The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (23 page)

Instead, she heaved Wulfhere’s quiver of arrows onto her back,
next to the one she had already. Then, whispering a prayer for the dead man, she
looked for a tree to climb.

Saewara chose a sturdy beech tree; old with spreading branches
close to the ground and a thick foliage to hide herself in. Her hands, wet with
sweat, slipped on the rough bark as she climbed. Her pulse pounded in her ears;
so loud that it even drowned out the roar of battle close by.

Perhaps it was not wise to climb a tree so close to where the
battle raged – the other archers had fallen back to where it was safer. Yet,
Saewara had a plan. She knew her aim was good, and settling in the fork between
two branches, she pulled the foliage aside and saw that she had a remarkably
clear view of both armies, breaking upon each other like waves against a
shingle shore.

The sight made her hands shake. Once again, she was reminded
that somewhere in the middle of that nightmare, Annan fought.

Please Lord, keep him safe.

Regaining control of her nerves, Saewara notched an arrow and
drew, her eyes scanning the mêlée. Whenever her gaze seized upon one of the
East Angles that she recognized, especially if he was in trouble with an
opponent, and if she had a clear shot, she loosed an arrow. More often than not,
her shot saved that man’s life. She was careful and deliberate, her arms
trembling with the strain of keeping the bowstring drawn – but one by one, she
picked the Mercians off.

The battle raged on, and for a while it seemed as if no side
was gaining the advantage. Men fell, only to be trampled by the living, and for
every man that died there was another to replace him.

However, such savagery could not continue forever.

The fighting slowly inched closer to Saewara’s hiding place
and she began to run low on arrows. She would need to replenish her supplies
soon, but had no wish to do so in the middle of slashing blades and axes.

She was down to her last five arrows when she spotted Annan
amongst the fray.

He was fighting her brother.

Saewara’s breathing stilled and her heart missed a beat. For a
moment, she just watched, horrified, as the two kings slashed at each other.
The blades of their swords were dark with blood. Both men were injured – Penda
was bleeding profusely from a gash to his right cheek and Annan’s left shoulder
was slick with blood – yet they fought with savage determination as if the
battle had just started and they had all the energy in the world.

Transfixed, Saewara stared down at Annan and Penda as they
drew closer still to her hiding place.

They were both formidable swordsmen, but even to her untrained
eye, Saewara could see her brother was better. No wonder Penda still worshipped
the old gods; he wielded a sword like Thunor himself bent on destruction. He was
a frightening and terrible sight – and yet Annan did not appear remotely cowed
by him. Her husband’s face was a black mask of determination and something
Saewara had never seen in him before – hatred. Penda had given Annan reason to
loathe him, and it was that which fueled Annan; forced him on even though Penda
was slowly gaining the upper hand.

I have to stop this.

Saewara notched an arrow and raised her longbow.

I can’t let Penda kill Annan. I won’t let him.

But it will mean killing your own brother,
her conscience
needled her.
Can you live with yourself if you do?

A moment later, the decision was made for her. Annan slipped
on a patch of gore, and went down. Penda was on him in an instant, raising his
sword to skewer his opponent.

Draw and loose.

The arrow flew through the air and landed with a meaty thud in
Penda’s flank.

The Mercian king roared, rearing back.

Saewara did not hesitate. She loosed another arrow, this one
hitting her brother in the right shoulder. Penda staggered. He was right handed
and the arrow had hit deep, for his sword fell from limp fingers on to the
ground. His free hand clutched, uselessly, at the arrow embedded in his
shoulder while his gimlet gaze frantically searched his surroundings, seeking
the bowman who had wounded him.

Annan was scrambling to his feet when Penda’s warriors surged
forward and seized their king, heaving him back into the fold.

Giving a shout, Annan went to follow his enemy. However, four
of his men threw themselves upon their king and hauled him away. Penda was
badly injured – he would trouble them no longer. If Annan followed him, he
would not emerge alive.

Saewara sunk back against the beech’s trunk, her ash longbow
slipping from her numb fingers. The energy that had fueled her till now
suddenly seeped away and she felt barely able to move, let alone pay attention
to what was happening on the forest floor below. She was trembling, violently;
whether from relief or horror, she could not be certain.

The battle drew out for a while longer before the harsh sounds
of iron against iron, and the cries and shouts of men, died away.

Eventually, Saewara forced herself to slide along the branch
and part the foliage once more. She had to see who had gained the upper hand,
even if she dreaded knowing.

Warily, she peeked out, steeling herself for what she would
see. Her gaze settled upon the ravaged woodland below. Once a virgin, untouched
spot, it was now gouged and ravaged by man. Bodies, twisted and maimed,
littered the peaty ground. Survivors staggered amongst the dead, some injured
and leaning against the trees for support. The only sound was the whimpers of
the injured and dying.

Saewara craned forward, her eyes straining to recognize any of
the faces. She only prayed that when she did, they were not Mercian.

Eventually, a man, tall and blond, wearing chainmail and
covered in blood and dirt, limped into the clearing directly under Saewara’s hiding
place. There, he stopped and looked up into the trees.

She saw his face and her heart expanded with joy.

“Saewara,” Annan called, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and
pain. “You can come out now, Love – it’s safe, it’s over. We’ve won.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Things Unsaid

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

Saewara felt Annan’s gaze upon her as she dropped from the
beech’s lowest branch onto the ground. “You loosed the arrows that brought
Penda down.”

Saewara turned to her husband, unsure whether to tell the
truth. She wondered if doing so would anger him. After all, she had intervened
in a fight to the death. She may have caused Annan to feel he had lost honor.

Yet, when her gaze met his, her trepidation vanished. He was
looking at her with such a soft expression that it was all she could do not to
burst into tears.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I’m only sorry I did not kill him.”

“Come here.”

She stumbled forward into his arms, the stench of blood and
death filling her nostrils. Only then did she let the tears come. His arms
closed tightly around her and Saewara felt safe for the first time since the
battle had begun. The floodgates opened and she sobbed against his chest as if
her heart would break. She had seen so much violence and death today – enough
to last many lifetimes.

“You were right,” she sobbed, barely able to get the words
out. “War is the province of men – women have no place on a battlefield.”

“My wife,” Annan murmured, his voice husky. “We won because of
you.”

Saewara pulled back, blinking at him through her tears. “What?”
She hiccoughed. “How is that possible?”

Annan gave a lopsided smile and, reaching out, wiped the tears
from her cheeks.

“Penda is the greatest warrior his people have ever known,” he
explained. “The Mercians have never lost a battle with him at the helm. You’ve
seen him fight – you
know
why.”

Saewara nodded, still not truly understanding.

“When you injured your brother and his men carted him off, the
rest of his
fyrd
folded. The problem with having such a strong leader is
that Penda carried his army. He was its backbone – its strength. With him no
longer in charge, the Mercians scattered. It was not long before we beat them
back, and those still wishing to live retreated.”

Saewara shook her head, scarcely able to believe it. “You won
because your army was strong, not because of me.”

Annan’s smile widened. “Believe what you will – but I and the
others know the truth of it.”

At that moment, Saewara realized that a huge crowd of
bloodied, battered men now surrounded them.

Saewara’s face broke into a wide smile when she saw that Aethelhere
and Saba were among them. Unlike before the battle, the two warriors now gazed
at Saewara with awestruck expressions.

“What a woman,” Saba grinned before stepping forward and
pulling Saewara into a bear hug. When Saba finally released her, after nearly
cracking her ribs, Aethelhere stepped up to speak to the queen.

“I should never have doubted you,” he told her, his
blood-streaked face beaming. “You saved my brother’s life and turned the battle
in our favor. We owe you so much more than our lives, Saewara. We owe you our
freedom.”

Saewara stared back at him and felt fresh tears stream down
her face. She then glanced at Annan who gave her another smile, although this
one was tender, private. He put a protective arm around her shoulders and
gently drew her against him. The warmth of his body against hers soaked into
Saewara’s body and gave her strength.

Holding his wife close, Annan turned to the amassing crowd of
warriors – spearmen, axe-men, bowmen and swordsmen.

“Remember this day!” he called to them, raising his blood-stained
sword aloft. “For this was the day we sent the Mercians home, whipped and
beaten. This is the day a woman fought alongside her menfolk and triumphed. Now,
we go home to our families and rejoice!”

***

It was late afternoon before the East Angles left the battleground.
They left the Mercian dead behind – there were too many to bury or burn – and carried
as many of their own dead as they could with them. It was a slow march back to
Exning and they were forced to spend the night in the woodland before resuming
their journey at first light.

Annan’s
fyrd
reached Exning, just as the first rays of
sun were peeking over the high paling fence. The village folk had been awaiting
their return, and as soon as they were recognized as friend rather than foe,
shouts rang through the air and a stream of villagers rushed out to greet the
army.

Saewara watched the human tide approach and found herself
smiling so wide that her face hurt. The joy in their faces, the tears running
down their cheeks, reminded her that it had been all worth it. The thought of
the Mercians taking this place was unthinkable. Yet, she knew that if her
brother had been victorious he would have burned Exning to the ground and have
done unthinkable things to its inhabitants.

“Saba!” Hilda’s cry reached Saewara’s ears. She watched as her
friend hurtled through the crowd, skirts flying, toward them. Hilda barreled
into her husband’s arms, nearly knocking Saba off his feet.

“Watch out little bird,” he laughed as she threw her arms
around his neck and showered his face with kisses. “I’m getting on in years –
you’ll stop my heart!”

In response Hilda – timid, reticent Hilda who had wilted under
Saba’s attention just a couple of months earlier – silenced her husband with a
passionate kiss.

The crowd roared its approval. There was no more joyous sight
than to see lovers reunited.

As they neared the gates of Exning, a tall, willowy blonde
wove her way through the pressing crowd to the front. Dressed in a plain,
beige, woolen tunic, Hereswith’s beauty still shone like a single ear of golden
barley in a ploughed field. For once, she was alone. Eldwyn, her forked-tongued
maid, was nowhere in sight.

Hereswith’s face was serious, her eyes huge and frightened as
she scanned the approaching
fyrd
. She was searching for someone.

However, it was not Annan she was looking for. Her gaze slid
over him without hesitation and fixed on the man who walked a few paces behind
him: Aethelhere.

Saewara watched, intrigued, as Hereswith’s blue eyes filled
with tears. The knuckles of her hands that clutched her skirts were white. She
was clearly afraid of approaching her husband, for they had not parted well.

Hereswith and Aethelhere stopped a couple of yards from each
other and the crowd stilled, parting to give them room.

“Husband,” Hereswith murmured; her voice for once was free of artifice.

“Wife,” Aethelhere replied, his gaze coolly meeting hers.

Seeing that his response was less than warm, Hereswith
swallowed and took another, tentative, step toward him. “I am glad to have you
home,” she said, her voice quavering with anxiety. “Are you hurt?”

Aethelhere looked at her quizzically, clearly trying to
reconcile the woman who stood before him with the shrew he had left behind.
“Nothing that will not heal,” he replied, his tone more neutral than before.

Hereswith took another step toward him, her gaze never leaving
his face. Even though hundreds of eyes were upon them, she did not seem to
notice, or care.

“Aethelhere,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “I know
things were said before you left – things we can never take back – but after
you had gone, I thought of you never returning. It felt as if my heart had been
torn from my breast. I’m so glad you came back to me – please don’t ever leave
again.”

Aethelhere stared at her, his eyes widening. Yet, when he did
not respond to her plea, Hereswith’s gaze dropped to her feet and she covered her
face with her hands. Her body trembled with the effort she was making not to
cry.

The crowd watched, entranced, as Aethelhere stepped toward his
wife, closing the gap between them.

“Hereswith,” he said, gently taking hold of her wrists and
pulling them away from her face. “Look at me.”

She did, and for a moment the pair of them just stared at each
other – as if they were truly seeing the person before them for the first time.

“I wanted you from the moment you arrived at Rendlaesham,” he
murmured, his expression suddenly vulnerable, “but do you really want me?”

“Yes,” Hereswith whispered.

That was enough. His eyes shining with tears, Aethelhere
pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply for all the world to see.

Blessed with yet another happy reunion, the folk of Exning
roared their approval once more.

Saewara brushed away a tear that had escaped, and turned to
Annan, only to find her husband watching her closely.

“You would cry over Hereswith?” he asked, amused. “She would
have had you strung up outside the gates without hesitation upon your arrival
in Rendlaesham.”

“I know she would have,” Saewara replied with a wry smile,
blinking away more tears. “And I would have cheerfully drowned her in a water
barrel – but times change. People change.”

“Yes they do, wise Saewara.” He smiled down at her without a
trace of mockery before reaching out to caress her cheek. “You and I are proof
of that, are we not?”