Chapter Three
Exile
Ecgfrith’s eyes widened, and he drew back as if struck.
“I am your king,” he replied, the slight rasp in his voice betraying his anger. “You will humble yourself before me—without question.”
Bridei drew himself up, ignoring the throbbing in his back as he held the king’s gaze. He knew he was playing with fire, but after the humiliation of the flogging, he did not care. Years of resentment finally boiled to the surface. He’d had enough of pretending.
“You’re not my king,” he replied, “and you never will be. I am a Pict, and I swear allegiance to my father. No one else.”
The silence that settled over the yard was deathly—and when Ecgfrith broke it, his voice shook with rage. “Ungrateful dog. I have treated you like a son, and this is how you repay me.”
Bridei’s lip curled. “Why would I be grateful to you? I never asked to come here—and you’ve never, for one moment, made me feel welcome.”
Ecgfrith’s gaze narrowed into slits, his skin pulling tight over his cheekbones. A thrill of fear went through Bridei then. He was sure he had taken it too far—sure that Ecgfrith would have him executed for his insolence.
“I would slay you, here and now,” Ecgfrith ground out, “if I didn’t want to start a war with your father. However, my agreement with him is at an end. You are no longer welcome at Bebbanburg. Go home to him in disgrace like the whipped savage you are.”
Joy leaped like a hare in Bridei’s chest.
Ecgfrith was giving him the one thing he desired.
He was no Angle, he would always be an outsider here.
He had left his father’s fortress, Dundurn, when he was barely five winters old, and had not seen it since.
A few years after Bridei’s arrival here, his mother had sickened, but Ecgfrith had forbidden his young fosterling to return to Dundurn to say goodbye.
Bridei had never forgiven the king for that—from that moment forward, hate had grown like a canker in his breast. And he had fed it, waiting for the day he would be free of his Northumbrian oppressors.
Now, Ecgfrith was handing it to him. Yet the Northumbrian king was so angry, he did not see the joy in his ward’s eyes, the disbelief on his face.
“Pack your bags and keep out of my sight for the rest of the day,” he snarled. “I want you gone from this fort by the time I rise tomorrow morning.”
“Sit still—this will only take longer if you fidget.”
Bridei nodded, although he responded through gritted teeth. “It hurts.”
Lewren made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Aye—I’m not surprised. Broga did a thorough job.”
Inhaling deeply, Bridei closed his eyes. He sat upon a stool in front of the fire pit in the healer’s smoky dwelling, while Lewren applied a paste of fresh woundwort to his back.
“It’ll hurt while I apply this,” she said after a few moments, her tone softening, “although the herb will numb the pain soon.”
Bridei sucked his breath in, forcing himself not to shift on the stool as needles of stinging pain lanced across his shoulders. “Are the cuts deep?”
“One or two are. You’ll bear a couple of faint scars—you’re lucky it was only ten lashes.”
Bridei snorted and immediately regretted the action. The cuts on his back pulsed in time with his heartbeat. “I thought he’d grab the whip and give me a few more after Broga was done.”
“After you insulted him?” Lewren added, disapproval in her voice. They were alone in the hovel; Hea was out collecting herbs in the meadows beyond Bebbanburg. “You’re lucky he didn’t take your head off.”
Bridei did not disagree with her. He knew just how fortunate he was, and was still reeling at how fate had just twisted in his favor. Had he not been complaining to Heolstor that morning how he would never be accepted here?
Instead, Ecgfrith had given him his freedom.
Lewren worked for a few moments more, her fingers moving gently over his back. There had been nights when Bridei had lain awake in his alcove in the Great Tower and imagined the fair Lewren’s hands on him—just not like this. He was in too much pain to be gauche or embarrassed by her proximity.
Lewren might have been nearly old enough to be his own mother, but Bridei—like most of the lusty young men in the fort—had secretly fantasized about plowing her.
A woman of such sensual beauty could surely teach a young man a thing or two in the furs.
However, fantasy was as far as Bridei had ever gotten; Lewren was as untouchable as the cold bright stars in the night sky.
“There,” Lewren said finally. “As long as you keep them clean and dry, the cuts should heal quickly.”
Bridei rose to his feet, retrieved his linen tunic, and gingerly put it on. Each movement was agony, and he hoped the numbing effect of the woundwort would start to work soon.
He turned to the healer, favoring her with a lopsided smile. “Thank you, Lewren. You and Hea have always been kind to me.”
Lewren held his gaze, her expression clouding. “Does Hea know you’re leaving?”
Bridei shook his head. “Can you tell her when she gets back?”
“She’ll be upset.”
Bridei gave an apologetic shrug, wincing as he did so. “I know she will … but none of us can fight fate.”
Lewren’s mouth thinned, and Bridei saw a shadow flit across those jade eyes. “Aye,” she murmured, “but it’s always women who pay the price.”
Dusk was settling over the fort of Bebbanburg, a pink-hued sky that stretched out to where the eastern horizon merged with the dark sea, when Bridei stepped out upon the Dragon’s Back. Despite his sore shoulders, a grin spread across his face.
This time tomorrow, I’ll be free—and far from here.
He was halfway along the dirt street when he spotted a small, thin figure with an unruly mop of bright, red hair hurrying toward him.
Hea was barefoot, as always, and carried a basket full of greenery under one arm.
She wore a worn, brown wealca—a long, tubular dress with clasps at the shoulders.
Her moss-green eyes were wide as she approached him.
“Bridei! I’ve just heard. Is it true you’re to be banished? ”
Bridei stifled a groan. He had hoped to avoid this awkward encounter.
“Wes hāl, Hea,” he greeted her, forcing himself to look glum about the situation. “Aye—I’m to leave at first light tomorrow.”
“Folk are saying you were whipped.”
“I was, but your mother has taken care of that. Don’t worry—I’ll mend.”
Hea stopped before him, craning her neck up to meet his eye.
She was an odd-looking wee thing, with a mouth too big for her face, and huge eyes, slightly too far apart.
She was also thin and under-developed for her age—not yet showing signs of womanliness—although that had not deterred Rinan.
Maybe she would grow into her looks, but she was not a beauty like her mother.
Hea stared at him, her eyes filling with tears.
“Woden, no,” she whispered, invoking the name of the father of the old gods—one still worshipped by a few in Bebbanburg.
“I don’t want you to leave.” She wrung her hands together, her thin frame quivering from the force of emotion that coursed through her.
Bridei watched her, something odd twisting deep within his chest at the pitiful sight.
She was such a sweet creature, a force of nature.
For years now, Hea had shadowed him and Heolstor. Initially, they had been annoyed by the clingy, red-haired imp, but of late, he had found himself less and less bothered by her presence.
With a jolt, he realized he would miss Hea, almost as much as he would Heolstor.
“But Bebbanburg is your home,” she whispered. “Do you even remember where you’re from?”
Bridei smiled. Memories of Dundurn were still etched upon his mind. “Aye, I remember my father’s fort, as if I just departed yesterday.”
Her eyes widened. “Is it very different to here?”
He nodded before continuing on his way up the Dragon’s Back.
Hea fell into step beside him. “Bebbanburg is made of wood and sits upon a great rock, whereas Dundurn is stone; a fort built atop a tall, green hill.” He paused here and cast his mind back to those early years, when he had run free and wild, and his mother had still been alive.
“The wind is different there too,” he said after a moment, a wistful smile spreading across his face.
“Here, on the edge of the sea, the wind shouts and roars like an angry god. Dundurn sits inland, surrounded by forests, lochs, and burns, and there the wind whistles and sighs. I used to lie awake at night in my father’s broch and listen to its song. ”
Hea glanced sideways at him, her face a picture. “It sounds magical,” she breathed.
Bridei’s smile widened. “It is.”
Bridei left Hea outside the high gate and entered the inner palisade. He had muttered an awkward goodbye and sloped off, although he could feel her gaze boring into his back as he walked.
Bridei did not look back—it was easier that way.
He walked past the guards clad in boiled leather and iron helmets, spears at the ready, and into the wide yard beyond. The sight of the pole in its center, where he had been whipped earlier, made him tense, as did the Great Tower and the oppressive shadow it cast.
Gritting his teeth, he veered right toward where a complex of low slung stables, barracks and store houses crouched. He would not go back into that tower; instead he would gather what he could from the stores and sleep in the stables tonight.