Chapter Nine
The King and the Steward
Bridei picked up the figurine and eyed Ecgfrith across the board. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”
The Northumbrian king meet his eye and gave a cool smile. “It was you who chose the weaker of the two armies,” he pointed out.
The two men played Cyningtaefl—King’s Table—a game where two unequal armies fought upon a checkered board.
The black pieces, which gathered at the center of the board, represented the weaker force of the two, with the fewest pieces; whereas the white pieces that ringed the edge of the board made up the stronger.
It was true that Ecgfrith had let Bridei choose which army he would lead. It was also true that the Pict had deliberately chosen the black army. Bridei smiled back, showing his teeth this time. “I like taking the side of the underdog.”
Ecgfrith threw his head back and laughed, a deep belly laugh that unlike his smile moments earlier was genuine. “I'd forgotten your pithy sense of humor,” he remarked.
It was growing late. Most of the king’s hall had retired to their alcoves or had laid out furs on the floor around the four fire pits.
The embers in the hearths burned low, casting a red-hued light across the space.
A few oil-filled cressets lined the pitted stone walls, illuminating the table upon the high seat where the two men sat playing Cyningtaefl.
Bridei completed his move, shifting the carven piece forward a square, toward one of Ecgfrith’s spearmen. His opponent's mouth quirked. “A prudent though conservative move.”
Bridei shrugged. “I'm not a man given to acting without thinking first.”
Ecgfrith raised an eyebrow, observing Bridei coolly. “We’re alone now,” he replied. “I think it's time we both spoke our minds.”
Bridei sat back and took a sip from his wooden cup of mead at his elbow. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t do so earlier.”
“I'd rather not have an audience. Some conversations are best kept private.”
Bridei observed Ecgfrith. He did not trust this man, not for a moment. He knew the Northumbrian lord to be cunning, and if this was some new ploy, he was already on his guard. “Very well … I'm here to discuss the nature of our relationship,” he replied.
Ecgfrith held his gaze. “It’s clear: I am your overlord and you are my steward of the north.”
Bridei inhaled deeply, gathering his thoughts.
Even though he had been expecting this, Ecgfrith’s response galled him.
There it was—the thing that rankled him the most. This Northumbrian king, a man who had never set foot in Dundurn, sat here before him and calmly claimed rule over lands he had stolen.
“Unlike my father, I'm not a man who suffers an overlord,” he countered. “Surely you've heard of my attack on Dunnottar, my campaign against Orcadia, and the war with Dàl Riata?”
Ecgfrith’s expression did not change as he nodded. “I have—and I complimented you earlier today on your prowess as a warlord. Do you wish me to congratulate you again?”
Bridei forced back a smile. His dislike for Ecgfrith ran deep—but the man's dry wit amused him nonetheless. “I mention those campaigns again because they show what sort of man I am. I’m not your steward but a king in my own right—and I ask you to recognize me as such.”
There it was—the reason for his visit had been laid between them.
He would no longer be ignored.
Ecgfrith picked up his king figurine. It was a beautiful piece, carved out of bone and yellowing with age. “So you see yourself as my equal?”
“I do.”
“Your father bent the knee to me … yet you will not?”
“I don't wish to be your enemy, Ecgfrith,” Bridei replied, his tone unyielding. “I only wish to reclaim my lands.”
The king stared down at the figurine, studying it, although Bridei could see that in reality Ecgfrith’s mind was working, scheming—trying to turn this situation to his advantage.
“I don't wish to make an enemy of you either, Bridei,” he said quietly. “However, if I give you independence, I will be seen as weak.”
Bridei watched him carefully, on guard now. This was a new side to Ecgfrith, one he had never seen before. Yet he was sure it was a ruse. Ecgfrith was not a weak man and was certainly not a weak ruler. He cared little for how others perceived him.
As such, Bridei decided he would not soften. He would not try to negotiate with the Northumbrian ruler. That was what Ecgfrith wanted; to weave a net around Bridei with his words, to ensnare him and make him agree to something he did not want. Far better to speak plainly and avoid confusion.
“Recognize me as an independent ruler of the north, and we shall part as friends,” he said.
Ecgfrith sighed heavily and placed the king figurine down with a gentle thud. His gaze met Bridei’s once more. “I can't do that. The lands you oversee are mine—they are part of Northumbria.”
Bridei shook his head, quelling the anger that rose within him. “My people and I will not suffer your yoke.”
Ecgfrith picked up his cup and drained the dregs, waving Bridei away as if he were a moth that had just fluttered into his field of vision. “Come now, it is late—let us discuss this further tomorrow.”
“There's nothing to discuss,” Bridei ground out. “It’s simple—give me what I want, and I will never bother you again. Deny me and you will wish you hadn't.”
Ecgfrith rose to his feet. They had not finished the game, but since the conversation had taken a turn for the worse, neither man was in the mood for it. “Words have power,” Ecgfrith reproved him softly. “Don’t make threats unless you intend to follow through on them.”
Bridei's gaze narrowed. “I don’t talk merely to hear the sound of my own voice,” he replied, his tone equally soft. “I meant every word.”
The two men held gazes for a few moments more.
Ecgfrith broke eye contact first, a sardonic smile curving his lips.
“You were a conceited lordling when you lived here,” he said finally, “and I can see your arrogance has only increased with age. It seems I must repeat myself: we will discuss this again tomorrow. Make sure you think hard on how you will approach me then.”
Without another word, King Ecgfrith turned, stepped down from the high seat, and made his way across the hall to his alcove.
It was a dark and moonless night as Bridei walked through Bebbanburg.
Cool air, laced with the scent of wood smoke and the briny tang of the sea caught in the back of his throat.
Muffled sounds of voices emerged from behind wattle doors and wooden shutters.
Beyond that, he heard the boom and hiss of surf on the shore below, accompanied by the roar of the wind.
The song of Bebbanburg, so different to Dundurn.
Sometimes, within this wooden palisade, it was easy to forget that they perched on the edge of the sea. Yet the rumble of the surf was a constant reminder when all other sounds ceased.
Bridei’s men, including Heolstor, had all retired for the night, but after his conversation with the Ecgfrith, Bridei could not settle. Anger and bitter resentment churned in the pit of his belly. Years on, and Ecgfrith still knew exactly where to aim, what words would rile him the most.
Bridei had bested many men over the years and had subdued many a northern war chief.
He had brought lands that his father had lost under his control.
But the one territory he wanted was the one his fort of Dundurn stood upon.
That was his land, and he would not share it with Ecgfrith of Northumbria.
Deep in thought, he walked down to the empty market square and looked around.
Fires burned in the watch towers above, and he could see the outlines of men on the walls, their spears bristling against the night sky.
Bebbanburg was both familiar and foreign; after so many years away it felt odd to return here.
As a boy, this fort had seemed bigger, more imposing.
As a man, he realized that his memories had made the stronghold far greater than the reality.
Ecgfrith was just a man, and a man could have his mind changed.
He would have one more chance tomorrow to bend Ecgfrith to his will.
Bridei was not afraid of war—he had waged many in the past five years—but he knew that the Northumbrian king could be a powerful ally if kept onside.
I won't lose my temper, he promised himself. Tomorrow I will make one last attempt at negotiations.
Bridei found himself walking along the Dragon’s Back; a street he had once spent many an afternoon on with Heolstor, as a lad. Once again, his memory of this street had been grander, the walls around him higher.
I was shorter then too, Bridei recalled with a rueful smile.
Without realizing it, his feet carried him toward the end of the Dragon’s Back. Then he turned right down a narrow lane that led toward the fort’s northern watch tower.
A short while later he found himself standing before a familiar hovel.
It looked exactly as he remembered it. He could see the outline of the high, wooden fence behind which Lewren had grown her herbs and flowers.
The news that Hea’s mother had passed away still shocked him.
Lewren had been a force of nature; he could not imagine her gone.
Hea lived here alone now.
The thought made Bridei frown—it was not safe for a young, attractive woman like Hea to live unprotected, even in Bebbanburg.
She must have the king's protection, he thought. She’s his seer, but what other services does she provide him?
The thought made Bridei’s frown deepen. The thought of the winsome Hea lying beneath Ecgfrith disturbed him—although truthfully, he had thought about her rarely over the years.
When he had, Bridei had imagined her to be wedded with a brood of children by now.
He had not expected her to follow her mother’s path.
As beautiful and fiery as Lewren had been, there had also been sadness in her that ran deep.
A woman who chose an independent path made a difficult life for herself.
Bridei was not sure why he had come here, but now that he stood outside the seer’s door he hesitated.
Seeing Hea again had been a pleasant surprise.
Thoughts of her had distracted him all day …
but was it wise to take things any further?
Bridei had lain with his share of women over the years, although he had not shared the furs with another since Mid-Winter Fire.
Over the bitter months, there had been much to take care of, including a number of skirmishes and uprisings to deal with. His body ached for release.
I shouldn't be here, he thought and took a step back. Whatever Ecgfrith’s response, he would be leaving here soon. I should let her be.
Yet he did not move. Instead, he stared at the timber door before him. The temptation was too great—he had to see her.
Pushing his misgivings aside Bridei stepped forward once more and knocked on the door.