Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) (13 page)

 Alchflaed stared at him, wretched. After a moment’s
pause, Maric continued.

“I am the king’s thegn. I swore an oath to serve Paeda
and I must honor it.”

“You will remain loyal to a man who betrayed his own
father?”

Maric nodded, his expression grim. “My pledge to Penda
and his kin is stronger than you realize. I am bound to them till death takes
me… it is my punishment.”

Alchlaed blinked, confused by his words. “Punishment for
what?”

Maric sat back on his heels and raked a hand through his
dark hair. When he replied, his voice was hollow.

“I murdered my brother.”

Maric’s words hung in the air. A chill silence settled
within the tent after he had spoken, one that not even the crackling fire could
warm.

Alchflaed eventually spoke, her voice hushed. “Why?”

Maric did not answer immediately. He took a seat on the
fur next to her, folding his long legs so that he sat cross-legged before her.
Silence stretched between them, and still Maric did not speak. Instead, he
placed a log on the fire, causing the hungry embers to snap and pop as they
devoured the wood.

Alchflaed did not press him. After his revelation, she
had momentarily forgotten her own troubles. Unspeaking, she sat next to Maric,
waiting for him respond. When he did, his voice was low and steady.

“Two years ago, Penda was angry after his words with
Oswiu,” he began. He did not meet her gaze, but stared into the fire as he
spoke. “He rode hard for Tamworth, and I was glad for it. I had a wife – Gytha
– and I was eager to return to her.”

A wife.

Alchflaed felt an odd pang, and was shocked to recognize
it as jealousy.

Goose,
she chided herself.
You
have no claim on him
.

“We arrived home days earlier than we had anticipated and
I refused my friends’ calls to join them in the mead hall, instead hurrying to Gytha.
We had a house, not far from the Great Tower of Tamworth, which I had built for
us to live in after our handfasting. It was the early evening, and I rushed
inside, expecting to find her cooking or spinning, but instead I…”

Maric broke off here. Alchflaed started to reach out to
him, but halted when she saw the expression on his face.

“They were coupling… she and my brother.” His voice
faltered, as the words choked him. “They were naked. Gytha was crying his
name…”

 Alchflaed gazed at him, horrified. However, now that
Maric had begun his tale, he could not stem it.

“When they saw me there, neither was sorry. They dressed
without uttering a word and then Gytha demanded to know why I was back so soon.
Kenrick told me: ‘She’s mine, Maric. She has always been mine. It is time you
knew.’”

Alchflaed did not want to hear the rest. It was too raw.
Maric tore his gaze away from the fire and looked at her. His eyes glittered.

“I was the elder brother, you see. I saw Gytha first and
placed my claim upon her while my younger brother secretly resented me for it.
I never knew how either of them felt, although looking back now I can see there
were signs – lingering glances and smiles – that I chose to ignore. I joined
the king’s fyrd, which meant many months marching to war away from Tamworth,
while my brother apprenticed as a weaponsmith. Every time I left Tamworth, they
were together.”

Maric ran a hand over his face. The mask of detachment he
wore had now completely fallen away.

“Kenrick drew his seax and came at me. Until then I had
just stood there, frozen to the spot like a fool, unable to believe my eyes.”

Maric looked down at his hands. Alchflaed’s gaze followed
his, noting that he had fine hands, strong, yet with long tapering fingers.

“He took me by surprise but as soon as I recovered my
rage flowed, battle rage. I drew my own seax and fought him. Kenrick was no
longer my brother. He was my enemy, to be cut down. I could hear Gytha,
screaming for us to stop. Kenrick wanted her at any cost but I wanted his
blood. I remember nothing else till I stood, dripping with blood – his and mine
– over his twitching corpse.”

The words were brutal, but Maric was not done yet.

“Gytha held him against her breast and cursed me. She
told me that she had never loved me, that she had merely done her duty. Kenrick
was the man she had wanted.”

“What happened to her?” Alchflaed asked quietly, fearing
the worst.

“She left Tamworth and returned to her kin in Lichfield,”
he replied. “I have not seen her since.”

“Do you miss her?”

Maric’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Our love was
a lie. Everything I miss about Gytha was a dream, not the truth.”

Alchflaed inhaled deeply, reeling after the violence of
his tale. “And so you were punished…”

“I was brought before the king to answer for my crime.
Penda demanded I tell him what happened. When he learned of my brother’s
betrayal he spared my life on the condition I would fight for him, and his kin,
till my death. I would remain his thegn but I was no longer a free man. I would
not remarry; I would not buy my freedom.”

“And your family?”

Maric shook his head. “From the day of Kenrick’s murder,
I became a
nithing
, forfeiting all honor and respect. I became dead to
their eyes.”

“And you’ve been alone ever since,” Alchflaed finished
the tale for him, her voice subdued.

“A king’s thegn is rarely alone,” Maric replied, with a
shake of his head. “I would have welcomed solitude. After my rage faded, I was
sorry for what I did. He was my brother. I will go to my grave sorry for it.”

Alchflaed took hold of his hands and squeezed them
gently.

“It was not murder. He attacked you.”

Maric held her gaze. “He was my brother, and I killed
him. There is no greater crime.”

Don’t be so sure of that. Killing your
husband in cold blood is worse.

His mouth then curved into a wistful smile. “So you see
why I cannot take you away?”

Alchflaed bit her lip. “Forget that I asked that of you –
it was a foolish, rash request.”

“But, why are you so determined not to marry Paeda?”

Alchflaed shook her head, ignoring his question.

“I have not been myself of late,” she replied.

Maric frowned and she saw the concern in his eyes. He
sensed there was something more, something that terrified her.

“Alchflaed,” Maric squeezed her hands tightly. “Tell me
what this is really about. Maybe I can…”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “No, Maric. I have a
duty and I will fulfill it.”

Maric looked at her for a few moments before he reached out
once more and gently stroked her cheek. His touch sent a shiver of longing
through Alchflaed and it took all her will not lean toward him for a kiss.

“I have never met a woman like you,” he murmured, his
eyes glittering. “Brave, proud, willful and beautiful – Paeda is a very
fortunate man.”

Alchflaed blinked back fresh tears and managed a smile,
although inside she felt as if she were dying.

Paeda was not fortunate at all.

***

Maric was awake long before dawn. He emerged from the
largest tent, and his breath steamed in the chill air. A blanket of silver
frost had settled over the sleeping world, sparkling in the torchlight,
crunching underfoot. He walked to the edge of the encampment, and relieved the
warrior taking the last watch.

Maric was glad for a moment of privacy before the final
leg of their journey to Tamworth commenced. He felt drained, exhausted, after
his conversation with Alchflaed. Being in her presence was sweet agony. The
look in her eyes, glittering with tears, had nearly undone him.

The sun rose over the edge of the trees, sending fingers
of gold across the eastern sky. Little by little, the world awoke. Men emerged
from the tents, roused the embers of last night’s fires, heated water and broke
their fast.

Maric joined them, although he had little appetite this
morning. They were starting to pack up the encampment and preparing to ride
south, when Alchflaed emerged from her tent.

The sight of her, made Maric stop and stare.

In a richly embroidered green gown, with a gold circlet
at her throat, Alchflaed of Bernicia was a regal sight. Maric was not the only
one who noted her appearance; many other men stopped work to gaze upon her. She
had brushed out her hair so that it fell in russet waves across her shoulders
and down her back.

“Milady,” Maric greeted her.

She favored him with a smile. “Good morning, Maric.”

There was no sign of the emotions he had seen the night
before. Desperation, panic, pleading, compassion, and resolution – all had gone
from her face – replaced by a schooled expression of calm. This morning, she
was truly a highborn lady.

All they had talked of would now remain in the past. He
had spoken to no one of his brother, but the rawness of her desperation had
spurred him to share his story with her. He had thought he would regret doing
so but strangely, he did not.

Still, the thought of riding away with this woman, of
taking her to a forgotten corner of the world where they would both be safe,
was tempting indeed. Had they not both been bound by duty – and if life had not
damaged him so deeply – he would have found it impossible to deny her.

PART TWO

THE QUEEN

Alchflaed realized they were nearing Tamworth when they
reached a verdant valley with a river flowing through the center of it. Cottars
worked the land, and a patchwork of fields stretched along the riverbanks. The
road was the busiest it had been since they had left Eoforwic, with ox-drawn
wagons and peddlers burdened with heavy packs; a sign that a town lay nearby.

Maric broke the silence between them that had stretched
for most of the day.

“This is the River Anker,” he told her. “It will lead us
straight to Tamworth.”

They rode side by side at the head of the column. Now
that they were in Mercian territory, Alchflaed’s escorts had unfurled their
pennants. The blue and gold of the Mercian banners fluttered in the chill
breeze. Alchflaed glanced across at Maric, and their gazes met.

“Maric,” she began quietly. “What you said about me last
night… did you mean it?”

Maric drew his gelding in closer to her, so that their
legs were almost touching.

“Aye, Alchflaed. Every word.”

Alchflaed inhaled deeply. “I am Oswiu of Bernicia’s
daughter and I have always known he would choose a husband for me. I only
wish...”

“Please stop,” Maric interrupted her, his voice sharpening.
“No good can come of this conversation. By this time tomorrow, you will be
wedded to Paeda of Mercia and I will return to my life as a thegn in the king’s
hall. Wishes are useless now – they will bring nothing but pain.”

Alchflaed stared at him, stunned by the vehemence of his
response. However, she saw the panic in his eyes and knew that to continue was
folly. He did not want to hear the truth from her.

Tears filled her eyes and she looked down so that he would
not see the anguish on her face. Maric reined his gelding back slightly,
allowing her to draw ahead, and they did not speak again.

It was late afternoon when they approached Tamworth at
last. They continued to follow the course of the River Anker south, past farmed
fields and clusters of sturdy timbered or wattle and daub houses.

Then, over the tops of trees to the south, Alchflaed
caught sight of the ramparts of a massive grey tower.

Her stomach clenched; their journey was almost over.
Closer still, they passed huge grass-covered barrows, the burial sites of
Mercian kings. Ahead, the River Anker flowed to the south of the town and
intersected with another waterway, the River Tame, a wide river that flowed slowly
west.

A high wooden rampart encircled Tamworth, and beyond
Alchflaed spied the thatched roofs of the many houses and timbered halls packed
within the palisade. The Great Tower of Tamworth loomed over it all; a cold
grey sentinel that was nothing like the warm red of the rock of Bebbanburg.

The early evening was bright and cold. The fragrance of
wood smoke and roasting chestnuts drifted through the crisp air. The setting
sun cast a golden hue over Tamworth but it did not make the town appear any
more inviting to Alchflaed. The shadow of despair, which had followed her
south, threatened to smother her. She did not like this place. She did not want
to go one step farther.

Folk appeared at the roadside to greet them. News of
their king’s bride-to-be had raced ahead of the company. They were curious to
see this Northumbrian princess, although not all the faces that Alchflaed gazed
upon were friendly. As if sensing this, Maric and Edgard rode close to her,
flanking Alchflaed on both sides just in case one of the onlookers wished her
harm. This realization depressed Alchflaed, for it was just another reminder of
the antagonism between their two kingdoms. Just like Cyneburh, she had been sent
to weave peace – but in many ways, the act was merely symbolic.

One wedding would not be enough to end decades of war.

They rode into Tamworth through the low gate. Inside,
Alchflaed was instantly struck by how populated this town was. The streets were
narrower, the dwellings more tightly packed together, than Bebbanburg. Pavers
covered the main street, which led up a gentle incline toward the high gate and
the inner palisade. A crowd gathered to watch the newcomers.

Amongst the din, the hiss of heckling voices reached
Alchflaed’s ears and her heart quickened in response. She had been so consumed
by dread at her father’s orders that she had not paused to ponder of how folk
here would respond to her.

She only hoped her reception inside the Great Tower would
be warmer than the chill welcome outside it.

***

Alchflaed crossed the floor, fresh rushes crunching
beneath her feet, toward the heah-setl
– high seat. Shoulders back,
spine straight, she ignored the stares and strode purposefully toward her
betrothed.

Maric, Edgard and Bryni followed close behind, and
although she no longer needed their protection, Alchflaed was grateful for the
warriors’ presence. They were three familiar faces upon a wintry landscape. She
was used to a king’s hall and the deadly games played within its walls, but she
was a stranger here and was wary of the men and women awaiting her on the heah-setl.

She recognized Paeda immediately. He was as swarthy as
his father had been pale, although his hair was even shorter than she
remembered. His face was different too, harder. He lounged in a high-backed
wooden chair that was ornately carved with dragonheads. His expression was impassive
as he watched her approach. She had expected him to smile upon seeing her, or
to show some sign of relief or excitement – after all, he had betrayed his
father for her hand. However, his face was a cold mask.

Alchflaed’s stomach knotted. She tore her gaze from her
betrothed to the woman and two men standing behind him.

The female was older, of around fifty winters. She had
thick golden hair, threaded through with grey and a face that had clearly been
beautiful in her youth. She would still have been lovely now, if it had not
been for the look of exhaustion and bitterness that lined her face and drew her
mouth downwards. Alchflaed realized this woman was Penda’s widow – Queen
Cyneswide.

Next to the Queen Mother stood two striking men. One, in
particular, was the image of the late Penda. Tall with pale blue eyes and a
shock of white-blond hair, the man watched her under hooded lids. The man next
to him had similar bone-structure and the same cool eyes, although his hair was
darker blond and cut short against his skull.

Alchflaed’s gaze returned to Paeda’s face as she drew up
at the foot of the high seat and curtsied low.

“My Lord Paeda, I bid you good afternoon.”

She watched a slight smile shape his lips.

“Welcome to my hall, Princess Alchflaed, daughter of
Oswiu of Bernicia. You are late in your coming. I was about to send out a
search party for you.”

Paeda’s gaze shifted to where Maric stood, just behind
Alchflaed’s left shoulder and he frowned.

“What kept you?”

“We were delayed by bad weather in the north, Milord,”
Maric replied. “Days of snow south of Eoforwic prevented us from continuing
south as quickly as we wished.”

Paeda’s frown deepened and he fixed Maric in a hard
stare. Watching him, Alchflaed was struck by her husband-to-be’s sharpness. Her
heart sank in the realization that she was about to wed a man who missed
nothing. Such a man would be difficult to fool, or kill.

After a few moments, Paeda’s gaze shifted back to
Alchflaed and his frown eased.

“You are here now,” he conceded, “and I am grateful to
the Lord for keeping you safe. I would have escorted you myself, but urgent
matters required me here.”

Her betrothed’s referral to the Roman god, rather than to
Woden, Thunor or Frea, drew Alchflaed’s attention to the man, dressed in an
undyed woolen tunic, who stood at the back of the high seat. He was small,
thin, and of middling years. A wooden cross hung about his neck, and his hair
had been shaved into a tonsure.

Alchflaed recognized the monk instantly. He was Seaxwulf,
one of the monks who had set up the monastery on Lindisfarena, the largest of
the islands off the coast of Bebbanburg. Seaxwulf did not meet her gaze, but
kept his eyes downcast.

Alchflaed was surprised to see the monk here. Long had he
advised her stepmother; although it appeared that Eanflaed had sent him south
to continue his work as a missionary, even before Mercia’s defeat. Unlike his
father, who had been a proud pagan, Paeda had sworn allegiance to the Christian
god as part of his pledge of loyalty to Oswiu.

Her betrothed’s intense stare drew her attention back to
him.

“You shall weave peace between our kingdoms,” Paeda
continued, “although it may take some time for my people to accept you.”

The king’s gaze flicked back to Maric before shifting to
the two men who stood beside him.

“The three of you brought my betrothed safely to my hall,
and you have my thanks. Now, I entrust you with her protection here in
Tamworth. I cannot always ensure my Lady Alchflaed’s safety. There will be
times when she will wish to move about Tamworth on her own. Come forward and
swear an oath that you will protect her with your lives on behalf of your
king.”

Alchflaed opened her mouth to protest. She wanted to tell
Paeda that no such oath was necessary. She did not want these men to
potentially sacrifice their lives for her – but no sooner had the king spoken
when Maric, Edgard and Bryni stepped forward. All three of them sank on to one
knee before Paeda.

“I swear to protect your queen with my life,” Maric
spoke, his voice low and firm. A moment later, Edgard and Bryni followed, their
voices equally sure.

Paeda smiled and cocked his head to one side.

“It appears you have won my warriors over, Lady
Alchflaed.”

In response, Alchflaed was not able to manage more than a
strained smile.

Paeda then appeared to remember that he was not alone
upon the high seat. He waved lazily toward the woman standing at his right
shoulder.

“This is the Queen Mother, Cyneswide,” he drawled, barely
glancing her way before gesturing to the two men at his right, “and these are
my brothers, Wulfhere and Aethelred.”

The Queen Mother merely looked back at Alchflaed without
acknowledging her. Cyneswide’s face was expressionless, her deep-blue eyes
cold. Next to her, Paeda’s brothers nodded coolly. Alchflaed suppressed a
shiver; her fears were confirmed. Indeed, it was far frostier inside the Great
Hall than outside.

“We shall be handfasted this eve,” Paeda announced then,
oblivious to the hostility that crackled in the air around him. “Long have I waited
for my Northumbrian beauty. I will be denied no longer.”

“Milord,” Seaxwulf, the monk, spoke up, his voice oddly
strong for such a slight, reticent man. “It is Mother Night, surely it would be
best to wait till…”

“You will marry us tonight,” Paeda cut the monk off. “I
am the first Christian king of Mercia and you will give us god’s blessing.”

The king’s proclamation brought looks of stern
disapproval from many present. Like the late king, most folk in this hall still
worshipped the old gods. A handfasting would traditionally be conducted and
blessed by the Queen Mother, not by a monk. But Paeda paid little mind to the
whispering and dark looks his announcement had caused.

Instead, he watched Alchflaed, his gaze suddenly wolfish.
When he spoke once more, his voice was low and intimate, as if he and Alchflaed
stood alone.

“Tonight, I make you mine.”

***

“You’re alive, Osulf!”

Maric grinned at the sight of his friend barreling toward
him. Maric had just left the Great Tower, and was making his way across to the
stables when Osulf spotted him. The stocky, bearded, chestnut-haired warrior
now wore a patch over his left eye, but looked remarkably healthier than the
last time Maric had seen him; when they had said their good-byes at Winwaed.

Osulf crushed Maric in a bear hug. “Who needs two eyes,
eh? One serves me well enough!”

Maric shook his head and laughed, happier to see Osulf
than he could measure. After his life had fallen apart, after the betrayal that
had nearly destroyed him, Osulf and Elfhere were the only people who remained
at his side. Maric had missed their banter.

Extracting himself from Osulf’s bone-crushing embrace,
Maric spied Elfhere crossing the stable yard toward them. His friend was much
thinner than last time he had seen him, and now walked with a pronounced limp.
Yet, he was grinning broadly, as he approached them. Elfhere clasped Maric in a
wordless hug.

“You’re as thin as scarecrow,” Maric observed, frowning
at his friend’s frailty. “What happened?”

“The wound on my leg soured,” Elfhere replied, his grin
twisting slightly. “If it hadn’t been for the skill of the healer, it would
have bested me.”

Osulf slapped Elfhere on the back.