vanished,
replaced with ice-cold dread. She swiveled on her stool, fixing her brother in
a pleading stare. He was her last ally, the one person she could depend upon.
“Please, Alchfrith, don’t let him do this.”
“It is already done,” her brother replied. His tone was
emotionless, although Alchflaed thought she saw pity flare in his eyes.
Suddenly, the enigmatic comment her brother had made
during the feast made sense.
Change is afoot, and it will affect us all.
He had been trying to warn her. Heart racing, she turned
back to her father.
“Is he here?”
Mercifully, Oswiu shook his head. “Urgent business drew
Paeda back to Tamworth. He has sent a group of his men to escort you to Mercia.
You will leave at dawn, the day after my victory feast. As soon as you arrive
in Tamworth, you and Paeda shall be handfasted.”
Alchflaed gripped the sides of the stool, in an effort to
stop herself from leaping to her feet and fleeing her father’s quarters.
Her world had suddenly shattered into tiny fragments. She
had foolishly believed she would spend her life at Bebbanburg but, instead, her
father had given her to the enemy.
Chapter Six
The Victory Feast
Alchflaed was winding wool onto her distaff, and staring
sightlessly into the flames of the fire, when Cyneburh took a seat upon the
stool opposite.
It was getting late in the afternoon, and Alchflaed had
been sitting alone at the fire pit for a long while. Around her, the hall
bustled with activity as servants and slaves prepared a mutton stew for the
evening meal. Yet, she had been deaf to them all.
“Greetings,” Cyneburh greeted her timidly.
Alchflaed emerged from her brooding and forced a smile,
although it hurt her face to do so.
“Hello, Cyneburh.”
Her sister by marriage picked up the tunic she had been
embroidering, and was about to resume her intricate work, when she paused.
“You are so pale today, Alchflaed. Are you unwell?”
“I think I drank too much cider at the feasting,”
Alchflaed lied, although she was unable to summon the energy to do so
convincingly. She continued the rhythmic motion of winding wool onto the
distaff, readying it for spinning, and hoped Cyneburh would lapse back into
silence. The Mercian Princess was mercifully not given to prattle. There were
times when the pair of them would sit for an entire afternoon at their work and
barely a word would pass between them. However, when she saw out of the corner
of her eye that Cyneburh had not yet resumed sewing, she realized that today
would be different.
Cyneburh spoke, her voice gentle and laced with concern.
“Alchfrith told me that you will marry my brother.”
Alchflaed nodded, and swallowed to ease the sudden
tightness in her throat. She did not trust herself to reply.
“He said that Paeda demanded the marriage, as payment for
betraying our father.”
Alchflaed glanced up, her gaze meeting Cyneburh’s.
“Does his treachery surprise you?”
Cyneburh sighed.
“My father brought his daughters up to be like their
mother. But, he schooled his sons to mirror him.”
Cyneburh’s pretty mouth compressed into a thin line
before she continued.
“But this time he took it too far.”
“It takes a rare man to betray his own father.” Alchflaed
replied, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Aye,” Cyneburh’s expression hardened further. “As a boy,
Paeda was ever eager to win his father’s approval, even more so than our
younger brothers, Wulfhere and Aethelred. At some point though, his adoration
turned to resentment. It had begun, long before I left Tamworth, but my father
was blind to it.”
Alchflaed glanced away, her gaze returning to the flames
dancing in the fire pit. Cyneburh’s words were making her feel worse, not
better.
Unexpectedly, Cyneburh reached out and placed her hand
over Alchflaed’s. Surprised, for it was unlike her brother’s wife to be
demonstrative, Alchflaed looked up. Cyneburh’s gaze was fierce.
“You
replaced with ice-cold dread. She swiveled on her stool, fixing her brother in
a pleading stare. He was her last ally, the one person she could depend upon.
“Please, Alchfrith, don’t let him do this.”
“It is already done,” her brother replied. His tone was
emotionless, although Alchflaed thought she saw pity flare in his eyes.
Suddenly, the enigmatic comment her brother had made
during the feast made sense.
Change is afoot, and it will affect us all.
He had been trying to warn her. Heart racing, she turned
back to her father.
“Is he here?”
Mercifully, Oswiu shook his head. “Urgent business drew
Paeda back to Tamworth. He has sent a group of his men to escort you to Mercia.
You will leave at dawn, the day after my victory feast. As soon as you arrive
in Tamworth, you and Paeda shall be handfasted.”
Alchflaed gripped the sides of the stool, in an effort to
stop herself from leaping to her feet and fleeing her father’s quarters.
Her world had suddenly shattered into tiny fragments. She
had foolishly believed she would spend her life at Bebbanburg but, instead, her
father had given her to the enemy.
Chapter Six
The Victory Feast
Alchflaed was winding wool onto her distaff, and staring
sightlessly into the flames of the fire, when Cyneburh took a seat upon the
stool opposite.
It was getting late in the afternoon, and Alchflaed had
been sitting alone at the fire pit for a long while. Around her, the hall
bustled with activity as servants and slaves prepared a mutton stew for the
evening meal. Yet, she had been deaf to them all.
“Greetings,” Cyneburh greeted her timidly.
Alchflaed emerged from her brooding and forced a smile,
although it hurt her face to do so.
“Hello, Cyneburh.”
Her sister by marriage picked up the tunic she had been
embroidering, and was about to resume her intricate work, when she paused.
“You are so pale today, Alchflaed. Are you unwell?”
“I think I drank too much cider at the feasting,”
Alchflaed lied, although she was unable to summon the energy to do so
convincingly. She continued the rhythmic motion of winding wool onto the
distaff, readying it for spinning, and hoped Cyneburh would lapse back into
silence. The Mercian Princess was mercifully not given to prattle. There were
times when the pair of them would sit for an entire afternoon at their work and
barely a word would pass between them. However, when she saw out of the corner
of her eye that Cyneburh had not yet resumed sewing, she realized that today
would be different.
Cyneburh spoke, her voice gentle and laced with concern.
“Alchfrith told me that you will marry my brother.”
Alchflaed nodded, and swallowed to ease the sudden
tightness in her throat. She did not trust herself to reply.
“He said that Paeda demanded the marriage, as payment for
betraying our father.”
Alchflaed glanced up, her gaze meeting Cyneburh’s.
“Does his treachery surprise you?”
Cyneburh sighed.
“My father brought his daughters up to be like their
mother. But, he schooled his sons to mirror him.”
Cyneburh’s pretty mouth compressed into a thin line
before she continued.
“But this time he took it too far.”
“It takes a rare man to betray his own father.” Alchflaed
replied, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Aye,” Cyneburh’s expression hardened further. “As a boy,
Paeda was ever eager to win his father’s approval, even more so than our
younger brothers, Wulfhere and Aethelred. At some point though, his adoration
turned to resentment. It had begun, long before I left Tamworth, but my father
was blind to it.”
Alchflaed glanced away, her gaze returning to the flames
dancing in the fire pit. Cyneburh’s words were making her feel worse, not
better.
Unexpectedly, Cyneburh reached out and placed her hand
over Alchflaed’s. Surprised, for it was unlike her brother’s wife to be
demonstrative, Alchflaed looked up. Cyneburh’s gaze was fierce.
“You
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