Chapter Thirty-five Reckoning
Chapter Thirty-five
Reckoning
THREE DAYS LATER Aelfwyn rode into Eoforwic.
Nestled at the confluence of two rivers, the Ouse and the Foss, the town sat upon a gently sloping hill surrounded by high wooden ramparts.
It was a still, damp morning, and the sky was the color of smoke.
Wooden barges floated on the calm waters of the Ouse, and fishermen’s huts lined its reed-covered banks.
The air smelled of burning peat and drying fish.
Aelfwyn pulled Windraes up and gazed across the sea of thatched roofs before her.
She had never visited the town before—her journey north to Bebbanburg from Rendlaesham had taken her along the coast rather than inland—and she was surprised how large the town was.
Within the ramparts, she spied two thatched roofs, higher than all the others: Eoforwic’s church and the Great Hall that sat next to it.
Inhaling deeply, collecting what was left of her courage, Aelfwyn gathered the reins and urged Windraes on. She would find Leofric there. Despite that Windraes had raced like the wind to catch them up, she had failed. Now he would be in the ealdorman’s hands—and his execution imminent.
It had been an exhausting journey. Her back ached from sleeping rough, and her thigh muscles burned with agony at the end of each day’s ride. Through it all, she had been terrified that outlaws might ambush her.
Yet here she was in Eoforwic. She had no plan now. She had come too far to give up or turn back. Instead, she would go before the ealdorman and beg for Leofric’s life. Even if Godwine softened the penalty to exile, at least she would have saved the man she loved.
Windraes clip-clopped across the bridge and through the low gate into Eoforwic.
The air within smelled fetid; the stench of excrement mingling with the aroma of roasting mutton and the odor of pigs, fowl, and sheep.
Aelfwyn wrinkled her nose and urged Windraes on, up the unpaved road leading to the high gate.
Ahead she glanced up at the wooden guard towers.
Warriors wearing helmets and chainmail vests stood atop the towers, their spears silhouetted against the pale sky.
She spied the Northumbrian flag hanging limply above the high gate, and her belly clenched.
She had not seen that flag since Bebbanburg. It was a chilling reminder that she had returned to Ecgfrith’s domain. The sight of so many spearmen guarding the high gate also unnerved her. As she drew near, she saw that their shields bore the Northumbrian colors: yellow and red.
Aelfwyn’s heart skipped a beat. The ealdorman was powerful and feared—but these were not his warriors.
She had seen the same armor, the same shields in Bebbanburg. These men served the King of Northumbria.
Ecgfrith was here.
Leofric knelt on the rushes before the high seat, his head bowed low.
He felt the gazes of all present stabbing into him but ignored them. Instead, his attention was focused upon the man who stood next to the king upon the heah-setl.
Godwine of Eoforwic.
Leofric glanced up, his gaze meeting the ealdorman’s. Godwine was as physically intimidating as Leofric remembered: a huge man with grizzled brown hair, a thick beard, and penetrating dark eyes.
It appeared his arrival had coincided with a visit from Ecgfrith of Northumbria.
This was not unusual—just very poor timing.
Traditionally, the king treated the halls of his ealdorman as his own and would often spend weeks enjoying their hospitality.
Leofric remembered Ecgfrith’s father, Oswiu, making frequent trips to Eoforwic in the past.
Next to Godwine, Ecgfrith appeared boyish and weedy.
This was the first time Leofric had set eyes on the new king.
He was young—barely older than Leofric—with a long face and a sharp hazel gaze.
Next to him stood a beautiful raven-haired woman.
Leofric guessed this was Aethelhild, the woman Aelfwyn had served.
A few steps behind the queen stood a priest—a tall, spare man with a long, angular face, penetrating dark eyes, and thick grey hair shaved into a tonsure.
Behind the ealdorman and the king sat two women; the ealdorman’s wife and his daughter, Hrothwyn.
Mother and daughter looked startlingly alike; both heavyset with round, florid faces and frizzy brown hair.
The sight of Hrothwyn made Leofric’s chest constrict.
He felt as if he were reliving that scene all those months ago—only this time things were far worse for him.
Leofric tried to catch her eye, but she stared down at her feet, refusing to look in his direction.
“So they finally found you.” Godwine broke the heavy silence. His gaze shifted to Berhtulf and Wybert, who stood to Leofric’s left. “Well done, my sons.” He then glanced to where Halwend flanked Leofric’s right. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me.”
The brown-haired warrior inclined his head and smiled. “He wasn’t easy to find.”
Godwine’s gaze returned to Leofric. “Do you remember my last words to you?”
Leofric nodded. Since entering the hall he had not spoken. He intended to say as little as possible. His rash tongue had gotten him into this mess, it was best he kept a leash on it now.
“What excuse do you have to make for yourself, Leofric?”
Leofric cleared his throat. “Excuse, milord?” He had the sinking feeling that Godwine was toying with him.
“Surely there was a reason you ran from Lindisfarena?”
Leofric began to sweat. His gaze flicked to the king and queen as he considered his response. He would not mention Aelfwyn, not with Ecgfrith present.
“There was no reason, milord,” he began quietly, “other than I didn’t wish to remain there.”
Godwine snorted. “Once you left the island you should have kept running, boy. I warned you what would happen if you defied me.”
Leofric held his gaze. “You did.”
The ealdorman glanced over at Halwend. “His parents need to be here for this—go and fetch them before I say anything more.”
Leofric dropped his gaze to the rushes, heart pounding.
He wondered, since his father had proclaimed him a nithing, if they would even come.
He did not want to see their faces or their anger, humiliation, and disappointment in him.
However, Godwine knew what he was doing—he would make sure Leofric’s punishment had an audience.
He remained on his knees, with the ealdorman’s sons standing guard over him, while Halwend went to do Godwine’s bidding.
Meanwhile, conversation resumed in the hall around him.
Women went back to their weaving, servants returned to preparing the nón-mete—noon meal—and the king, queen, and ealdorman took their places upon the high seat.
Leofric listened to the rumble of voices, the rise, and fall of female conversation amidst the low timbre of men’s speech. Somewhere at the back of the hall, a newborn wailed before it was immediately hushed.
Leofric heard Ecgfrith speak to Godwine.
“Around the time this man escaped Lindisfarena, my wife’s handmaid went missing,” he said, his voice a soft drawl.
Leofric stared down at the dirty rushes and felt himself go cold.
When the ealdorman made no comment to this, the king continued.
“We discovered that she had thrown herself into the sea and washed up on the isle, where some of the monks took her in. Once the prior discovered her, he sent her back to Bebbanburg with an escort of two monks—however, she never reached her destination.”
A heartbeat passed, and Leofric could feel the king’s gaze boring into his skull, daring him to look up and meet his eye. Pulse racing, Leofric kept his gaze downcast.
“Cuthbert sent word that one of the monks knocked his companion unconscious before escaping south with the girl. It appears an odd coincidence, for this monk’s name was Leofric.”
A heavy silence fell, but eventually, Godwine broke it. “That is a coincidence indeed, milord … Leofric, what say you of this tale?”
Leofric remained where he was, unmoving, scarcely breathing.
“Leofric.” Godwine’s tone sharpened. “Look me in the eye and speak the truth.”
Reluctantly Leofric raised his chin. The king sat in the center of the high seat, flanked to one side by his wife, the other by the ealdorman.
Their expressions were all different. Godwine’s face had flushed.
The king’s features had sharpened—his eyes keen.
However, the queen, who until now had worn a detached mask, had gone ashen.
Her blue eyes were wide as she stared down at Leofric.
“I did help her escape,” he finally admitted. “Aelfwyn was frightened. She didn’t want to go back to Bebbanburg.”
“Why was she frightened?” Aethelhild spoke up. She had leaned forward in her chair, her gaze locking with Leofric’s.
“Silence, wife.” Ecgfrith brought up a slim hand and clicked his fingers. His face had gone taut, his hazel eyes dangerous. “I did not give you leave to speak.”
Aethelhild’s face pinkened. “But I need to know why—”
“You need to know nothing. Still your tongue.”
The queen sat back in her chair, obeying her husband this time. However, Leofric saw the way her pulse fluttered in the hollow at the base of her neck, the way her blue eyes slitted with rage. Aethelhild loathed Ecgfrith—that much was plain to see.
Dismissing her, the king turned his wintry gaze upon Leofric. “Where is the girl now?”
Leofric shrugged. “I know not. I accompanied her as far as Streonshalh before I continued south. As far as I know, she’s still at the abbey.”
A nerve flickered in Ecgfrith’s cheek. “She’s no longer at Streonshalh.”
Leofric held his gaze. “Then I have no idea where she is.”
Two heartbeats passed before Ecgfrith’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Liar.”
Halwend returned a short time later, bringing Leofric’s kin with him. Driffield was a short ride from Eoforwic; it had not taken Halwend long to fetch them.
To Leofric’s horror he saw they had all come: his father, mother, brothers, and sisters. Leofric took one glance at their faces and looked away—he could not bear to see their disappointment.
Wibert of Driffield led his family into the hall. Leather creaking, a squirrel cloak rippling behind him, he strode across the rushes toward his son. Leofric saw Wibert bearing down upon him and rose to his feet to face his father.
Wibert’s freckled face had gone the color of raw meat, his usually hazel eyes a vivid, angry green. He reached his son and struck him hard across the face, hitting him with such force that Leofric fell backward and landed on his rump.
“Cloth-headed turd!”
Leofric spat out a gob of blood and attempted a smile. “At least that’s better than calling me a nithing.”
“You’re lower than a nithing!” his father raged, taking a menacing step toward him.
“Enough, Wibert,” the ealdorman rumbled. “It’s not for you to deal out justice here—Leofric is mine now.”
Wibert straightened up, his gaze flicking to Godwine.
A muscle worked in his jaw, for it was clear he wanted to launch himself at Leofric and pummel him into the ground.
However, he did as bid and stepped back from his son.
His wife, Cynhild, came up to her husband’s side.
Her grey eyes were pleading as she attempted to take hold of his arm and steer him back to where the rest of the family waited. “Come, Wibert.”
“Get off me, woman,” Wibert snarled, shoving her aside.
Leofric looked up and met his mother’s gaze.
Halwend was right, she did not look happy.
Grey now threaded her once vibrant red hair, her beautiful features faded by disappointment and grief.
A lump formed in Leofric’s throat when he saw the pain in her eyes.
He did not want his mother to witness this; he wanted to spare her seeing her youngest son executed.
But this humiliation was exactly what Godwine wanted.
“Now you’re all here, I’ll start,” the ealdorman rumbled. Godwine sat forward in his chair, his big body tense as he snared Leofric’s gaze with his.
“You disobeyed me once more, Leofric of Driffield—and the penalty for that is death.”
Behind him Leofric heard a woman, possibly his mother or one of his sisters, start to sob.
“I will wield the axe myself,” Godwine continued, “but before you die I want you to feel the humiliation, the suffering, you inflicted upon my daughter when you refused her.” The ealdorman gave a cruel smile and leaned back in his chair.
“You will be placed in the stocks for three days in the square in front of my hall, so that folk can punish you. On the dawn of the fourth, I shall take your head.”