Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) (7 page)

Seaxwyn cast her nephew a sympathetic look across the table.
“They were inseparable: Raedwald and Eni. Your father was never the same after
Raedwald’s death.”

Their words cast a somber mood across the table.

“Still,” Seaxwyn said before taking a sip of broth, “they are
with Woden now, watching over us all.”

“Perhaps.” Sigeberht’s mouth twisted. “If you believe in the
old gods. Some of us beg to differ.”

“They are the only gods,” Seaxwyn replied coolly, her gaze resting
on the iron cross that her son wore around his neck.

Sigeberht’s expression darkened.

“I had heard that you had a closed mind to the teachings of
Christ.” His voice was harsh, “but even Raedwald saw the truth in his later
years. Was he not baptized?”

Seaxwyn regarded Sigeberht with thinly veiled contempt; the
fragile reconnection between mother and son had dissolved.

“He was baptized, to appease that meddling monk who nagged
him, day-in, day-out. I was relieved when that fool left Rendlaesham.”

Freya watched the brewing argument with fascination. She had
never come across a woman as outspoken as Seaxwyn. Even her mother, who was in
no way meek, would not have dared openly criticize one of her male kin in front
of other men. Frankly, Freya was in awe of this woman – and a little frightened
for her.

 “I do hope you are not going to become a bore Sigeberht the
Righteous,” Seaxwyn continued, oblivious to her son’s thunderous expression.
“Be warned that I have no patience for it. I have lost my husband and both my
sons cruelly. I will not have you tell me it was
your
god’s will!”

Sigeberht slammed down his cup on the table, splashing milk
over its surface. His eyes burned with fury and for a moment Freya worried he
would leap across the table and strike his mother. Instead, he took a deep
breath and struggled to rein in his temper.

“There is only one God,” he ground out, “and we are all his
servants. You ignore his existence at your own peril. We are not prisoners of
fate, bound by pagan beliefs and outdated fears. You speak with the vehemence
of ignorance!”

“Ignorance?” Two red spots appeared on Seaxwyn’s cheeks. “It’s
not I who is ignorant Sigeberht. Only a lost soul clings to his religion like a
drowning man. I did not travel here for a sermon. There’s no sign of the son I
remember before me.”

It was as if Seaxwyn had slapped him. Sigeberht bolted to his
feet, upending his bowl of gruel on the floor as he did so.

“You never knew me,” he snarled. “I was a reminder of a life,
and a man, you hated. I saw the relief on your face the day Raedwald sent me
away. ‘Tis too late to act the loving mother now. I know you for the cold, hard
bitch that you are!”

With that, Sigeberht kicked his stool aside and stormed from
the hall. He left a chill silence in his wake.

Chapter Seven

Aidan slowed his horse to a trot and caught sight of the
straw-thatched roof of the Great Hall glinting in the distance. From his
vantage point on the brow of a hill, Aidan could see Rendlaesham’s walls rising
from the trees in the shallow valley below. It was late afternoon and smoke
wreathed into the pale sky as townsfolk lit their fires for the evening. Around
Rendlasham spread a patchwork of fields and orchards, nestled in soft folds of
land.

A moon’s cycle had passed since Sigeberht had taken the
throne; spring deepened towards the fullness of summer and life in his new home
had settled into a routine. Aidan liked Britannia. He appreciated the gentle
beauty of this land. Rendlaesham had welcomed him and his men, despite that
many of them, Aidan included, were foreign.

Aidan glanced across at Lothar. His friend rode at his side,
leading a pony with a boar slung over its back. The Frank had settled into
Rendlaesham so quickly that it had felt like a homecoming rather than an
arrival. He already had learned a few words of the local tongue, a language
Aidan had learned from Sigeberht as a boy, and had wasted no time in finding a
pretty wench to woo. Aedilhild was the winsome daughter of the town’s baker.
She had many men interested in her, yet Aedilhild appeared taken with Lothar.
Aidan wondered how long it would be before the Frank wedded her and set up his
own household in Rendlaesham.

For himself, Aidan had no such plans.

I rallied a force of loyal warriors for Sigeberht.
I brought his army across the water and led them to victory against Ricberht
, Aidan thought
with a stab of impatience.
He promised to reward me – so why hasn’t he?

He wanted Sigeberht to give him the title of ealdorman; an
elevated position indeed if he remembered his beginnings as Sigeberht’s
theow
.
Becoming an ealdorman would mean leaving Rendlaesham, and setting up his own
hall elsewhere in the kingdom.  It would mean leaving Sigeberht’s side. Yet, it
appeared that the king was not yet ready to relinquish him.

“It will be a pleasant eve for a feast.” Aidan pushed thoughts
of his future aside, and gestured to the boar they had skewered with the help
of the group of men and dogs that trailed behind them. Their hunting
expedition, which had kept them away from Rendlaesham for the past three days,
had not been as successful as Aidan had hoped; they only had a boar and two
deer for their efforts.

“Hopefully our lord is in the mood for one,” Lothar replied,
raising a fair eyebrow. “His humor has been dark of late.”

Aidan nodded and the two men shared a look. Ever since Seaxwyn
and his step-cousins’ return to their hall in Snape, the king had brooded.
Rather than enjoying his newfound kingdom, Sigeberht behaved as if he had just
bitten into a rotten fruit. Aidan was at a loss to understand why. He could
only think that his argument with his mother had soured his return to
Rendlaesham, for they had not parted well.

Instead of taking the road that led to Rendlaesham’s main
gates, the hunting party followed the path that skirted the western walls of
the town and cut through apple orchards to the back gates. This route was
easier than making their way through the town’s crowded thoroughfares. They
rode through the orchard; the apple trees were in blossom, a sea of fluttering
white that spread out down the hillside.

“It’s a glorious spot this,” Lothar said, gazing upon the
view. “I would be a happy man if I grew old here.”

Aidan gave him a wicked smile.

“Thinking of asking Aedilhild if she’ll have you, eh?”

Lothar grinned back. “Just you wait, come Beltaine she’ll be
mine.”

The hunting party rode into Rendlaesham and down the wide
street that led up to the king’s hall. They clattered into the stable-yard and
dismounted. A few of Aidan’s men carried their kill up to the Great Hall while
the rest of the men saw to the horses. Aidan unsaddled his stallion, rubbed him
down and led the horse over to the water trough for a drink.

Hot and sweaty as he was, the sight of the cool water was too
tempting. Aidan stripped off his sleeveless tunic and bent over the deep
trough. He dunked his head under and came up with a gasp – the water was
freezing. Still, the feel of it running down his neck, back and chest was a
relief. He felt like diving into the water, although he doubted the horses
would have appreciated it.

Aidan wiped water out of his eyes and straightened up,
stilling when he saw a young woman standing nearby watching him.

Freya carried a huge basket of loaves, and she was staring at
him brazenly.

Bold wench!
As the initial surprise
faded, Aidan watched her gaze slide up his torso till their eyes met. Her
cheeks were flushed and her green eyes were dark pools. Looking upon her, Aidan
felt a blade of lust stab him.

She was a fiery beauty.

Usually, Sigeberht’s fair slave treated him as if he was a
piece of dung; yet now he realized her disdain was merely a mask. That look
said it all.

She wanted him.

“
Wes hāl
, sweet Freya,” he grinned. “Can I help
you?”

“I’d wager you can!” one of the warriors, who was watering his
horse next to Aidan, chortled. “The wench looks like she wants to feast on
you!”

“Swine!” Freya jumped as if someone had just slapped her. Her
face flamed. “Never!”

With that, the girl stormed past them and rushed up the steps
to the Great Hall, nearly dropping her basket in her haste.

Once inside the hall, Freya struggled not to burst into tears.
Clasping the basket to her breast, she hurried across to the tables where Hilda
and the other
theow
were preparing food for the evening meal.

She cursed herself for suggesting that it was she, rather than
Hilda, who collected the loaves from the baker this afternoon. Usually, it was
Hilda’s chore, but the day had been so bright. Freya was tired of being cooped
up inside the gloomy hall and had welcomed the chance to get some fresh air. She
had enjoyed the stroll through Rendlaesham’s streets, and the chat with the
baker’s wife as she filled her basket.

Even now, she did not know what had possessed her, upon
returning to the hall, to stop and watch Aidan of Connacht bathe.

She had merely glanced his way as she passed, but the sight of
his lithe, strong body had rooted her to the spot. She had stood, mesmerized,
watching as water glittered off his skin and ran down his naked chest.

Fool
! Tears flooded her vision.
Behaving
like that will make him start pestering you again
! 

Her coldness had made Aidan keep his distance over the past
moon’s cycle. Although she had welcomed being left alone, Freya had still been
acutely aware of this man’s presence. It was irritating, but whenever he was in
the Great Hall, she had to force herself not to look in his direction. There
was something about him that drew her gaze, like a moth to an open flame.

She had just been burned.

“Freya?” Hilda frowned as she took the basket. “Are you
unwell? You’re flushed.”

Freya shook her head and forced a smile.

“I’m fine. I’ll get started on the pottage.”

As Freya chopped turnips, leeks, beans and cabbage for the
stew, she slowly composed herself.  She would just ignore him and pretend she
had never embarrassed herself.

Freya finished chopping the turnips into cubes and reached for
the leeks. Her back ached and she arched it in an effort to ease the muscles.
Her life here was an endless grind – from dawn to dusk she toiled for her
master. Although Sigeberht was not a cruel man, he was harsh. Just the day
before, he had caught her taking a moment’s rest on a stool near the fire pit.
She had just finished cleaning out the embers and was catching her breath
before beginning her next task, which was to sweep out the hall.

“What are you doing girl?” Sigeberht had boomed, striding
towards her across the hall. “I will not have sloth in my hall!”

“Sorry m’lord.” Freya had bolted to her feet, bracing herself
for punishment.

Sigeberht, whose mood had been vile ever since his mother had
departed, stood over Freya menacingly.

“You rest,” he growled, glaring down at her, “from nightfall
till daybreak. During the day you work. You only stop when I say so, is that
understood?”

Freya had nodded, fear rendering her mute.

I cannot stay here
, she thought as she
kneaded her aching back.
This hall will never be my home. Sigeberht will
never be my master. This life will wear me down to dust.

***

The evening meal consisted of pottage in bread trenchers, not
the roast boar Aidan had hoped for.  He took a mouthful of the vegetable stew
and was reminded why this was not his favorite dish. Unlike Gaul, where even
vegetable stews were seasoned with herbs, here a pottage was stewed in a
cauldron over the fire pit, until it was a watery, tasteless mush.

Aidan swallowed his mouthful of pottage and took a sip of ale
to wash it down. He glanced to his right, to where Sigeberht sat at the head of
the table. As usual, the king looked as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of
vinegar; an expression that had nothing to do with the unappealing fare.

“Gluttony is sin,” Sigeberht had reproved Aidan earlier that
day when he had suggested they roast the boar and invite the king’s men in for
a feast that evening. “We only feast on special occasions. This is not such a
day.”

Aidan had not made any further suggestions. On some things,
Sigeberht could be inordinately stubborn. Now, watching the king’s glum face,
Aidan decided it was time Sigeberht spoke of what galled him.

“Milord, something has been amiss since your crowning. May I
ask what it is?”

Sigeberht frowned and took a sip of water from his cup. “Why
do you ask?”

“You are now King of the East Angles,” Aidan pointed out. “You
had the reckoning you came for and your kin have recognized you, but you have
appeared unhappy of late. Why?”

Aidan knew it was risky to speak so frankly with Sigeberht.
Due to their long years of acquaintance, the king trusted him. Yet, Sigeberht
was a solitary figure, who did not confide in many. He had never married, nor
shown any interest in doing so. In all the years Aidan had known him, Sigeberht
had not shown lust for any woman – or man. He was a singular, austere
individual who Aidan struggled at times to understand.

“So much blood was spilt,” Sigeberht told him finally. “I know
it had to be done, but I feel as if Ricberht’s gore is still on my hands. I
must – we must – atone for it.”

Aidan frowned. This was not the first time Sigeberht had
raised this subject. Aidan did not share the king’s views on this, yet he knew
it would be unwise to contradict him. 

“Milord,” he ventured cautiously. “If it had to be done, why
does it pain you so?”

“Because I learned differently. My studies in Gaul taught me
that there are other ways, besides battle, to gain victory. I knew this, and
yet I chose the easy path, that of violence and bloodshed.”

Silence stretched between the two men for a few moments.
Frankly, Aidan was at a loss for words. It was too late now to regret a course
of action that, at the time, Sigeberht had been fixed upon.  Ironically, Sigeberht
was a talented commander in battle. To Aidan, it seemed as if the king was
making himself miserable for no cause.

“So what will you do?” Aidan asked finally.

“I have thought long upon it,” Sigeberht replied, pushing
aside his half eaten pottage, “I need to find a way to appease the Lord. My
words with Seaxwyn reminded me of what a heathen land this is. If I can bring
God’s word to my people then maybe he will pardon me for my actions.”

Aidan remained silent. The king’s words made him uneasy.

“While you were away hunting I sent word to Gaul, to the monks
I knew there, asking them to send me a missionary,” Sigeberht continued, “but
even here there are pockets of Christianity. I’ve heard that there is a new
monastery at Iken – an island of faith in a sea of the faithless. I wish to
travel there.”

“Then you should milord,” Aidan replied, heartily wishing they
could now change the subject.

Sigeberht took another sip of water and regarded Aidan with
that uncompromising, iron-grey gaze his
thegn
knew so well.

“Aidan, I wish you to come with me,” Sigeberht replied.