The Deepening Night (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 3) (22 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Five

The Captive

Saewara slipped out of Exning and hugged the shadows around
the high paling fence, avoiding the elderly men who were standing guard around
the perimeter. Annan had left a garrison to watch over Devil’s Dyke but,
fortunately, Saewara was not travelling in that direction. Instead, she
followed the narrow path into Exning Woods.

Once inside the woodland, it was as black as pitch. Stumbling
over tree roots, Saewara waited until she was far enough away from the edge of
the trees before taking the cover off the oil lamp she had removed from the storehouse.
She let out a long breath in relief as pale golden light illuminated her
surroundings. Gloomy even in daylight, the woods had a vaguely sinister air at
night. A tangle of branches surrounded her, with the darkness impenetrable
beyond.

Directly southeast – that was what the lad had told her. She
had managed to extract the information from him after the injured messenger had
downed a few cups of hot, spiced mead to take the edge off his throbbing arm.
She had phrased the question so it sounded innocent enough, and the lad had
answered her without hesitation. According to his reckoning, the East Angle
army was camped quarter of a night’s travel from Exning.

If she kept straight in her current direction, she would run
into the back of Annan’s
fyrd
soon enough.

It was hard going, and slower than she had anticipated. The
ground was boggy from the storm and although this area was relatively
low-lying, the land was anything but flat. Soon, Saewara found herself
scrambling up banks, down gullies and across streams. All the while, she kept a
death-grip on her little flickering lamp. Without it, she knew she would easily
lose her way.

On and on she journeyed, deep into the dark woods. The farther
she travelled, the more nervous Saewara became. What if she was going the wrong
way altogether? What if she had accidently skirted the edge of the
fyrd
,
and was unwittingly blundering straight toward her brother?

The last thought was enough to make her break out into a cold
sweat.

Don’t be a fool Saewara – you’re going the right
way. Just keep walking.

Eventually, dripping with sweat now, her quiver heavy on her
back, Saewara caught the whiff of wood smoke. She slowed her step, quickly
covered her lamp, and followed the smell. The most difficult part was ahead;
she would need to become a ghost. Presently, she spied the glow of firelight
through the trees. Her heart started to pound and her palms grew clammy.

Suddenly, her plan seemed all too real.

Annan’s
fyrd
lay before her and once she entered the
camp, there would be no turning back. However, here cloaked in darkness, it was
not too late – she could turn back and slip away without anyone knowing.

Saewara felt the strength go out of her legs. She crouched and
breathed deeply, calming the fear that threatened to release her bladder. All
the while, she kept her gaze upon the fires ahead.

What will it be – forward or back? You can’t stay
here all night?

Recovering from her paralysis, Saewara slowly rose to her
feet. Then, squaring her shoulders and whispering a prayer, she moved toward
the sleeping encampment.

***

“M’lord.”

A voice roused Annan from where he dozed by the fire. He
stirred on the damp furs and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What is it?”

A warrior stepped into the tent, dipping his head under the
low roof. It was a cramped space that had only enough room for the tiny fire
pit, and a bed for the king. Still, it was luxury after the day he had spent
fighting knee-deep in mud, blood and gore.

“Apologies for waking you, M’lord,” the warrior rumbled, his
own eyes hollowed with fatigue, “but we caught someone lurking around the
fringes of the encampment. I thought I’d better bring him to you.”

“A spy?”

The last remnants of sleep faded and Annan rose smoothly to
his feet.

“Most likely – a lad. Tried to run like a hare when we spotted
him.”

With that, another warrior bundled a struggling figure into
the tent. They had thrown a jute sack over their captive to stop him from
escaping, but he still writhed desperately like a trout on a hook.

“Enough!” Annan ordered, stepping toward the captive. “Let’s
see you then.”

The figure stopped struggling at Annan’s command. In fact, he
went deathly still, and stayed that way as Annan reached forward and yanked the
jute sacking away.

The captive’s hood fell back.

Annan stared at the individual before him, his breath
stilling. The warriors flanking the prisoner gaped openly.

“What,” Annan managed finally, his voice barely above a
whisper, “are you doing here?”

Saewara stared back at her husband. Her heart-shaped face was pale;
her dark eyes huge and frightened.

“Saewara.” Annan spoke once more, his voice sharpening as the
shock of seeing his wife, dressed as a man, with a longbow over one shoulder
and a quiver of arrows on her back, before him, faded. In its place, he felt
anger kindling. “You could have been killed on sight. Answer me. What, are you
doing here?”

He watched her struggle to compose herself under his gaze. A
blush crept up her slender neck and her eyes glittered. For a moment he thought
she would start crying – but instead, her jaw hardened and she lifted her chin
defiantly.

“I was attempting to join the ranks of your bowmen,” she told
him calmly, “without your knowledge – when these two stopped me.”

“What?” Annan did not know whether to laugh or fly into a
rage. “You intended to join my
fyrd
, without asking me?”

Saewara’s sensuous mouth thinned. “You would never have given
me permission.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t!” Annan roared. “Are you mad?”

To her credit, she did not cower before him.

“Leave us!” Annan ordered his men, his gaze not leaving
Saewara’s face. They went – but not without one last, awed look at their queen,
dressed ready for battle. She stared at her husband without a trace of fear.

“I’m not mad,” Saewara said quietly when they were alone. “I
was tired of sitting at home, useless. You’ve seen me handle a longbow. I am of
more use to you here than back in Exning waiting with the other women.”

“Saewara.” Annan took a deep breath, seeking to control his
temper. “War is for men, not women. You had no right to come here. This is not
your place.”

“No!” It was Saewara’s turn to shout. “I tire of men telling
me where my place is. My place is where I choose it to be!”

Annan had never seen her lose her temper before – and even
through his own rage, he had to admit she had never looked lovelier.  She had
curled her hands into fists, as if she would strike him, her eyes narrowing
dangerously.

“This is my war as much as yours,” she continued, breathless
with fury. “I have more cause to hate Penda of Mercia than anyone. I want to be
part of the army that sends his army running home with their tails between
their legs. And if the battle goes ill – if you fall – I don’t want my brother
to ride into Exning with your head on a pike. I’d rather die here, by your
side, than to wait for my brother’s mercy. You know as well as I do that I’d be
better off dead.”

Saewara stopped then, breathing hard, her hands still clenched
by her sides. She stood, staring at him. Her body was as taut as a bowstring, and
her cheeks were flushed. Annan realized then, with a jolt, that she was bracing
herself for him to lash out.

She expected him to strike her.

Anger suddenly drained from Annan.

“Saewara,” he said, his voice growing husky. “I would never –
never – raise a hand to you. You do realize that?”

She tore her gaze from his, staring down at her feet.

“I’ve been beaten for less,” she replied.

“I repeat – I will never raise a hand to you.” Annan stepped
forward and gently took hold of her chin, raising her face so that her gaze met
his once more. “I swear it.”

Saewara’s eyes glistened. She nodded but Annan saw that she
was struggling to keep her composure.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispered. “I won’t get in your way.
I will stay with your bowmen – I won’t encumber anyone. I swear.”

“And how am I supposed to fight knowing that your life could
be in danger?” Annan asked. “I don’t think you realize what it’s like out
there. The violence, the blood, the screams of men as they die. There’s a
reason we keep women from battle – and it’s not because we want all the glory
for ourselves.”

“I haven’t romanticized it,” Saewara whispered. “I’ve known
terror. I’ve looked into a man’s eyes and seen death there. There were times
when I thought Egfrid would kill me. Once he beat me so badly I nearly died.
Yet, despite his best efforts, Egfrid did not break me, and neither did my
brother. I’m not some sheltered high-born lady. I can fight.”

Annan gave a bitter smile then – one that masked the stabbing pain
in the center of his chest.

“Why, Saewara?” he whispered.

She stepped close to him then, staring up at him in that way
that made his body melt. “Because this is my battle too,” she whispered back.
“Let me fight it.”

He pulled her against him; his arms locking around her, his
face burying in her hair.

“Damn you,” he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut to stem the
tears that suddenly scalded his eyelids. “My life was so much simpler before
you entered it – empty – but so much easier.”

He felt her laugh against him; a sudden release of tension
after all that had been said between them. “I was sent to torment you, Annan of
the East Angles – but I am not sorry for it. For once, my brother did us both a
favor.”

The feel of her against him, her warmth even through the
layers of clothing between them, burned into his flesh. His hands slid down her
back and over the firm curves of her buttocks. The breeches she wore molded to
her flesh.

Annan groaned and pulled away from Saewara, his heart
pounding. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with longing, and he was lost.
Hunger consumed him and he bent over her, his mouth slanting over hers.

Saewara responded by linking her arms around his neck and
opening her mouth, her tongue tangling with his. Her hands travelled over his
torso but were denied contact with his skin by the layers of chain mail and
leather. She made a low noise of frustration deep in her throat, before her
hands travelled lower to his leather breeches.

Annan took charge then. He reached under the long chain-mail
tunic she wore and undid the laces of her breeches. Then, he leant forward and
kissed her deeply as he unlaced his own breeches. After that, he pushed her
gently down onto the furs – on to her hands and knees. The sight of her naked rear,
round, perfect and gleaming pale in the firelight, excited him beyond measure.
Not lingering further, Annan knelt behind Saewara and entered her in one smooth
movement.

They both gasped. She whimpered his name and he was lost.

Gripping her hips, Annan moved inside her. He tried to be slow
– he had wanted to be gentle – yet, he was overwhelmed by an animalistic desire
to take her hard. The impulse was so strong that he resisted only moments
before giving in.

Saewara arched her back and pushed her hips back to meet each
thrust, encouraging him. She groaned and gasped, her body shuddering. Then, her
knees gave way and she collapsed onto the furs. Annan held her hips up,
thrusting into her again and again until he found his release.

Afterwards, they lay together, panting, on the furs. When he
had sufficiently recovered, Annan rolled off Saewara and pulled her gently
against his chest. He stroked her hair and held her close as their breathing
slowed and reality seeped back into their world.

“Annan.” Saewara propped herself up on one elbow and stared
down at him. The softness in her eyes made him want to weep; something he had
not done since his father’s death. “Whatever happens from this moment forward,”
she whispered, “you need to know that I love you.”

Annan stared back at her, his breathing growing shallow as he
tried to keep his composure.

“Lovely Saewara,” he murmured back, feeling as if his heart was
being torn in two. “You brought joy into my life when I least expected it. I
can’t imagine life without you.”

He paused then, struggling to keep his composure. “I love you
so much that it scares me.”

She gave a gentle smile, and reaching out wiped away a tear
from his cheek. “My brave wolf, my kind-hearted lover. If only the world had
more men like you in it.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Battle of
Exning Woods

A misty dawn broke over the woodland. A thin fog wreathed
between the trees as the two armies packed up with the rising sun and readied
themselves to do battle.

After sleeping in each other’s arms for the remainder of the
waning night, Annan and Saewara had awoken strangely rested, despite that they
could have slept longer. They spoke little as they dressed, both calm despite
the coming fight.

The king and queen emerged from the tent to find Saba and
Aethelhere waiting for them. The two men had heard that the queen had joined
them – the entire
fyrd
had by now. Saba and Aethelhere’s gazes settled
upon Saewara, taking in her battle dress and weaponry. Their expressions were
stony. She returned their gazes evenly; she did not blame them for their
reaction. She had not planned on making her presence known, although in
retrospect, her plan had been flawed from the beginning.

She had only ventured a few yards inside the encampment when
she had realized that it would be impossible to slip through it without being
noticed.

“Saewara will join the bowmen,” Annan told them coolly.
“Aethelhere, take her to them.”

“What?” Aethelhere did not try to hide his displeasure. “She’s
staying?”

“She is,” Annan replied in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Go on – we don’t have much time.”

Saewara glanced quickly at her husband. “Till after the battle
Milord,” she said quietly. “Fight well.”

Annan smiled at her. “You too my love – keep your aim steady –
and keep back from the front. Follow the lead from the other archers.”

Saewara nodded. She was glad for the formality this morning.
Enough had been said last night. No further words were needed, especially now
in front of Annan’s warriors. If she was to stay on and fight then she needed
to prove that she had the nerve for it.

Aethelhere led her away, and Saewara followed without a
backwards glance. Male gazes followed her steps but Saewara ignored them. She
had pulled her hair back into a tight braid and wore her cloak about her
shoulders. Her longbow was slung across one shoulder, her quiver of arrows
across the other.

They reached the bowmen, who watched Saewara curiously as she
stopped before them.

“Queen Saewara will join you,” Aethelhere told them. His voice
was dispassionate. Saewara could feel the disapproval radiating off him. He then
turned and met her gaze.

“They won’t be able to look out for you once the battle starts,”
he told her curtly. “You will be on your own.”

“I know that,” Saewara responded with a half-smile. “Thank you,
Aethelhere.”

Aethelhere regarded her for a moment before shaking his head
slowly. “Are you really as good with that longbow as Annan says?”

“Better,” Saewara replied without a trace of a smile. “I
should have beaten him in that tournament at Tamworth.”

A smile tugged at Aethelhere’s mouth. “Very well – we’ll see,
shall we?”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his fur cloak
billowing behind him.

Saewara watched Aethelhere go and wondered if she would see
him again. Today would decide it for them – Mercians or East Angles, one side
had to win.

Annan moved toward the front with Saba at his side. Their shields
were slung over their backs, their swords still in their scabbards. The two men
did not speak, sharing the easy silence that only good friends have. Annan knew
he did not need to explain himself to Saba; even if the ealdorman might not
agree with his decision to let Saewara stay and fight, he would never challenge
Annan on it. He knew it was not a decision the king would have taken lightly.

Still, it was a shocking decision, and Annan had felt the
effect ripple through his army. This was yet another reason men preferred to
keep women away from battle he thought dryly – they were a distraction. Saewara
was quite a sight in her battle gear; if anything it heightened her fierce
beauty rather than hid it.

Annan allowed himself one more thought of his wife, as he had
seen her last – strong and proud with a calm that awed him – before he snapped
that part of his mind closed and focused on the coming battle.

“The Mercians are forming their lines, M’lord,” one his
warriors informed Annan as he reached the front. “As soon as the mist clears
they will make their move.”

“They will make their move before then,” Annan replied
quietly, drawing looks of surprise from the warriors surrounding him, Saba
included. “Penda got a nasty surprise yesterday when we set our bowmen on them.
Today, we do not have the element of surprise. Penda will attack before the
bowmen can get a clear view.”

“Are you sure?” Saba asked, frowning as his gaze swept the
misty forest. “Sounds like a risky move on Penda’s part.”

“No,” Annan admitted, “however, I put myself in his place and
thought what I’d do if I hadn’t brought bowmen with me. I wouldn’t give the
enemy a chance to fell my men with their arrows. I’d move before they had me in
their sights.”

Saba’s face had grown grim, although he eventually nodded in
agreement. “Have you warned the bowmen?”

“Last night,” Annan replied. “I’ve told them to move back and
wait for my command. They will not be able to fire into the front lines, as we
would have already engaged them. Instead, I want them to aim for the second
group who will be rushing up to join their comrades.”

At that moment, Aethelhere joined them. The brothers’ gazes
met for a moment, and a silent message passed between them before Annan nodded.

Saba quickly filled Aethelhere in on Annan’s concerns while
the king made his way down the lines, speaking quietly with his men, and
alerting them to the imminent attack. When the king returned, the swirling mist
was starting to clear.

Annan unsheathed
Night Bringer
and took his place next
to his brother.

Patches of the shadowy woodland beyond became visible. Quiet
and watchful, Annan’s
fyrd
grew still, weapons held at the ready, and
waited for the enemy to come.

***

Penda unsheathed his sword and inspected the blade. It had
taken a battering yesterday, but the magnificent blade was still unscarred.
Æthelfrith’s
Bane.
A sword fit for a king
–
pried out
of Ecgric the
Eager’s dead hands after the Battle of Barrow Fields. Such a sword should never
have belonged to such a craven.

Penda loved to fight with this sword; it felt made for him. It
was the perfect weight and balance – and the pommel fitted his hand as if it
was merely an extension of his arm. It had dealt death with joy yesterday, and
would do so again today.

“Are we ready?” Penda turned to Aldfrid, who stood to his
right. The ealdorman returned his gaze with a surly expression. Having taken a
few wounds the day before – gashes to his left arm and leg from a crazed East
Angle axe-man – Aldfrid was in ill humor today.

“Yes,” he finally acknowledged with a frown, “although I think
we should wait till the mist clears. We’re stumbling forward blind this way.”

“I have already explained to you why we need to move now,”
Penda replied, his voice quiet with feigned patience. “Unless you want an arrow
in your chest, it’s the best chance we have of breaking through their front
lines.”

“Well, you lead the men in then,” Aldfrid snarled. “I’m not
going first – we might as well rush in blind-folded.”

Aldfrid’s last comment was a mistake, a costly one.

Penda had put up with the ealdorman’s incessant grumbling ever
since they had left Tamworth. Yet, at Aldfrid’s latest insolence, his patience
snapped. Moving with the deathly speed that had made him so formidable in
battle, the Mercian king turned on Aldfrid and plunged his blade into the base
of his neck.

The ealdorman fell without a sound, his eyes bulging as he
clutched at the blade. Penda did not utter a word. He kicked the man to the
ground and placed a heavy boot on his chest, watching with cold eyes while
Aldfrid died. Around him, his warriors stirred uneasily; not one of them daring
intervene.

When he was sure Aldfrid was dead, Penda stepped back from his
corpse and turned to the watching gazes of his
fyrd
.

“Does anyone else have something to say?” he asked.

Their silence was the only answer he needed.

“Very well. On my command, we move!”

Saewara had taken her place in the ranks of bowmen and had
just notched her first arrow, when the battle started.

She had expected shouts and the crunch of metal colliding with
flesh. Yet, instead, there was a sudden release of tension in the air around
her and a whisper of movement down below.

The bowmen stood on a slight rise, fanned out in a horseshoe
at the point where they would get the clearest view of the enemy. Unfortunately,
as the first cries of men dying and the clang of spears against shields reached
them, they could see nothing because of the swirling mist. It was starting to
clear, but it was not safe to start loosing arrows.

Wulfhere, the leader of the bowmen, had dourly informed Saewara
that Annan suspected the Mercians would attack before the mist cleared; and it
appeared the king had been right. As such, they stood much further back than
the day before. This morning, they would have to bide their time before
engaging the Mercians.

“Loose your arrows on my command.” Wulfhere’s voice cut
through the rapidly increasing din of battle. “Remember to keep the rhythm once
you start – notch, draw, loose. When I say so – move back – and if I tell you
to run, do it!”

Saewara felt her heart start to hammer against her ribs at
these words. Everything was suddenly becoming very real. She had steeled
herself for this moment; but no amount of preparation could ready her for the
screams of men dying and the brutal sound of physical combat.

Somewhere, in the heart of that mêlée, Annan was fighting for
his life.

The mist started to clear and Saewara took a few deep, slow
breaths to calm her nerves. She needed to keep her hands steady or she would be
no use to anyone.

Suddenly, the mist cleared and Saewara received her first,
horrifyingly clear, view of the fighting. Men writhed in spaces between trees,
floundering on the uneven ground. They thrust spears, heaved axes and, those
who were high ranking enough to wield swords, sliced their way through the
fray.

Saewara did not look for Annan. That was not why she was here
– she had to concentrate, and that meant putting her husband out of her
thoughts.

“Notch!” Wulfhere commanded, the hard edge to his voice,
galvanizing Saewara’s resolve. “Draw!”

The row of bowmen obeyed. Saewara held her breath and aimed,
as she had been instructed, at the second group of Mercian warriors, who were
now moving forward to join those at the front ranks.

“Loose!”

Once the first arrow was loosed, the battle became a blur.

Saewara did as Wulfhere bid.

Notch, draw, loose. Notch, draw, loose.

She developed a steady rhythm – and men fell.

Even at this distance, she recognized some of the men she killed.
Among them was Thyrdwulf – the cold warrior, one of her brother’s best, who had
dragged her back from Bonehill. She felt no pleasure at killing him, only a
chilling relief that a man who was almost as cruel as her brother, no longer
walked the earth. He fell, with an arrow lodged deep in his windpipe and was
trampled by his comrades.

After a time, Saewara’s fingers grew raw from the bowstring
and her arms burned with fatigue, yet she did not halt. Her aim was lethal. She
only lowered her bow when her quiver was empty, and only then was it to take
another.

She had just started on her second quiver when Wulfhere’s
shout brought the firing to a halt. Saewara could see why. The numbers were
swelling down below. Men now fought elbow-to-elbow; the ranks of Mercians and
East Angles had suddenly merged so it was impossible to determine where one
started and the other ended. Even more worryingly, the tide of men had started
to surge toward the higher ground where the bowmen stood.

“Fall back!” Wulfhere shouted.

Saewara moved back, shoulder to shoulder with the other
bowmen. However, the trees grew thick behind them and they were forced to shift
apart. Sheltered from view by the trees, each archer took up position.

“Be sure of your marks before loosing your arrows!” Wulfhere bellowed.

A moment later, a hand axe came hurtling through the misty air.

Wulfhere slumped to the ground, the axe embedded in this
forehead. He lay there twitching, just yards from where Saewara stood.

The horror of it made Saewara reel back and cling to a tree
trunk for support. One moment Wulfhere had been alive, shouting orders at his
bowmen – and the next he was gone. The reality of how close danger was, and the
fact that the battle had now reached the point where it could turn either way,
made her want to turn tail and flee.