Dark Under the Cover of Night

  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.

  Wine and food went flying as guests leapt to their feet.

  Eni, Annan, Aethelhere and Aethelwold grabbed what weapons they could and made their way around the table towards where Eafa struggled to free himself of Eorpwald and Caelin.

  Raedwyn watched, heart in her mouth, as Eafa drove his elbow into Eorpwald’s stomach and twisted free. He then smashed his fist into her brother’s face and Eorpwald crumpled to the ground. Writhing like an eel, Eafa smashed a jug of wine over Caelin’s head and sent him reeling, before turning to face the enraged king.

  “Filthy whoreson!” Raedwald shouted, his face puce with rage. “Treacherous dog!”

  Seaxwyn’s screams filled the hall as Eafa and Raedwald grappled like lovers. The blades of the weapons they wielded flashed as they slashed viciously at each other. Dripping with wine, Caelin picked himself up off the floor, shook his head to clear it, and edged towards the pair. However, it was difficult to get close to them and Caelin was forced to hang back.

  Raedwyn reached under her dress and slid the knife free of its sheath.

  Suddenly, the king grunted and his face went slack. The carving knife slid from his fingers and fell onto the rush matting floor.

  A moment later, Eafa screamed. The Mercian let Raedwald crumple to the ground, before he staggered away, clawing at the knife protruding from between his shoulder blades. Eafa could not reach the blade to pull it free.

  Raedwyn stood behind him. She had sunk the knife in to its hilt.

  Eafa turned, his face twisted in agony. His gaze fixed upon his new bride. In his right hand he still held his knife – only now the blade was coated with blood.

  “Wuffinga bitch!” he snarled, staggering towards her. “I’ll cut your throat!”

  Eafa never reached Raedwyn. Moving swiftly, Caelin retrieved Raedwald’s carving knife from the floor, stepped up behind Eafa and, grabbing the Mercian’s hair with one hand, drew the knife across Eafa’s throat with the other.

  Eafa fell, choking, to the floor.

  Raedwyn stepped over her dying husband and fell to her knees beside her father.

  Raedwald, King of the East Angles lay, white-faced, gazing sightlessly up at the smoke stained rafters of his own Great Hall. Raedwyn stared down at the wound that had killed him – watching in horror as blood flowered across the sleeveless linen shirt he wore. Eafa had stabbed him, once, in the heart.

  Raedwyn was vaguely aware of her mother kneeling opposite her. She looked up at Seaxwyn’s stricken face.

  “My love.” Seaxwyn’s voice was a broken whisper. She picked up his limp hand and squeezed as tears coursed down her face.

  The Great Hall had suddenly gone silent, save for muted sounds of fighting outside. Shaking, Raedwyn got to her feet and looked down at Eafa’s body. The Mercian’s face had frozen in a terrifying grimace. Even in death, he was frightening. Raedwyn looked upon his cold face and wished his end had been slower. She had stabbed him between the shoulder blades but she had wanted to twist it and listen to his screams for mercy.

  No mercy for the man who had none.

  Raedwyn looked across at Caelin. Like the other slaves, he had thrown down his weapon, just in case he was mistaken for one of Eafa’s men. Blood, Eafa’s blood, stained his face. Caelin was pale but his face was resolute, with that same strength she had seen in him upon their first meeting over a year earlier.

  Caelin’s gaze met Raedwyn’s for an instant before he knelt down and helped Eorpwald t
o his feet. One side of her brother’s face was so swollen that he could not see out of one eye. The blow had knocked Eorpwald out and although he was now conscious, her brother staggered as Caelin supported him.

  Seeing his father dead on the floor before him, Eorpwald’s battered face crumpled. His body sagged and he would have fallen if Caelin had not been holding him upright.

  “Father,” he whispered, “I failed you.”

  Once more, Raedwyn’s gaze locked with Caelin’s.

  “You tried to save my father’s life. After everything he did to you. Why?”

  Caelin opened his mouth to speak before his gaze focused upon Eni, who was watching him. Caelin closed his mouth and dipped his head, stepping aside as the king’s brother approached.

  “Eorpwald.” Eni’s voice was rough with grief. “Did you know Eafa was planning this?”

  Eorpwald nodded, his eyes glittering. “Caelin warned me this morning. He overheard Eafa planning to murder us all. I should have gone straight to father, but I thought I could stop Eafa. I wanted father to be proud of me, like he was of Raegenhere. Now, because of me, he is dead.”

  Silence echoed around the Great Hall then and all eyes fixed upon the king’s son.

  “No Eorpwald,” Eni replied gently. It is not you that killed Raedwald. Everyone here saw you try to save him.”

  Seaxwyn was sobbing as she rose from her husband’s side and let Eni enfold her in his arms. Eni held Seaxwyn close and looked down at Raedwald, his eyes burning.

  Raedwyn felt tears scald her face as she stepped close to Eorpwald and placed a kiss on her brother’s uninjured cheek.

  “Eni speaks the truth. The only man responsible for this lies dead at your feet.”

  Raedwyn turned from Eorpwald and knelt next to her father. Gently, she placed her hands over Raedwald’s staring eyes. When she removed her hand, the king’s eyes were closed.

  “Slǣp fæder,” Raedwyn murmured. Sleep father.

 

  Chapter Eighteen

  The ancient Barrows of Kings loomed out of the mist. Their great shadows guarded the eastern shore of the river Deben. Riding upon Blackberry, Raedwyn caught sight of the barrows and remembered the last time she had been here, waiting for Cynric the Bold. Thinking back to that day, Raedwyn recalled the pair of ravens that had landed atop one of the barrows. It had been an omen, Raedwyn saw it now; Woden’s messengers Hugin and Munin had come to warn her. She had known it at the time, but filled with girlish thoughts of romance, she had dismissed their warning.

  So much had happened since then – had it really been less than a year since she had waited here for Cynric?

  Behind her, Raedwyn could hear the creaking of the wagon that carried the carved wooden coffin. Her father lay within, slain by a man he had foolishly trusted.

  Raedwald’s burial was to be the most elaborate in the history of his people.

  Wrapped in a cloak, her eyes stinging from all the tears she had shed over the past day, Raedwyn watched as a team of men; Eorpwald, Eni, her cousins and the king’s thegns and ealdormen, dragged a long ship up from the river to the top of the high bluff. They placed it in a trench that they had dug at the end of the row of barrows. It was Cynric’s long- ship, with the carved dragon’s head on its prow. Since its owner’s death, the ship had remained on the bank of the Deben – now it was taking its last journey.

  The men erected a gabled hut amidships with Raedwald’s coffin inside. Around him, the women placed their king’s treasures – personal ornaments inlaid with gold and garnets, weapons, silverware, cooking equipment and coins. There were two objects that Raedwald prized the most – his helmet, with its warrior face, and his ceremonial whetstone, which he had always used to sharpen his sword before battle. Seaxwyn and Raedwyn laid these treasures amongst the other items before they climbed out of the ship, and left their menfolk to complete the burial.

  The men worked tirelessly, filling in the trench and raising a mound over the ship, as a thick mist snaked around the barrows. Raedwyn stood beside her mother, watching. Neither woman spoke – they had barely exchanged any words since Raedwald’s murder. For the first time ever, Seaxwyn appeared old. Grief had etched deep lines on her face, and her hair, once a fiery red, hung lank and gray-threaded in a plait down her back. Raedwyn worried for her, but was reluctant to attempt to comfort her mother. Seaxwyn was proud and unpredictable, and Raedwyn suspected that a deep rage lurked beneath her grief.

  In truth, Raedwyn feared her mother would blame her for Raedwald’s death.

  Caelin was among the men assisting with the burial. He no longer wore his slave collar and was dressed in a clean shirt, leather jacket and leggings of good cloth. Alchfrid, Immin and Sebbi – the Northumbrian slaves who had helped defend the Great Hall, also worked alongside Caelin. Eorpwald had given them all their freedom, and when his father’s former slaves had asked if they could assist with the burial, he had agreed.

  As they smoothed and shaped the surface of Raedwald’s barrow, Seaxwyn began to sing. Her voice was beautiful and clear. The mournful funeral lament soared above the barrows and through the stillness, chilling all who heard it.

  Then dark comes,

  night-shadows deepen,

  from the north there comes

  a rough hailstorm

  in malice against men.

  All is troublesome

  in this earthly kingdom,

  the turn of events changes

  the world under the heavens.

  Here money is fleeting

  here friend is fleeting

  here man is fleeting

  here kinsman is fleeting.

  þonne won cymeð,

  nipeð nihtscua,

  norþan onsendeð

  hreo hæglfare

  hæleþum on andan.

  Eall is earfoðlic

  eorþan rice,

  onwendeð wyrda gesceaft

  weoruld under heofonum.

  Her bið feoh læne,

  her bið freond læne,

  her bið mon læne,

  her bið mæg læne,

  eal þis eorþan gesteal

  idel weorþeð!

  Raedwyn blinked as her vision blurred with tears. Her father, the man she had loved best in the world, but who had betrayed her, was dead. Buried under the earth, surrounded by his treasures, he would now set sail for the afterlife. Never again would she hear the timbre of his voice, or the rumble of his laughter. Worst of all, she would never be able to tell him that despite everything she still loved him, and always would.

  Seaxwyn’s voice faded and she let her daughter embrace her as the tears returned. Holding her mother’s shaking body, Raedwyn was reminded, not for the first time, that her mother had truly loved her husband. It was a love that had endured, even through betrayal.

  A wave of sorrow descended upon Raedwyn, and she bowed her head as the tears streamed down her face. Then, the feel of a woman’s hand, slender and cool, taking hold of her own hand roused Raedwyn from her grief. She raised her head to see Eanfled standing beside her. Her friend, who had attended the funeral despite her advanced stage of pregnancy, gave Raedwyn a brave smile and squeezed her hand. Alric stood beside Eanfled and he nodded to Raedwyn. Sadness lined his face. Raedwyn gave them both a tremulous smile and squared her shoulders. She had cried enough – tears would not bring her father back.

  It was then that Raedwyn saw Caelin. He was standing on the far side of the group of men who had toiled all day to build Raedwald’s barrow. His gaze was riveted on her face and, longing to go to him, Raedwyn stared back.

  Eorpwald stepped forward and faced the group of mourners. A livid bruise now covered the left side of his face and his left eye had now completely swollen shut.

  Despite his injuries, Eorpwald’s face was resolute. His good eye glittered with emotion.

  “Today we mourn the greatest of kings,” he began, his gaze sweeping the assembly that had gathered around the base of the barrow. “Let no
t the manner of his death diminish all that Raedwald of the East Angles achieved, or the prosperity that this kingdom has known during his rule. I can only hope to be half the leader he was.”

  Eorpwald’s gaze rested on Caelin then. The crowd grew still and all eyes fixed upon Raedwald’s former slave – the man who had risked his life for the man who had killed his father.

  “Caelin, son of Ceolwulf the Exiled – I recognize your valor,” Eorpwald said. “Despite all that has befallen you since your father’s death, you warned me of Eafa’s treachery and attempted to save my father’s life. There are few men who would have done such a thing. Please come forward.”

  Caelin did as Eorpwald bid, kneeling before the man who would soon be crowned King of the East Angles.

  “I give you back Shadow Catcher,” Eorpwald took a cloth-wrapped object from one of his thegns and unwrapped it. The sword’s blade glinted, despite the dull day.

  Caelin smiled as he took back his sword. “Thank you, milord.”

  “I have given you your freedom and returned your sword,” Eorpwald continued, “but name a gift and, if it is in within my power, I will give it.”

  Caelin’s face froze for a moment; such was his shock at Eorpwald’s declaration. Until then, Caelin had carefully kept his emotions locked inside, but when he looked back at Eorpwald, all could see the naked gratitude on his face.

  “My Lord Eorpwald,” Caelin began, “there is nothing I would ask, except the hand of your sister, Raedwyn – and that is only hers to give.”

  There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Some faces blackened in anger that a former slave would dare ask for such a thing. Seaxwyn’s face pinched and her gray eyes turned hard as she glared at Caelin. She shrugged off her daughter’s arm and stepped away from Raedwyn, as if she had instigated this act.

  Only Eorpwald appeared unmoved by this announcement. He even smiled, although the expression was more of a grimace on his swollen face, as if he had been expecting it.

  “Then, I give you permission to wed my sister, Raedwyn, daughter of Raedwald, should she be in agreement.” Eorpwald turned to Raedwyn and his face was serious. “Gone are the days my brave sister when your future is decided by others. Now, I give you the choice to make.”