The Serpent Sword (Bernicia Chronicles Book 1) (30 page)

The sun was low in the sky. A group of warriors had just finished a gruelling series of practice bouts and were slumped on the ground, resting in the shade of the great hall. All except Beobrand. Scand watched as the young Cantware man rose from the group, splashed some water from the trough on his face and made his way downhill towards the lodgings of the township of Gefrin. Towards the forge. Some of the men shouted jokes after him about who he was going to meet, but he merely waved over his shoulder and continued on his way. Too tired to get angry, or perhaps he was just settling in to the warband and the ways of the men.

He liked Beobrand, and admired his audacity in handling the audience with Eanfrith. And it had done Acennan no harm to have someone stand up to him. Beobrand seemed honest enough and eager to fit in. Scand considered himself a good judge of men, and Beobrand struck him as a man of honour. There was a dark side to him, but who could say they had no secrets? Scand had a feeling that God was smiling on them when he sent Beobrand to Gefrin.

He cast his eyes beyond the town and surveyed the horizon. He didn’t expect to see anything out of the ordinary. There were scouts posted around Gefrin and he had men watching Cadwallon’s troops, so a surprise attack was unlikely. Nevertheless, the old warrior found himself scouring the land to the south with increasing frequency.

Battle was coming. As sure as smoke rose from fire. He could almost smell it. When it would come, and in what form, he did not know. But come it would.

Rumours were rife. Information flowed into Gefrin with the new warriors who gathered under Eanfrith’s banner. Cadwallon continued to build up his numbers in the south, but he still showed no inclination to attack Eanfrith. The land was dangerous with wandering groups of warriors. Landless and lordless after the rout at the battle of Elmet, many now chose to come to Gefrin, where they were welcomed by Scand. They needed all the fighters they could get, so he asked few questions. But he kept the new arrivals away from the king and the great hall. Instead they were camped within the animal enclosure on the edge of the town. It was all too possible that one of these new warriors could be sent by an enemy of Bernicia to kill the king. He might not be able to talk sense into Eanfrith and have him pull back to the fortress of Bebbanburg, but he could make sure that the king would not fall to a stealthy dagger in the night.

The swelling numbers of men boded well for Bernicia, but they could not stay in Gefrin for much longer. They were low on provisions and would need to move in order to be able to collect food from farms and other royal villas. Perhaps that would be a way to convince Eanfrith to move to Bebbanburg, thought Scand. He’d talk to Fugol about the numbers so that he could tackle the king armed with knowledge. If they didn’t attack as a large force soon, the host would need to be broken up. They would simply not be able to feed them.

Eanfrith planned to summon all the ealdormen of Bernicia to Gefrin to swear the oath of allegiance to him. Those lands with no ealdormen would be granted to his most trusted thegns. The warriors who had come seeking a lord would be spread amongst the ealdormen of the kingdom.

The plans were good, as far as they went, but Scand knew they were premature. The time to talk of dividing up the land had not yet come. First would come the time of killing and death. Land could not be settled until it had been paid for with the blood of men.

And Scand was sure the day the land would exact its tribute was fast approaching.

“What are you gawping at, young man?” asked Sunniva. She was bending down to spread her oldest cloak onto the warm grass. When she turned to look at Beobrand, he’d been watching her with his mouth wide open. “If you don’t close your mouth, you’ll catch a fly!”

Embarrassed, he shut his mouth quickly. He was often embarrassed when he was with Sunniva. She was so effortlessly beautiful and quick-witted that she made him feel stupid and clumsy. He knew she didn’t mean to, and she showed no sign of thinking badly of him, but he couldn’t help but feel he was not worthy of her.

She sat and patted the cloak next to her. “Well, what were you staring at?” she asked, smiling archly.

Beobrand sat. “I was just looking at you,” he mumbled.

“Oh. And did you like what you could see?” She was enjoying herself now.

“Yes, of course.”

“As good as the shepherdess I saw you looking at on the way here?”

Beobrand didn’t know what she was talking about. It was true that they’d passed a flock of sheep on their way to this meadow, but he hadn’t noticed the shepherdess. Then he saw the gleam in Sunniva’s eye and realised she was teasing him.

“Well, you’re not bad, but that shepherdess was like a goddess.” He tried and failed to keep a straight face and they both burst out laughing.

Sunniva felt wonderful. This young man was all she’d ever hoped for in a husband. He was strong and brave, but there was a tenderness and thoughtfulness there too.

She leant forward, placing her hand on his thigh and kissed him lightly on the lips. He shivered and returned her kiss gently. She knew the power she had over him, and she loved that he never attempted to force himself on her. He always responded to her, but she could tell he was holding himself in check, not allowing his passion to run wild. This only excited her more.

Over the last few weeks they had seen a lot of each other and their encounters had become increasingly physical and passionate. Sunniva had decided that this would be the day that she would give herself to him.

Strang had told her three days before that he would be travelling to collect charcoal and had asked her to accompany him. She had waited until the night before and then feigned the arrival of her monthly bleeding. She knew her father would not remember when her last blood had come and when she said she had stomach cramps and wished to stay in the house, he did not argue. Her mother would have quickly seen through the ruse.

After her father had left Gefrin, she had gone down to a secluded spot by the river and bathed. Then she had changed into her favourite dress. It was blue, with white embroidered edges. She and her mother had sewn it together.

She had packed a basket with food, some cheese, a piece of ham, bread, folded her old cloak on top of the provisions, and gone in search of Beobrand.

She had found him training with some other warriors. He was stripped to the waist, his muscular torso glistening with a sheen of sweat. He was wielding his fine sword effortlessly, thrusting, parrying, lunging. The blade flickered in the bright sun, flashing silver like a fish darting in the shallows of the river. She had watched as Beobrand drove his opponent backwards, his footwork lithe and precise. He was in total control, despite his adversary being several years his senior. In the end, the warrior tripped and fell onto his back on the dusty ground. Beobrand stepped over him, holding the point of his sword at the man’s throat.

All the onlookers were silent. There was a cold fire burning in Beobrand’s blue eyes. The man on the ground lay motionless, staring fixedly into those eyes. For a moment he looked in fear for his life, but then Beobrand looked up, saw Sunniva, and smiled in welcome. He switched his sword to his left hand and held out his right to help his opponent up.

Relieved, the man grasped the offered hand and Beobrand pulled him to his feet. “Be glad your girl arrived when she did. Another moment and I would have humiliated you!” the older man said loudly with a grin. The watching warriors laughed. Beobrand clapped him on the back and made his way over to Sunniva. The tension had gone, but the men were all wise enough not to jest further about Sunniva. Many of them looked sidelong at the couple. The girl was a beauty, and not a few of the men were jealous of Beobrand’s luck.

Beobrand had pulled his kirtle on and Sunniva had asked if he cared to join her for some food. He was never going to refuse so she’d led him away to the north of Gefrin. They’d walked for some time until they had reached the meadow. It was one of her favourite places, and she loved to come here and doze on warm days. It was close enough to Gefrin to be reached on foot, but far enough away to grant them some privacy.

The small swathe of meadow was roughly square in shape. It was on a slope and overlooked by a stand of rowan and pine trees on three sides, which meant it was secluded.

Sunniva’s hand was warm on Beobrand’s leg. He felt himself growing aroused and he returned her kiss with mounting passion, his tongue probing her mouth. Breathless, he pulled away. He had caught himself thinking of Cathryn. He remembered his arousal in that dark forest clearing. He shuddered. Self-loathing cooling his desire.

“What is it, Beobrand?” Sunniva asked, unsure what she had done wrong.

“Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want me?”

He watched entranced as she unfastened the brooches that attached her peplos, her over-dress, to her under-dress. She removed her belt and then shrugged out of the blue and white peplos, leaving just her cream-coloured linen under garment. It clung to her form, accentuating the swell of her breasts. She reached up and unlaced the string that held the neck of the garment closed.

Beobrand swallowed. “Of course I want you. It’s just that…”

“What?” Her voice took on an edge of pique. Was he going to reject her now, after all her plans?

“I don’t want to hurt you. You are so perfect.”

“You won’t hurt me,” she smiled, mollified.

“I…I am not a good person,” he stammered.

“You’re good enough for me,” she laughed and kissed him again. “Let’s not talk any more. There are much better ways for us to spend the afternoon.” She took hold of his hand and pulled it to her chest, sliding aside the cloth so that his fingers touched her warm, bare flesh. His palm brushed her nipple and she let out a small gasp of pleasure.

She grasped his kirtle with both hands and tugged it over his head. For a moment she gazed in admiration at his muscular torso, taking in the scars she had seen before, tracing them with her fingertips. He shivered again, but it was warm in the meadow. She moved in close and kissed his chest, his neck, his mouth.

He stroked her breast again, feeling her nipple harden. He kissed her deeply.

After some time, they paused, both breathing heavily, as if they’d been running. Beobrand’s manhood throbbed. He was desperate for her to touch him there. He fumbled with his clothes. She helped and they managed to pull his britches down. She reached out and gripped him in her slender hand. Her fingers were callused from working in the forge, but her touch was tender. Now it was his turn to gasp.

Sunniva kissed him again, then, hitching her undergarment up, she lay back onto the soft grass and pulled him down on top of her.

He could feel the pressure building. She used her hand to guide him to her moist opening and as he felt the touch of her, he entered her, cautiously, not wishing to hurt her.

She moaned and pressed her fingers into his back.

All thoughts of shame and guilt fled from Beobrand’s mind. Then, for quite some time, he could think no more.

The sun was barely peeping over the treetops and dew still bejewelled the grass when Strang set out for charcoal. He was getting through more of the valuable resource than he was accustomed to. The forge had been in use constantly with all the warriors now in Gefrin. Not only did he have the order for weapons from Eanfrith, but each of the newcomers seemed to need something mending, or had a request for a new item to be forged. Of course, there was only so much he could do with nobody but Sunniva to help him, but the money that was coming in would soon be enough to get a slave. Perhaps he could find one with useful experience, but it was unlikely. What did the Waelisc know of making good steel? No, he’d be lucky to get a strong healthy one with enough brains to be able to pick up some of the rudimentary skills needed for metalwork.

One thing was for sure, Sunniva would soon be gone. She had fallen for the Cantware boy and he thought it would only be a matter of days or weeks before he plucked up courage enough to ask for her hand. Strang had disliked him from the moment he’d seen him walking up the hill towards Gefrin. He knew he’d bring trouble. Still, Sunniva could do worse, though he wouldn’t admit as much to her. Beobrand was brave and honest, and he doted on her.

Strang tapped the ox on the rump with the stick he carried for the job. It picked up its pace, easily pulling the unladen cart along the path towards the forest. Both beast and man knew the path well. They had made the trip dozens of times before. They would be walking for most of the morning, then they would stop at the clearing where the charcoalers built their huge fire mounds. There they would eat and Strang would tell them all the news from Gefrin before they loaded the cart with charcoal and he headed back to the forge. It would be a long, dirty, hot day, but Strang was pleased to get away from the forge. Walking the oft-travelled path allowed his mind to wander.

He thought of Etheswitha. What would she have thought of Beobrand? But he knew the answer already. She’d have liked him. He could almost hear his wife saying to him, “you don’t like him because he is too much like you!” He smiled at the thought. He supposed it was true. Neither he nor Beobrand talked much, they were both serious and faced their problems with strength and pragmatism, rather than cunning and guile.

He walked on, enjoying the peace of the open country. He saw nobody on the path and made good time. The ground was firm and dry after weeks of warm weather and sooner than he’d expected he was entering the shadow of the forest. He would be at the charcoal burners’ clearing soon. He could already pick up the scent of the wood fires on the light breeze. It would be good to sit for a while and chat with the men. Strang had brought them a small barrel of mead, and his mouth filled with saliva at the thought of slaking his thirst on the sweet drink.