The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (14 page)

Saewara hesitated a moment longer before crossing the bower to
the pile of furs and climbing in.

She lay there for a while, staring up at the rafters, as the
embers in the fire pit slowly dimmed. She wished only for sleep to take her,
but knew she would not be able to relax until Annan came to bed.

Her husband finally made an appearance. Feigning sleep,
Saewara listened to him moving quietly about the bower, undressing for bed. Unlike
her choice to sleep wearing a tunic, she imagined Annan, like most folk, would
sleep naked. The thought made her stomach twist nervously.

Moments later, she felt the furs shift beside her and thought
Annan was climbing into bed beside her. However, when she opened her eyes a
crack, she saw that he had, instead, taken two furs off his side and carried
them a few feet away.

Saewara watched her husband, naked to the waist and barefoot,
although still wearing breeches, make a bed up for himself. Without glancing in
her direction, Annan lay down and turned to face the wall, pulling a fur up
over his shoulders.

Annan had meant every word, it seemed, that he had spat at her
on the riverbank. Not only would he not bed his Mercian wife, but he would not
even share his bed with her. Despite the relief that she would be left alone –
for Saewara had no desire to share a bed with anyone at that moment – she felt
the sting of rejection nonetheless.

The worst is over with now
, she consoled
herself, staring at her husband’s back as she listened to his breathing
deepening.
I’m here, wedded, and the way of things has been made clear, at
least. I need now only be strong for what is to come.

Chapter Fourteen

The Devil’s
Work

One month
later…

Annan stood on top of the earthwork and watched the wagons,
filled with river stone and earth, rumble in from the northeast. From this
height – over thirty feet above the grasslands – he had a magnificent view in
every direction; especially on a day such as this. The sky was a clear,
cloudless blue from one horizon to the other, and the sun warmed the exposed
skin of Annan’s arms, shoulders and face.

‘Devil’s Dyke,’ as it had been named by locals, was just over
two leagues from end-to-end. Annan’s forefathers had started work on it, nearly
a hundred years earlier, but had then left it to deteriorate as other, more
pressing, threats to the kingdom drew their attention. Even a century ago, the
Wuffinga kings had sought to protect their land from the Mercians – even then
they had known the danger their western neighbors presented.

Annan turned away from the approaching wagons, his gaze
sweeping across the deep ditch that had been dug out of the western side. Black
thorn and brambles filled the ditch in either direction, for as far as the eye
could see, acting as a further defense.

Penda thinks he has beaten us,
Annan thought,
rebellious pride swelling within him.
He can force me to ‘bend the knee’,
and can even make me marry his sister but he can’t stop me from defending my
borders.

Of course, Penda would not welcome news that Devil’s Dyke had
been strengthened, and now extended from the impassable fens to the north, to
the thickly wooded land to the south. Although he knew the news would reach
Penda eventually, Annan had been careful not to mention his plans during his
visit to Tamworth, and to keep all talk about the earthwork quiet while the
Mercian emissary was in Rendlaesham. Yet, now that the man had returned to
Tamworth, Annan had focused on the dyke in earnest. He wanted it finished
before the autumn.

With the speed of the current work, it would be finished well
before then. To ensure the work was completed in good time, Annan had imposed a
corvée; bringing in peasants from every corner of the kingdom to work on the
dyke. It was not forced labor, for the men could return to their homes once
they had completed their allotted period, but it was obligatory all the same.
The king called them, and they came, bringing whatever tools and materials they
could spare. Annan had expected to see some resentment, for many of these
peasants had left behind fields and crops that needed tending, yet it did not
appear the case. After the East Angles’ defeat at Barrow Fields, the folk knew
that the kingdom sat on a knife-edge; they all had to play a role in defending
it.

Annan watched a group of men now, hoisting earth and stones
onto the top of the bank on great hauling ramps. Despite that it was back-breaking
work, they did it with good cheer; the sound of their singing mingling with the
creak of wood and the dull thud of shovels. A few of them saw Annan walking
along the top of the dyke and waved to him. It pleased them to see their king
overseeing the work – and Annan wished he could stay longer. However, he was
due to leave the dyke this afternoon, and return to Rendlaesham.

“Good morning, M’lord,” one of the men he had charged with
managing the work in his absence, greeted Annan as he climbed down one of the
tall ladders on the eastern side of the dyke. “She’s magnificent, is she not?”

“The dyke’s a credit to you all,” Annan replied with a grin.
“Once we’re done here – it will be the finest in Britannia.”

“Those Mercian dogs won’t be crossing our border this way,”
the man continued, his face turning grim. “Although, they can die trying.”

Annan’s grin faded. “They will come,” he assured the man,
glancing up at the earthwork rearing above him; it was so tall that it blocked
out the sun. “Let’s hope that Devil’s Dyke is enough to stop them.”

***

A warm breeze ruffled Saewara’s hair and feathered against the
bare skin of her face and arms. A wet spring had developed into a balmy summer
and Saewara raised her face to the friendly sun as she walked through
Rendlaesham’s gates.

It was a relief to be away from the ‘Golden Hall’ and to
stretch her legs. For her first days here she had been too nervous to venture
far from the hall. She had been terrified that townsfolk would stone her. Yet,
the hostility within the hall had worn her down and even the prospect of being
spat at, or hounded in the streets beyond, was not enough to keep her indoors.
To make matters worse, Annan had been away, dealing with matters on his
southern borders. He was due back this afternoon. His presence here seemed to
keep the women’s vindictiveness in check; without him their forked tongues had
almost been intolerable.

Saewara left Rendlaesham by the back gates, which meant she
avoided traversing the center of town. The view from this entrance was
Saewara’s favorite in Rendlaesham. From here she could see the narrow dirt road
winding its way down the shallow valley amongst the swathe of apple trees. At
the bottom, she caught a glimpse of the stream glittering in the sunlight and
the bright green profusion of willows.

Carrying a wicker basket over one arm, Saewara made her way
down the hill, in search of wild berries. She had heard that raspberries grew
thick near the banks of the stream, and she wished to make a cake with them.
The life of a noble woman, cooped up inside the stuffy, smoky, dark hall was a
monotonous one. She had spent days at her spindle, loom or distaff but found
more joy in helping the servants prepare food for the hall. The other women
sneered at the sight of the queen pummeling dough, dusted up to the elbows in
flour; or chatting with Hilda as they peeled vegetables for pottage together. However,
the alternative was to sit on her own in a corner at her distaff and go quietly
mad.

The men, Annan included, did not appear to care how Saewara
spent her time, provided she contributed to the life inside the hall and did not
make a nuisance of herself. Strangely, Saewara had found freedom in her new
role, and enjoyed improving her skills as a cook. She had even tried Oswyn’s
onion soup one evening and had been pleased to see that most of the men asked
for second helpings.

Halfway down the hill, Saewara left the road and wove her way through
the rows of apple trees. They were fully in leaf, although would not show fruit
for months yet. Saewara continued toward the stream. It was a peaceful spot and
she would have preferred to sit down on the grass and spend the afternoon here.
Yet, she could never absent herself from the hall for too long before Hereswith
complained loudly that the new queen was shirking her duties.

Reaching the banks of the stream, Saewara started her search
for raspberries. It did not take her long to find the fruit bushes. Bright red,
plump and juicy, it was an effort not to eat as many berries as she picked.
While she bent over the raspberry bushes, Saewara’s gaze drifted across the
babbling water of the stream to where willow trees draped across the water. The
sight of the trees brought her sharply back to that afternoon, just over a
moon’s cycle earlier, on the banks of the flooded river.

Annan, his wet tunic and breeches clinging to his
tall, hard body, staring into her eyes as if nothing in the world existed but
her. The feel and taste of him as they kissed.

Saewara let out a quiet sigh and tore her gaze from the
willows. It was strange what could trigger memories. For the last month, she
had done her best to forget that incident. In the hall, it was easier than she
had thought. Annan kept a polite, cold distance from her; only speaking to her
when absolutely necessary. Every night, he dumped his furs a few yards away
from hers and slept separately. They were two strangers sleeping in the same
bower, and although the arrangement had discomforted Saewara initially, she had
gradually grown used to it. At least he was not a cruel man who took pleasure
in tormenting her, as Egfrid had. She too, had become used to treating him
coolly, and days would pass without them even looking at each other.

Yet, the memories that looking upon the banks of the
willow-draped stream had triggered, reminded her of another man; a passionate
man who had roused a response from Saewara, of which she never thought she was
capable.

Brushing aside the lingering memories, Saewara turned her
attention back to the task at hand. Her basket was filling up nicely and she
was looking forward to baking a delicious sweet with them.

She had almost filled her basket, and was about to turn to
leave, when the sound of voices – a man and woman, nearby – reached her.
Saewara straightened up and looked across at the opposite bank, past the willows.

Her mouth curved into a sudden, and unexpected smile, when she
saw who the man and woman were.

Saba and Hilda.

They were sitting further along the bank, almost out of
Saewara’s line of sight. Saba was leaning back on his hands while Hilda sat next
to him, her legs curled under her. The ealdorman said something and Hilda burst
into laughter.

It was a musical sound, full of joy and fragile hope, and
Saewara stilled upon hearing it. She had never heard Hilda laugh before.

Watching them, their gazes meeting frequently as they talked,
Saewara felt a pull of longing from deep inside her – if only a man would look
at
her
like that.

Saba had trodden carefully since arriving back in Rendlaesham,
and wooed Hilda gradually. Just days earlier, the girl had been avoiding him
but, somehow, he had now convinced her to take a walk with him.

Beltaine had just passed, although Saba had not been able to
convince Hilda to leave the hall and join the folk around the bonfire outside
the town. Even mention of joining the revelers had made Hilda cringe. She knew
only too well that if a man invited you to dance with him around the Beltaine
fire, he would end up dragging you into the bushes to make love afterwards.
Hilda, who had only known rape and brutality at the hands of men, had no
intention of letting that happen. Saba had understood; he had not pressured
her.

Saewara had watched the unfolding story between Saba and Hilda
with a quiet joy. Even now the ealdorman, a formidable warrior, and
intimidating to those who did not know him, sat a respectful distance from
Hilda. However, it was clear from the way Hilda’s cheeks flushed, and the
frequency with which she made eye contact with Saba, that he was close to
winning her trust.

As Saewara looked on, the girl timidly reached out and put her
hand on Saba’s arm. In response, he placed a hand over hers and smiled down at
her.

Saewara turned then, and left the lovers alone. Her chest
ached strangely. As happy as she was for the pair, the sight of their
burgeoning love made her feel empty and alone. She walked briskly away, glad
they had not seen her, and climbed the hill back to the gates. A short while
later she made her way through the stable yard.

Horses and men filled the yard and Saewara had to weave her
way through them, in order to reach the steps up to the hall. Annan had
returned and was unsaddling his stallion. He glanced Saewara’s way as she
walked by and acknowledged her with a curt nod. Saewara nodded back before
mounting the steps to the hall.

Inside the Great Hall, preparations for the evening meal were
underway. With Hilda absent, the other slaves were panicking that they would
not finish in time. Saewara set her basket aside for a moment and took charge.
She started chopping carrots for the rabbit stew, before carrying them on a
wooden board over to the bubbling cast-iron pot that hung over one of the fire
pits.

Ignoring Hereswith and Eldwyn, who were sitting back from the
fire, winding wool onto distaffs, Saewara poured the carrots into the stew and
proceeded to add some sprigs of thyme and rosemary.

“Where’s that girl – Hilda?” Eldwyn addressed Saewara sharply.
“She should be here preparing the evening meal. The king shall have her whipped
for idleness on her return.”

“He won’t do anything of the sort,” Saewara replied, her voice
icy. “Hilda has gone for a walk with Sabert. She will be back shortly, I’m
sure.”

Eldwyn’s face screwed up at this news. “It’s disgraceful,” she
sniffed before turning to Hereswith. “This would never happen in the Great Hall
of the Northumbrian King. He would not allow one of his ealdormen to fraternize
with a slave.”

Hereswith nodded. “He would not allow many things that are
permitted here,” she said, her gaze spearing Saewara as she spoke.

Saewara ignored them both. Hereswith’s meanness was growing
ever bolder, as the young woman’s bitterness grew like a canker. Saewara had
become used to it.

Leaving the pair of ladies to their sniping, Saewara returned
to the table at the back of the hall and began work on her cake. She mixed
freshly churned butter and honey with ground spelt and eggs to make a batter,
before pouring in the ripe raspberries. She then poured the batter into an iron
pot before carrying the cake outside to bake in a clay oven, which had been
built to one side of the stable complex.