Chapter Three
The Flower-Seller
THE FIRST FEW days of Aelfwyn’s new life at Bebbanburg passed swiftly. It was a cool summer this year, with many days of leaden skies and chill winds, but even so, Aelfwyn ventured outdoors whenever she could.
She helped the other servants in the garden behind the Great Tower and picked sour plums off the trees in the orchards. She worked alongside the cooks as they baked bread in the clay ovens outside.
Once her chores were done, Aelfwyn often ventured beyond the high gate into the town proper.
She always looked forward to exploring this lofty fort.
Bebbanburg fascinated her. High wooden ramparts surrounded the fort, with wooden towers at each corner so that Ecgfrith’s men could spy visitors from any direction.
There were two principal ways through the town.
The first, the King’s Way, led between the low and high gates.
The second road was named the Dragon’s Back, which stretched from south to north along the ridge.
Small lanes branched off the Dragon’s Back, leading to the wattle and daub homes of ceorls, the free folk living within the town.
One morning, Aelfwyn decided to visit the market in the square just inside the low gate. The gate was open, letting in a steady flow of cottars and merchants who had come to sell and barter.
A cool wind blew in from the sea, and Aelfwyn wished she had brought a shawl with her.
The grey woolen dress she wore was sleeveless, and her bare arms prickled with cold.
The weather was definitely bleaker here compared to Rendlaesham, especially since the fort was exposed to the elements.
It was the downside of having such a commanding view of the surrounding land.
Aelfwyn spied dark clouds out to sea, warning of approaching bad weather.
Trying to ignore the wind, Aelfwyn wandered through the market, breathing in its sights and smells.
An elderly woman was selling medicinal herbs, while next to her a farmer was trying to sell a gaggle of noisy, honking geese.
Although penned inside a rickety enclosure, the birds were aggressive, hissing and flapping at any prospective buyers who wandered too near.
Aelfwyn gave the geese a wide berth and wandered past a row of stalls selling bread, rabbit pies, and plum cakes.
The aroma of baking pies made her mouth water.
She had a purse containing a handful of thrymsas, which her mother had given her should she ever need them.
As tempting as the pies were, Aelfwyn knew her gold coins were too precious to waste on them.
“Violets and primroses for the pretty lass!” A woman with wild auburn hair, carrying a basket of blue and purple posies, stopped before her. The woman’s daughter clung to her leg; a little girl of around five with an impish face and the same untamed hair as her mother.
Aelfwyn was sorely tempted, even more so than by the pies. She adored flowers. “How much?”
The woman smiled back. “Half a thrymsa for four posies.”
Aelfwyn gave in to temptation. She would keep a posy for herself and decorate her mistress’s bower with the rest. She dug into the purse on her belt and extracted a coin, which she snapped in half.
The woman took the gold, observing her with a shrewd eye. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Aye, I’m from Rendlaesham.”
“An East Angle.” The woman’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re a long way from home.”
“I’m handmaid to the queen,” Aelfwyn explained, accepting the posies of violets and primroses.
The woman’s smile faded. “Is it true what they say about her?”
Aelfwyn tensed. “I don’t know … what do they say?”
“That she is barren and cold. The king’s men often visit the mead hall in town—their tongues flap when they’re in their cups. There’s talk she won’t let Ecgfrith near her.”
“Aethelhild is a gentle, god-fearing woman,” Aelfwyn replied, stiffening. She hated that folk were gossiping about her mistress. “She endured a brutal marriage before coming here—the king just needs to be patient with her.”
The woman gave her a speculative look. “Ecgfrith is not a patient man—and he’s used to getting his way.”
The woman reached down and caressed her daughter’s unruly mop of auburn hair as she spoke. Aelfwyn watched the pair of them, suspicion dawning. Something in this woman’s tone suggested that she spoke from personal experience. She knew the king well.
Is this child his bastard?
Aelfwyn’s stomach churned. It was not uncommon for kings to father children from local women. Ecgfrith was young and until eight days ago had been unwed. As if sensing her suspicions, the woman stepped back, her gaze shuttering.
“Enjoy the flowers,” she said lightly before taking her daughter’s hand. “Come, Hea.”
Aelfwyn nodded and clutched the posies to her breast as the flower-seller moved off.
Her encounter with this strange woman had left her uneasy, as if a cloud had just passed over the sun.
There was something fey about the flower-seller.
She reminded Aelfwyn of the seer who lived in Rendlaesham—a frightening old woman who could look into your soul.
Suppressing a shudder, Aelfwyn turned and made her way out of the market, and up the King’s Way toward the Great Tower.
It’s just the cold, she told herself.
Despite her unsettling encounter, Aelfwyn did not hurry back to the Great Tower. Over the last few days, she had done her best to escape its somber atmosphere—and the tension between the king and queen.
Although Aethelhild had not spoken of her husband again, Aelfwyn did not need to be a seer to divine that things were strained between them. At meal times, the couple sat in stony silence, barely acknowledging each other’s presence.
Oddly, Aethelhild appeared more serene and reserved than ever.
She had taken to wearing a wooden crucifix upon her breast, and she accompanied the Queen Mother to church every morning.
Meanwhile, the king’s mood worsened with each passing day.
He grew surly and spent increasing amounts of time out hawking or hunting with his men.
Aelfwyn crossed into the inner palisade through the high gate. She thought on the flower seller’s warning and felt a tickle of foreboding. Ecgfrith is not a patient man—and he’s used to getting his own way.
She worried for her mistress. Aethelhild had a strong will, but there would come a day when the king would not take no for an answer.
“Is anything amiss?”
Aelfwyn looked up from her embroidery to find Aethelhild watching her steadily.
They sat at their usual place near the open window inside the royal alcove.
Outside, the late afternoon had turned greyer still, and the gusting wind now had drops of rain in it.
The fire pit behind them guttered in the hearth, but the queen refused to close the shutters.
She had spent most of the day within her chamber and liked to work with the natural light filtering in.
“No,” she replied quickly. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re a little pale and distracted.”
“I visited the market without a shawl this morning.” Aelfwyn blurted the first excuse that came to mind. “I think I might have caught a slight chill.”
The queen’s gaze shifted to the clay pot filled with violets and primroses on the table next to them. “The flowers are lovely, but you needn’t have gone on my account.”
Aelfwyn smiled. She was pleased the flowers brightened up her mistress’s day. “I enjoyed the outing—it was no bother.”
She looked back down at her work—the hem of one of the queen’s dresses she was embroidering with gold thread—and did a few neat stitches. However, she was aware that Aethelhild was still watching her. Eventually, unable to bear the scrutiny any longer, Aelfwyn met her gaze.
“Are you enjoying your new life in Bebbanburg?” Aethelhild asked.
“I am,” Aelfwyn responded hesitantly, “although it’s different to what I expected. Folk don’t seem as friendly here as in Rendlaesham.”
Aethelhild smiled. “That’s only because they don’t know you, Aelfwyn. With your kindness and sunny smile, you will soon make friends here.”
Aelfwyn blushed. She was not used to compliments, least of all from Aethelhild. “Have things gotten easier for you, milady?” she asked. “Has the king respected your wishes?”
The queen nodded, although her expression tightened. “Aye, he has—although not without making his opinion of me clear. I fear that I have made an enemy out of him. I am fortunate though, for some husbands would merely force their wife to submit to them. Ecgfrith is not such a man.”
Aelfwyn tensed, wondering if she should share what the flower-seller had told her. She decided against it. Aethelhild was not a woman to appreciate idle gossip. “I’m sorry this is not the life you wanted, milady,” she said finally. “It seems unfair.”
Her mistress smiled then, although her eyes held no brightness. “One thing I came to understand years ago, dearest Aelfwyn, is that few things in life are fair.”
Aelfwyn watched the queen for a moment, not knowing what to respond. For a woman with such strong faith, it was a fatalistic comment: the words of a woman who had lost all hope for the future.
As if realizing the impact her declaration had on her young handmaid, Aethelhild reached across and placed a hand over hers.
“Don’t look so concerned. Your happiness is a beacon of light in my life.
Although you may not realize so now, your bright disposition will smooth many paths ahead for you.
Whatever happens—don’t ever let that light go out. ”
Aelfwyn’s brow furrowed. She found her mistress’s words cryptic, and the note of warning in them made her even more worried than before. She opened her mouth to query Aethelhild, but the clang of iron behind them forestalled her. The time of the evening meal was upon them.
The queen put aside her work and rose to her feet, her skirts rustling, and cast her handmaid an apologetic smile. “Come, Ecgfrith awaits.”