The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (2 page)

Chapter
One

A King’s
Sacrifice

Rendlaesham,
the Kingdom of the East Angles - Britannia

Ten days
later…

The sun was sinking beyond the western horizon when Annan led
his men back into Rendlaesham. An ash longbow hung on his back, and his quiver
was empty. A feeling of well-being suffused his exhausted limbs. A knot of
warriors followed the king, their kill slung over the backs of their horses:
three boars and two deer.

The hunt had been one of the most enjoyable of Annan’s life.
It had been a joy to use a bow and arrow again after a bitter winter that had
kept everyone indoors; to feel the tension of the hemp bow-string as he drew it
back and hear the whisper of the arrow loosing.

The men were in high spirits, singing loudly as they rode
through Rendlaesham’s gates and up through the town. Yet Annan was in a
reflective, pensive mood this afternoon. He did not join in the singing, but
instead let his gaze wander over his surroundings.

Riding back into Rendlaesham never failed to make his pulse
quicken.

All of this was his.

Despite the battle that had brought the Kingdom of the East
Angles to its knees, just months earlier, the folk living here still looked to
him for guidance and protection. He was one of the Wuffingas, the family that
had ruled this kingdom for centuries; a family born to rule.

Above the low-slung wattle and daub dwellings of
Rendlaesham, rose the fabled ‘Golden Hall’. It was a massive wooden structure,
and its thatched straw roof gleamed in the sunlight. Even now, nearly six
months after taking the throne, Annan found it hard to believe that he actually
lived here.

Young boys ran out to greet the king and his men,
their faces beaming when they saw the boar and deer carcasses. Annan grinned
down at them, remembering how he too had run behind his father and his men,
impatient for the day he would be able to join them on a hunt, and in battle.

Annan’s grin faded at that last thought.

Battle. It was a fact of life in the world they
inhabited, and yet the reality of it was cruel. He, like those boys, had been
brought up to believe that war was valor and glory. Instead, it was blood, fear
and death, grieving widows and shattered lives. You could not tell a boy that
though; he would never believe it.

The king and his men clattered into the stable
yard under the shadow of the Great Hall. A steep set of steps climbed up to its
huge oaken doors, which were flanked by two spear-wielding warriors.

Casting aside his gloomy thoughts about war and it
consequences, Annan swung down from the saddle
and glanced up at the
majestic outline of his hall silhouetted against the darkening sky.

“Saba – get those beasts skinned, gutted and hung,” Annan
called to one of the warriors, “and I’ll have a cup of mead waiting for you by
the fire when you’re done.”

Sabert, a big, broad shouldered ealdorman with wavy, brown
hair, grey eyes and a long nose that had been broken years earlier and never
set properly, gave a snort in response.

“Typical – leaving all the work to me.”

“A king shouldn’t need to get his hands dirty,” Annan grinned,
enjoying the banter that he and Saba had shared since they were boys.

He was glad Saba had finally agreed to join him here at
Rendlaesham. It had been an effort to convince him to leave Snape, where his
kin resided, and Annan knew that his friend preferred the freedom of his old
life. Still, in a king’s hall, surrounded by toadies, and those whose loyalty
was as fickle as the wind, Annan was pleased to know he had someone he could
trust by his side.

Leaving his friend still good-naturedly grumbling, Annan
rubbed down his horse, before watering and feeding it. He was making his way
across toward the steps, when
the doors to the Great
Hall above him drew open and a tall, blond man stepped out into the golden rays
of the setting sun.

“
Wes hāl,
Annan!” Aethelhere shouted
with a cocky grin.

Annan waved back and watched as his younger brother
approached. He descended the steps with loose-limbed grace; and as Aethelhere
drew closer, Annan saw he had a mischievous glint in his eye. A look that Annan
knew well.

“You have visitors,” his brother boomed, his grin widening,
before he slapped Annan on the shoulder. “It appears Edwin of Northumbria is a
man of his word.”

Annan inclined his head, his eyes widening.

“What? He has sent me a woman to wed?”

Aethelhere’s grin turned wolfish. “He has. Just wait till you
see her.”

The brothers exchanged a look and, without another word,
mounted the steps to the ‘Golden Hall’ together.

Annan was not sure how he felt about this news. He had known
that the Northumbrian King was sending him a bride, as they had agreed at Yule.
Now that the moment had arrived, he suddenly felt reluctant to meet her –
despite Aethelhere’s evident approval of Edwin’s choice.

Inside the Great Hall, the smell of simmering pottage assaulted
Annan’s nostrils.  It was a pungent aroma; that of carrots, onions and cabbage
cooked for so long that it became a mushy, sulfurous stew. It was not Annan’s favorite,
but at least they would soon have some spit-roasted meat to vary the meals over
the coming days. Hilda, the slave that Annan had inherited with the
Rendlaesham’s ‘Golden Hall’, was a good-hearted young woman, but a poor cook.
She stood now, pummeling griddle bread into rounds with the heel of her hand,
and instructing two other, younger, girls on how to do the same.

Despite that Annan had never ill-treated her, Hilda was a
nervous girl, with large light blue eyes that regarded the world with
trepidation. Her thin body was strong from years of hard physical labor, and
her fine light brown hair fell in a long, thin braid down her back. About her
slender neck she wore a pitted iron slave collar.

“Evening, m’lord Annan.” Hilda glanced up as a draft of air
from the opening doors, alerted her to the king’s arrival. She dropped into a
low curtsey.

“Evening, Hilda,” Annan acknowledged her with a smile. His
gaze then travelled across the interior of his hall. Even after months of
living here, he still was not used to the size of his home.

The blackened timbers of the ceiling rose high above his head,
like the ribcage of a great dragon. Luxurious tapestries – works of art that
often took decades to fully complete – hung from the walls, alongside
ornamental shields, axes and swords. A massive fire pit dominated the space and
long tables ran either side of it. Dogs skulked around the margins of the hall,
gnawing on bones; or waiting under the tables for scraps during the approaching
evening meal. This eve, ealdormen, thegns, and their wives filled the Great Hall
– it was always a hive of activity. Many got to their feet upon seeing the
king’s arrival.

Yet, Annan’s gaze sought out the face of the young woman who
was to become his wife.

Two women sat at one end of the long tables, flanked by four
travel-weary warriors.

Annan’s gaze rested upon the face of a slender, blonde beauty
at the center of the group. Then, he glanced across at Aethelhere with a grin.

“For once, you weren’t exaggerating, brother.”

“When it comes to pretty women I never exaggerate,” Aethelhere
replied, feigning offence, before stepping forward to make the introductions.

“Lady Hereswith of Bebbanburg, niece to King Edwin of
Northumbria, may I introduce you to our king, Annan of the East Angles.”

“Milord,” the blonde girl rose to her feet, blushing prettily,
before she curtsied deeply.

“Milady,” Annan replied, his gaze devouring her. She was even
lovelier up close than from a distance, with flawless, milky skin, huge blue
eyes and hair the color of sea-foam.

Marriage to such a woman might not be such a trial after all.

At thirty-three winters, Annan was well past the age when most
men married. Given the chance, he would have preferred to remain unwed. Out of
the three brothers – Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold – only Aethelwold had
married; to a sweet woman who had given him two sons. Like his elder brother,
Aethelhere also remained unattached. However, with kingship came certain
responsibilities – producing an heir among them. As much as Annan liked his
freedom, and preferred taking a woman for a night or two, rather than saddling
himself with a wife, the time had come for him to be handfasted.

Still, Annan reflected, not taking his gaze off the beauty
before him, some sacrifices were easier to make than others.

“Welcome to Rendlaesham.” Annan stopped before her and smiled
into her eyes; he was aware that although slender as a reed, she was taller
than most women. She barely had to lift her chin to meet his gaze.

“I trust you had a safe journey south?” Annan’s gaze shifted
to the mousy-haired woman next to Hereswith who wore a pinched expression.

“The journey was uneventful enough,” the woman replied, her
gaze meeting the king’s boldly, “although the weather was bitter. I am Eldwyn,
hand-maid to Lady Hereswith.”

“I welcome you all to my hall,” Annan replied before glancing
over at where the unappetizing pottage bubbled away in a huge cast-iron pot.
“And if I’d realized you were arriving today, I would have had a feast prepared
in your honor. However, I can offer you all a hot meal and mead this eve, and
tomorrow we shall dine on roast venison.”

***

A pall of smoke, as always, hung over the hall, making Annan’s
eyes sting. Yet, he paid it no heed. His attention was focused upon the lovely
girl who delicately supped at her bowl of pottage to his left. She noticed his
gaze upon her and cast him a flirtatious look from under long lashes.

Despite himself, Annan grinned foolishly. Hereswith was bolder
than she first appeared, a trait he liked in a woman.

Annan chewed on a piece of griddle bread and leaned back in
the carved wooden seat reserved for the East Anglian king, at the head of one
of the tables. The noise in the hall was deafening; the volume increasing as
his men consumed more than their fair share of mead and ale.

“More pottage, sire?” Hilda appeared at Annan’s elbow, with an
iron pot filled to the brim with steaming vegetable stew. She had such a
hopeful expression that Annan felt a pang as he shook his head.

“I thank thee, but no,” his gaze then flicked over at where
Saba had just started on another cup of mead. “However Sabert here has a mighty
appetite. Fill up his bowl!”

Saba glowered over the rim of his cup as Hilda eagerly moved
around to the right of the table and filled up the warrior’s bowl, using a
long-stemmed wooden ladle. Saba leaned back, to give her space to move, and glanced
up at her face.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Hilda, m’lord,” she replied timidly, casting a nervous glance
in the king’s direction. Annan pretended not to notice her discomfort; it was
obvious the girl had been ill-treated in the past. Not likely by the previous
king, Sigeberht, who although severe was not a cruel man, but by his
predecessor, Ricberht, and, perhaps her own father. Her eyes were wide and
frightened. She regarded Saba as if he were about to cuff her around the head.

“It’s a pretty name.” Saba smiled up at her, with
uncharacteristic gentleness. “For a pretty wench.”

Hilda turned deep red and, clutching her pot to her breast,
fled to the other end of the table.

Annan watched her go before winking at Saba. “Still charming the
women I see.”

Saba shrugged before dipping a piece of bread into his
pottage. “The girl is comely.”

A disapproving, unladylike snort interrupted the men. The
woman who accompanied Hereswith as her chaperone and maid, Eldwyn, clicked her
tongue loudly and shook her head.

“Slaves should not be addressed by name,” she reprimanded Saba
imperiously, looking down her nose at him. “The girl must know her place.”

Saba’s gaze narrowed. “Yes – but you do not appear to know
yours.”

Eldwyn sniffed and looked away from him, not in the least
chastised by his baleful glare.

“Hilda is a sweet-natured wench.” Aethelhere, who was seated
to Saba’s left, helped himself to another piece of bread and winked at Eldwyn.
“Yet, certainly not worth arguing over.”

“Very well, Aethelhere,” Saba replied, his gaze never leaving
Eldwyn’s face; daring her to make eye-contact with him once more. “Although,
some should remember they are guests in another king’s hall before they open
their mouths.”

Eldwyn ignored him. Her mouth pursed as she looked down at her
bowl of half-eaten pottage.

Annan had remained silent during the exchange, but now he
regarded Eldwyn coolly. Her bitterness and austerity stood in contrast to the
fresh beauty of the girl beside her. Hereswith gave her maid a quelling look
and whispered something to her. Eldwyn nodded stiffly but said nothing –
although her expression had turned sour.