Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-six
Only One Cure
ALDFRITH STARED DOWN at the sheet of vellum before him. He had spent all morning on these lines, had concentrated so much over them that the muscles on the back of his neck felt stiff and sore, and a headache formed in his temples.
A few months earlier, he would have looked upon the words with pride, yet now they irritated him. Frowning, he read the first paragraph aloud:
“Abandonment results in slander.
Humility wins good favor.
Stinginess is disparaged.
Humility engenders gentleness.
Familiarity fuels strife.
Arrogance produces disfavor.”
Aldfrith finished reading. Hollow. Those words he had labored over now seemed meaningless. Osana’s words returned to him then. Months ago she had sat next to him in this annex and questioned him.
You must be very sure of your beliefs, of the nature of folk, to write so confidently.
He had once been very sure, but these days he was less so. He had always liked the idea of having ideals to live by; it had made the messiness of life easier to deal with. It created order out of chaos.
The Philosopher King. He had thought himself so wise, yet now he felt a fool.
Without those ideals who was he? A man with an empty heart and a barren soul, who sat upon a lonely throne.
Aldfrith cursed and pushed himself back from his desk. “Damn you, Osana,” he muttered. “This is your doing.”
Next to him Argus stirred and rose to his feet, shaking himself off after a nap. The wolfhound moved forward, pressing against his master’s leg for some affection. With a sigh, Aldfrith reached down and stroked the dog’s ears. He was fortunate in Argus. The hound’s love was simple, uncomplicated.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s take a walk in the orchard. I need some fresh air.”
They left the annex, Aldfrith crossing the yard in front of the Great Tower in long strides with his hound trotting at his heels. Lora, the companion Osana had brought with her from Hagustaldes, was kneeling by the well, scrubbing linen tunics on a wooden washing board, a cake of lye in hand.
“Good morning, sire,” she called out with a wide smile as he passed.
Aldfrith acknowledged her with a nod. The woman had looked miserable for the first days after Osana’s departure, yet two moons on she appeared to have recovered her spirits. Whenever Aldfrith saw her of late, she was smiling.
Aldfrith continued on to the orchard. The blossom had come and gone on the apple and pear trees here, and the branches were bright with tender new leaves. They were nearing the end of spring now, and soon the first tiny fruits would start to appear.
The orchard was Aldfrith’s favorite spot in Bebbanburg. Hidden away inside the inner palisade of the fort, it was a private space that only those who lived in the Great Tower had access to. Even so, the king often had the space to himself.
He wandered down the avenue between two rows of apple trees and breathed deeply, enjoying the heat of the sun on his back.
Despite that it was peaceful in here, the sounds of daily life in the fort intruded: the clang of iron from the forges on the King’s Way, the shouts of vendors in the market square, and a burst of laughter from one of his warriors in the training yard behind the tower.
The sounds of life.
Today Aldfrith felt apart from it all. He did not like feeling so alone.
In the past, he had sought solitude, reveled in it.
Upon Iona there had been days in the winter, especially, when he would not see anyone; yet it had not mattered then.
He had been lost with his reading and writing, his musing.
His thoughts no longer brought him solace. Instead, they had begun to torture him.
Reaching the far side of the orchard, he stopped before a low wooden bench. Aldfrith’s gaze settled upon it. It had been a mistake coming here, for this spot reminded him of Osana and the first time they had spoken.
He remembered how guilty she had looked, for she had been eating an apple when she stumbled upon him playing his harp. The conversation that had followed between them had been the most revealing of his life.
Osana had a way of challenging him that excited him, body and soul. Life with her would never be dull.
Enough … stop thinking of her.
Aldfrith turned away from the bench and walked back the way he had come. Argus trotted off and lifted his leg against a tree, oblivious to his master’s despair.
And despair it was.
It was an illness he could not shake. He had thought her absence would heal him, cleanse him, that life would go back to the way it was.
Instead, with each passing day, he felt the lack of Osana in his life ever more keenly.
He ached to see her, to hear the softness of her voice, to touch her soft skin.
Aldfrith swallowed a groan of frustration. Why do I torture myself so?
It seemed the more he tried to push her from his thoughts, the more Osana intruded.
I just need more time, he told himself as he lengthened his stride. I need to weather this.
A scene greeted him when he emerged from the trees.
Cerdic and Lora stood together near the well. She was giggling and flicking sudsy water at him, while he grinned and tried to catch her.
Aldfrith’s step faltered; he was intruding.
But they had not seen him. The couple had eyes only for each other. Lora squealed and tried to dodge past Cerdic as he made another grab for her. He caught her around the waist and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply.
Aldfrith halted. Of course. I must be the last person in the tower to realize. His thoughts had turned inward of late; he had barely noticed the warming of the weather or the turning of the season. And all the while Cerdic and Lora had been falling in love.
No wonder Cerdic smiled more of late. No wonder Lora’s eyes shone.
Aldfrith watched them, noted the way Lora melted against the warrior, how he placed a possessive hand in the small of her back.
He knew Cerdic’s story, of the loss he had suffered. The warrior had dedicated himself to serving the king afterward, had shunned any emotional attachment. But meeting Lora had changed him.
He’s a braver man than me.
And yet a sliver of jealousy wormed its way into Aldfrith’s heart. If there was hope for Cerdic, could there not be hope for him too?
Aldfrith clenched his jaw and walked across the yard, giving the couple a wide berth. No, he would not relent.
“Sire, I would speak to you a moment.”
Aldfrith glanced up from where he was playing his harp, his fingers stilling. The sound of the lament he had been playing cut off.
Bishop Wilfrid, seated to his left, was watching him with an expectant expression. Aldfrith forced himself not to frown. Wilfrid had taken to visiting Bebbanburg so regularly these days that he spent far more time at the fort than at his home in Inhrypum, where his bishopric was based.
He was a trying presence in the Great Tower, for he brought a huge retinue with him on each visit and required four alcoves for himself and his servants.
Wilfrid was still not content with his lot and wished to extend his land farther afield. Aldfrith sensed this was what the bishop was about to raise with him now. It was all he talked of these days.
“What is it, Father?”
Wilfrid frowned, perhaps catching the sharpness in the king’s tone. “Cuthbert’s passing has left a gulf that needs to be filled, sire. Is there any word on who will be appointed the new prior?”
Aldfrith reached for his cup of wine and took a sip, letting the bishop wait before he answered. “A monk named Eadberht has come to my attention. I’m considering him for the position.”
Wilfrid’s mouth puckered. “Eadberht of Dùn Bàrr?”
“Aye, that is the man.”
“But he is a northerner, sire.”
Aldfrith favored him with a tight smile. “Aye, as am I.”
The bishop clasped his bony hands before him, his dark brows knitting together. “Milord … I have overseen Lindisfarena over these past months.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Wilfrid’s frown deepened at this, but he continued nonetheless. “I have ensured their northern habits have been tempered with my influence—of Roman ways. They were hesitant at first, but they will accept the new order soon enough.”
Aldfrith reached for a cup of wine, took a large gulp, and swallowed. “Lindisfarena is a holy place, and I will not have everything Cuthbert worked for tampered with,” he replied coldly. “A man like Eadberht will respect it.”
Wilfrid drew himself up. “And you think I won’t?”
“I think you’re best to focus on Inhrypum. Another will become prior of Lindisfarena.”
A chill silence settled between them. When Wilfrid eventually spoke, a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Ever since I returned to the north, you’ve made my life here a trial … sire.” The words were ground out, the title at the end uttered almost like a curse.
Aldfrith cocked his head. He was not in the mood to be criticized by the likes of Wilfrid. “All I’ve done is look after the interests of this kingdom,” he replied, “and if that means tempering your ambitions, then so be it.”
“You need a man like me here,” Wilfrid shot back, undeterred. “A man who has lived in Rome, who has studied under the Pope himself. Instead, you have obstructed me at every turn. You denied me Hagustaldes, and now Lindisfarena. The Pope shall hear of this.”
Aldfrith went still. “I have been generous and lenient with you, Father Wilfrid,” he said, his voice chill, “overly so.”
The bishop stared back at him, determined not to back down. “The Pope shall hear differently. He shall hear the truth.”
Aldfrith leaned toward him, holding his gaze. “I care not what you have to say to the Pope. He’s in Rome, and we are a world away. This is Northumbria, and here, I rule.”
The bishop blanched. “That is blasphemy.”
Aldfrith set down his cup with a thump. “My patience with you is at an end. I suggest you gather your servants and depart for Inhrypum this afternoon.”
Wilfrid gaped at him, his outrage faltering. “You’re sending me away?”
“Aye … and if you test me again, I’ll send you much farther than Inhrypum. I now understand why my brother was so keen to send you into exile. You push too hard, Wilfrid. Learn your place, or someone will teach it to you.”
Aldfrith rose from the table, signaling that the conversation had come to an end. Around them, the others who had been enjoying a cup of ale after the noon meal had all gone silent, their gazes watchful. Cerdic was among them, his expression hooded.
Not acknowledging any of them, Aldfrith turned his focus back to the bishop once more. “Be gone from Bebbanburg by dusk,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “Or I’ll have you chased out.”
Cerdic caught up with Aldfrith as he crossed the stable yard. “You’ve vexed the bishop. The man’s just taken a rod to one of his servants for packing his trunk too slowly.”
“Just as long as he’s gone from here before dusk,” Aldfrith growled back. “He tries my patience.”
“For what it’s worth, you should have done that months ago, sire.”
Aldfrith halted, his gaze sweeping to Cerdic.
The warrior grinned at him, not remotely cowed by the king’s wintry expression. “It’s rare to see you so riled, sire. Has Wilfrid really gotten under your skin so?”
Aldfrith loosed a breath. “The bishop has been a thorn in my arse ever since I arrived at Bebbanburg … but you’re right … it’s not just him.”
Cerdic’s gaze widened. “Sire?”
“It’s life,” Aldfrith replied shortly. “Sometimes it feels as if I wear a millstone around my neck.” He turned then and continued on his way to the stables.
He needed to be free of this fortress for a while.
He would saddle his horse and go for a ride along the beach; perhaps the sea air would sweeten his mood.
Cerdic was right, anger burned within him this afternoon, and it took little for the flames to kindle.
He entered the stables, a low-slung building with two rows of stalls and a wide aisle between them. His stallion was stabled at the far end. Aldfrith had almost reached his destination when he realized that Cerdic was right behind him.
“I’m ill company today,” he said, not looking over at the warrior. “Best you leave me.”
“Do you wish for your old life, sire?” Cerdic asked. “Would you go back to Iona, if you could?”
Aldfrith halted and turned. Cerdic had stopped a few feet back and was watching him, his expression shadowed, for it was dimly lit inside the stables.
“No,” Aldfrith answered, surprising himself when he realized it was the truth. “I was a different man … and I can’t go back to that life.”
“What then?”
Aldfrith frowned. “Cerdic … you’re trying my patience.”
“What would it take then,” Cerdic pressed, ignoring the warning, “for you to find peace?”
Aldfrith tensed, irritation surging. “I don’t know. I don’t have the answers for anything anymore.”
Cerdic gave a wry smile, folding his arms across his chest. “I was wondering when you’d realize that.”
Aldfrith clenched his jaw. Anger smoldered in the pit of his belly. Cerdic was coming perilously close to receiving a black eye. “I’m happy to oblige. You can go now, Cerdic.”
Only, the warrior did not leave. He stood, legs apart, staring Aldfrith down with a look that only served to make the king’s mood darken further. “I didn’t mean that as an insult, sire. Only that I’m pleased to see you’ve flown down from your eyrie to join the rest of us.”
Aldfrith gaped at him, momentarily lost for words. But Cerdic had not yet finished. “Admit it, you’ve not been right since Osana left,” Cerdic continued, his tone softening.
Aldfrith flinched. He did not want to hear this. “I thought you once shared Wilfrid’s view of her?” he growled.
Cerdic’s expression tightened. “Aye … I once saw things more like the bishop—that a king needs to wed a woman of equal rank, a high born woman who will serve to weave peace or extend territories. But I see things differently now.”
Silence fell between them.
Aldfrith inhaled sharply. He did not want to hear this. “You’re not helping,” he said finally. “I need to forget Osana, not pine for her.”
Cerdic snorted. “In my experience, once a woman gets under your skin, you can’t forget her … and the harder you try, the worse it’ll get.”
Aldfrith cursed under his breath. “There must be a cure for this … something I can do.” Truthfully, he was so miserable these days he was ready to try almost anything.
All his ideals, everything he had once believed, no longer mattered to him.
The wall he had so painstakingly built around his heart could not be rebuilt.
Watching him, Cerdic favored Aldfrith with a rueful smile. “There’s only one cure sire … you know what you must do.”