Chapter Thirty-two Betrayal
Chapter Thirty-two
Betrayal
KING EATTA SURVEYED the mead hall owner, his gaze so intense that Cynn started to squirm.
A heavy silence had fallen in the hall, broken only by the sound of an infant whimpering in one of the alcoves. His movements unhurried, Eatta turned his attention to the three men who lounged at the table upon the high seat. Cynn had interrupted a game of Cyningtaefl—King’s Table.
“What do you think, Halwend?” Eatta drawled. “Does this sound like the man you’re looking for?”
One of them, a heavy-featured warrior with untamed brown hair, put down his chess piece and gave a slow nod. His gaze pinned Cynn to the spot. “What did you say this man’s name is?”
“Lenred.”
The warrior flicked a cursory glance in the direction of his blond companions. They were both younger men, who clearly looked to him as their leader. “It makes sense he would change his name.”
“Aye,” one of them replied. “Leofric is no fool—he’ll know we’re hunting him.”
Halwend looked back at Cynn. “When did he arrive in Lincylene?”
“Late summer,” the mead hall owner replied.
“That would be about right,” the warrior mused. “It was just after midsummer when he fled south.”
King Eatta leaned back in his carved chair and slung one leg over the serpent armrest. “So you say this Leofric fell foul of the ealdorman?”
Halwend nodded. “Aye—insulted Godwine’s daughter, so the ealdorman banished him to Lindisfarena.”
“Only he didn’t like being a monk so he ran off the first chance he got,” one of the blond warriors added before smirking.
“This man Cynn speaks of turned up here and started cutting down my trees without asking my permission,” Eatta told them. “I flogged his back bloody for it.”
“Sounds like Leofric,” the elder of the three warriors replied. His gaze then met the king’s. “If this is the man we seek, do I have your permission to take him, sire?”
Eatta gave a slow smile. “Yes—you do.”
“Where can I find this woodcutter?”
“He lives in a cottage by the River Witham, just east of here.”
Cynn stepped forward then. This conversation was starting to get away from him. He was keen to receive his gold and did not want the king to take credit for leading these men to the outlaw.
He boldly met Halwend of Eoforwic’s steel-blue gaze. “Fate is with you this morning.” Cynn gestured behind him. “I saw Lenred on my way in here. He’s at the market.”
Leofric bid the apple-seller good morning and sauntered off with a bag of apples under his arm.
It had been a productive conversation. Cerd, the old man, had promised to visit him this afternoon.
A handful of thyrmsas would fill his purse nicely.
He would need to buy supplies for their journey south.
Leofric was also pleased that he would not return home to Aelfwyn empty-handed. He had seen the look of disappointment, of hurt, in her eyes earlier.
Leofric had seen the expression increasingly often of late.
Aelfwyn sought to get closer to him. She wanted to learn about the man who shared her home and her life—but the thought of baring his soul to her terrified him.
Leofric had spent his life avoiding emotional conversations.
The youngest of a brood of rough boys, he had learned early on that showing his feelings led to a bloodied nose or black eye.
His brothers had been like a pack of wild dogs, circling him, taunting him.
One whiff of fear and they would have torn him to pieces.
Aelfwyn was gentle, sweet, and loving—but the words he longed to tell her stuck in his throat every time a tender moment arose between them.
He showed her with his body every time they lay together.
The depths of their passion for each other had surprised him—it still did two months later.
He had delighted in showing Aelfwyn what it could be like between a man and a woman and was relieved to see that she had left Ecgfrith behind.
Truthfully, he had never been with such a passionate woman.
Aelfwyn may have appeared sweet and demure, but in the furs, she was a wildcat.
Leofric could not believe how wyrd had shone on him. Did he deserve such a goddess in his life?
I’ll tell her how I feel soon, he promised himself as he trekked down Steep Hill toward the town gates, once we’re far from here.
Leofric left Lincylene and crossed the wooden bridge beyond, before turning onto the path through the woods.
Deep in thought, he did not hear the footfalls behind him until they were almost upon him.
The crunch of a twig underfoot made him swing around. Three men approached. They were dressed in boiled leather and heavy fur cloaks, swords at their sides.
Leofric’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized their faces.
Godwine of Eoforwic’s right hand, Halwend stood before him.
Two younger warriors with dark blond hair flanked him: Berhtulf and Wybert.
The ealdorman’s sons were the same age as Leofric—he had grown up with them, hunted and drunk with them.
Today though there was no sign of friendship on their faces.
Halwend stopped a few feet away. He had not drawn a weapon although his stance was alert, his powerful body coiled and ready to spring.
“You led us on a merry dance, Leo.”
“Aye.” Wybert grinned. “Didn’t life on Lindisfarena please you?”
Leofric raised an eyebrow, feigning calm even if his heart had started to pound like a battle drum. “What do you think?”
“Godwine’s sour over this,” Halwend said, his gaze hard. “He wants his reckoning.”
“You insulted our sister,” Berhtulf added. “We all want vengeance.”
Leofric stared back at them, considering his next move. The ‘old him’ would have taunted them. A year ago he would have told them that their sister did indeed resemble a sow and that the pair of them had faces like horses’ arses.
But a year ago he had been a different man—reckless, arrogant, and foolish.
“I’m sorry for insulting Hrothwyn,” he said finally. “She didn’t deserve it.”
Berhtulf screwed his face up and spat on the ground. “Too late for apologies now.”
However, Halwend watched Leofric, his expression thoughtful. “You've changed,” he noted. “What happened to the mouthy lad I used to beat at knucklebones.”
Leofric’s mouth twisted. Those evenings in the mead hall with Halwend and the other warriors seemed a lifetime ago. “He grew up.”
“That’s touching,” Wybert sneered and took a menacing step forward, his meaty hands clenching at his sides. “But it changes nothing. You’re coming with us.”
Leofric tossed the apples into the bushes and drew his seax. “Not without a fight.”
Halwend grinned. “That’s more like the Leofric I remember. Still got fire in your belly I see.”
They advanced on him slowly, all three of them drawing the seaxes at their waists. Leofric backed slowly away and weighed up his options. Things were looking bad for him. Three against one was not a fair fight.
They had him cornered. He could not run, and he would not give himself to them. Still, despair lodged in his throat as Wybert rushed at him.
Wybert’s broad face was ruddy, and he struck out in anger, the tip of his blade ripping through Leofric’s fur mantle. Leofric struck back, his knife scoring the front of Wybert’s leather breastplate. Wybert roared in rage and charged him.
“Careful!” Halwend bellowed. “Your father wants him alive.”
A quick and violent scuffle ensued. Leofric put up the best fight he could, but despite his slashing seax-blade, the three of them eventually overpowered him.
Facedown on the leaf-strewn path, Leofric struggled as Halwend knelt on the small of his back and bound his wrists behind him.
Leofric had managed to draw blood before they wrestled him to the ground. Both of the ealdorman’s sons bore cuts to their arms—only Halwend was unscathed. Godwine had sent the warrior looking for him on purpose. Halwend had nerves of iron, and his valor in battle was legendary in Eoforwic.
“Such a pity your mouth’s quicker than your brain,” the older man laughed, hauling him to his feet. “You were always good in a fight.”
Berhtulf stood, clutching his bleeding arm and glaring at Leofric. “You’ll pay for that.”
A couple of feet away, Wybert grimaced as he wrapped a strip of linen around his damaged wrist. Blood had already seeped through the material, staining it crimson. The ealdorman’s youngest son glanced over at his brother. “Don’t worry—he will.”
Wybert then turned to Leofric and spat on the ground. “I’ll make sure faeder makes you cry for your mother before he cuts off your head.”
“Enough talk.” Halwend shoved Leofric between the shoulders, pushing him along the path in the direction they had come. “We’ve got a long ride ahead. Let’s ready the horses.”