the sign of the cross.

“Lord Paeda showed mercy,” he reprimanded Alchfrith, “and
he should be commended for it, Milord.”

Alchflaed watched her brother shrug off the monk’s
comment. She noted how much like his father Alchfrith had become. He was iron
at his core.

“He won’t cause any more trouble,” Paeda grumbled.

“How do you know that? He could be raising a fyrd against
you as we speak.”

Paeda frowned. Alchflaed felt the tension emanating off
him.

Alchfrith sipped from his cup and waited for the King of
Mercia to respond. When he did not, his gaze shifted to Alchflaed.

“We stopped at Eoforwic on our journey south,” he said
mildly.

Alchflaed went cold, the mouthful of pie she had been
chewing turning to paste. She picked up her cup and took a sip of wine to help
her swallow it.

“While there, I heard an alarming tale,” her brother
continued. “Word has it that Eadweard of Eoforwic welcomed you into his hall,
and you insulted him, after which your escort started a brawl with his men.”

Alchflaed felt Paeda’s cold gaze swivel round to her. At
the far end of the table, she knew Maric, Bryni and Edgard were watching the
scene unfold. She looked their way and saw alarm on Bryni’s face, and anger on
Edgard’s. Maric’s gaze met hers and Alchflaed saw a flash of exasperation
there.

“I did not hear of this,” Paeda growled.

“There is more to this tale,” Alchfrith continued. “After
your wife departed Eoforwic, it seems the ealdorman rode after her, determined
to have retribution for the offence she caused him. He and his men never
returned, although his thegns found the remains of a large pyre near the River
Winwaed. Certain that these are the remains of Eadweard and his men, the
ealdorman’s family now demand compensation for his death.”

Alchflaed could feel Paeda’s gaze burning into her.
Eventually, she had no choice but to meet it.

“It is true,” she admitted softly.

“Maric!” Paeda barked. “Why did you not tell me of this?”

At the far end of the table, Alchflaed watched Maric put
down his cup and rise to his feet. He looked calm; his face had that shuttered
look she knew well.

“Eadweard of Eoforwic invited us into his hall, that is
true,” Maric begin, his voice carrying across the table, “but as soon as we sat
down at his table, he insulted both King Oswiu and Lady Alchflaed. He felt that
Oswiu should have promised her to him, not you, Milord, and he was very bitter
about it. As her escort, we could not let such insults go unanswered.”

Maric paused here, allowing his words to settle, before
he continued.

“The ealdorman did follow us south, and attacked us at
Winwaed. He planned to kill us and take Lady Alchflaed for himself. We killed
him, and his men, and burned their bodies.”

Maric held Paeda’s gaze a moment before finishing his
tale.

“Milord, I did not tell you, for I knew that such news
risked shattering the fragile peace between our kingdoms.”

Paeda glared back at Maric, and Alchflaed saw her
husband’s jaw flex. She knew Maric was protecting her, but in doing so he was
laying the blame upon himself.

“That is not for you to decide,” he growled. “I will deal
with you later – sit down.”

“He is not at fault,” Alchflaed spoke up, the words
rushing out of her. “I asked him not to say anything. I responded to the
ealdorman’s insults, when I should have held my tongue. Maric and his men had
no choice but to defend me.”

“Silence, woman,” Paeda snarled. “I will also deal with
you later.”

Alchflaed obeyed him, but only barely. Her experience in
Eoforwic had made her wary of angering brutish men. Although her father was not
a man lightly crossed, he did not physically bully his women. Eadweard of
Eoforwic and Paeda of Mercia were different.

***

Alchflaed sat down at the fire pit next to Cyneburh and
handed her a cup of warm milk. As she did so, she noted how the Queen of
Deira’s skin glowed.

“You look well, Cyneburh.”

Her friend smiled shyly and took a sip of milk. “I am finally
with child.”

Alchflaed answered with a smile of her own. “That is
welcome news.” She paused then, her smile fading. “I too am pregnant, although
I doubt I glow as you do.”

Cyneburh reached out and placed a gentle hand on
Alchflaed’s arm, her beautiful face creasing in concern.

“I wish I could help you.”

Touched by the woman’s concern, Alchflaed placed her hand
over Cyneburh’s and forced a smile.

“As do I – but then my life here could be worse.”

Silence fell between them for a moment, before Cyneburh
wisely changed the subject.

“Aethelred tells me that mōder has taken the veil
and now resides at Bonehill.”

Alchflaed nodded. “She could not suffer remaining here…
not after what happened at Winwaed.”

Cyneburh’s mouth thinned and her gaze shifted to where
Paeda was still sitting upon the high seat. He was deep in discussion with
Alchfrith and Aethelred; although judging from the frown on his face, the
Mercian king was not happy about the direction the conversation was taking.

“Your mother told me that she was happily married to
Penda,” Alchflaed said eventually. “Is that true?”

“Aye,” Cyneburh replied with a smile. “They had a strong
bond. Fæder treated her differently to everyone else.”

Her gaze shifted to Alchfrith then, and Alchflaed saw the
softness in her face when she looked upon her husband.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Cyneburh’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and she
nodded.

“Don’t look so sorry about it,” Alchflaed admonished her.
“Among the high born it is a rare and beautiful thing to see a man and woman so
well-matched.”

At that moment, as if sensing the women were looking his
way, Alchfrith glanced toward them. Alchflaed watched him excuse himself from
Paeda and Aethelred. Then, he rose to his feet, stepped down from the high
seat, and made his way across to where Alchflaed and Cyneburh sat. His gaze met
his wife’s and he smiled.

“May I steal my sister away from you a moment?” he asked.

“Of course,” Cyneburh replied. “You will both have much
to speak of.”

“Shall we take a walk on the ramparts?” Alchfrith asked
Alchflaed. “I need to stretch my legs after all that food and wine.”

It was a flimsy excuse. What Alchfrith wanted was to
speak to his sister away from Paeda’s watchful eye. To refuse her brother’s
request would only lead to trouble so Alchflaed nodded and rose to her feet.

“Let us fetch our cloaks,” she said. “It is a cold night
outside.”

Darkness cloaked Tamworth as two figures clad in fur
cloaks stepped out onto the wooden ramparts that encircled the inner palisade.
The sky was clear and a full moon cast a silvery hue over the sea of thatched
roofs beyond. Somewhere in the woodland beyond, an owl hooted – a lonely cry
that echoed in the stillness. Sounds travelled far on such a night, and
Alchfrith kept his voice low.

“You are changed, sister.”

“How so?”

“You’ve lost your fire. A fyrdraca left Bebbanburg, and
now I find a dormouse in her place.”

“A fyrdraca?” Alchflaed could not help but smile at that.
Only her brother could make calling a woman a fire-breathing dragon sound flattering.
He had always admired her spirited character in the past.

“There is no place here for the girl who left Bebbanburg,”
she continued. “Paeda would not suffer it.”

“Does he beat you?”

Alchflaed shook her head. “He does not need to – there
are crueler ways to dominate a woman.”

Alchfrith frowned, clearly not understanding her meaning.

“A wife is a possession, a prize to be gloated over,” she
explained. “I am nothing more than a high born slave who will whelp his sons.”

“He told me you are pregnant,” Alchfrith replied, his
voice suddenly impassive.

“Yes, and Cyneburh tells me you too will have your first
child. I am happy for you both.”

Alchfrith nodded, although Alchflaed could see his gaze
had turned inward. They both knew the real reason he had asked her to stroll
the ramparts with him; and it was not to take a breath of fresh air, or to talk
about children.

“Fæder grows impatient,” he said finally. “He wants to
know why you have not yet done as he ordered.”

Alchflaed did not reply. They had stopped, halfway between
where sentries stood at the top of the high gate, and the ladder that led up to
the ramparts from the yard below.

“It is not an easy thing,” she murmured, staring out at
the darkness, “to kill a man in cold blood.”

“Fæder chose you for a reason,” Alchfrith replied, his
voice low and urgent. “Why do you think he left you unmarried for so long? He
was waiting for the day his fiery daughter would be able to avenge our people.
He would be angry to see you so meek.”

Alchflaed rounded on him, her hands clenched at her side.