Chapter Nineteen Into the North
Chapter Nineteen
Into the North
Hea inhaled the sweet scent of heather and looked out over a landscape of craggy, green hills. It was a warm afternoon. A humid wind blew in from the southeast, reminding Hea that they stood on the cusp of summer. It was Thrimilce—the Month of Three Milkings—her favorite time of the year.
Taking a bite of griddle bread, Hea chewed slowly and enjoyed the brief moment of rest. She perched atop a moss-encrusted stone, at the top of one of the rocky hills, enjoying a simple but very welcome noon meal.
The great Northumbrian fyrd—an army of around eight hundred spears and horsemen—spread around her like a great, bristling thicket. Men’s voices drifted into the balmy spring air, and overhead two sparrows dived and fluttered against the pale blue sky.
Hea sighed. She had expected to find the lands north of her home desolate and depressing—and yet the farther they traveled, the more she liked it. The landscape had an untamed beauty that she appreciated.
However, not everyone shared her admiration.
A few feet away, Oswald sat hunched over, his face pinched with discomfort as he nibbled at a piece of hard cheese.
The past ten days had been a trial for the priest. He had suffered through every one of them.
She had been observing him closely, curious to see how he would cope on the journey
Feeling her gaze upon him, Oswald glanced up and frowned. “Did you want something?” he demanded, his cheeks coloring. “You’re always staring.”
Hea snorted, while behind her some of the men laughed. “Watch out, Oswald,” one of them shouted. “Or the wench will ensnare you with her beauty.”
“Don’t worry about that,” another called out. “A priest wouldn’t know what to do with a woman anyway.”
Oswald went the color of beetroot. He swung round and glared at his tormentors, his blue eyes narrowed—but this merely increased their mirth.
“That’s enough,” Hea interjected, swallowing a smile. She was not fond of the priest but still did not want to see him humiliated. The warriors could be cruel at times.
Oswald cast her an odd look then—a blend of gratitude and resentment—before he turned his back on the men who, ignoring Hea’s plea, continued to rib him.
Shifting her attention away from the priest, Hea looked down the hill, at where Ecgfrith was standing with a knot of his warriors, Rinan among them.
They looked to be discussing the campaign—and although she could not make out their conversation, she could see from the king’s facial expression that there was some disagreement going on.
Ecgfrith’s mood had gradually darkened during the ride north.
Bridei’s army had sacked many villages, including the prosperous settlement of Jedburgh.
Ecgfrith had raged when he had seen the ealdorman’s hall reduced to a pile of smoking cinders.
They had also burned the wooden church to the ground, something which had horrified Oswald.
Ignored by the king and his men, the priest had fallen to his knees and wept beside the charred ruins.
Hea had surveyed the devastation and felt a sense of foreboding prickle her skin.
The Northumbrians were riding to victory, but they were likely to suffer losses all the same.
Bridei’s actions had been deliberate, that much was certain. He had wanted to bait Ecgfrith—and seeing the fury on her king’s face as he surveyed the remains of Jedburgh, she realized he had achieved his goal.
“That maggot will feel my blade,” he had snarled before turning away, his wolfskin cloak billowing behind him. “He will pay for this.”
And yet they had not yet caught him.
The Pict army now cut north, leaving the ruins of border villages behind them.
Ecgfrith’s fyrd was in hot pursuit. However, last eve, Hea had overheard Ecgfrith arguing with his ealdormen and most trusted thegns.
Some advised him against following Bridei so far north, warning the king he could be riding into a trap, but Ecgfrith cast aside their worries.
Perhaps they were having the same argument once more, for Ecgfrith’s face had gone stony, and he was glaring at Rinan, whose own face had reddened. The warrior was one of the group who had questioned Ecgfrith’s decision.
The Northumbrian king was not a man who liked to have his actions second-guessed.
Watching them, Hea felt frustration swell in her breast. For days now, she had tried to get close enough to the king to speak to him. But on the few occasions she had managed to get his attention at the end of the day, he had been too tired and preoccupied to talk to her.
“They’re bickering again, aren’t they?”
Oswald’s voice behind her made Hea turn. Still pink in the face, his attention was now focused upon the king and his retainers below.
Hea nodded, watching the priest warily.
“The king should listen to them,” he muttered. “We have no business traveling this far north.”
“We’re still on Northumbrian lands,” Hea reminded him.
Oswald frowned. “They’re ours in name only,” he replied, keeping his voice low so that no one would overhear him. “Look around you—what real hold do you think Ecgfrith has over this place?”
Hea held his gaze for a moment, surprised by his candor. She wondered at his decision to confide in her. Yet after ten days of being shunned by most of the warriors he rode amongst, Hea was likely the nearest thing he had to a friend.
Although she would not voice it, she agreed with him. “So you think it’s folly to follow him north?”
“Aye—only a fool would follow a wolf into its lair. Bridei mac Beli will know this land well, and he will be gathering more men to him as he travels north.”
Oswald looked away then, breaking eye contact. His lean body tensed, and he moved away from her as if realizing that he had perhaps said too much.
Hea glanced back down at where Ecgfrith had just terminated his discussions and stormed off.
A horn blew across the hills; a long, lonely wail that never failed to make the hair on the back of Hea’s neck prickle. The noon rest was over; they were moving on once more.
That night they camped on the hillside above a clear brook.
As soon as the fyrd stopped for the day, Ecgfrith’s men fell into the routine they had established on the first day out from Bebbanburg.
Some rubbed down and watered and fed the horses, before tethering them, while others unrolled lengths of hide and fashioned low tents around four large fire pits.
There were few trees in this landscape, so most nights they burned peat on the fires; its pungent odor drifting over the encampment.
Hea did her share of the work alongside the men, helping with the horses before assisting with supper. Meals consisted of barley and vegetable pottage, roast rabbit or waterfowl, and hastily prepared griddle bread: simple but hearty fare that would keep an army on its feet.
Although she had left Bebbanburg with a knotted stomach, ten days on the road had made Hea’s appetite return quickly. She was ravenous at the end of each day riding.
Her mouth watered now, as she roasted a row of rabbit carcasses on a spit over the fire. She had never appreciated food as much as she did on this journey.
A few feet away, Ecgfrith sat upon a stool by the largest of the firepits, a cup of ale in hand.
His expression was introspective as he stared into the dancing flames.
Hea wondered if the disagreements with his most trusted warriors were beginning to erode his confidence.
Yet Rinan and the small group who agreed with him were the minority here.
Tonight, the mood in the camp was cheerful. A group of men were singing as they passed around a horn of mead; she could hear one of them boasting of his exploits in battle, while his companions heckled him. This game would likely last all night.
Feeling Hea’s gaze upon him, the king glanced up. He blinked as if he had not even realized she was present. After a moment, he favored her with a smile. “Enjoying the march north?”
Hea smiled back. “Well enough, milord.”
“None of the men are giving you any trouble?”
“No, sire.” For the most part, the men had welcomed her on this journey. Hea had predicted victory for this campaign; she sensed that having her with them reassured some of the warriors.
Ecgfrith nodded. “I require you this eve,” he said, after a moment. “Can you come to my tent after supper?”
Hea inclined her head, pleased she would finally get the opportunity to speak with him alone. “Of course, milord.”
A gentle dusk settled over the hills of Fortriu. Hea was making her way from her own small tent, across the clearing to the king’s considerably larger one, when the sound of singing made her halt.
Somewhere in the camp, a man’s deep voice rang out. A warrior seated around the fire sang a strident ballad. Clutching her seeing drum to her breast, excitement feathered across Hea’s skin as she listened.
The warrior must fight
The warrior must stand
Behind the shield
Before the wall
For victory, for honor
The warrior must slay
The warrior must lay waste
Destroy his enemy
Defend his land
For valor, for honor
Hea stood there a while, listening to each verse, her breath catching. The man had a mesmerizing voice. Yet at the same time, the song unnerved her. It was a reminder of what was to come … of the slaughter in that bleak valley.
She forced herself to move on and crossed the last few yards to Ecgfrith’s tent.
Hea pushed aside the flap and ducked inside.
Her boots sank into thick furs, and her gaze swept over the interior, taking in the intricately patterned tapestries hung from the ceiling, covering the hide walls.
A brazier burned in the center of the space, throwing out a circle of warmth.
The tent was cavernous compared to Hea’s cramped lodgings, and a hanging made from rabbit pelts shielded the king’s sleeping area at the back of it.
Ecgfrith himself sat upon a stool near the brazier. He was smiling as he listened to the final verse of the song.
“Morale is high amongst my men.” His gaze shifted to Hea. “Thanks to you.”
Hea smiled back, although nervousness fluttered in her belly. “I think you are the reason, milord,” she replied. “Your men are loyal, they trust their king.”
His shrewd hazel gaze met hers then. “And you know that for a fact do you?” he challenged. “Have you seen it in your visions?”
The sharpness in his tone made her draw back slightly. Was he still sore over the fact that some of his retainers disagreed with his relentless pursuit of the Picts north?
“No, milord,” she replied, holding his gaze. “I do not need to consult the spirit world to know such things. I see it in their faces. They will fight for you, and they will die for you—without question.”
The look on his face then surprised, and unsettled, her. He wore an odd expression: a blend of regret and longing.
“You are so like her,” he murmured after a pause. “The same fire, the same courage.”
Hea tensed. Whom was he speaking of … her mother?
His next sentence confirmed her suspicions. “Lewren was never afraid to speak her mind … even when it wasn’t in her best interests to do so.”
She stared back at him. A queasy feeling rose within her when a suspicion dawned.
“Were you lovers?” She had asked the question so quietly, breathed it, that for a moment she had thought he had not heard her. It was a bold thing to ask—something he was in his rights to punish her for, yet the words were out before she could stop them.
Ecgfrith’s face tightened, and he held her gaze for a heartbeat longer before tearing his own away. He stared into the flames of the brazier, his expression unreadable. “Aye … for a time. Many years ago now.”
Hea’s heart started to pound against her ribs like a seeing drum.
Suddenly, it was as if a veil had pulled back. To her knowledge, her mother had only ever given herself to one man … Hea’s father.