Dark Under the Cover of Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 1) (10 page)

Raedwyn
was secretly aghast at this news. Her father had risked her life in defying
Ceolwulf. He had taken a dangerous gamble, for Ceolwulf would have scouts out
making sure Raedwald was sticking to the terms they had agreed upon. Raedwyn’s
escape would have distracted them but, had she not created a diversion, it was
likely they would have discovered the king’s deceit.

Did
Raedwald not realize that Ceolwulf would have then slit her throat without
compunction? Raedwyn looked upon her own father with new eyes, aware for the
first time of what a formidable opponent he was. Ceolwulf was a man not easily
crossed but then neither was Raedwald. As all those bred to rule, he would
crush those who opposed him without hesitation or remorse. Raedwald was older
now and tired of war but life’s hardships had not worn him down as Ceolwulf
supposed. Raedwald had an inner core of iron and Ceolwulf had vastly underestimated
his ruthlessness.

If the men
had noticed Raedwyn’s discomfort, they showed no sign, so absorbed were they in
talk of tomorrow’s battle. Raedwyn took a sip of mead and forced it down her
now constricted throat.

Two
hundred outlaws would not withstand Raedwald’s
fyrd
of double that. Four
hundred men was only a small part of the
fyrd
of warriors Raedwald could
have called to fight for him. Raedwald’s kingdom was now vast and, knowing
this, Ceolwulf had been strict with his terms. So sure was he of Raedwald’s
word, he would not suspect a trick.

Raedwyn
was not sorry for Ceolwulf. He was an arrogant, callous brute who had selfishly
involved others in his blood feud. However, Caelin – quiet, enigmatic Caelin
with dark eyes and the patrician features of a Roman centurion – whose whole
life had been dedicated to his father’s grudge, would die on Uffid Heath the
following morning.

When the
wood pigeons were roasted, Eni plucked them from the spit and distributed them
with chunks of bread, and boiled wild onions. Raedwyn was faint from hunger but
her thoughts had given her a nervous stomach.

She forced
herself to eat the meal placed before her. It was delicious food but it felt
dry and tasteless in Raedwyn’s mouth.

***

Raedwyn
was in a deep, exhausted sleep when Eorpwald gently shook her awake. Raedwyn
groaned and swiped at him before turning over and burying herself under a nest
of furs.

Eorpwald
smiled and pulled back the furs.

“Some
things never change dear sister. Come Raedwyn, it’s but a short while before
dawn. You must leave now.”

Raedwyn
sat up and blinked like a sleepy, angry owl.

“It’s
almost dawn already?”

Moving
stiffly, Raedwyn pulled on her still damp boots and cloak and followed Eorpwald
out of the tent. The rain of the day before had completely cleared, leaving a
wide, star dusted sky above. The ground was still spongy from the rain, and the
damp, chill air penetrated through Raedwyn’s clothing. She shivered and
squelched across to where her father stood waiting with her horse. An escort of
warriors was mounted nearby, heavily armored and armed.

Raedwyn
looked into her father’s face, shadowed in the darkness and felt a sudden jolt
of fear for him and Eorpwald.

“May Woden
protect you tomorrow father.” She threw herself into Raedwald’s arms and hugged
him tightly.

“
Wyrd
will dictate who lives and dies when the sun rises,” Raedwald replied bluntly,
“although it’s not us that’ll need Woden’s protection. Ceolwulf abducted my
daughter and murdered my son-in-law. May it be Woden’s ravens that peck out
that traitor’s eyes as he lies dead on the field of battle!”

Raedwyn
did not answer her father. Raedwald’s view of the world, like most Anglo-Saxon
warriors, was fatalistic. Death was a way of life. In a world dominated by
blood feuds and wars, death in battle was the best end a man could hope for.
Even Woden, father of all gods, could not protect a man from
wyrd
–
fate. Raedwald lived by the motto:
wyrd bið ful ãræd
– fate is all.

Raedwyn
gave Eorpwald a hurried hug. Never a garrulous man at most times, Eorpwald was
silent and reflective as he embraced his sister. Despite her worry for the fate
of her father and brother, Raedwyn was eager to get away from the encampment.

War was
indeed a man’s domain. Raedwyn did not like to see the hardness in her father’s
demeanor. Battle brought out an entirely different side in Raedwald, and it was
a side that she feared. She preferred the laughing, kind man; a loving husband
and father, adored by all who knew him, to this cold, fatalistic warrior, who
was now as bent on retribution as Ceolwulf.

The dun
mare waited patiently as Eorpwald cupped his hands under Raedwyn’s foot and
boosted her up into the saddle. Impulsively, Raedwyn reached down and squeezed
her brother’s hand before he stepped away. Eorpwald gave a quick, hard squeeze
back and a moment of silent understanding passed between them. Then Eorpwald
moved back to stand next to his father. Eni, Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold
looked on from behind the king, and Raedwyn waved good-bye to them before her escort
closed in on her. A ring of shields now surrounded Raedwyn, obscuring her from
view.

The knot
of riders trotted out of the encampment and joined the darkness. Raedwyn’s
escort was silent and watchful. From under heavy helms, the warriors’ eyes scanned
the shadowed heath for any sign of ambush. 

Raedwyn
settled deep into the saddle as the mare broke into a canter. As she rode,
Raedwyn looked east where the first blush of dawn stained the sky, and tried
not to think of what she had left behind.

Chapter Seven

 
Ceolwulf’s army rode out onto Uffid Heath a short while before dawn broke
across the land. Under the veil of darkness, horses emerged from the edge of
the woodland and moved across the damp heath to where the battle would take
place. The horses were impatient, sensing their riders’ tension. They snorted
and stamped their feet; their bits jangling and nostrils flaring. Their hooves
sunk into the soft earth, making soft sucking noises as they walked.

Caelin
rode out front, next to his father. He could still feel Ceolwulf’s fury,
radiating out from him like heat from a roaring fire. The girl had eluded them.
Ceolwulf’s only bargaining tool had gone.

Morale had
dropped among the men; without Raedwyn they knew Raedwald would not fight fair.
If the girl had reached him already, Raedwald would have sent for
reinforcements. If the king was not greeted by his daughter the following
morning he would suspect foul play and his rage would be blistering. Either
way, Ceolwulf’s tightly woven plan was unraveling rapidly.

Caelin
would have wagered that Raedwyn had reached her father’s encampment safely, but
he would not share this information with Ceolwulf. When Caelin and the other
trackers had returned empty-handed after two days searching in the woods,
Ceolwulf had railed at their incompetence. How could a cosseted young woman
with no weapons, provisions or survival skills, manage to elude some of the
most skilled huntsmen in Britannia? Ceolwulf had been particularly vicious with
his son who was an expert tracker and yet had still failed him.

Glancing
across at his father’s profile, as hard as granite in his iron helm, Caelin
remembered the vicious rebuke his father had given him upon his return. He had
not risen to his father’s anger, despite the provocation. He had not wanted the
last words between them to be angry before battle. He had stood silently before
his father while Ceolwulf raged. No one dared try to calm him. Finally,
Ceolwulf’s anger had spent itself, but instead of dissolving, the icy rage had
burned inwards. This morning, Ceolwulf had barked orders at his men and refused
to talk with any of them of the looming battle. He had not spoken a word to
Caelin since losing his temper with him. 

A pale
morning mist snaked across the damp ground as the sun rose to their right.
Shafts of light peeked over the eastern horizon and suddenly the sky was
streaked with amber, orange and gold against the washed out blue of the coming
day. Caelin watched the sunrise, knowing it was likely to be his last. The knowledge
made this spectacular dawn all the more poignant. Caelin thought of Raedwyn
briefly then. She had indeed bewitched him for he could hardly believe that he
had let her go free. He had nothing in return, besides a parting kiss – but
knowing his father as he did, Caelin was sure Raedwyn would not have survived
Ceolwulf’s vengeance. She was too beautiful, too proud and too vibrantly alive
to die at the whim of a man driven mad by a world he could not control.

Finally,
Caelin glanced back at Ceolwulf. Caelin knew he would not be able to go to his
death without at least trying to make amends with his father.

“Father, I
am sorry we lost Raedwyn. I’m sorry I failed you.” Caelin spoke quietly but in
the silence of the early dawn, he knew Ceolwulf had heard him.

“I have
always followed you willingly,” Caelin continued. “I have never questioned your
choice to seek retribution. I still do not question it. Raedwyn is gone but you
have forced Raedwald’s hand. You can still fight to regain your honor. Your
warriors and I will follow you to whatever end.”

Caelin was
unused to speaking so frankly before his father. He knew Ceolwulf had always
found him to be an enigma. He had a different character to his father; less
intense and mercurial, more reflective and private. Despite that Ceolwulf had
disappointed him numerous times since his boyhood, he had still done his best
to make his father proud of him. It appeared that he had failed, for Ceolwulf
did not answer him now. He only stared fixedly ahead at the evaporating mist
where a line of riders, a phalanx of shields and spears bristling against the
sky, appeared.

Raedwald
had come.

Ceolwulf’s
warriors fanned out either side of their leader and watched the approaching
army. From here, it was difficult to guess their number. Raedwald’s army drew
nearer, halting when the two war parties were about thirty yards apart. 

Caelin’s
heart started to beat faster then. He could hear it steadily thumping in his
ears. He had fought battles many times, but never with such an awareness of his
own mortality. He was aware of the warmth of his skin, the pulsing of blood
through his veins, the brightness of the world around him.

The heavy
yoke of duty to Ceolwulf and the lack of joy in his daily life pulled back like
a curtain and, for the first time since he was a boy, Caelin saw the miracle of
his existence that he had taken for granted for so long. Dogged loyalty to an
unyielding father had made living such an effort of late. It had caused him to
withdraw, to cloak himself in a mask of indifference. Now, as the last moments
of his life played themselves out, Caelin understood how much he had wasted.

Caelin’s
gaze moved along the line of mounted warriors, and there, emerging from their
midst, he spied the king himself. An awesome sight in the parting mist,
Raedwald of the East Angles was impossible to miss. He rode a magnificent gray
stallion fitted with a silver and gold studded bridle and chest harness.

A great
shield hung at his side, as did a sword. In his right hand, he carried a spear.
A royal blue cape rippled from Raedwald’s shoulders, held in place by
Romanesque silver-plated clasps. Heavy chain mail covered his chest and stout
gloves protected his hands. A heavy scarlet tunic, hemmed in gold, hung down to
his knees and he wore thick blue leggings cross-gartered to the knee. Bronze
plated armor protected his neck below a splendid helmet. Silver-plated, the
helmet completely covered the king’s head and face, obliterating his identity,
save for the cold blue eyes that stared out from two eye slits. The front of
the helmet had been beaten into a stern warrior’s visage. It made Raedwald
appear inhuman, like one of the old gods bent on reckoning. The effect was
chilling, as Raedwald had known it would be.

Ceolwulf’s
composure had been momentarily affected by the sight of this warrior king
before them, who was – and was not – the man he had spent so much of the last
twenty years hating. Recovering his wits, the big man spurred his horse forward
and rode to meet the king. The two men stopped a short distance apart, their
gazes meeting in cold complicity.

“You hide
your face from me Raedwald,” Ceolwulf growled. “Have you grown so decrepit you
are loath to ride into battle bare-faced?”

Raedwald’s
gaze glittered with wintry disdain but he did not rise to Ceolwulf’s
provocation.

“Greetings,
Ceolwulf the Exiled,” he rumbled, his voice void of emotion, “Raedwyn returned
to us last night. You are without an innocent life to bargain with but still
you come to do battle.”

“The girl
is nothing,” Ceolwulf spat. “She squeals like a stuck pig while being bedded.
After my men and I each took a turn with her, the harlot slunk off into the
forest. It matters not that the whore returned to you, for you have met us to
do battle, have you not?”

Ceolwulf watched
Raedwald’s eyes and cursed the impassive silver mask that covered his features.
He felt at a disadvantage and the king knew it.

Unbeknown
to Ceolwulf, Raedwald’s mouth twisted at his enemy’s vicious words. How he
would enjoy twisting a blade in Ceolwulf’s gut. Raedwyn had sworn that none of
her captors had defiled her but upon hearing Ceolwulf’s gloating, Raedwald was
not so sure she had been truthful. He would rather see his daughter dead than
carrying the seed of one of these barbarians. The killing rage Raedwald had
felt upon seeing Aethelfrith, his enemy, cut down his son Raegenhere during the
Battle of the River Idle eight years earlier, rekindled in the pit of his
stomach. In that terrible battle, he had breached Aethelfrith’s lines and butchered
his enemy in a great slaughter of the Northumbrians that had led to Raedwald’s
victory.

His kin
were untouchable. Ceolwulf had committed a grave error in ruining his daughter.

“We have
indeed met you to do battle,” Raedwald said finally, “but do not expect me to
keep to your terms. You have done more than just insult me this day. I will not
leave Uffid Heath till you lie dead upon it.”

With that,
Raedwald reined his horse back and rejoined his warriors.

Caught
off-guard by Raedwald’s abruptness, Ceolwulf stared after him before his mouth
twisted in a snarl. He turned his horse and galloped back to his men.

“Father?”
Caelin brought his horse up close to Ceolwulf. Like the others, he had not
heard what had passed between the two men. 

 “Silence!”
Ceolwulf roared. “Ready yourself to do battle and do not disappoint me!”

The
rhythmic clang of spears beating against shields reverberated around the
battlefield as both sides advanced. Then, blood-curdling yells split the air as
the thundering of hooves shook the earth. The two armies rushed at each other
and met with a hollow, dull crunch of flesh, armor and metal colliding.

***

Raedwyn
and her escort reached Rendlaesham mid-afternoon. The chill, misty morning had
given way to one of the last hot days of a rainy summer. Raedwyn was sweating
under her heavy cloak. Her skin was itchy and she longed to shed her filthy
clothes and wash away the dust, dirt and sweat of the last few days.

Townsfolk
clustered at the roadside to watch as the knot of warriors rode briskly through
their midst and up to the Great Hall that commanded over the wattle and daub
huts of the township. Raedwyn’s eyes brimmed with tears as she saw her father’s
Great Hall once more. Its thatched straw roof glowed gold in the afternoon sun
and at the entrance she could see the figure of a woman, framed in the doorway,
watching their approach.

Raedwyn
saw Seaxwyn scan the approaching group. Then, recognizing her daughter, the
queen picked up her skirts and rushed down the incline to the stables where
Raedwyn was dismounting.

“
Mōdor!”
Raedwyn suddenly lost the brittle composure she had maintained since returning
to her father. Tears coursed down her face as she threw herself into her
mother’s arms.

***

Raedwyn
sighed as she squeezed out the cloth and let hot water run down between her
breasts. Servants had manhandled a large, cast-iron tub into her bower and
filled it with hot water. Rosemary and lavender scented the water, and it
smelled as heavenly as it felt on her scratched and aching limbs.

A bath was
a singular treat. Like her mother, Raedwyn usually washed before a steaming
basin. It was only on special occasions that she bathed in a cast-iron tub. The
tub was not large and Raedwyn had to fold her long legs up to fit in properly.
She washed her hair with a strong lavender infusion before relaxing against the
edge of the tub.

Running an
objective eye over her body, Raedwyn realized how rare it was for her to see
herself naked. There was little privacy in her father’s hall and only now with
all the virile men away at battle could she remain naked without worrying about
being walked in on. Her skin was milk white and her body strong. Her long legs
and arms were finely muscled although scratched from struggling through the
undergrowth.

As she
glanced down at her pale, pink- tipped breasts, there came the memory,
unbidden, of Caelin standing next her after he had dragged her out of the
river. The smell of him, his nearness, had made her feel oddly light-headed.
Her body had betrayed her, even while she berated him. Her breasts had been all
too evident through the wet material. They had swelled under his gaze, her
nipples budding hard through the linen. Then he had kissed her, and driven away
thoughts of anything else. If he had not broken their embrace, who knew what
would have happened.

Raedwyn’s
mouth went dry at the memory and her breathing quickened. She looked down at
her breasts to find them responding the same way they had by the river. The
base of her throat ached now, as it had then, for his touch.

Raedwyn
abruptly sat up, sloshing water over the side of the tub. The pleasure of
languishing in a hot bath had dissolved.

Outside,
the day was ending. Raedwyn could see the sky had turned dusky rose and she
knew the battle would be long since over. Raedwyn thought of the blood that
would now be soaking into the peaty earth on Uffid Heath and shuddered. She
prayed to Woden that her kin were safe.

Plagued
with such morbid thoughts and with her bath water turning cold, Raedwyn climbed
out of the tub and dried herself off. She dressed in a simple wool tunic with a
linen over-dress, cinched around her waist with a tie-belt. Then, she combed
her wet hair back and let it dry in curls down her back.