The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) (25 page)

"As to your other question, Fearghas tasked me to fetch the bishop from Hii. And he asked me to tell the king that you should accompany me." Coenred must have read Beobrand's expression, for he continued, "I do not know why or to what end. But Oswald loved Fearghas and would not deny him this dying request."

Beobrand frowned. This made no sense. The old man had no good reason for this. He clenched his jaw. He had only just found a place to call his home, and now he must leave? Surely these were the ravings of a dying man. Meaningless babblings. But he knew this was a battle he could not win. The king had decided and thegns did not win arguments with kings.

"Well, the sooner we leave," Beobrand said, his voice gruff with annoyance, "the sooner I will be back at Ubbanford. It is where I should be. With my folk."

And with Sunniva.

"Yes, and I have work to be done on Lindisfarena. I am sure the other monks will not be able to build cells without my help." Coenred smirked. It was the first time Beobrand had seen him smile for a long time. "I do not know how I will cope without the brothers' guidance. I may even forget some of my prayers."

"That would be unlike you. You were always so hard-working," Beobrand said. Coenred's shift in mood was infectious. "Let us hope that the trip does not take too long, or you may forget all of the teachings of the Christ you have learnt."

"And the longer we travel, the more chance I will need to rescue you from some danger or injury." Coenred's smile broadened.

Beobrand slapped the young monk playfully on the shoulder. It felt good to spend time with Coenred again. Beobrand had forgotten how much he enjoyed his company.

"As I recall it, Coenred, it is I who usually ends up saving you."

"I believe we are neither of us in the debt of the other when it comes to life-saving." Coenred laughed. "But it is true that your rescues tend to make better songs. I'll give you that!"

The rain showed no sign of letting up when they left the next morning.

Oswiu, astride a dappled grey gelding, grumbled that the rivers would already be impassable. Beobrand overheard the atheling and called over the noise of the horses and rainfall.

"We can cross the Tuidi at Ubbanford. And we can overnight in my hall."

Oswiu glanced at Beobrand, as if surprised he had spoken. "And you can rut with your pretty woman one more time before we head into the lands of the Picts." Oswiu's retainers laughed. Beobrand felt his face grow hot.

"To Ubbanford then," Oswiu said. "Lead on, Beobrand."

It was long after dark when at last they rode down the hill into the valley Beobrand had begun to think of as home. Smoke hung low over the houses. Rain still fell, though with less virulence, as if the gods themselves had grown weary of the constant pounding of the earth with water. With the easing of the rain, the temperature had begun to fall. So by the time they arrived at Ubba's hall, the riders were wet, cold and miserable.

Acennan had ridden on ahead, giving Sunniva and Rowena a little warning of Beobrand's return.

One would never have known that the ladies had not had days in which to prepare for the lord of the hall and the king's brother. The women stood in the doorway of the hall as the horses plodded through the mud. Both were radiant. They wore their finest clothes and jewellery. And they were in full control.

At their command men and boys ran to take the mounts. The women ushered the warriors into the welcome warmth of the hall.

As the guest of honour, Oswiu was offered mead from the Waes Hael bowl by Sunniva.

"You are well come to Ubba's hall. May you have good health," said Sunniva, her voice low and timid in the presence of the atheling.

Oswiu, usually taciturn and dour, smiled broadly. Beobrand felt a prickle of distaste at the prince's lingering gaze at Sunniva. But he could not blame Oswiu for looking. She was indeed a feast for a man's eyes.

After Oswiu had drunk deeply, smacking his lips with pleasure, Sunniva passed the bowl to Beobrand. Her gaze was open and full of love for her husband. Thoughts of jealousy fled from Beobrand. She was his alone.

He drained the remainder of the contents of the bowl. The mead trickled down inside him. The drink and Sunniva's presence warmed him. By Woden, he would miss her on the trek north. He was not looking forward to having to tell her of their mission.

"You keep the name of Ubba's hall, then?" Oswiu enquired. His eyes stayed on Sunniva, but Beobrand chose to answer.

"Yes, my lord. We plan to build a new hall. Ubba's lady, Rowena, and their daughter, Edlyn, will remain here." Beobrand indicated Rowena, and Edlyn, who stood in her mother's shadow.

"Very noble of you," Oswiu raised an eyebrow.

"I thought to follow the will of your brother. The king did not wish Ubba's kin's sacrifice to be forgotten."

Oswiu frowned. "Of course. Lady Rowena, we are sorry for your loss. Ubba and your sons helped to bring peace to Bernicia."

Rowena seemed pleased with the atheling's attention. "Thank you, my lord Oswiu." She bowed.

"Now," said Oswiu, "what is that wonderful scent of food I smell? Travelling in this weather makes one hungry."

It was some time before they were all seated and food was being served. The hall was crowded with Oswiu's retinue. The heat and smoke from the hearth mingled with the steam coming from the damp clothes of the travellers, making the hall hazy, as if with fog.

Beobrand was unsure how the ladies of Ubbanford had managed to organise a feast for so many in such a short space of time. When he asked Rowena, she merely smiled and said, "It is always good for womenfolk to have some secrets from men. Just enjoy the food."

And enjoy it he did. There was salted beef, smoked fish, a warming pottage, and fresh bread. All washed down with copious amounts of ale and mead.

Beobrand was on his third horn of ale when Sunniva leant in close and whispered, "You will not wish to drink too much. I have heard tales that drink can dampen a lover's fire."

Beobrand spluttered, coughing ale onto the rushes.

"If you are to leave me alone for many days or weeks," she continued, "I will need you to be at your best this night. I wish to have a fresh memory of you for the long dark nights of winter ahead." She winked.

"So you know what we are to do? Where we are going?" Beobrand had been worrying how to broach the subject with her unduly it seemed.

"Of course, I do. I asked Acennan."

Beobrand glanced over at his friend. He was not sure if he was pleased or angry at Acennan's indiscretion. Acennan was engaged in a drinking contest with some of Oswiu's gesithas. They pounded the boards with their fists as the stocky warrior drained the contents of a drinking horn without pause.

"Do not blame Acennan. If I was to wait for you to tell me, my hair would be grey." She kissed him lightly. "I am not happy that you are leaving so soon, and to travel so far. But I know you are the king's man. You must do as you are bidden. And I will not spend the time we have together crying over your leaving." She reached under the table and stroked his thigh gently. "I can think of much more pleasurable ways to pass the time."

Beobrand swallowed. He decided he was not angry with Acennan.

The warmth of Beobrand's embrace was still with Sunniva as she watched him ride away. The rain had ceased in the night, but the iron-grey sky brooded and threatened. The Tuidi was cloaked in thick mist. The riders were hidden before they were a spear's throw distant. Sounds of their travel carried in the still morning, and she heard the splash of hooves in the ford. The jangle of harness. Murmured voices.

She had sent Beobrand off with a kiss and a smile. He had waved to her and she had returned the salutation with a cheerful expression. Now though, she let the smile fall from her lips. When would she see him again? Winter was coming. To travel north was madness. Yet she knew she could not change the king's decision. She had not spoken of her anxiety to Beobrand. It would have served no purpose, save to unsettle him.

He was concerned enough. He had not said as much, but in the dark secrecy of their bed furs he had spoken of the journey. Of leaving her at Ubbanford. And she had heard the worry in his voice. They had smothered their fears with passion. At last, panting and sweat-slick, they had slept a short while in each other's arms.

The noise of many men preparing to travel had woken them while the sun still slept.

"I will leave the men here," Beobrand had said, as he cinched his sword belt. "I do not wish to leave you unprotected. I don't believe that bastard Nathair will do anything, but perhaps an unguarded hall would prove too much temptation."

"You will take Acennan with you at least," she had replied. "I need to know you have someone looking out for you."

"Very well," Beobrand had replied. "I'll leave Tobrytan in charge. He is a good man."

Now, staring into the mist for any last fleeting glimpse of Beobrand, Sunniva wished she had tried to convince him to stay behind. She knew it would have been pointless, but she could not help feeling that something awful would befall him.

She had felt these things before. Cried tears of self-pity and fear when he had left for battle. And he had returned to her. She must put these thoughts from her mind. There was much to do. There was a hall to build.

She turned to return to the hall. With a start she almost collided with Anhaga who must have crept up behind her.

"Is there anything you would have me do?" he asked.

Her skin prickled. A chill ran through her. "Get out of my way!" she said, her voice shrill.

He stepped to one side to let her pass, clumsy and halting on his twisted leg.

She paused. If she was to survive the winter without Beobrand, she should try to put aside her dislike for the cripple. He would be useful in helping her run the household.

"I am sorry," she said. "You startled me."

Anhaga looked as pleased as if she had presented him with a cartload of silver. "No need to apologise, my lady." His tone was subservient. But could she detect something else? Something darker? Sinister?

She suppressed a shudder.

She swept passed Anhaga and strode back to the hall.

Without turning, she knew that his gaze followed her until she was out of sight.

Closing the hall door behind her, she sighed.

It would be a long winter.

The weeks of travel into the north seemed endless to Beobrand. The days were filled with rain and sleet. Wind screamed in the bones of trees that skirted the paths they walked. A few days after leaving Ubbanford, the first snow fell in the night. They had been lucky that evening to find a hall to shelter in. Most nights they were able to sleep under a roof. The Pictish lords were, on the whole, hospitable. Many remembered Oswiu from his previous visit when travelling south with his brothers and they now craved news of Eanfrith and Oswald. On hearing of the death of Eanfrith and the victory of Oswald over Cadwallon, their reaction was usually similar. They understood it was best to keep on the good side of a king as powerful as Oswald now was. Putting up his brother and retinue for a night was a reasonable price to pay for the potential of later favours. Beobrand wondered whether the fact that Finola, sister of Gartnait, King of the Picts, still resided at Bebbanburg with her son was ever mentioned. The threat to her seemed clear to him, but he did not wish to speak of it with Oswiu.

On these evenings in strange halls Beobrand would talk to Coenred. Glad of whatever warmth they could glean from the smoky peat fires, they would let the lilting tongue of the Picts wash over them. They understood none of the language. All the others had lived for many years in exile, or even been born in the northern kingdom of Dál Riata. There they had also apparently picked up some of the words of the Picts. None could converse better with the natives of Gartnait's kingdom than Oswiu himself.

As they moved further into the north, the snow fell more heavily and more frequently. The hills grew steeper. The rivers more swollen and treacherous to cross. Beobrand could not count the times he had been soaked to the skin. Some of the paths they trod were so steep and ice-clad that they needed to dismount, for fear of a horse slipping and sending them tumbling to their doom. The cold reminded him of the time he had spent in the forest with Hengist. But then they had hunkered down in the shelter of trees and the river bank. Now there was no place to hide from the elements.

Of the company, Coenred fared the worst. He was thin and unsuited to the rigours of travel. The gesithas took pity on him, lending him cloaks and furs. In the end he was so wrapped up, with nothing more than his eyes showing between tufts of fur, that he resembled some kind of stunted bear. The men laughed at him. Coenred was too cold to take offence. Despite all the borrowed gear, he still spent most of each day shivering. Teeth chattering. Numb fingers shaking on the reins of the small horse he rode.

On one particularly bitter day, when the wind bit into their faces and the rain that pelted them was mixed with ice, they had travelled along the coastline of a great firth. A storm blew down across the estuary, hurling frigid water at them with a savage glee. Such was the fury of the storm that Beobrand closed his stinging eyes, relying on Sceadugenga to follow the other horses. They longed for a sanctuary from the cold that night and rejoiced when they saw a cluster of buildings arrayed near a low shingle beach. Some way back from the churning water squatted a building that was larger than the rest.