Dark Under the Cover of Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 1) (20 page)

“It cannot
be the truth,” Alchfrid hissed. “Even Eafa could not murder a king in his own
hall in cold blood. There is no honor in it!”

“He is a
king now too,” Caelin replied. “Cearl of Mercia is dead, and Eafa will be
crowned upon his return to Tamworth.”

“And what
glory, to return home with the head of the King of the East Angles,” Immin
added bitterly. “Alchfrid is right. The man has the honor of a carrion crow!”

Sebbi spat
on the ground, his face twisted in disgust. “You insult crows!” he growled. “We
are slaves, and have more reason than most to loathe Raedwald of the East
Angles, but to murder a king at his own table, after you have just wed his
daughter, is detestable!”

“That it
is,” Caelin agreed. “If Eafa succeeds it will be a dark day, not just for East
Anglia, but for all Britannia.” 

His gaze
swept over their faces: Alchfrid, Immin and Sebbi – three of the best men he
had ever met.

He was
about to find out if they were also the bravest.

Chapter
Seventeen

Raedwyn
and Eafa’s wedding day dawned, gray and cool. A veil of misty rain shrouded the
world from view, enveloping Rendlaesham and Raedwald’s Great Hall in an iron
curtain. Standing at her bower window, Raedwyn looked out into the murk and
thought that there was no weather more fit for the ceremony that would take
place today.

Tired from
a sleepless night, Raedwyn turned from the window and cast her gaze over her
wedding dress, which lay spread over her bed. It was so beautiful – yet she
loathed the touch of it against her skin. Once the dress was on, Raedwyn stood
patiently while Seaxwyn tied the intricate laces at her back. The two women did
not speak. Seaxwyn had no words of advice for her daughter this time, and
Raedwyn had no words at all.

Raedwyn
looked down at the delicately embroidered sleeves of her gown; needlework that
she had done herself, and felt a pang. It was hard to believe that she had once
dreamed of this day.

Seaxwyn
finished tying up her laces, and left her daughter alone to finish dressing.
Raedwyn retrieved the knife from its hiding place under her furs and strapped
it to her right thigh – as she had done each morning since Eafa the Merciful
arrived in Rendlaesham.

What
are you doing Raedwyn?
A
small voice warned at the back of her mind.
What will your new husband do
when he beds you this evening – and finds you armed? Are you planning to kill
him before he takes you away from here?

Raedwyn
had no answer to give. Strapping on the knife was instinct. She was not sure
what would happen when she and Eafa were alone tonight. She imagined Eafa would
be clever enough to keep his fists to himself while they were still under her
father’s roof. Still, a bleak fatalism now gripped Raedwyn. If she was doomed,
she did not intend to become an object of pity.

Raedwyn
emerged from her bower to find the Great Hall a glorious sight to behold.
Wreaths of spring flowers hung from the walls and garlanded the ceiling. The
interior of the hall sparkled after the thorough cleaning the day before.

Feeling
everyone’s eyes upon her, although Eafa was thankfully nowhere to be seen,
Raedwyn walked across to where Eorpwald was breaking his fast, and took a seat
opposite her brother.

“Good
morning, Eorpwald,” Raedwyn took the plate of bread smeared with butter and
honey. “Could you pass me a cup of mead?”

Eorpwald
nodded, making no comment about the fact that Raedwyn never usually drank mead
at this time of day. They both knew she needed something to take the edge off
what was to come. Raedwyn’s gaze met his, and she was relieved to see no pity
in her brother’s eyes – just sadness. Usually, bread, butter and honey was
Raedwyn’s favorite way to break her fast, but this morning it merely choked
her. She took a couple of mouthfuls and washed it down with a second cup of
strong mead.

“Eorpwald,”
Raedwyn said finally, her voice low so that they were not overheard. “Brother,
I know that you have fought father on this, and I thank you. We were never
close as children, and that was my fault not yours. I have realized your true
worth too late.”

Eorpwald’s
face went still for a moment and the enigmatic mask he wore slipped. His eyes
glittered with sudden tears and he reached across the table and covered
Raedwyn’s hand with his.

“You talk
as if we shall never see each other again,” he replied quietly.

Raedwyn
smiled, realizing as she did so, that her expression must have appeared forced.

“You know
the truth Eorpwald,” she replied gently. “We need not speak of it.”

Eorpwald’s
face had gone pale. He squeezed Raedwyn’s hand and she could see the effort he
was making not to say more.

“Raedwyn,”
he whispered. “I wish things were different.”

“So do we
all.” Raedwyn removed her hand from his and took a deep draught of mead.

***

Caelin was
shoveling muck next to the stables when he saw Eorpwald make his way down the
steps beneath the Great Hall. The king’s surviving son looked serious, his eyes
downcast, as he strode across the stable yard towards the gates.

It was the
moment Caelin had been waiting for. It was the only chance he would get.

Caelin
casually put aside his pitchfork and followed Eorpwald through the gates into
the street beyond. It appeared that Eorpwald had decided to take a short walk
before the handfast ceremony. He paid no heed to his surroundings as he walked
towards the orchards. Eorpwald had almost reached the gates when Caelin reached
him.

“My Lord
Eorpwald!”

Eorpwald
came out of his reverie and turned. His gray eyes widened in surprise at seeing
his father’s theow before him – not only that, but the slave was addressing him
direct. Eorpwald’s gaze narrowed and Caelin saw his face harden. He only had
moments to make Eorpwald listen to him and he could not waste any of them.

“I
apologize for approaching you,” Caelin said, “but this is urgent, it cannot
wait!”

“What is
it?” Eorpwald’s voice was clipped when he replied. “State your matter and be
gone.”

Caelin
took a deep breath and held Eorpwald’s gaze fast in his. Everything depended on
how he worded this. If he spoke rashly or unclearly, Eorpwald would not believe
him – or even worse – would haul him up in front of the king.

“My Lord,”
Caelin began. He measured each word carefully, hoping to impress his seriousness
upon the man before him. “Eafa plans to kill the king.”

***

 The
handfast ceremony passed in a blur. Raedwyn looked on, feeling more an observer
than a participant, as Eafa presented the Wuffingas with a gorgeous golden cup.
It was a king’s cup, studded with precious stones and exquisitely worked. On
behalf of her kin, Raedwyn presented him with a two handed battle-axe with a
crescent-shaped iron head. A magnificent, deadly weapon it was, and Eafa smiled
as he received it. It was the first real smile Raedwyn had ever seen him give.
He admired the sharp edge of its blade and the long hardwood handle, reinforced
with engraved metal bands.

“A worthy
gift,” he murmured, and Raedwyn saw her father beam at the compliment.

Raedwyn
and Eafa shared a cup of mead and a honey seedcake, as the ceremony dictated,
before Eafa kissed her briefly. His lips were cold and hard. There was no
raucous applause, as when she had wed Cynric. There was no backslapping, or
ribald comments, just a subdued rumble of approval that came from her father
and Eafa’s men.

Once the
ceremony was over, Raedwyn sat down next to Eafa, at the head of the banquet
table. The king, queen and Eorpwald sat to their right and Eni and his sons to
their left. There was enough food before them to feed three times the number
seated at the table. Men carried in spit roasts of wild boar, venison, and
suckling pig that had been stuffed with the last of the winter store apples.
More servants followed, carrying trays of baked eel and clay pots of rich rabbit
stew. They set these dishes down alongside mountains of griddle bread, boiled
carrots glistening with butter and honey, braised leeks, and cabbage fried with
slivers of salted pork.

Raedwyn
was surprised to see Caelin amongst the servants who carried in the spit
roasts. Her throat closed at the sight of him but he did not once look her way.
She belonged to Eafa now – and Caelin knew it. If her marriage had made him
unhappy, there was no sign on Caelin’s face. His expression was neutral, his
eyes downcast.

For the
first time all day, Raedwyn struggled to maintain her composure. The sight of
Caelin brought everything rushing back. His bravery, tenderness and passion,
the way he had protected and defended her when no one else would – she had
never met a man like him, and knew she never would again. Raedwyn took a deep
breath and blinked furiously as her vision blurred. She could not cry now –
Eafa would be furious and she would pay for it later.

Once
Caelin had completed this task, he returned bearing an enormous jug of wine,
and took his place at the end of the table next to the other slaves, waiting
while the rest of the food was brought out. Seaxwyn gave the signal, and he and
the other slaves began filling everyone’s cups with potent apple wine.

Musicians,
one playing a lyre and the other a bone whistle, took their places on the
podium behind the newly-weds. They began to play, and the strains of a jaunty
tune suddenly filled Raedwald’s hall.

Recovering
her self-possession, Raedwyn’s gaze tracked Caelin as he moved down the table.
It was odd to see him and her father’s Northumbrian slaves here, serving at the
wedding banquet – but she knew why her father had done it. Having these men,
warriors stripped of everything, serve at the wedding feast was a show of the
king’s power. They had all bathed and dressed in clean clothes, but the iron
bands around their throats and their closely cropped hair marked them clearly
as Raedwald’s slaves. 

Raedwyn
took a sip of apple wine, and felt it burn down her throat. It was much
stronger than mead, and she decided to drink sparingly. Although she had downed
a few cups of mead this morning to fortify herself for the handfast ceremony,
she now decided that, with her wedding night fast approaching, she would keep
her head clear. Her father had no such hesitation. After declaring a toast to
the bride and groom, he gulped down his first two cups of apple wine as if it
was water.

The food
was delicious but Raedwyn did not enjoy a mouthful of it. Beside her, Eafa also
ate and drank lightly. He was so different to the men in her family. Raedwald,
Eorpwald, Eni and her cousins all had great appetites; although Raedwyn could
not help but notice that her father was the only one with a voracious appetite
at the table today. Even Eni, usually the loudest and drunkest at any
celebration, was subdued. Still, the wine flowed and the table gradually
emptied of food.

“More
wine, M’lord?” One of the slaves appeared at Eafa’s elbow with a jug of apple
wine. The Mercian shook his head and pointedly moved his cup away into the
center of the table. The slave moved on and promptly refilled Raedwald’s cup
instead.

“Give me
the lyre!” Raedwald shouted. “I will sing!”

The music
halted and the lyrist hastily handed over his instrument to the king. Raedwald
sat back in his chair and began to play, his fingers moving with agility and
skill over the strings. When he began to sing, his rich baritone filled the
hall.

Raedwald
sang of brothers, of loyalty, and of honor between men. He sang of peace, of a
great green isle blessed by Woden. It was a beautiful song, and not one Raedwyn
had ever heard him sing before. Despite the king’s mood, the song had a
melancholic edge to it. Raedwyn stared down at her plate and felt her eyes fill
with tears once more.

Despite
everything he had done, she still loved her father.

The slaves
eventually brought out the final dishes of the banquet: platters of cheeses,
apple tarts, spice bread, and honey seed cakes for the bride and groom. At this
point, Eafa held his cup out to one of the slaves to fill.

“A toast
is in order.” He smiled then, his gaze meeting Raedwald’s. “A toast to my
King!”

Out of the
corner of her eye, Raedwyn saw Caelin approach and discreetly pour wine into
Eafa’s cup, before he then stepped back from the table. Eafa got to his feet
and raised his cup. Then, he stepped down from the dais and approached
Raedwald.

“To
Raedwald,” Eafa continued, still smiling. “The king who brought East Anglia and
Mercia together, and offered his fair daughter as a sign of his love!”

Raedwald
turned in his chair and raised his own cup. His face was florid with drink and
he was swaying slightly in his seat.

As Raedwyn
watched her new husband stop before her father, a flash of silver suddenly
caught her eye.

Raedwyn’s
breathing stopped as she realized what Eafa was about to do.

“No!” her
scream echoed throughout the hall and brought the festivities to an abrupt
halt.

The music
stopped and Raedwald’s Great Hall erupted into chaos.

Eafa
lunged at the king, a knife gripped in his right hand. Raedwald’s eyes widened
as he realized, too late, that Eafa meant to kill him.

Eafa would
have slashed the king’s throat open then, if Eorpwald and Caelin had not flung
themselves upon Eafa. Nonetheless, the tip of the knife nicked Raedwald’s throat.
The king dropped his cup and grasped his neck as blood trickled over his
fingers.

“Traitor!”
Raedwald roared and lunged for a weapon. Grabbing a carving knife, the king
went after Eafa.

Raedwyn
looked around frantically and spied the three Northumbrian slaves at the doors.
They had just pulled the heavy oak doors closed and bolted them. Raedwyn could
hear angry shouts coming from outside, followed by the pummeling of fists
against the wood as men sought entrance to the Great Hall.