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Authors: Jayne Castel
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out into a cold sweat.
“Perhaps you can ask at the market?” the queen
continued gently. “There are bound to be merchants traveling in the direction
of your village. Perhaps you can journey with one of them?”
One like Drefan of Chester, Milady?
Anger surged within Merwenna’s breast. Queen or
not, this woman had given her word. While her husband had been absent,
Cyneswide had been strong, capable, and decisive. Now that Penda had returned,
she was but a shadow of that woman.
Merwenna managed a sickly smile, although inside
she was in turmoil. She was so annoyed that she had to clench her fists to stop
it from showing on her face.
“Thank you for at least trying on my behalf,” she
eventually replied, hoping her ingratitude was not showing on her face, “and
for your hospitality. I shall take my leave now.”
The queen’s eyes widened. “There’s no need to rush
off, Merwenna,” she admonished. “You can wait till morning at least.”
Merwenna shook her head. Then she stepped back,
curtsying once more as she did so.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m going home today.”
Merwenna crossed the Great Hall to the small bower
she had been sharing with the princesses for the last few nights. It had been
an uncomfortable spot, lying pressed up against the damp stone wall, but ever
since Seward’s departure, the queen had deemed it the safest place for her
young guest to sleep.
Inside, she retrieved her satchel and stuffed her traveling
cloak into it. Then, slinging it across her front, she emerged back into the
hall.
The hall was in chaos. Slaves wove their way
through the mass of leather-clad warriors, in last-moment preparations for the
meal. The rumble of men’s voices echoed like thunder in the lofty space.
It was nearing meal time and the king’s men, rowdy
and high-spirited as usual, flooded the hall. They were an intimidating group –
tall, broad and loud. They groped the serving girls, kicked dogs out of their
way and strode toward the long tables either side of the two fire pits, roaring
for cups of mead as they went. The victory had put Penda’s men in good spirits;
but it had also made them insufferable. Merwenna was wary of them.
Fortunately, no one paid her any mind as she edged
her way around the wall and slipped out the doors.
Outside, despite that it was not yet near dusk, the
light had faded considerably, for dark clouds had rolled in from the north. The
air crackled with the promise of an approaching storm. Thunor was
preparing to ride his chariot, drawn by his two goats – Gap-tooth and Gnasher –
across the sky.
Merwenna took a deep breath of the humid air,
squared her shoulders and stalked away from the Great Tower of Tamworth. She
crossed the yard, passed under the stone arch, and stepped out into the pot-holed
street beyond.
Despite her purposeful stride, Merwenna’s stomach
felt twisted in knots. Anger had propelled her out of the Great Hall and into
Tamworth, but now the reality of matters hit her.
She was about to face a five-day journey alone.
Tamworth stank of urine, rotting food and animal
droppings, and Merwenna’s memory of the incident in the market square was still
fresh in her mind. She breathed shallowly and kept her gaze downcast as she
hurried through the network of narrow streets.
She had to hurry. Soon, the town gates would be
closing for the night. She wanted to make sure she was outside Tamworth’s walls
when they did.
***
“Storm’s brewing,” Gwyn muttered
as he and Dylan crossed the stable yard.
The Prince of Powys glanced up at
the sky and felt the first drops of cool rain splatter onto his upturned face.
“A violent one by the looks of it,” he replied.
They had spent most of the
afternoon with their men, who were camped outside Tamworth’s walls, checking on
those who were injured and readying the others for their imminent departure.
With a tempest on its way, it was time to return inside.
Impatience had needled at
“Perhaps you can ask at the market?” the queen
continued gently. “There are bound to be merchants traveling in the direction
of your village. Perhaps you can journey with one of them?”
One like Drefan of Chester, Milady?
Anger surged within Merwenna’s breast. Queen or
not, this woman had given her word. While her husband had been absent,
Cyneswide had been strong, capable, and decisive. Now that Penda had returned,
she was but a shadow of that woman.
Merwenna managed a sickly smile, although inside
she was in turmoil. She was so annoyed that she had to clench her fists to stop
it from showing on her face.
“Thank you for at least trying on my behalf,” she
eventually replied, hoping her ingratitude was not showing on her face, “and
for your hospitality. I shall take my leave now.”
The queen’s eyes widened. “There’s no need to rush
off, Merwenna,” she admonished. “You can wait till morning at least.”
Merwenna shook her head. Then she stepped back,
curtsying once more as she did so.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m going home today.”
Merwenna crossed the Great Hall to the small bower
she had been sharing with the princesses for the last few nights. It had been
an uncomfortable spot, lying pressed up against the damp stone wall, but ever
since Seward’s departure, the queen had deemed it the safest place for her
young guest to sleep.
Inside, she retrieved her satchel and stuffed her traveling
cloak into it. Then, slinging it across her front, she emerged back into the
hall.
The hall was in chaos. Slaves wove their way
through the mass of leather-clad warriors, in last-moment preparations for the
meal. The rumble of men’s voices echoed like thunder in the lofty space.
It was nearing meal time and the king’s men, rowdy
and high-spirited as usual, flooded the hall. They were an intimidating group –
tall, broad and loud. They groped the serving girls, kicked dogs out of their
way and strode toward the long tables either side of the two fire pits, roaring
for cups of mead as they went. The victory had put Penda’s men in good spirits;
but it had also made them insufferable. Merwenna was wary of them.
Fortunately, no one paid her any mind as she edged
her way around the wall and slipped out the doors.
Outside, despite that it was not yet near dusk, the
light had faded considerably, for dark clouds had rolled in from the north. The
air crackled with the promise of an approaching storm. Thunor was
preparing to ride his chariot, drawn by his two goats – Gap-tooth and Gnasher –
across the sky.
Merwenna took a deep breath of the humid air,
squared her shoulders and stalked away from the Great Tower of Tamworth. She
crossed the yard, passed under the stone arch, and stepped out into the pot-holed
street beyond.
Despite her purposeful stride, Merwenna’s stomach
felt twisted in knots. Anger had propelled her out of the Great Hall and into
Tamworth, but now the reality of matters hit her.
She was about to face a five-day journey alone.
Tamworth stank of urine, rotting food and animal
droppings, and Merwenna’s memory of the incident in the market square was still
fresh in her mind. She breathed shallowly and kept her gaze downcast as she
hurried through the network of narrow streets.
She had to hurry. Soon, the town gates would be
closing for the night. She wanted to make sure she was outside Tamworth’s walls
when they did.
***
“Storm’s brewing,” Gwyn muttered
as he and Dylan crossed the stable yard.
The Prince of Powys glanced up at
the sky and felt the first drops of cool rain splatter onto his upturned face.
“A violent one by the looks of it,” he replied.
They had spent most of the
afternoon with their men, who were camped outside Tamworth’s walls, checking on
those who were injured and readying the others for their imminent departure.
With a tempest on its way, it was time to return inside.
Impatience had needled at
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