The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

On the Eve of
Battle

“Halt!”

Penda, King of the Mercians, stopped ankle deep in muddy water,
and cast his gaze around Exning Woods. The light was fading; they had travelled
as far as they had dared, as thunder boomed overhead and lightening forked
dangerously in between the trees.

“We make camp here,” he announced.

It was not an ideal spot, although in these woods it was
difficult to find one that was. The trees clung, close to one another, as if
protecting their brothers and sisters from intruders. Roots covered the ground
in the higher spots and the ground turned to peaty bog whenever the forest
floor sloped.

Penda stood, his hard gaze sweeping over his surroundings with
calculating intensity. They were nearing Exning and he was sure that, despite his
army’s best efforts to move unnoticed, a scout would have spotted them by now.

“Milord.” Aldfrid stepped up next to his king. “Should we not
press on?”

Penda glanced at the ealdorman. Water streamed down Aldfrid’s
broad face and dripped off his beard. This was the second time today that
Aldfrid had questioned his decisions.

There better not be a third.

“We stop here,” Penda replied, his voice barely audible over
the crash of thunder directly overhead. “The East Angles will meet us at dawn.”

With that, Penda turned and shoved his way past the ealdorman.
Aldfrid staggered back, nearly slipping over in the mud, but wisely held his
tongue. Even so, Penda could feel the warrior’s gaze upon him as he walked
away.

Aldfrid had arrived back in Tamworth on foot, after his horse
collapsed from exhaustion two days away from home and died, despite its rider’s
best efforts to drag it to its feet. The ealdorman had brought ill tidings with
him – and a boiling hatred for Annan of the East Angles that turned him foul
tempered and unpredictable. Aldfrid wanted Annan’s head on a pike. He wanted
the Kingdom of the East Angles to burn. He wanted vengeance at all costs.

Penda knew better than to hate his enemy.

Hate colored your judgment. It made you act from the belly,
not the head. Hate made a man rush in to battle imprudently. Aldfrid would have
had them floundering blind through woods they did not know, in foul weather, toward
an enemy that would be lying in wait for them.

Hate turned wise men into fools.

Aldfrid had become an encumbrance of late, Penda reflected. If
he survived the coming battle, the warrior would find himself out of favor once
they returned to Tamworth.

Penda walked through his army, his gimlet gaze missing
nothing, while his warriors made camp for the night. There was little space, or
dry ground, for tents, so they merely strung up animal hide awnings between
trees, to keep out the worst of the weather. They attempted to light fires with
what little wood they could find that was not completely sodden.

The warriors greeted their king respectfully as he passed, but
none attempted to converse with him. Their diffidence suited Penda. He did not
wish to talk to anyone this evening; his thoughts were already moving forward,
focusing on what would come tomorrow morning. Later, he would call his
ealdormen to him and they would discuss their tactics for the coming battle. It
would not be like the last confrontation with the East Angles. Then, they had
met, shield-wall to shield-wall, on the wide expanse of Barrow Fields. That was
the kind of warfare Penda liked; the kind he excelled in.

Taking on the enemy in the woods called for another approach.

It took Penda a long while to skirt the length and breadth of
his
fyrd,
and it was dark when he returned to the front. Yet, the inspection
had allowed him to focus his thoughts.

Annan’s blatant defiance had caught Penda by surprise;
something that rarely happened.

After all Penda’s effort to break the East Angle’s spirit – to
turn him into a spineless puppet who would do his bidding – Annan had shown
that he was, indeed, a Wuffinga king. Penda had not been angered, by this; yet,
he could not let it continue unchallenged or unpunished. Annan would know that
this time there would be no mercy when the battle turned against him. The time
for pledges and pacts was over; if the East Angles would not bow before the
Mercians then they would have to die.

Saewara should have sent word
, Penda thought
– a knife blade of anger slicing through his cool façade.
I told her to keep
me informed. Why else does she think I married her to that Wuffinga whoreson?

Saewara had always disappointed him. Even as a child, she had
never done as she was told. Her husband had tried to beat it out of her but she
was still as willful as ever.

This should have taught Saewara her place. Yet, according to
Aldfrid, the woman was as forthright as ever, and worse still, Annan appeared
to have warmed to her.

Slut,
Penda gritted his teeth before forcing
Saewara from his thoughts.
I will take Annan alive and make you watch when I
kill him.

***

“The Mercians have made camp, M’lord.” One of the scouts, a
young man, barely out of boyhood, had returned to the front. His face was slick
with rain, his fair hair plastered to his skull.

Behind him, lightening forked between the trees; illuminating
the woodland for a moment, before it plunged once more back into darkness. It
was a foul night to be out in, and at this rate they risked being hit by
lightning. Still, they had little choice in the matter.

Annan nodded at the scout before glancing at where Saba stood
behind him. “We shall make camp here then.”

Indeed, the Mercians were so close, he could smell the faint
whiff of wood smoke from their fires. They were confident, it seemed. It did
not matter to them that lighting fires would alert the East Angles to their
presence.

Penda knew that Annan would not attempt an attack until dawn.

He knows his enemy,
Annan thought dryly,
or
he thinks he does. That could be his first mistake.

Behind him, Annan heard the sounds of his
fyrd
setting up
camp; the snap of leather awnings going up, and the rustling and clanking of
weapons being set down. It would be a long, uncomfortable night, and a tense
one. Yet, Annan could feel a fire kindling in his belly, mixed with the thrill
of fear that every wise man feels before going into battle. He did not love war
the way Penda did, but he knew that on the battlefield, only a man who gave
himself entirely to the madness of war had a chance of survival. Time took on a
different pace during battle. Every moment drew out, while at the same time
rushing forward with violent clarity. Annan’s senses heightened in anticipation
of what was to come; throwing every detail around him – every sight, smell and
sound, into sharp clarity.

Less than a year ago, Annan had met Penda in battle, and the
Mercian had humiliated him. Penda had bested him in sword combat but, instead
of killing Annan there and then, he had taken him prisoner. They both knew it
was a blow to any warrior’s honor. Better to die with a sword in your belly,
than to limp home defeated.

And here we are again.

Annan walked amongst his men, checking that they were all in
good spirits and readying themselves mentally for battle. He need not have
worried. He saw determination on his warriors’ faces, and fierceness in their
eyes. Many had waited long for this moment.

They would have their reckoning against the Mercians, or die
trying.

Annan returned to the front, and dared to hope that the coming
battle would go their way. This was a different army to the one Penda had
encountered last time. Last autumn, the East Angles had been scattered and
leaderless. Sigeberht had refused to lead them and instead, an unknown – a man
called Ecgric, who few liked or trusted – had led the East Anglian
fyrd
into battle. It had been a disaster from the outset. This time, the East Angles
had their king. This time they had hope.

Taking refuge from the driving rain, under a wide awning
between two young oaks, Annan sat down on a stump that someone had thoughtfully
covered with sacking and attempted to dry himself off next to a hissing fire. His
clothing and armor stuck to him like a second skin and weighed down on his
limbs. It would have to stay that way though; he would not be taking it off
until the battle was over.

Annan was eating a piece of bread and cheese, and staring into
the guttering flames, when Saba joined him.

“Morale is good,” the ealdorman grunted as he took a seat
opposite Annan and helped himself to some bread and cheese.

“I noticed the same,” Annan replied with a smile. “Better than
I thought.”

“It will take more than a bit of rain to douse these men’s
spirits,” Saba countered. “They would go anywhere if you asked.”

Annan’s smile widened. “I knew there was a reason I kept you
at my side, Saba.”

Saba shrugged at that. “It’s true – I wouldn’t say it
otherwise.”

“I know – but after all that’s happened, it surprises me that
they follow me.”

“They don’t blame you for Barrow Fields.” Saba frowned at the
memory of that battle; for he too had been taken prisoner. “That was another
king.”

“Still, they know I was made to ‘bend the knee’, and that I
agreed to marry Penda’s sister. No other Wuffinga king has sunk so low.”

“Certainly, you don’t still regret Saewara do you?” Saba’s
eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t seem sorry to have wedded her this afternoon.”

Annan looked away, suddenly embarrassed by the turn their
conversation had taken.

“Saewara is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he
said finally, his voice quiet, “and I’d be a fool to deny it.”

Saba grinned at him wolfishly. “Hilda said something had
changed between you – but I didn’t believe her until today. I am glad.”

Annan met his friend’s gaze once more, his smile returning.
“You were always a bit on the slow side.”

Saba snorted at that before taking a bite of bread and cheese.
“You took your time,” he said with his mouth full.

“Time I can never get back,” Annan agreed. “I need to survive
this, Saba. I need to return to her.”

“You will,” Saba’s voice held so much force that Annan could
not help but believe him. “We both will.”

“I hope you two left some food for me?”

Annan and Saba’s conversation halted as Aethelhere stepped
under the awning and shook himself like a dog.

“Thunor’s hammer, it’s foul out there.”

“As long as it drowns the Mercians in the night, I care not,”
Annan replied, handing his brother a hunk of bread and cheese. “Here.”

Annan made room for Aethelhere on the tree stump and threw a
few more damp twigs on the fire.

“So it starts at dawn?” Aethelhere’s gaze met his brother’s.

Annan nodded. “If we want to use the bowmen, we will need
light.”

Aethelhere nodded, his youthful face creased in thought. “I
wonder if Penda has thought to employ the same tactic. After all, we all know
how much Penda loves his shield-wall.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Annan replied. “There will be
no shield-wall in woods this thick. “If our bowmen can take down a few Mercians
before our axes and spears reach them, it will help us no end.”

Both Saba and Aethelhere nodded at that. Using bowmen in
warfare had been a tactic used by the Romans, although ever since their
departure, those of Britannia preferred to use their longbows for sport rather
than war. Annan, who was a skilled archer, had always thought it a waste.
Traditions sometimes turned men blind.

The three men fell silent then, each sinking into his own
private thoughts. There was plenty to think on this night – on who they had
left behind, on regret for those things left unsaid, and on what lay in wait
for them all at dawn.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Saewara’s
Decision

An entire day passed before someone brought word of the battle
to Exning. In the interim, a tense silence had descended over the settlement.
It seemed desolate, now that the
fyrd
had emptied out. Only the women,
children and elderly remained. The village appeared abandoned, forsaken.

The storm had continued all through the night and for most of
the next morning. When it finally spent itself, heavy skies, leaden with the
promise of more rain, hung overhead. The weather cast a gloomy shadow over
Exning and the atmosphere inside the hall was little better. The servants moved
silently about the strangely empty space while the few noblewomen residing
here, sat at their looms or distaffs near the fire.

Saewara could not stay seated for long, especially since to do
so meant keeping company with Hereswith and Eldwyn. She was full of nervous
energy and frustration at not being able to be of any real assistance to her
husband. She helped Hilda clean the hall. They took advantage of the men’s absence
to replace the soiled rushes on the floor and carry furs outside to air. When
she was not keeping busy, Saewara spent a great deal of time skirting Exning’s
perimeter; often straying beyond the fence to watch the path that led into the
woods.

Saewara was outside, feeding the geese, when the messenger
arrived.

“M’lady!” A thin figure limped out of the grey dusk and staggered
toward her.

He was a young man, barely out of boyhood. His left arm had
been hurriedly strapped to his body and dark blood seeped through the bandages.
His face was pale with pain and loss of blood.  

Saewara rushed to his side and led him into the hall. He
leaned heavily against her, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Inside,
Hereswith and Eldwyn hurriedly moved aside so that the young man could sit down
in front of the fire.

“What news?” Saewara asked him. “Is the battle over?”

The young man shook his head. “We have fought them since dawn
– with heavy losses on both sides. The battle is not yet done. The Mercians
have pulled back for the night, and we have done the same. The fighting will
resume at daybreak.”

“And the king?”

“He lives,” the warrior assured her with a brave smile, before
his gaze shifted to Hilda and then to Hereswith, “as do your husbands.”

Saewara ceased her questioning then and set about tending to
the young man’s wounds. His arm had been sliced deeply, presumably by an axe.
Fortunately, the bone had not been shattered. However, it would take a while to
heal and the resulting scar would coil around his bicep.

“Can you bind it up?” the boy asked anxiously. “I need to
return to the battle.”

“You won’t be fighting with an arm in this state,” Saewara
told him crisply, “so let’s have no more talk of you rejoining the army.”

“But my king needs me,” the warrior protested weakly. “I was
proud to be an East Angle today, M’lady. The King fought like Woden himself. I
want to return to his side.”

“You can’t use your fighting arm,” Saewara responded with a
shake of her head. “You have fought bravely, but how long do you think you’d
survive, fighting crippled?”

The young man glared at her sullenly, but did not answer. They
both knew she spoke the truth.

“The king sent you to bring word, and you have done so,
despite your injuries,” Saewara continued. “Let us take care of you.”

The warrior hung his head, the fight going out of him. Saewara
glanced across at Hilda, who had put water on to boil over the fire pit, in
order to clean the wound. Her friend’s face had gone the color of milk, yet she
gave Saewara a tremulous, brave smile.

Saba was alive, and so was Annan.

The battle had not yet ended. There was still hope.

A still, watchful night settled over Exning.

Saewara stepped outside of the hall and breathed in the damp
air, stained with the tang of wood-smoke. She pulled her fur cloak around her
shoulders and attempted to gather her chaotic thoughts.

An idea – one that had germinated the night before, as she lay
awake, alone in bed – returned once more.

She hated feeling so useless; hated having to wait while
wyrd
decided Annan’s fate. She wanted to see him. She wanted to fight at his side.

I am not weak and useless,
she thought,
clamping her teeth together in frustration.
I have more skill with a longbow
than most men. I am no longer Mercian. I want to be part of the army that
opposes them – the army that bests them. Only then will I truly leave my past
behind.

Such thoughts were treacherous. Women did not join men on the battlefield.
Women stayed behind and tended the home until their menfolk returned. Annan
would be enraged; he would send her away.

Yet, what if Mercia triumphed?

That hurried farewell would be the last she ever saw of Annan.
She could not bear the thought. She had to see him, even from afar.

It would be best if he did not know that she had joined his
fyrd
.
If he was unaware that she had slipped into the ranks of his bowmen, he would not
be able to send her away – and she would be able to help without causing a
distraction.

That is what I shall do
, she decided,
excitement making her stomach pitch wildly,
I shall dress as a man, shroud
myself in a hooded cloak and take my place alongside the bowmen. Annan will not
know I am there.

She would not be able to tell anyone. They would all think her
mad and would try to stop her. None of them – even Hilda – would understand.

Yet, her mind was made up. Whatever the outcome, she would do
it.

Annan’s hall slept when Saewara slipped from her bower.

For the first time in her life, she was dressed in men’s clothing.
It felt odd to wear breeches and leather boots cross-gartered to the knee,
instead of long skirts. She had stolen the clothing from one of the women in
the hall, who had just finished mending the items for her twelve-year old son.
On her top-half, Saewara wore a heavy tunic and a chain-mail vest that was too
big for her. It was the smallest she could find in the armory, but it nearly
reached her knees. Around her shoulders, she wore a thick cloak with a deep
cowl. Saewara wrapped it tight about her, lest anyone see her leave, hiding her
clothing from view.

She padded down the stairs into the open space beyond. The
fire pit had died down to embers, casting the interior of the hall in a faint
light; just enough for Saewara to make out the forms of those sleeping on the
ground around it. Prudently, she skirted them, keeping close to the walls.

Holding her breath, Saewara gently pulled one of the heavy
doors toward her, opening it just wide enough for her to be able to slip
outside. She had just stepped away from the door, her thoughts focused on the
next step of her plan – retrieving her longbow and quiver from the storehouse –
when a hostile voice made her freeze mid-step.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A figure had slipped through the door behind her, and although
it was too dark to make out the woman’s features, Saewara recognized the voice
instantly.

Hereswith.

“None of your business.” Saewara swallowed the knot of panic
in her throat and backed away from the door. “Go back to bed.”

“Sneaking off, are you?” Hereswith’s voice was wintry. “Hoping
to find your brother and betray us all?”

“I’m going to fight,” Saewara replied flatly, “alongside my
husband.”

Hereswith made a rude, unladylike noise, halfway between a
laugh and a snarl. “Fight? You?”

“Yes, unlike you, I can do more than sew and gossip,” Saewara
shot back, momentarily losing her calm. “I learnt to use a longbow as soon as I
could walk.”

“What a strange woman you are,” Hereswith replied. “Not
feminine at all.”

“Annan might disagree with you there.”

“Really? It is me he wants – surely you know that.”

“Maybe he did want you,” Saewara admitted, “once… but then he
realized, as most men do when given time, that you are a nasty bitch.”

She heard Hereswith’s hiss of outrage. She thought that the
woman might lunge at her; but moments passed and Hereswith did not move.

“I’m going now,” Saewara said coldly, “and while your husband
– who you don’t even pretend to love – is fighting for his people, why don’t
you give some thought to what will happen if the East Angles lose this battle?”

Saewara let her words sink in before continuing.

“I grew up among the Mercians, I know their ways. If you think
my brother will be merciful with the widows of his enemies, think again. When
Penda whores you to his men and you learn what they are truly capable of, you
will wish you had treated Aethelhere better.”

A shocked silence followed, and Saewara backed away into the
shadows. She did not have time for this. Hereswith was close to ruining
everything.

“I do care for Aethelhere.” Hereswith spoke once more, her
voice oddly subdued. “I don’t want him to die in battle.”

“Then it’s a pity you never told him,” Saewara replied. With
that, she turned and moved away toward the storehouse.

“I’ll raise the alarm.” Hereswith’s voice followed her,
although it now lost its earlier conviction. “You won’t get far.”

Saewara did not respond. She had no control over what
Hereswith chose to do next. All she could do was walk away and pray that her
sister by marriage held her tongue.