Chapter Eleven
Slight Dignity
A GREY MANTLE settled across the land as the king and his men headed out of Hagustaldes—bound east for Bebbanburg.
The light levels were low, and the heavens heavy with the promise of rain.
Aldfrith squinted up at the grey sky, wondering how long the rain would hold off. One thing was certain—at some point during their two-day journey home, they would all get soaked.
He rode alongside the bishop this morning—not his choice of travel companion.
However, Wilfrid seemed to have assigned himself as Aldfrith’s personal escort and counselor.
He sat now, perched upon his dun gelding like an ill-tempered crow.
Wilfrid had been in a sour mood since their arrival in Hagustaldes, and the day they had spent there had done little to lighten his spirits.
The bishop crossed himself and muttered a prayer under his breath as they left the last of the scattered wattle and daub hovels around the town behind, and entered a road through dense woodland.
Aldfrith’s mouth curved in a wry smile. “Pleased to see the back of Hagustaldes?”
Wilfrid grunted. “Aye … full of heathens.”
Aldfrith raised an eyebrow. “Most of them are Christian folk, all baptized.”
Wilfrid cast him a long-suffering look. “They worship God, aye … but in the manner of many folk in the north. Their pagan ways lie just beneath the surface.” He broke off here, his craggy features darkening. “That funeral ceremony was an offense to God.”
Aldfrith shrugged. “Folk have their traditions; we should respect them. You conducted the ceremony … although you should have let Bishop Godwin do it.”
Wilfrid scowled at the reprimand. “The man’s a weak fool. I needed to set the folk of Hagustaldes a firm example.”
“But they like Godwin … he’s a pious man.”
“He should have never allowed them to organize such a ceremony. If I were bishop, things would change.” Wilfrid’s intense gaze settled upon Aldfrith. “Get rid of Godwin, sire. Let me have Hagustaldes under my influence.”
Aldfrith frowned. He should not be surprised that Wilfrid was making such an audacious demand, and yet he was. “No, Father. Inhrypum is under your care, not this land. Bishop Godwin will stay where he is.”
“But the fool prays in his church while the folk of Hagustaldes practice the old ways.” Wilfrid’s voice rose as his ire grew.
“Soon they’ll be sacrificing animals to the pagan gods for Blood Month and hailing Woden at Yule, while girls dance barefoot around fires with flowers in their hair at Eostre. ”
There’s no harm in it,” Aldfrith replied, deliberately not rising to the bishop’s heckling tone. “A change of faith takes time.”
Wilfrid glared at him. “That’s what those monks upon Iona told you?” The scorn in the bishop’s voice made Aldfrith tense.
Aldfrith let out a long sigh. He was not getting into this discussion again.
Wilfrid took offense at how those of northern Britannia worshipped Christ. He missed no opportunity to criticize.
However, his sniping had little effect on Aldfrith.
He had his own faith, a steadying constant in his life, and did not care if the bishop thought it was a lesser one.
The bishop’s views spoke of a vanity, of a need to feel superior to those around him. Wilfrid had not taken those years of exile well.
“No, they are my own views,” Aldfrith replied, a warning note in his voice. “Ones I stand firm on.”
With that, he nudged his grey stallion into a canter and left the bishop’s side.
He had no desire to spend the day listening to Wilfrid’s criticisms. Instead, he urged his stallion along the column of riders to where Cerdic rode just behind his bannermen.
“Good morning,” Aldfirth greeted him.
The warrior blinked, coming out of a reverie. “Morning, sire.” A half-smile curved Cerdic’s lips then. “Had enough of the bishop already?”
Aldfrith snorted. “How did you know?”
Cerdic favored him with a wry look.
“I’ve seen the way the man shadows your steps. Does he ever spend any time in Inhrypum? He follows you around like a hound.”
Aldfrith laughed. “Only he’s far worse company than Argus.”
The pair of them rode in companionable silence for a distance, their horses passing through mist-wreathed trees. The leaves were turning, the canopy a riot of gold and red. Aldfrith breathed in the scent of rich earth, moss, and damp vegetation.
His thoughts turned inward as he rode, traveling back to the funeral feast the night before—and to Osana.
Even pale with grief, and anxious about the future, she was lovely. After his experiences as a younger man, he now deliberately ignored the flirtatious smiles and limpid gazes of women, but there was something about Osana that made him unable to concentrate on anything else.
When she was near, he turned into a gawking fool.
He should not have made that offer—to invite her to live at Bebbanburg had been foolish. But the words had escaped before he had time to check them, and he could not take them back.
The last thing he needed was to be distracted by the comely widow. After Cuthburh, he vowed to have nothing to do with women. And yet when he looked at Osana, he forgot that promise.
She had looked so alone the night before, he’d wanted to help her.
Aldfrith exhaled sharply. Enough. He needed to turn his mind to other matters. Glancing right, his gaze alighted upon Cerdic’s serious profile. His expression was grim, and Aldfrith wondered why.
He realized then that he knew very little about the warrior who had served him so loyally over the past two years.
“Why the frown, Cerdic?” he asked.
The warrior glanced across at him, surprised. Recovering, he grimaced. “I’m from Hagustaldes, sire,” he said after a moment. “This visit brought back unwelcome memories.”
Aldfrith watched him. “How so?”
He saw the discomfort on the man’s face and immediately regretted the question. But a moment later Cerdic answered. “It reminds me of my wife … She died five summers ago, giving birth to our child. Both she and the babe died.”
The raw pain in Cerdic’s eyes as he said those last words was visceral. Even years on, the memory was an open wound. Suddenly, Aldfrith saw Cerdic with fresh eyes. The man’s aloofness now made sense.
“I did not know of this loss,” Aldfrith replied. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
The warrior shrugged, the impenetrable mask he usually wore sliding back into place. “It’s in the past now,” he said, his tone making it clear that he wished to change the subject. “This visit just dredged up old memories … that’s all.”
Looking at his face, at the lines that formed deep grooves on either side of his mouth and furrowed his brow, Aldfrith knew Cerdic was lying. He hid it well, but Aldfrith could see the warrior carried his grief with him every day.
It occurred to Aldfrith then that they were not really that different. He too carried scars from his past. He liked to think of himself as healed of them, yet his reaction to the ealdorman’s widow revealed that, despite the passing of the years, they still pained him.
“Where shall I put these, Osana?” the servant asked. The woman—Lora—stood outside the space Osana and Raedwulf had once shared, her arms full of furs.
“Take them to my new alcove please,” Osana replied. “This way.”
Her own arms filled with clothing, Osana led the way around the rim of the hall to the alcove nearest the doors. It was the smallest of any of the sleeping spaces and the draftiest too—but at least she was not to sleep out on the main floor with the others.
At least they had left her some dignity.
Osana looked around the space, at the ceiling so low that she could not stand at her full height without knocking her head. Her mouth compressed.
A slight dignity.
“This isn’t right.” Lora’s voice, low and angry, made Osana turn. The servant had deposited the furs but was now standing at the entrance to the alcove, hands on hips.
For the first time, Osana took proper notice of Lora.
Small and curvaceous with curly blonde hair, a pert face, and bright blue eyes, Lora was roughly the same age as Osana.
She had not been a servant in the ealdorman’s hall for a long time—a handful of moons at most—and during that time Osana had been too immersed in her own unhappiness to take heed of her.
But she did now. Lora was genuinely outraged on her behalf, and Osana found that quizzical.
“You’re Raedwulf’s widow,” Lora continued, her voice quiet yet brimming with indignation, “and this is the best they can give you. I’ve seen bigger storerooms. What about the alcove to the left of Deogol’s?”
“Edlyn has kept that for her sister. She is moving in tomorrow.”
Lora’s face pinched at that. “Aye … of course she is.”
The servant’s protectiveness of her made Osana smile. She had often felt so alone here; she had not realized she had a friend. With a sigh she glanced away, looking over at the trunks stacked in one corner—all her belongings from fourteen years of marriage.
“I’d hoped for a little more space,” she admitted, “although if I’m honest, the farther I am from Deogol and Edlyn the better. I’ll sleep easier in here.”
She turned to find Lora watching her. The outrage had faded from her pretty face and was replaced by pity. Osana stiffened. The last thing she wanted was for Lora to feel sorry for her: the sad widow whose husband had humiliated her, and whom her brother and sister-by-marriage barely suffered.
“I know why Edlyn hates you,” Lora said softly. “I saw her and Raedwulf together once … when I was out blackberrying.”
Osana flinched. Her gut had told her that Edlyn and Raedwulf had been lovers. But Lora had just confirmed it.
Osana’s shoulders sagged. “Maybe I should go.”
“Do you have relatives who would take you in?”
Osana shook her head. Both her parents were dead, and her sisters would not welcome her into their homes—not that there would be space in any of them for her.
“I have an aunt in Jedworth,” she said finally.
“My mother’s sister … although I haven’t seen her in years.
” Osana broke off here, dismissing the idea. “She was always a bit shrewish.”
I could go to Bebbanburg.
The thought came unbidden, and Osana shoved it aside. She was not sure why the king had made such an offer, yet it was not one she could ever take up. Tongues would wag; everyone would think she was his mistress.
Osana felt a blush rise up her neck at the thought.
“Well then,” Lora huffed out a breath and gave Osana a determined look. “We’ll have to make the best of this situation.”
Osana laughed. “We? Don’t trouble yourself, Lora. I’ll survive … I always have.”
Lora grinned back. “I don’t doubt that. I just want you to know you’re not alone here, that’s all. Both of us could do with a friend in this place.”
Osana held her gaze, a rush of gratitude bringing tears to her eyes. She was more starved of kindness than she thought.
“Thank you, she whispered. That means a lot to me.”