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 n
ow 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.
Joining her mother in the main hall, she helped the servants prepare the evening meal: roast pike, pottage and griddle bread. As Raedwyn kneaded the dough for the bread, her ears strained for any sound of approaching horsemen. Catching herself listening for her father’s return for the hundredth time since the sun had started to set, Raedwyn forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Her mother had said they would not return before the next morning.
Raedwyn set the pummeled wheel of dough on the griddle hanging above the fire pit and soon the aroma of baking bread filled the hall. She turned the bread over and allowed the other side to cook until golden. Raedwyn’s stomach growled as she placed the bread on the table to cool, reminding her of how hungry she was.
That evening, the atmosphere was subdued. There were few at dinner, as most of the warriors were away with Raedwald. Eanfled had not appeared, for which Raedwyn was grateful. She wanted to see her friend, but did not feel up to answering the barrage of questions that Eanfled would inevitably fire at her. Tomorrow, she would seek her out. Seaxwyn picked at her food, her face pinched with worry. Raedwyn chewed on a piece of fragrant griddle bread and took a sip of mead, watching her mother over the rim of her cup. She could not tell Seaxwyn not to worry, as she too was troubled about how the battle had gone. Instead, she decided to tell her mother about Ceolwulf.
“He is an ill-mannered bear of a man,” Raedwyn said ripping her bread into two pieces with vehemence, “and a bully!”
“That he is Raedwyn.” Seaxwyn nodded distractedly before taking a small mouthful of pottage. “He was once as close to Raedwald as Eni. They grew up together, became men together and fought alongside each other, but things changed after Raedwald married me.”
“How so?” Raedwyn asked.
“Ceolwulf was ever a dissatisfied and unsettled man,” Seaxwyn replied. “He had a woman, Hilda. She was a quiet, dark-haired girl, who it was rumored had been sired by a Roman, but he was not satisfied with her. She bore him a son, I forget his name, but she died in childbirth.”
“Caelin,” Raedwyn said without thinking, immediately regretting it when her mother’s gaze rested shrewdly on her.
“Yes, that was his name. How did you know?”
Raedwyn took a large gulp of mead and feigned disinterest.
“Caelin follows his father,” she said in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact tone.
“He was two winters younger than Raegenhere,” Seaxwyn continued, “but Ceolwulf ignored him most of the time and allowed the boy to run wild. Ceolwulf could have remarried, and there were plenty of fine young women to choose from – but it was me he wanted.”
“What!” Raedwyn spluttered, almost choking on her mead.
Now it was Seaxwyn’s turn to look discomforted. “I did not encourage him!” she retorted. “But soon after I became Raedwald’s wife I realized that Ceolwulf was insanely jealous of his king. Ceolwulf wanted a high-born woman, not some Roman spawn.”
Raedwyn noted the acidity in her mother’s voice as she finished her sentence. Seaxwyn’s dislike of the Romans was no surprise. She associated them with the encroachment of Christianity. Even Raedwald had converted to the new religion, although Seaxwyn made sure that her husband always honored the old gods.
“Slowly, insidiously, Ceolwulf began to show me more attention.” Seaxwyn continued her tale. “He made excuses to seek me out, flattered me and flattered Raedwald even more so. His attention worried me, and I even mentioned my fears to Raedwald but he brushed them off, saying that Ceolwulf was just behaving like any strong virile male and there was no harm in it.”
Seaxwyn stopped here and Raedwyn noticed her mother’s cheeks were flushed. Seaxwyn poured herself some more mead before continuing. “To cut a long story short, one day Ceolwulf cornered me and tried to force himself upon me. Raedwald had been away hunting and came back in time to find me fighting Ceolwulf off. He banished him from Rendlaesham that very day.”
“That explains it,” Raedwyn murmured.
“Explains what?” Seaxwyn frowned.
“He was very bitter about you. He said you poisoned father against him.”
“Now you know why he would say such a thing,” Seaxwyn replied. “He could never accept that his feelings weren’t reciprocated.”
Raedwyn finished her mead and stood up, feeling the effect of the drink as the walls around her swayed slightly. She was exhausted and the mead had only exacerbated her fatigue.
“Let us hope then, that it is father who returns to us in victory tomorrow.” Raedwyn kissed her mother on the cheek. “I just want this nightmare to be over. The waiting is the hardest part.”
“Goodnight Raedwyn.”
Seaxwyn remained seated at the empty table while her daughter disappeared into her bower. The queen pushed away her bowl of pottage, largely untouched, and massaged her temples. She had thought it had all finished, but even all these years later the past would not be forgotten. Her gray eyes fixed unseeingly on the low flames in the fire pit before her as the years rolled back and suddenly it was as if no time had passed at all.
Chapter Eight
Raedwyn pulled her hair back into a braid, wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and stepped outside her father’s hall into the morning light. She turned her face up to the sky and let the sun warm it before casting her gaze over Rendlaesham below. She knew this place so well. Life at Rendlaesham always followed a steady, unchanging pattern, year after year and Raedwyn found comfort in that.
It was now harvest-time and the arable fields that spread out around the town were full of ceorls – the folcfry – free folk who farmed the land around Rendlaesham. Also about were kotsetlas and geburs, higher and lower ranks of peasant bound to their lord Raedwald. This morning they were harvesting the summer barley and owing to the mild weather, the task was a pleasant one.
Raedwyn walked down into Rendlaesham and made her way to Eanfled’s new home. Eanfled would be a married woman now, as her wedding had been organized for two days after Raedwyn’s. Despite everything, Raedwyn was eager to see her friend in her new life as Alric the iron smith’s wife.
The smithy sat in a narrow street just behind Rendlaesham’s main thoroughfare. It was a long, low-slung dwelling with the forge at one end and the living quarters at the other. Alric was at his forge. He waved to Raedwyn, put down his hammer and stepped out on
to the street to greet her.
“M’lady!” Alric was a stocky young man with dark brown hair, a short beard and kind blue eyes. As always, he was a little shy in her presence. “I’m glad to see you safe.”
“Thank you Alric,” Raedwyn replied gently. “I never thought to return to Rendlaesham so soon, and certainly not in these circumstances.”
Alric nodded, his brow crinkling in concern. “It’s terrible news about your husband m’lady, and the whole town awaits word about the Battle of Uffid Heath,” he continued, “although I can see that mention of this pains you. Come, Eanfled is baking. She will be pleased to see you.”
Pleased was an understatement. Eanfled dropped the rolling pin she had been using to flatten a sheet of pastry and flew across the kitchen to give Raedwyn a floury embrace. Alric left them with a smile, knowing his presence would not be missed.
“I heard you returned yesterday, but I wanted to let you rest.” Eanfled dragged Raedwyn into the kitchen and pushed her into a chair. “I shall make us some hot spiced cider.”
Raedwyn was glad of Eanfled’s industrious, boisterous energy. She had been afraid that she would burst into tears at the sight of her friend, but Eanfled’s fussing galvanized her.
“I could not believe it.” Eanfled poured some cider into a cast iron pot and hung it above the kitchen’s fire pit. “I feared I would never see you again – and your poor husband! I heard that Cynric did not even have the chance to defend himself. The outlaw who brought Ceolwulf’s terms bragged about it after his audience with the king. Was it indeed an ambush?”
“It was,” Raedwyn replied. “They lay in wait for, and killed them all.”
Eanfled glanced across at Raedwyn, her pretty brow furrowing, before she added some spices and honey to the cider and stirred it with a wooden spoon.