Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (5 page)

Through her fear and shock, Freya realized that she had seen
this warrior before. Indeed, it would have been impossible to forget him. The
blue eyes, the cleft chin and the wavy black hair – even splattered in blood,
carrying a spear and dressed in leather armor, with a deep slash across one
cheek, he was handsome.

The churl who had accosted her while she had been out
collecting lichen stood before her. He was certainly no merchant.

Chapter Five

“Have the pair of you met?” The tall grey-eyed man frowned.

The man he had named Aidan grinned.

“Yes, three days ago. We met on the shore near Woodbridge
Haven.” He paused and met Freya’s gaze, “and I stole a kiss.”

The leader’s gaze narrowed. He gave Aidan a look of stern
disapproval before he turned back to Freya.

“What’s your name girl? What are you doing so far from home?”

All eyes turned to Freya. She took a steadying breath and
realized that this was her one chance to explain herself.

“My mother is a healer. I accompanied her to Rendlaesham two
days ago,” she began. “The king had called her to attend him as he had a wound
that would not heal. When my mother told him that he would have to lose his
leg, he demanded that I remain here as his
theow
and attend him. I would
not go free unless his wound healed.”

“Did he use you?” The man’s voice was hard, his iron gaze
fixed upon Freya.

Feeling her face flame at the bold question, Freya struggled
to hold his gaze.

Men are beasts
, she thought angrily.
How
dare he ask me that!

“No, he did not. He was too ill.”

“Then you are still a maid?”

Freya felt humiliation burn down her neck and across her
chest. She clenched her fists at her side.

“Yes,” she replied quietly, staring down at the rush-matting.

At that moment she hated them all.

“My Lord Sigeberht. Why all these questions?” Aidan
interrupted; the grin had disappeared from his face. “Surely, we should let her
go now that Ricberht is dead.”

“All the possessions of Ricberht the Usurper are now mine,”
Sigeberht replied coldly. “I will not tolerate having his whore under my roof,
but since she’s untouched, the woman can stay. I have need of slaves.”

“But he kept me here against my will,” Freya burst out. She
knew it was foolish to speak up to this cold, hard stranger, but with freedom
slipping away from her once again, Freya felt a chill needle of fear pierce her
breast. “Please let me return home. My mother will be worrying for my safety!”

“You’re staying here as my
theow
,” Sigeberht replied,
his tone brooking no argument. “You are a woman grown. Your mother doesn’t need
your assistance – but your king does.”

With that, Sigeberht turned his back on her. He walked back
down the steps to the floor of the Great Hall. Bodies littered the wide space,
tables and benches were overturned and blood stained the rush-matting dark.

At the foot of the steps lay Ricberht.

Sigeberht stopped before the dead king and rolled him over
with his foot. Ricberht’s eyes stared sightlessly up at the rafters. A hand-axe
protruded from his chest.

“That was for my brother,” Sigeberht said softly. “May you
burn in hell.”

Sigeberht then turned and stalked from the hall, his
blood-stained cloak billowing behind him.

***

A bloody sunrise stained the eastern sky. It was as if the
gods knew how much blood had flowed that night in Rendlaesham.

Aidan of Connacht wandered across the stable yard, overseeing
his men cart dead bodies from the hall and out of the gate. The dead would be
burned on a pyre outside the town’s walls at dusk.

War was a nasty business. Now that the fire of battle had left
him, Aidan felt hollow and numb. His body ached and the cut across his cheek
throbbed. He had not felt it during the battle, but now that the fighting was
over, weariness clubbed him across the back of the shoulders. Still, it had
been necessary. Blood had to flow if Sigeberht was to claim the throne.
Ricberht would never have abdicated without a struggle.

Despite the element of surprise it had been a difficult
assault. They had used grappling hooks to scale Rendlaesham’s walls and had
lost a few men before they even reached the Great Hall. Fortunately, Ricberht’s
garrison was disorderly, drunken and unprepared, for even then it had taken
Sigeberht’s men most of the night to subdue them. They had fought like cornered
wolves, with the reckless courage of those who knew they were doomed.

Aidan massaged a tender muscle in his shoulder and halted in
the middle of the stable yard. He glanced back at the steps leading up to the
Great Hall; his gaze taking in the mighty timbered building and its golden
thatched roof. He had never seen a building like it. As he admired the Great
Hall, a young woman emerged from the doorway, carrying two large wooden pails.

She was a beauty, with milky skin, long limbs and a mane of
flame hair. Unfortunately, the girl looked miserable. The woolen shift she wore
was stained with blood and grime, as were her hands. Sigeberht had insisted
Freya help clean the interior of the hall – and that meant scrubbing down the
blood and replacing the rush-matting.

The girl spotted Aidan watching her, and the unhappiness on
her face deepened to dislike. Her green eyes narrowed. She marched down the
stairs and, ignoring him, made her way to a stone well at the far end of the stable
yard. There, she began refilling the buckets.

Aidan watched her go before turning back to his men. He was
sorry that the lovely Freya had been involved in this. He had tried to convince
Sigeberht to release her, but Sigeberht had been obstinate. What was Ricberht’s
was now his, and Aidan would not push it any further.

Aidan walked over to where warriors were struggling to lift
corpses into a cart, and moved to help them. There would be a lot of work to
get through today – in the aftermath of the battle for Rendlaesham – and much
of it unpleasant. Still, it was far better than being on the losing side of
battle.

Despite his injuries, Aidan knew there would be no rest until
sundown.

Later that day, as the sun sank towards the west, Sigeberht
rode out into the streets of Rendlaesham to greet his people. He rode a grey
stallion that had belonged to Ricberht, and cut a dramatic figure in dark
leather with a heavy black cloak rippling out behind him. He was flanked by
Aidan to his left and Lothar to his right. The rest of his men paraded behind
him, battle-weary but proud.

Rendlaesham’s townsfolk clustered along the edge of the
street: men, women and children, all straining for a glimpse of the man who had
taken back the Golden Hall for the Wuffingas.

Sigeberht reached the market square and a great roar went up
amongst the crowd. Seeing the joy on their faces, Aidan felt a surge of
elation.

This was why Sigeberht had returned to Britannia.

These people had prospered under Raedwald and Eorpwald, but
had suffered under the cruel hand of the Usurper. Sigeberht had given them back
hope. The remnants of Ricberht’s garrison had either surrendered to Sigeberht
or fled.

Finally, Rendlaesham had been washed free of the Usurper’s
stain.

***

Freya carried the last roll of filthy rush-matting from the
Great Hall. Gingerly, she picked her way down the steps to the stable yard and
dumped the rush-matting on a cart, before retracing her way back up the steps.
Her feet dragged as she mounted the last steps and re-entered the hall. It had
been an exhausting day. Freya’s back and shoulders ached from being bent over
for hours, scrubbing. Initially, she had let fury propel her forward, until the
rage at her imprisonment eventually left her. Now, her mind was blank, and her
senses numb.

Around her neck, she now wore a slave collar; an uncomfortable
iron band that chaffed when she sweated. It would be a constant reminder of her
enslavement.

The interior of the Great Hall shone from the hard labor of
Freya, and the others, who had scrubbed it clean. A fire crackled in the fire
pit in the hall’s center, smoke was escaping through a slit in the roof, and
servants prepared a celebratory feast: roast boar, griddle bread and a thick
onion and carrot stew. Freya inhaled the aroma and felt her stomach growl in
response. She had not eaten since the night before and felt light-headed and
sick with hunger. She stepped onto the fresh-matting, feeling it crunch under
her bare-feet, and went to help the other
theow
who were setting up the
long tables for the feast.

By the time, Sigeberht and his men entered, shortly after
dusk, the interior of the Great Hall was unrecognizable from the scenes of
carnage at dawn.

Sigeberht looked pleased, although it was difficult to gauge
such an expression on a face so severe. Only the lifting of the corners of his
mouth and a brusque nod to his servants, told them that he was satisfied with
their labor. At least he did not appear a cruel man, Freya noted. He would be
difficult to warm to, but he didn’t make her instincts scream danger, as
Ricberht had.

A short while later, warriors took their seats at the long
tables.  Despite being battered and bruised, they were in high spirits as they
filled their cups and fell upon the feast. Sigeberht sat at the head of the
table closest to the fire pit.

Freya filled his cup with mead before joining the other
servants below the salt; at the farthest end of the hall. She sank down on the
hard bench, with a sigh of exhaustion, between two other slaves: Hereric and
Hilda. Hereric was an elfin-faced boy with a quick gaze that missed nothing,
whereas Hilda was a wiry young woman with fine light brown hair and protruding
eyes that gave her a nervous look. Like Freya, both Hereric and Hilda wore iron
slave collars about their necks.

Hilda had dished her up a bowl of stew and cut a slab of bread
for Freya. Rewarding Hilda with a grateful smile, Freya fell upon her meal,
ravenous.

Sigeberht waited until his men had taken the edge off their
hunger, before he stood up and raised his cup.

The rumble of conversation died away as Sigeberht’s warriors
waited for their leader to speak.

Freya saw the fierce loyalty on their faces.

“My warriors!” Sigeberht called out, silencing the last few
men who had not ceased their chatter. “Today was a day of victory! My thanks go
to every last one of you, and to those who fell so that we may take
Rendlaesham!”

Sigeberht’s words brought a roar of approval from his
warriors. Their voices echoed up amongst the rafters and they slammed their
cups on the table tops as they cheered.

“Sigeberht the Righteous! Sigeberht the Righteous!”

 When the din had died down, Sigeberht continued.

“Much blood was lost so that we could take Rendlaesham – blood
that we must make penance for.”

Sigeberht’s words caused a tremor of uneasiness among his men,
but heedless, their leader pressed on.

“Vengeance is mine but our Lord will expect payment for such
sacrifice!”

Freya listened with interest, her exhaustion momentarily
forgotten. It appeared that Sigeberht was one of those who had shunned the old
gods; still a novelty here in the Kingdom of the East Angles. She had heard
that King Raedwald had converted, but there had been no sign of it in the daily
life of Rendlaesham. This man seemed deathly serious about his beliefs. His
words had cast a pall of discomfort over the hall. Many were visibly relieved
when their leader changed the subject, although Sigeberht did not appear to
notice.

“Aidan!” Sigeberht turned to the man seated to his right, at
the head of the table. “Stand up so that I may thank you before our warriors!”

Freya watched as Aidan put his cup down and stood up. Unlike
the day Freya had met him, Aidan’s face was serious this evening. The cut
across his cheek had crusted, and she imagined it would leave a deep scar. He
was still dressed in grime-encrusted leather armor. Looking upon him, Freya
admitted to herself that he was, indeed, the kind of man that drew a woman’s
eye.

He may be pleasing to look upon, but he has the
manners of a goat!

“Aidan of Connacht, you are like a son to me!” Sigeberht
clasped the younger man around the shoulders and held his cup high. “You have
shown loyalty and valor. Now, you will be at my side while I make Rendlaesham
truly ours. I honor you!”

The warriors cheered and held their cups high. Aidan smiled
and bowed his head in thanks.

Once the cheering abated, Aidan sank back down on the bench.
He helped himself to another slice of roast boar and raised his cup to
Sigeberht.

Then, as if sensing her gaze upon him, Aidan glanced up and
looked straight at Freya.

For a moment, their gazes met and held.

His eyes were a dark blue; of a shade she had never seen
before. The intensity of his gaze made goose pimples prickle Freya’s skin.

Then he smiled, and the moment shattered. It was the same arrogant
smirk he had given her on the shore at Woodbridge Haven. Freya tore her gaze
away from his and turned her attention back to her meal, although her appetite
had now dulled.

Swine.