The Northumbrian Saga

By A. H. Gray

The Northumbrian Saga follows the story of Aethelwin, a young women in 9th Century Northumbria and the niece of King Osbert. For years her uncle has been fighting to keep his throne from his own step-brother, Aelle, and in order to gain support against his rival, Aethelwin is married into a family from Ripon further south, a political alliance for which she is known as a ‘Peace-weaver’.

It is not long however, before her new husband switches his allegiance to Aelle the usurper, and Aethelwin finds herself far from home amongst a family and a village who blame her for all their troubles. When she meets Leodgar, a man running from his own troubles, and finally comes to accept the childlike loyalty of her servant Ailith, her father’s favourite and a bastard child, Aethelwin learns how to regain her husband’s favour and help her uncle towards winning the civil war.

Yet history has its own agenda. Just as the new King of Northumbria takes his place on the throne, the kingdom is violently thrown into chaos by the Danes, led by Ivarr the Boneless and his brothers; Halfdan and Ubbe. Aethelwin and Ailith are caught up in the destruction of York and find themselves as captives of Thorstein and his friend Grendel. In a world on the verge of collapse, alliances are made and broken, and the people they thought they could trust turn out to be the true enemy. Is Thorstein’s promise of protection genuine, or will he prove as dangerous as his countrymen? Will Aethelwin succeed in helping the Northumbrians liberate the Kingdom with the help of her brother and his army, or will she sacrifice her friends and family for nothing?

At what cost will she fight for a kingdom in the final throws of death?

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. H. Gray
• Release date: Mar 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310994227

A. H. Gray

A H Gray lives in the West Australian city of Perth, where she studied History and Archaeology for six years. Influenced by her interest in such subjects, and her love of a good story, a number of ideas and characters have since come to life in the form of her debut novel, The Northumbrian Saga. The novel is intended to be the first in a series of fiction books based on the history and people of medieval Northumbria during the Anglo-Saxon and Viking periods.

Book preview

The

Northumbrian

Saga

A. H. Gray

Copyright © 2013 by A H Gray.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

A H Gray

[e-mail]

www.ahgray.wordpress.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, while based on real historical figures, are a product of the author’s imagination.

Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

Cover Photo: Bamburgh Castle and rocks on the beach at sunrise © D_turner

Rose2 © Cathleen Tarawhiti 2007-2013

To My Family

And The Ancestors That Came Before Us

Table of Contents

Map

Kings of Northumbria and York

Lineage of Aethelwin of Gedbury

Book One: The Peace Weaver

Chaper One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Book Two: The Warrior

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Book Three: The Priest

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Book Four: The Heir

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Historical Note

Acknowledgements

BOOK ONE

The Peace Weaver

862-866 AD

‘Oft a solitary mortal wisheth for grace,

his Maker’s mercy,

though sick at heart he must long traverse the watery ways,

with his hands must stir the rime-cold sea,

and tread the paths of exile.

Fate is full stubborn!’

So spake a wanderer,

mindful of miseries,

of hostile slaughters,

of dear kinsman’s fall.

―The Wanderer

Anglo Saxon Poem

Chapter one

The young girl sat at the head of the feasting table, quiet, stoic and obedient. She was surrounded by mayhem in the great hall. Mead overflowed cups, down men’s beards, women’s dresses, dripping to the floor where it pooled in the dirt and straw. Only the hounds, shuffling about under the tables, trying to keep away from their masters’ legs, noticed the steady drip of mead and took advantage.

Those who had not retreated to the dark smoky edges of the hall were congregated around each of the three great fire pits. The clamour from their drinking games and tall tales almost drowning out the melodies of the musicians. The bard had lost his patience many hours before. He sat sulking instead, his back pressed hard up against the wall, glaring at the uncultured rabble that had ignored his tales of love and beauty. Despite being in one of the most pious halls in Northumbria, he was surrounded by people acting more like the uncouth pagans across the cold North Sea.

All the while, through the smoke and haze from the great fires, the girl sat. Not listening to the celebrations, not talking to anyone, just sitting. Staring at the man in the corner, the one with the fair hair and the blue eyes that danced and sparkled like moonbeams. His smile was light and teasing, mesmerizing as he leant ever so closely to a raven haired beauty with copper eyes.

The girl watched them both intently; intrigued by the way he found any excuse to touch his companion. Her hair, her shoulder, her fingers, even the fabric of her dress. The beauty, no more than a common peasant, smiling through downcast lashes, blushed at each touch, clearly enjoying the attention. She glanced around surreptitiously at the crowd as her lover continued to kiss her neck. No one else noticed; no one else cared in their drunken oblivion. They were but one pair in a sea of people, doing the same or worse in the dim lit corners.

At last her copper eyes fell on the watching girl and smirked. She turned to her lover, whispering in his ear. He listened intently, as if every word came from the lips of a goddess, then he too looked at the girl. He smiled back at her happily, his beautiful eyes unfocused.

The young girl fought hard to keep her composure. She did not blush; she did not falter, her face as inscrutable as rock. He nodded politely to her, forcing her to return the civility. Then, in an instant, the scene returned back on its course, as though nothing had changed.

But of course it had. Eadred knew it, and now, belatedly, so did Aethelwin.

She fought back the tears that were threatening behind her eyes, unable yet to look away from her new husband and his whore. What would her mother think? What would her uncle think, the King of all Northumbria?

Dragging her eyes away from them, Aethelwin appraised the great hall once again. The meat was still being passed around by the slaves and the barrels of mead had yet to be drained by her father’s supporters. It had been a monumental day for everyone.

The wedding ceremony itself had been over in minutes, a mere formality of exchanging money and a blessing by the priest. The family had been brokering the marriage for months. Countless meetings, offers and counter offers, permission from the king, assurances of allegiance and finally the witnessing of contracts. Excited was what she had felt at the start, when being married was a novelty.

This was her moment, she lectured herself. The event that she had been trained for since she had been born thirteen winters ago. This was her calling, and she was ready. Men fought and died for their land; she was needed for a more important task, a higher purpose.

Marriage, looking after her husband, giving birth to future warriors, but above all keeping her new husband and his family’s allegiance to the King, was her role in life. Now, after all these months, it was finally over, and until a few moments ago, Aethelwin had felt blessed and relieved.

Where is Ailith? We will die of cold and discomfort before long.

Beside her, Aethelwin’s sister-in-law muttered to herself as she stroked her swollen belly irritably and looked about for the girl.

Aethelwin’s hand was as fire against the other girl’s cold one. You are unwell, sister? Perhaps it will be quicker if I fetch your mantle myself?

Beornwynn tightened her grip and smiled back.

Of course it would my dear, but then what would be the point of slaves?

She is not a slave. She muttered, her father’s words were an insult each time she repeated them. Not anymore

Both women fell silent, Beornwynn still seeking the arrival of her mantle, Aethelwin looking everywhere except in the direction of her unfaithful husband. Her wandering gaze fell to her father, the Aeldorman Paega, Lord over most there in the hall. He stood by the main entranceway, caught in a discussion with his Reeve. As they spoke, a slave woman approached with a fresh beaker of ale. The Reeve continued his conversation, the movement of his beaker to be refilled the only hint that he had noticed her at all. Paega, however, was completely enchanted.

As the slave turned next to fill her master’s cup, her face finally hidden from the Reeve, Aethelwin witnessed a familiar scene. The slave’s eyes darted quickly to Paega’s enraptured face and a smile touched her lips. The light of happiness shone bright from the Aeldorman’s eyes. Lightly, his finger tips reached out to brush against her hand.

The stolen moment was interrupted by the Reeve clearing his throat noisily. He stared unhappily into his beaker of ale. Blushing, the slave woman stepped away from her master instantly, bowed low to both men, and disappeared into the crowd.

Aethelwin felt the prickly heat of embarrassment in her own cheeks. She quickly searched the faces of those in the hall, hoping no one else had noticed the looks of love between her father and his slave. To her intense relief, they were all too wrapped up in the revelry of her wedding feast.

Or so she thought.

I would not question your father’s choice in bedfellows, Beornwynn whispered. That is as he chooses. Yet to keep that woman at his side and in his thoughts, in front of the noblemen of the land… It is not right. It is a disrespect to us all. Forgive me dear one, Eadgyth and her bastard will forever be slaves to my mind.

Behind them the echo of heavy footsteps on the rush strewn floorboards drew Beornwynn away from her ear. Her eldest brother, Caedmon, leaned over his heavily pregnant wife, kissed her lightly on the cheek and sat down to join them.

A man knows when women conspire. Their eyes squint and lips pucker.

The jest was rewarded with a warm laugh and a kiss from Beornwynn.

A sharp tug to her hair caused Aethelwin’s headdress to slide down her back and onto the filth strewn floor. As she was now a married woman, modesty decreed that she bind up her hair. The ornately embroidered fabric engulfed her head and shoulders in a way that made her feel top heavy and clumsy. The folds were fastened into place with tiny copper hairpins the slaves had dug tightly into her hair. Too tightly in fact. All day Aethelwin had itched and pulled, little by little loosening their hold, worried the pins would draw blood from her too tight scalp. Now the expensive fabric her mother and the womenfolk of Gedbury had labored day and night to weave and embroider lay at her feet. If her mother saw her bareheaded on her wedding night, she would be scolded.

Turning, she glared at the perpetrator. There, side by side, stood her two other brothers, Eadwine and Wulfstan. Wulfstan was the youngest of her three brothers and the favourite of anyone who knew him. He had fixed his gaze on the scene before them, biting his lip against his laughter. She knew it had been him even before she had turned. He could never take anything seriously; he even regarded battle more as entertainment than business. He winked, his cheeky smile instantly dissolving all annoyance. She replied by sticking out her tongue as they did when they were younger, but quickly before anyone caught her.

Thankfully Eadwine, the second of their father’s children, was too busy looking about the hall with disgust, his nose upturned at how far and fast the bridal celebrations had fallen into debauchery.

Your skin is icy, wife, Caedmon’s voice interrupted her thoughts. In a grand sweeping movement, he removed his wolf fur cloak and wrapped it around Beornwynn, resting one arm around her shoulder and the other hand protectively on her swollen belly.

You should have called someone for a mantle. Where is Ailith?

The little whelp has been called, several times, Beornwynn lamented, her large brown eyes looking at her husband with soft adoration. Take me home my love. The baby is tiring me, and I’m sure Aethelwin has enough ladies to take her to her husband’s bed.

Aethelwin nodded slightly, and with a strong, steadying arm, Caedmon helped Beornwynn up off of the hard bench.

Aethelwin my dear, take care, she crooned maternally, stroking the girl’s fair hair. Then lowering herself as much as possible she whispered again in her ear, You too should leave soon. Take your husband home early in the night lest he leaves with another.

Aethelwin’s eyes trailed behind the couple as they made their way towards the door, stopping now and then as they bid goodnight to friends and visitors. At the end of the hall, they met with her father and mother, who had mysteriously materialised again by her husband’s side. The Reeve had gone and so had the servant, mercifully.

Aethelwin had seen enough in her short life to know that mistresses were as common as the dirt beneath their feet. Her grandfather had mistresses, her father had mistresses, and now it seemed that she was married, her new husband would have mistresses too.

Men are greedy, her mother’s oft spoken words stung her like an enemy’s poisoned arrows. They want more than they are entitled to. More than they deserve.

Watching her drunken husband with a heavy heart, Aethelwin conceded it must be true. After all, that was the reason her kinsmen were now fighting each other, tearing the kingdom apart with war. After all, that was the reason she had been made Eadred’s wife, why she was to be sent far away to the south of Northumbria.

Towards the end of the night, when the drunkards had made off into the fields to empty their bellies and bladders, or collapsed with excess amongst the straw and ale soaked floor, her father’s mistress came to her. Her name was Eadgyth, though why Aethelwin ever had to learn her name was a mystery. She disliked her and everything about her. Like the Reeve, Aethelwin refused to look at her sweetly smiling face.

Aethelwin, your father awaits you.

It is Lady Aethelwin.

Eadgyth pretended not to notice; her smile widened instead, even sweeter than before. Politely she motioned to the entrance of the hall.

You will find him outside.

Aethelwin dismissed her with a nod though made no attempt to move. Her father might cling to her every utterance, but she certainly would not. She would leave when she was ready and not a moment too soon. Eadgyth bowed graciously as a servant should, and then left.

Outside, Aeldorman Paega was deep in conversation with Lord Raedwald, her father-in-law. Around them stood several of their advisers, her new husband Eadred, her mother the Lady Ethelflaeda, and two women servants. They were all waiting, it seemed, for the last ritual of the wedding. Aethelwin bowed low before Lord Paega and waited to be noticed.

Eadred, she noted looked a little worse for wear. Even his good looks and heart melting smile could not hide the fact that he was drunk, severely drunk. He swayed heavily from side to side, his eyes unfocused. Only Aethelwin seemed to notice, or care. Her mother was preoccupied pulling the servants into line, making sure that at least they did not disgrace the family. Aethelwin wondered why she bothered at all. Everyone else who had come to celebrate was either senseless on the ground, still drinking inside, or had already returned to the comfort of their own beds. The pitiful few who stood before her were all that remained to see her bedded. It had been a wedding night fit for a village nobody. Worse still, even a village nobody had her nobody friends to dance her home.

Paega at last turned his attention to his daughter waiting patiently for his blessing. He stood before her and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, a rare show of affection between them. When he opened his mouth, a waft of ale soaked breath made Aethelwin screw up her nose.

"Dohtor, he began formally, we have chosen well in a husband for you. I pray you find happiness together, and that your sons will grow strong."

I thank you father. I hope my sons will make you proud. I hope they will make us all proud.

A nervous cough and an awkward smile signaled the end of his blessing, the final goodbye between father and daughter. As Paega turned away, Aethelwin swiped a hot tear from her cheek. The glare that the Lady Ethelflaeda levelled at her father made him freeze to the spot. With a petulant sigh, he turned back to Aethelwin.

Tomorrow you will leave with your husband for your new home. I trust you are looking forward to it.

Aethelwin replied obediently that she was. A small part of her was of course excited. She couldn't wait to be a wife, to have children and see them grow up to fight for their king. She would be in charge of her own household, have her own slaves, and help her husband with his estates in southern Northumbria. The thought of a new land and new people excited her with possibilities. But she was a little anxious as well. She was travelling very far from home, far from her brothers, from Beornwynn who would birth the family’s new heir soon. It was hard to believe that she may not see them all again.

Yet more than that, she was afraid for the trip south. It was a long way and the roads and byways were the domain of robbers and thieves who preyed on rich and poor alike. There was no guarantee that they would even reach her new home unscathed.

Aethelwin crossed herself against such thoughts. Sensing her uncertainty, Paega patted her on the shoulder.

Do not be afraid. You have a good husband, and he has good minders. They will protect you, with God’s help.

Aethelwin smiled, the first time she had done so all day.

I thank you father. I know you and mother have chosen well for me. All the same, she added tentatively, I will miss you.

Lowering his voice, Paega took a step closer. He looked earnestly at his young daughter, his eyes as misty as a November field.

Please, Aethelwin, he whispered, hoping only to be heard by her, look after your sister.

The icy coldness of shock and grief ran through her body, stealing the breath from her lungs. Aethelwin gritted her teeth against it, begging her mind and body to regain its composure. Unseeing, Paega continued urgently.

She is a dear, dear girl. A joy to anyone who sees her. Keep her safe, for my sake. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to her.

Paega!

Lady Ethelflaeda joined them, impatient for her daughter to join her own husband. The Aeldorman sagged under the weight of her voice, his lips curling under themselves like a churlish child.

Eadred is waiting for his bride, this is not the time or place.

With a slight wave of his hand, Paega gladly released Aethelwin back into his wife’s command, retreating gratefully to the safety of his guests.

Aethelwin walked quietly at her mother’s side. Behind them followed a disjoined procession, wending its way through the village to the house of her father’s most trusted man. With great pride and honour her father’s people had cleaned the home spotless and repainted the walls and carved eaves in bright colours. It was to be the home of the newlyweds for the night, her first night as a married woman.

Once all were firmly entrenched within, Eadred staggered to the large table in the middle of the room, laid out with wine, bread, cheese and salmon, caught fresh from the nearby Jed Water.

Aethelwin let herself be ushered toward the large bed that had been made for the occasion, a rare luxury compared with the hard sleeping platforms she once shared with her brothers and the rest of the household. The bed lay behind the privacy of a finely embroidered curtain; another wedding gift that her mother, Beornwynn and ladies from the village had sewn. As the tapestry was drawn between herself and the men folk, the slave girls started about their business. They expertly relieved her of her headdress, her mantle, gown, long sleeved under dress, and stockings which were all replaced with a simple, white, embroidered night dress. When they were finally dismissed, Lady Ethelflaeda sat Aethelwin down and proceeded with unpinning her daughter’s hair.

This task is for Ailith, my Lady, Aethelwin replied, finally breaking the silence between them.

Her mother said nothing, continuing earnestly with her task until the last of the braids had been unwoven out of her hair.

There, now let me help you into the bed.

Aethelwin climbed up onto the feather mattress and slid between the smooth linen sheets. She was thankful that she had been born into such an influential family. Only those rich enough could afford linen; the rest lived and slept in wool. Horrible, scratchy, smelly wool. She watched her mother fussing about with the bed clothes, tucking her in like a baby in its swaddling, smoothing out every lump, bump and crease that she could manage to tame. Aethelwin could never imagine her mother dressed in wool. Nothing but linen and fur and jewels and gold was good enough for her. She dared believe that there had or ever would be a time when her mother would not look like an angel from on high.

"You are a wife now, dohtor, the Lady Ethelflaeda marvelled, finally resting her fidgety hands in her lap. You are a woman. This is a good family that you have married into, and it is an honour to be of service to them."

Is it not a greater honour for them to be in our family?

Of course, Ethelflaeda laughed, her long fingers stroking the girls face tenderly. Anyone would be honoured to marry the niece of King Osbert.

Then why is my husband drunk? Why does he smile at other girls? If I am such an honour why is he not content with me?

Ethelflaeda took her daughter’s hands in hers and looked earnestly into her eyes.

You know why, Aethelwin.

Aethelwin slowly nodded, her bottom lip betraying her disappointment.

Because men are greedy.

Yes, they are. Greedy and near-sighted. They think only of the now. How much can I gain before tomorrow? How many wars can I fight? How much gold can I take? How many seeds can I sow? Ethelflaeda added with a snarl. They don't think about the future, they don't think about any other consequences other than a favourable one. That is why we are so important. We have to help steer them in the right direction. We have to tell them which battles to fight so that they win the war. We show them how to save and how to spend wisely so that their family and their men don't starve. We are the rudders to their ships, my dear. But sometimes, even when we tell them which fields they can and cannot sow, they do it anyway.

Aethelwin could not mistake the hurt and suffering in her mother. It was for this reason that she disliked her father the most. Ethelflaeda was the sister of the king of Northumbria. A member of the royal family, she brought into her marriage large estates, generations of loyal and productive families, the best of the woods and streams and mines for miles around.

More importantly, she had brought love. She had loved Paega fiercely, and he had loved her. But her own family, her brother chief amongst them, had spoken out against the match. Paega was no more than a thegn, a warrior with no wealth to his name, no prospects, and as far as anyone could tell, not much talent for fighting. Ethelflaeda hadn’t cared. She knew he was a kind hearted man, a loving man.

That was the problem. Paega was a romantic and a dreamer. When he fell in love, he fell hard and he fell often. It had not been long before he was unfaithful. He could not help himself. Ethelflaeda turned a blind eye. She knew it was her that he truly loved and as long as he always came back to her, she could forgive him a few infidelities. After all, she had been brought up with the children of her father’s indiscretions and no one thought any less of him.

But then Paega fell in love with Eadgyth, and worse still, he stayed in love with her. He was still in love with her, and it had been more than ten years since she had first arrived in Gedbury. Ethelflaeda could never forgive him for that, and neither could Aethelwin.

Forgive me, my Lady.

One of the slave girls curtsied low in front of them.

My Lord wishes to know if all is ready.

Ethelflaeda kissed her daughter’s hands briefly, then ushered the servant back behind the curtain.

Aethelwin was finally alone. It felt strange, jarring. As if she had suddenly been thrown into the icy Jed waters that flowed past their home. This was the moment when she would become a wife, in all aspects. This was the moment.

She was no longer excited. She felt sick.

After a few agonising moments, the two slaves reappeared. The great tapestry which had once hidden her from view was turned away, revealing the larger room and her awaiting audience.

Her mother, coming to stand at the foot of the bed beside the two slaves, gave her a reassuring smile. Her father-in-law, Lord Raedwald, had his son by one arm, trying to keep the lad upright as he was led to the side of the bed.

Take off your shirt and get into bed, Eadred, he ordered.

Eadred, who was still suffering from too much ale, flung off his shirt with an exaggerated flourish. The two girls giggled, which encouraged him even more. He started to shimmy around, trying to wiggle his way provocatively out of his pants.

Eadred! his father snapped.

Groaning theatrically for the benefit of the onlookers, Eadred flopped onto the bed beside Aethelwin. He grinned up at his frustrated father whilst he tried to tuck his grown son into his marital bed. Aethelwin chanced a glance at her parents. Her mother’s face was ashen with indignation but was otherwise perfectly composed. Her father seemed more interested in staring at the doorway, no doubt wishing he was in Eadgyth’s arms back at the hall instead.

The slave girls of course were bright red from the effort of trying to stifle their laughter.

Aethelwin felt embarrassed. She was so grateful to be leaving first thing in the morning. The whole theatrical farce would be local knowledge before the sun came up. Fancy the niece of King Osbert being married to a drunken fool.

It was a mercy when the assembly left shortly after Eadred was finally settled. His wife thanked the Lord God for this small allowance.

She waited in silence for Eadred to make their union official. Watching the half light of the hearth cast the room in its red and amber glow, her mother’s words of scorn and betrayal dissolved in its warmth. What could they know of this stranger from the south, of all men in this kingdom? Was it not common for a man to celebrate at his own betrothal? Surely she should trust more in the wisdom of her king in choosing the right husband for her? The memory of Eadred’s arrival that morning caused a flutter in her heart. Smiling, she closed her eyes, picturing his own clear blue eyes alive and dancing as the village ad come out to meet him, his lean muscled shoulders and arms proving that he would indeed be a fine warrior for her uncle, remembering the way he had held her as they danced earlier in the night, before ale and the golden eyed villager ruined it all. The logs on the fire cracked and fizzed as they shifted in the heat, bringing Aethelwin back into reality to realise with sudden confusion that there were no other sounds about her. Not the raucous revelry from the Great Hall, nor even the words of love from her new husband. Nothing.

Opening her eyes, Aethelwin looked across at her husband. Between his parted lips she could see the pink of his tongue, hear his soft breath as it caressed her face. The smell of ale was repulsive, it permeated his every pore. She sighed. He was so good looking, even in his sleep. Why then did he have to be such a fool?

Aethelwin stared at him for a long time, the details of what should have been the happiest day of her life once more crashing over her in waves of disbelief and bitter disappointment. Perhaps, her mother was right after all, a prospect that did not cheer her.

***

When Aethelwin re-entered the main hall the next morning, only the slaves were present. They had scrubbed it clean of the previous night’s festivities so well that only the faint smell of ale and vomit lingered. The missing slave girl from the night before skipped about the hall, sprinkling sweet smelling herbs and flowers in the newly spread straw.

In looks, Ailith was an almost exact copy of Aethelwin, which of course added to Aethelwin’s irritation. In temperament, they were opposites. Ailith was two years younger than her and as light and free as the flowers in spring. She was singing the sparrow’s morning song, a well known tune sung by the people as they walked to the fields. It bounced around in your throat and right off of your tongue, infecting everyone with its happiness.

Aethelwin sat sullenly at the table.

Be quiet with that awful song.

The little girl stopped immediately, the threat of tears making her eyes look all the more luminous.

"Why are you so mean to me all the time, sweostor?"

Why are you so mean to me? Aethelwin mimicked. Because you never do as you’re told. You play instead of doing your work. You are useless.

I’m going to tell father.

He is NOT your father and I am not your sister. You are a nobody he whelped, his mistress’ bastard.

Finally succumbing to her tears, Ailith fled from the hall to find her mother, or Paega, or both.

If only she had a real servant, someone who actually did what was required. It had been a long time since Aethelwin had been helped to prepare in the morning. For years, it had been Eadgyth who dressed and arranged her hair. When she was old enough, Ailith had then been given to her as her own slave. That arrangement hadn’t lasted very long. Ailith was too dim witted to remember her tasks and Paega’s indulgence of the little girl meant that she was rarely punished for her inattention. And then of course, as an added insult to Aethelwin’s mother and their family, her father had freed the two from their servitude and recognised Ailith as his natural daughter.

The soft, golden light of the early morning sun filtered through the narrow window slits and open doorways, doing justice to the splendour of their home. It shone on the richly stained carvings along the roof beams and struts, bringing to life the kings of their past. Her favourite was King Aethelfrith who united the old kingdoms of Bernicia and Deira to create Northumbria, glistening above her head with accents of gold paint.

It reminded her of the great hall that she had seen once at Bamburgh, the traditional seat of her ancestors. Of King Ida, the first of their kings, a warrior who had left the lands of Deira along the Humber River, to settle his people in the north. There was the great battle of Bamburgh rock, which the ancient people had called Din Guairi. Here, Ida defeated their king, Outigern, and ever since his great hall had stood on that same rock. His Grandson Athelfrith, her favourite, had married the great Lady Bebbe here, princess of the Pictish people of the far north. He rebuilt the stronghold of his grandfather and named it in his fair lady’s honour. Bebbanburh.

These were the ancestors of her mother’s line. Aethelwin and her brothers could recite the names back through the ages, from her uncle, King Osbert, right through to King Ida through one of his youngest sons, Ocg, and through Ida still further to Brand, the common ancestor they shared with the West Saxons. All of these ancestors and their stories were carved into the beams and walls of that great stronghold.

Take care brother, a shaggy beast from the wilderness has found its way into our home. Look, it wears the clothes of our dear sweet sister, Wulfstan chortled as he and Eadwine strode into the hall.

As was their way, they had been awake for hours already, practising their sword skills before the priest came for their Latin instructions. The boys sat either side of her, Wulfstan unable to resist another tug of her plaits peeking out from beneath her disheveled headdress. You look like a swamp banshee from the north.

It is not my fault.

What? A girl who cannot do her own hair? How can that be?

Ever the more serious of Paega’s children, Eadwine tried to curb the squabbling with reason.

It never pays to fight with a woman, if there is ever a victory it is a hollow one.

Wulfstan rolled his eyes, making Aethelwin stifle a laugh.

Best you put that headdress in order quick, little sister. Mother is about to arrive with your new husband.

No sooner had Aethelwin taken her brother’s advice then Lady Ethelflaeda appeared through the doorway, followed closely by Eadred looking surly and haggard from the night before. Behind them came her father and Lord Raedwald deep in conversation. The house slaves immediately stopped their work and retreated back into the shadows, making way for the family. Aethelwin noticed Eadgyth slip silently into the hall behind Lord Paega and Lord Raedwald, her daughter Ailith by her side. Aethelwin sent her half-sister a withering look from across the room, making the little girl squeeze closer to her mother.

The great oak table had been laid out by the servants a new with wine, mead and an array of food for their guests’ to break their fast. Eadred stared longingly at the slices of roast ham nearest to him, not even the smell of wine putting him off his food. Knowing the young man’s need to fill his stomach, Ethelflaeda invited him to sit.

Aethelwin, will you attend to your husband?

Immediately Aethelwin was at Eadred’s side, though he hardly noticed. She smiled prettily for her husband, trying to catch his attention to no avail.

My Lord and husband.

Eadred made no sign that he had heard her, or noticed how she stood taught with expectation by his side. He had already helped himself to the slices of ham and was searching the table with a sullen scowl. Hoping to please him, Aethelwin reached for the pot of gravy and held it over his food. She was rewarded with a nod of thanks. Next followed a large chunk of bread and an intricately engraved bone cup filled with wine. When this too was acknowledged, and the cup drained dry, Aethelwin was only too ready to provide more. At last, surprised and pleased with such a well trained wife, Eadred looked up at the serious child beside him.

I thank you, wife.

Aethelwin hardly dared to show her happiness. Instead she chose humility, curtsied again and waited patiently for his next command.

Sit.

Aethelwin immediately perched on the bench beside him. Eadred laughed.

A fine pair you will make, to be sure. She has chosen well in a daughter-in-law.

He still smelled of ale. It was so strong that if she had not slept by his side all night she would have thought that he’d spent the night in a barrel of ale, clothes and all. Despite the smell and his less than happy attitude, however, his clothes were clean and freshly pressed, his golden hair was combed and neat. He had made an effort, at least. To Aethelwin, this made a difference. She didn’t want a drunken, slovenly farmer as a husband.

So wife, you are to leave your family today. Are you anxious of that?

No Lord. I am sure I will miss my life here, but I know I will grow to love your family and people just as much.

Eadred rolled his eyes and returned to his food.

Of course, good answer. So you love God I suppose?

Of course! Aethelwin gasped.

Ah, ha. No emotion for your husband but plenty for God. Well, that is as it should be I suppose. And you go to church every day do you? Will we be needing to build my Lady her own private chapel?

Aethelwin was bewildered by Eadred’s barely suppressed hostility. If anything she should be chastising him. No emotion for her husband? It had not been she who had lain in their marital bed as cold as a lifeless fish. He hadn’t even performed his duty as a husband, yet he was already finding fault with her. She took a calming breath and thought about her own duty, to her king. The reason she had been married in the first place.

My Lord, I don’t know what I have said to upset you? I love God as all good Christians do, though I do not go to church and confession as much as I ought.

Forgive me wife, I’m just trying to make out your personality. You seem very serious, and I’m not used to that in a woman so young.

I know what kind of women you are used to, Aethelwin replied tartly, before she had realised what she had said.

Eadred laughed out loud, caught off guard by her bluntness. His beautiful smile had returned as well, warming her heart with hope.

Encouraged, she added, That lady last night was very beautiful.

The smile subsided. Eadred put down the bread loaf he had been tearing into and gave Aethelwin his full attention.

Aethelwin, we both know that this marriage is nothing more than a strategic alliance. I will provide for you and any offspring we have as best I can. I will treat you as well and as kindly as you treat me. But I do not love you Aethelwin, and I will have mistresses. That will not change.

Aethelwin nodded, dutifully refilled her husband’s wine cup once more, and forced herself to smile. Her mother, father and new father-in-law were watching them, searching for the slightest indication that she could not rise to her task. Eadred must be kept content with his wife, his family must not come to regret their alliance with her family, their people must turn out for her uncle’s cause. There was no room for her own wishful thoughts, her hopes and dreams. Her family was her life, her uncle’s kingdom was her future, nothing more or less. She had nothing if any aspect failed, and so for this she hoped that all that anyone could see was the happy couple being just that, happy.

Taking a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, she said what she knew she should say, the only answer that was expected of her.

Eadred, that is all I want, she promised, I do not love you either.

Eadred considered her for a while, his piercing eyes scrutinising her every facial feature. At last satisfied with her answer, he went returned to his meal.

Although with time I hope we can feel some sort of affection towards each other. I have seen the bones of my parent’s marriage, and although my father has his mistresses, I know he loves my mother in his own way and treats her well. That is all I want from you. A good home, strong children, and men to fight with my father and brothers for the king’s peace.

That is your decision then.