Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (21 page)

‘Alternatively, you’d be a welcomed addition to my own forces,’ Ubbi put in, sweeping Ivar’s men with an encouraging smile. ‘In early spring we ride to the coast for our ships. Then we’ll sail south and round the Kentish lands past Thanet. We intend to raid at various locations along the south coast of Wessex, concentrating mostly on Sussex, Hampshire, Dorset – and possibly Devon.’ He grinned at Halfdan and Bagsecg. ‘Our aim is to harass the southern regions of Wessex throughout next summer and into autumn. We may even make some surprise attacks a little further inland; there are several convenient rivers along that route. If all goes well, by the time the rest of our Great Army swarms into the kingdom’s interior, the Saxons will already be considerably weakened, and ripe for the picking.’

Twenty One

It was mid afternoon of the first day of December when Eadwulf, Aethelnoth and Jorund arrived back at Elston. At Eadwulf’s request, Aethelnoth and Jorund went on to the hall without him, leaving him in the stables, ostensibly to help Wigstan’s groom in tending to their hard-ridden horses. In truth, he needed time to pluck up enough courage to face Leoflaed. This way, Aethelnoth and Jorund could prepare the way for him, so that when he crept into the hall a little later, Leoflaed would have no possible reason to scream at him for giving her a great shock.

Not surprisingly, Aethelnoth had hooted at his request. ‘You great dough-ball,’ he jeered. ‘Scared witless at the thought of facing your own wife? What’s the worst thing she can do to you, eh? She can’t cut off your balls, can she? Leoflaed’s a heck of a temper on her, I’ll grant you that, but, when all’s said and done, she’s still just a woman . . .’

Aethelnoth’s scoffs had continued throughout the last few miles of their journey, but Eadwulf had remained adamantly in favour of his plan. And out of brotherly loyalty, Jorund had supported his decision. ‘Leoflaed’s ranting certainly terrifies me,’ he said. ‘She’d never had a go at me till I said I was heading off to Anglia. Then she kept it up for days . . . every time I saw her!
I’m
not looking forward to seeing her again, so I know how Eadwulf must feel. He’ll be lucky to get a word in without losing his own temper – or whacking her one.’

Even Eadwulf had laughed at that, and was still grinning at the expression on Jorund’s face as he set about unsaddling the horses once the others had left for the hall. Outside, the December sky was already darkening and he and the groom worked in the soft light of a couple of oil lamps.

‘And just when did you intend to come and relieve me of my misery?’

Eadwulf spun round to see Leoflaed standing only a few yards away. Startled and embarrassed by his own cowardly behaviour he just gaped at her, taking in the anxious frown on her lovely face, and the thick auburn braids tumbling from beneath her simple head veil. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears in the lamplight and Eadwulf realised that his wife was overwhelmed with emotion.

He opened his mouth to offer some placatory explanation for leaving her again, but before a word could emerge, Leoflaed was in his arms, pulling his head down and clamping her mouth over his. She kissed him with such fervour that Eadwulf could only return her passion, clutching her to him as though she might disappear if he loosened his hold.

‘I’ve agonised over how this reunion would be every single day since I left,’ he mumbled, eventually pulling away and kissing her wet cheeks. ‘I didn’t think you’d ever forgive me, and the very thought tore me apart. You said–’

‘I know what I said, Eadwulf, and am truly ashamed of myself for being so selfish. I knew how much you wanted –
needed
– to get your revenge on Ivar, but I . . . I . . .’ Eadwulf watched her searching for the right words, cursing himself for causing her such pain. ‘I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, Eadwulf. Without you, my whole existence would be meaningless. I had visions of the Danes capturing you and . . .’ Leoflaed’s breath caught in her throat and she swiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘The idea of the blood eagle even haunts my dreams.’

Eadwulf momentarily averted his eyes, searching for words that would reassure her, let her know that the possibility of his being caught was minimal. But that would be a lie. ‘I really do understand how you feel, Leoflaed, though I can offer no words to ease your fears. All that you say is true. The three of us could have been dead by now.’ He took her hands in his as she shuddered. ‘But until I’ve fully avenged the wrongs done to my family, I’ll never be the settled husband you want me to be. All I ask is that you trust me to be cautious – and always remember how much I love you, and will always come back to you. Even if you yell at me and tell me not to!

‘And I also understand your objections to Jorund following after us,’ he went on, relieved to see the glimmer of a smile on Leoflaed’s face. ‘He’s young and inexperienced, and could easily have been set upon, either on the journey down to Anglia, or in Thetford itself. But,’ he added, nodding, ‘he managed very well on his own, and the venture's gone a long way towards making my little brother into a man. Morwenna would have been proud of him.’

‘As your own son will be of you, husband. Aethelred’s been coming out here, watching for your return every day this past week. And he’s got a million questions to ask you about how you killed Ivar.’ Leoflaed smiled as he shook he head. ‘Never once did he doubt you’d succeed in your quest. I’m just sorry that I failed you in that, husband.’

Finding no suitable words of reply, Eadwulf pulled her close, just as seven-year-old Aethelred burst through the stable doorway. ‘Papa! Papa!’ he shrieked, charging at Eadwulf. ‘I knew you’d be back by Advent. I kept telling Mama you would, to cheer her up.’

Eadwulf swung his jubilant son up into his arms and hugged him tight. ‘Advent eh?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Is it really that time of year already? We’ll soon need to be on the lookout for a suitable Yule log.’

Aethelred took Eadwulf’s face between his small hands, his intense green gaze boring into his father’s amused one. ‘Can I help to drag it in this year? Last year you said I was too small – but now I’m much bigger. Look!’ he demanded, wriggling from Eadwulf’s grasp down to the stable floor, his hand moving from the top of his head to Eadwulf’s midriff. 'I’m up to here already.’

Eadwulf grinned down at his rapidly growing son, so like himself in colouring. ‘I’m sure Aethelnoth and Jorund will agree that extra help is always useful,’ he said encouragingly. ‘But right now, I think we’d better get your mother back into the hall. I can already hear her teeth chattering.’

‘And before you ask, Aethelred,’ Leoflaed put in, steering him towards the stable door, ‘your father will not be answering any of your questions until he’s downed a mug of warm ale in front of the hearthfire.’

Aethelred grinned cheekily. ‘I already know that Father killed the horrible Ivar,’ he said. ‘Aethelnoth told me. So my other questions can wait till later.’

*****

Christmastide passed joyfully for everyone at Elston, and it seemed that before anyone knew it, spring was hovering on their very doorstep. Little news had reached them throughout the long winter days, and all anyone could assume was that the Great Army was still in East Anglia. For how much longer was anybody’s guess.

Leoflaed’s third pregnancy was advancing well, and although she was undeniably happy and robust, Eadwulf’s anxieties for her wellbeing grew in accordance with the passing weeks. By May she was into her seventh month and, as the time for birthing grew nearer, Eadwulf could not help himself from fussing over her every movement. So much so that Leoflaed had eventually snapped.

‘Just go and do whatever you’re supposed to be doing, Eadwulf – help Aethelnoth and Jorund chop the logs or something! Or go and ride out with Wigstan and Selwyn, and take Aethelred with you. Or you could even take Leofwynn out for a walk; give Odella a little break. I’m not going to drop down with exhaustion, or keel over and damage the babe – or whatever you seem to think I might do if you’re not watching me like a hawk. Pregnancy is nothing out of the ordinary for women, when all’s said and done,’ she went on, leaving the cabbage she was chopping and pointing her scramseax at Eadwulf as she warmed to her theme, ‘and I’ve no intention of lying down every day as you’ve suggested more than once.’ She grinned at his affronted expression. ‘Look,’ she added, gesturing about the hall, ‘there are enough women in here to help me with anything I can’t manage. And quite frankly, I’m getting a bit tired of having you for a shadow.’

‘Right,’ Eadwulf said, finding nothing to say in his defence. ‘I’ll just take Aethelred and Leofwynn out for a walk in the woods. We’ll fetch some bluebells back for you . . . ’

As he left the hall with his two children in tow, he scowled as he heard the women roar with laughter.

*****

At the end of May, Aethelnoth asked Wigstan’s permission to marry Odella. The ealdorman happily gave his blessings to the union, having been well aware of their feelings for each other for some time.

‘I’m just surprised you haven’t asked me before now, Aethelnoth,’ Wigstan said, shaking the big man’s hand vigorously, and leading him to a quiet corner in order to speak plainly. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better match for either of you, and I can see you adore our young nurse,’ he continued as they seated themselves. ‘I don’t know how much Eadwulf has told you, but Odella is no menial serving girl.’

‘I know she’s a thegn’s daughter, my lord. Eadwulf did tell me about her parentage, and how they all died. Odella’s spoken of it as well.’ Aethelnoth looked steadily at Wigstan. ‘Not that it would have made any difference to me if she’d been no more than a lowly slave. I love her, and that’s all I care about. And I believe she loves me, too.’ He looked away, feeling embarrassed by saying that. ‘The problem is that I
have
been a slave, and people around here may see me as an unfit husband for Odella. I–’

‘You’re the son of a royal reeve, Aethelnoth, and everyone for miles around here knows that. Being snatched and reduced to slavery as a child was through no fault of your own.’ Wigstan smiled and laid his hand on Aethelnoth’s arm. ‘Believe me, I had a very similar conversation with Eadwulf some years ago, and I urge you to believe in yourself. As I do. All of you young ones have become so much part of my family now that I don’t know what I’d do without you . . .

‘And I suggest we arrange for your wedding to be held by the beginning of July, he added, grinning at Aethelnoth’s look of surprise at such haste. ‘I’m sure Leoflaed would want to enjoy the celebrations without running off to feed a new babe every few moments.’

*****

On July 6 Aethelnoth and Odella were married in the same small chapel in which Eadwulf and Leoflaed had made their vows. And just as Eadwulf had done, Aethelnoth made no reference to any god, nor had Odella pushed him to do so.

The congregation consisted not only of those from Wigstan’s household, but also several guests from around his estate – all of whom had known the big man for a few years now and had long since accepted him for the hard-working and good-natured man he was. It was a happy day for all, with the warm summer sunshine adding to the jovial mood. Scented flower petals covered not only the bride and groom. Little Leofwynn seemed to find it great fun to cover anyone within her reach with the colourful blossoms. Intrigued by it all, Aethelred stood beside his parents, wondering what all the fuss over getting married was about, but he greatly enjoyed the wedding breakfast that followed.

Aethelnoth looked so happy that Eadwulf felt a lump in his throat as he thought of all they’d been through together, and the many years during which he hadn’t even known whether his friend was alive or dead. Now, Aethelnoth could look forward to the years ahead as a married man and, hopefully, the delights of fatherhood. His new wife looked radiant on her special day. Odella’s glossy fair hair was garlanded by a circlet of entwined meadow flowers and her joy radiated from the smile on her pretty face.

At Eadwulf’s side during the wedding feast, his own, rotund wife glowed with health, her pleasure at witnessing her young nurse’s happiness evident. During the latter weeks of pregnancy Leoflaed had positively bloomed, and her appetite seemed to know no bounds.

‘I hope you’ll still love me after the birthing, Eadwulf,’ she murmured, catching his amused expression as he watched her tucking into the wedding fare. ‘I know I’ll be really fat for a long time after this babe’s born – I just don’t seem to be able to stop eating. I look like a barrel now, and I’ll probably still look like this next Christmastide!’

Eadwulf put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Leoflaed, I’d love you however you looked, fat or thin. Fat is probably better because it means there’s more of you to love.’

Leoflaed giggled and kissed his cheek. ‘That’s all right then, because I really fancy another one of those honey cakes.’

*****

Aethelnoth and Odella had enjoyed less than four weeks as husband and wife when Leoflaed felt the first niggling birth pains. For several hours, while the twinges caused her no more than a little discomfort, she pursued her usual daily routines and said nothing. By the time she retired to her bed that evening, she still felt that to alert anyone to her condition would be quite unnecessary. There would be ample time to entrust herself to the ministrations of her women in the morning.

The first glimmers of daylight were squeezing through the closed shutters when Leoflaed dug her husband in the back. ‘Fetch the women,’ she shrieked. ‘The babe . . .’

Eadwulf didn’t wait to hear more. He shot from the bed like an arrow from a bowstring and out into the hall. Within moments three of Leoflaed’s trusted women were beside her, two of them experienced midwives. The other was Odella, about to give assistance at only her second birthing, Leofwynn’s having been her first. By now Leoflaed’s pains were coming strong and fast, a particularly harrowing contraction causing her to cry out.

‘Don’t try to push, my lady,’ Bote ordered almost an hour later, after she’d once again examined Leoflaed’s readiness to give birth. Daylight flooded into the chamber through the opened shutters, but the fresh morning air did little to cool Leoflaed’s sweating body. ‘Your babe’s still not in the right position, and pushing now would do nothing but sap your strength before you really need it.’ The senior of the two midwives, Bote had an air of authority about her that no one argued with. ‘Go back into the hall, Odella,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘Ensure there’s plenty of hot water available, then check the cloths are ready to wrap the child . . .

‘And Osythe,’ she added, turning to the other midwife as Odella left the room, ‘I’d like a second opinion regarding how the babe is lying, if you would.’

Leoflaed felt Osythe’s fingers probing into her, assessing her child’s birthing position. ‘I can’t feel the head at all,’ Osythe murmured. Her hushed tones lowered still further and she whispered something that Leoflaed could catch only fragments of.