Britons. Ceawlin had been making ready for this, his first war band, for the last month at least. Everything was ready: his sword and spear and sax dagger sharpened, all his leather oiled, his mail byrnie polished. He and Sigurd had been practicing their sword-play for hours each day, thinking up new ways to kill their man. His horse’s bay coat gleamed from all the brushing the stallion had been given recently.
And he still had one more day to get through.
He swung his feet to the floor, lit a candle, and dressed. Then he opened his sleeping room’s door and went out into the main room of the princes’ hall. The door to Edwin’s room was closed and the young men lying on the benches along the wall did not stir. Ceawlin crossed the wooden floor on silent feet and passed out into the morning.
The stars were still out. It was very early indeed. Ceawlin looked slowly around the enclave and his eyes stopped as they encountered the queen’s hall.
The bitch. She had persuaded Cynric to take Edwin as soon as she learned that Ceawlin was to join the war band this spring. Was he never to have anything in his life that wasn’t spoiled by the jealous envy of his brother and the queen?
He began to walk toward the main gate of Winchester. He had put on only breeches and shirt, and the morning air was cool, but Ceawlin did not notice. He paused for a moment in front of the temple, then, after glancing about once more, walked around to the door set in the long side of the building, and went in.
The inside of the Saxon temple at Winchester was small but complete. The pit for making the offering was next to the door on the long wall opposite where Ceawlin was presently standing. The table for the ritual banquet was on the short wall to his right, while the altar and the images of the gods were in the set-apart area to his left. Ceawlin did not pause indoors, however, but passed through the room and out the door on the other side.
This door led into a fenced-in area which was dominated by a massive wooden pillar. Ceawlin went to stand before it.
Woden, he thought, gazing up at the huge carved image towering above him. Woden, father of battles, fill me with your spirit that I may prove myself worthy to be your descendant. He stood there for quite a long time, until the growing light blotted out the stars; then he returned to the princes’ hall to find something to do to pass the day.
Edwin arose after Ceawlin had gone down to the stables. The two boys were forced by custom to share the same hall, but they had so arranged their schedules that they seldom met. Edwin breakfasted by himself and then went to see his mother.
Guthfrid was in her sleeping room in the queen’s hall, having her hair done. She caught a glimpse of her son in the hand mirror she was holding, part of the booty from last year’s war band and Cynric’s gift to her. She smiled at him in the mirror and held her position as the handmaid fastened the last jeweled clasp in her hair.
“You are beautiful as always, Mother,” Edwin said as he crossed the floor toward her.
“Oh, Edwin.” Guthfrid put the mirror down and motioned to her handmaid to leave. She held her face up and Edwin bent to kiss her on the mouth.
“How are you, my love?” the queen murmured as her hand caressed his cheek.
“Well.” He pulled a stool over and sat at Guthfrid’s knee. “Mother, I want to make sure that Ceawlin does not win any fame for himself on this war band.”
Her plucked brows drew a little together. “The king will not leave him behind. You know that, Edwin. I tried, but I made no headway with your father. He was ready to leave you behind, because you are not yet seventeen, but he insisted that Ceawlin must go.”
“I know that the king has too great a regard for this bastard,” said Edwin coldly. “I want to remedy that.”
“But how, my love?”
“You have knowledge of poisons, Mother. I need you to help me.”
Her brown eyes widened. “Edwin, you
And he still had one more day to get through.
He swung his feet to the floor, lit a candle, and dressed. Then he opened his sleeping room’s door and went out into the main room of the princes’ hall. The door to Edwin’s room was closed and the young men lying on the benches along the wall did not stir. Ceawlin crossed the wooden floor on silent feet and passed out into the morning.
The stars were still out. It was very early indeed. Ceawlin looked slowly around the enclave and his eyes stopped as they encountered the queen’s hall.
The bitch. She had persuaded Cynric to take Edwin as soon as she learned that Ceawlin was to join the war band this spring. Was he never to have anything in his life that wasn’t spoiled by the jealous envy of his brother and the queen?
He began to walk toward the main gate of Winchester. He had put on only breeches and shirt, and the morning air was cool, but Ceawlin did not notice. He paused for a moment in front of the temple, then, after glancing about once more, walked around to the door set in the long side of the building, and went in.
The inside of the Saxon temple at Winchester was small but complete. The pit for making the offering was next to the door on the long wall opposite where Ceawlin was presently standing. The table for the ritual banquet was on the short wall to his right, while the altar and the images of the gods were in the set-apart area to his left. Ceawlin did not pause indoors, however, but passed through the room and out the door on the other side.
This door led into a fenced-in area which was dominated by a massive wooden pillar. Ceawlin went to stand before it.
Woden, he thought, gazing up at the huge carved image towering above him. Woden, father of battles, fill me with your spirit that I may prove myself worthy to be your descendant. He stood there for quite a long time, until the growing light blotted out the stars; then he returned to the princes’ hall to find something to do to pass the day.
Edwin arose after Ceawlin had gone down to the stables. The two boys were forced by custom to share the same hall, but they had so arranged their schedules that they seldom met. Edwin breakfasted by himself and then went to see his mother.
Guthfrid was in her sleeping room in the queen’s hall, having her hair done. She caught a glimpse of her son in the hand mirror she was holding, part of the booty from last year’s war band and Cynric’s gift to her. She smiled at him in the mirror and held her position as the handmaid fastened the last jeweled clasp in her hair.
“You are beautiful as always, Mother,” Edwin said as he crossed the floor toward her.
“Oh, Edwin.” Guthfrid put the mirror down and motioned to her handmaid to leave. She held her face up and Edwin bent to kiss her on the mouth.
“How are you, my love?” the queen murmured as her hand caressed his cheek.
“Well.” He pulled a stool over and sat at Guthfrid’s knee. “Mother, I want to make sure that Ceawlin does not win any fame for himself on this war band.”
Her plucked brows drew a little together. “The king will not leave him behind. You know that, Edwin. I tried, but I made no headway with your father. He was ready to leave you behind, because you are not yet seventeen, but he insisted that Ceawlin must go.”
“I know that the king has too great a regard for this bastard,” said Edwin coldly. “I want to remedy that.”
“But how, my love?”
“You have knowledge of poisons, Mother. I need you to help me.”
Her brown eyes widened. “Edwin, you
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