“We celebrate too soon.”
Edmund was seated on my other side. “Thurkill has retreated.”
Leofric stared into his goblet. “For now.”
“I’m counting the days until that man is out of the Middle Lands and in distant Mercia.” Edmund breathed in my ear.
“Lord Leofric saved us,” I murmured, not wanting him to hear. Edmund’s constant complaining had begun to wear on my nerves like the throbbing of my wound. “We needed his forces today. Without the Mercians, I’ve no doubt Thurkill would have been victorious.”
Edmund scowled but he couldn’t deny it.
Beneath the bandage my arm twanged as I reached for the sparrow-hawk brooch attached to the breast of my tunic. Aine had clipped on the brooch after tending to the wound on my arm, anointing it with an herbal salve.
“Why you have to put yourself in danger I don’t know.” She tutted as if I were a child who’d tumbled in a bramble bush.
“You know why.”
I’d winced as she cleansed the ripped skin. If my men fought, I fought. What they had to bear, I bore. Their pain was my pain. Accompanied by Brother Aefic, I’d attended to the dying before going exhausted to my own bower.
Aine had made no answer as she’d released my hair from the tight battle coils and set to with a brush, turning my hair to soft waves of bronze that rippled down my back. Even though I’d lost my helmet, her neat handiwork hadn’t come loose.
Now the unruly strands tumbled over my shoulders, waving over my waist to curl just above my thighs. Pushing it from my forehead I rose to my feet. My tiredness had passed. The feasting cure for battle fever worked for fatigue, too.
“Friends! Warriors!” I called from the high table. “ Was hail! ”
“ Was hail!” Horns and tankards were lifted in reply. Walburgha’s cheeks were red, Wilbert, scrubbed and appearing no worse for wear, beside her.
“This great day we have avenged the death of my parents, Lord Radulf and Lady Morwen.” My fingers tightened on the stem of my goblet. I still found it hard to say their names. “We have fought to defend the Middle Lands from the Danes. We have kept the honor of Coventry!”
“Aye! Coventry!” The cry went up amidst the rattling of wooden trenchers and the drumming of feet. The candles, jugs, and platters on the long tables juddered.
“We of Coventry are grateful to the men of Mercia who fought so bravely with us, and to their lord.” Lord Leofric discomfited me with a sardonic smile before lifting his cup in reply. I faltered for a moment before continuing the toast. “Thurkill the Tall, the Danish terror, has been defeated! He will plague us no more!”
Now the cheers were fit to lift the rafters. “Mercia! Mercia! Coventry! Coventry!”
Seeking silence, I held up my goblet. “Lives have been lost, but they have not been lost in vain.” At this, many faces saddened. Like me, some had come to celebrate Coventry’s victory without the company of those they loved. My heart ached but I had to continue. Spirits needed to remain high. It would numb my people’s pain until they could face their grief. “We will not forget the fallen, but rejoice in our great victory: Saxons all!”
Amidst more cheering and drumming of feet, I’d just taken my seat again when Walburgha, clearly merry on mead, came up to the high table.
“My lady! The Mercians say they are greater tellers of riddles than the people of the Middle Lands!”
“Is that right, Walburgha?” I chuckled.
“What a thing to say!” Her hands on her hips, Walburgha puffed out her red cheeks. “My Wilbert is the greatest riddler there is.”
To my surprise Lord Leofric leaned toward her with a glimmer of a grin. “Perhaps there should be a challenge from the riddlers of Coventry to the riddlers of Mercia.”
“That’s it!” Walburgha cried. “A riddling challenge! Will you allow it, my lady?”
“Don’t allow it, Godiva,” Edmund muttered. “Don’t get too friendly with the
Edmund was seated on my other side. “Thurkill has retreated.”
Leofric stared into his goblet. “For now.”
“I’m counting the days until that man is out of the Middle Lands and in distant Mercia.” Edmund breathed in my ear.
“Lord Leofric saved us,” I murmured, not wanting him to hear. Edmund’s constant complaining had begun to wear on my nerves like the throbbing of my wound. “We needed his forces today. Without the Mercians, I’ve no doubt Thurkill would have been victorious.”
Edmund scowled but he couldn’t deny it.
Beneath the bandage my arm twanged as I reached for the sparrow-hawk brooch attached to the breast of my tunic. Aine had clipped on the brooch after tending to the wound on my arm, anointing it with an herbal salve.
“Why you have to put yourself in danger I don’t know.” She tutted as if I were a child who’d tumbled in a bramble bush.
“You know why.”
I’d winced as she cleansed the ripped skin. If my men fought, I fought. What they had to bear, I bore. Their pain was my pain. Accompanied by Brother Aefic, I’d attended to the dying before going exhausted to my own bower.
Aine had made no answer as she’d released my hair from the tight battle coils and set to with a brush, turning my hair to soft waves of bronze that rippled down my back. Even though I’d lost my helmet, her neat handiwork hadn’t come loose.
Now the unruly strands tumbled over my shoulders, waving over my waist to curl just above my thighs. Pushing it from my forehead I rose to my feet. My tiredness had passed. The feasting cure for battle fever worked for fatigue, too.
“Friends! Warriors!” I called from the high table. “ Was hail! ”
“ Was hail!” Horns and tankards were lifted in reply. Walburgha’s cheeks were red, Wilbert, scrubbed and appearing no worse for wear, beside her.
“This great day we have avenged the death of my parents, Lord Radulf and Lady Morwen.” My fingers tightened on the stem of my goblet. I still found it hard to say their names. “We have fought to defend the Middle Lands from the Danes. We have kept the honor of Coventry!”
“Aye! Coventry!” The cry went up amidst the rattling of wooden trenchers and the drumming of feet. The candles, jugs, and platters on the long tables juddered.
“We of Coventry are grateful to the men of Mercia who fought so bravely with us, and to their lord.” Lord Leofric discomfited me with a sardonic smile before lifting his cup in reply. I faltered for a moment before continuing the toast. “Thurkill the Tall, the Danish terror, has been defeated! He will plague us no more!”
Now the cheers were fit to lift the rafters. “Mercia! Mercia! Coventry! Coventry!”
Seeking silence, I held up my goblet. “Lives have been lost, but they have not been lost in vain.” At this, many faces saddened. Like me, some had come to celebrate Coventry’s victory without the company of those they loved. My heart ached but I had to continue. Spirits needed to remain high. It would numb my people’s pain until they could face their grief. “We will not forget the fallen, but rejoice in our great victory: Saxons all!”
Amidst more cheering and drumming of feet, I’d just taken my seat again when Walburgha, clearly merry on mead, came up to the high table.
“My lady! The Mercians say they are greater tellers of riddles than the people of the Middle Lands!”
“Is that right, Walburgha?” I chuckled.
“What a thing to say!” Her hands on her hips, Walburgha puffed out her red cheeks. “My Wilbert is the greatest riddler there is.”
To my surprise Lord Leofric leaned toward her with a glimmer of a grin. “Perhaps there should be a challenge from the riddlers of Coventry to the riddlers of Mercia.”
“That’s it!” Walburgha cried. “A riddling challenge! Will you allow it, my lady?”
“Don’t allow it, Godiva,” Edmund muttered. “Don’t get too friendly with the
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