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  Egfrid bowed. ‘My sister will be honoured,’ he said tactfully.

  Cynewise hesitated before her next announcement, as though she knew it might bring sorrow. ‘Your nurse must go back with him,’ she said. ‘It is a gesture of good will, and she will bear witness that we treat you kindly.’

  Egfrid was shocked.

  Chad quickly intervened, making it clear that he would be staying. ‘I can serve the prince, in every way that’s needed,’ he said.

  ‘The time is done for having a nursemaid,’ Penda said gruffly. ‘My foster-son needs no nurse to coddle him. Is that not right?’

  Egfrid swallowed hard. ‘Yes, sir,’ he managed.

  But as soon as they were back in the guest hut, his courage failed and he rushed headlong into Annis’s arms. ‘You are to go back,’ he cried. ‘They are saying you must go, and leave me here.’

  Annis looked up, alarmed, as Chad quietly followed him into the room.

  ‘I cannot leave my boy,’ she cried.

  ‘But I think you must,’ Chad said. ‘If you return, you can reassure Queen Eanfleda that our prince is safe and well. It’s a gesture of good faith on the Mercians’ part and we must accept it.’

  ‘But who will see to his clothes and his hurts?’ Annis looked distraught.

  ‘I will,’ Chad said. ‘I have healing skills and I can wash and dry clothes and smooth them with slick stones.’

  ‘But such work…it is too humble for a holy man.’

  Chad smiled. ‘I’m the youngest of five brothers,’ he said. ‘Do you think I’ve never played the servant before? My duty as the prince’s tutor now means more than teaching him to read and write. Besides,’ he added, ‘nothing is too humble for a Christian holy man.’

  ‘I know you’d give your life to protect him,’ Annis admitted sadly.

  ‘Do you want to go home?’ Egfrid asked.

  Her brief hesitation told him that she did. ‘I… I don’t want to leave you,’ she began, ‘but my mother is old and sick, she may not last the winter and…’ She halted.

  Egfrid glanced at Chad, and took a deep breath. ‘You must go,’ he said. ‘I can manage here, so long as Chad is with me.’

  Annis looked as though she might cry, but instead she hugged him. ‘I’ll come back if you send for me,’ she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘And I will always be your loving Annis.’

  ‘I know you will,’ Egfrid said. He smiled bravely now, for a happier thought had followed. ‘Please, will you search for Woodruff, and if you find him, see that he is well fed and treated kindly.’

  ‘I’ll take him to my home and keep him myself,’ she said.

  Ethelwald rode away from Tamworth with a wagonload of gifts and a contingent of armed Mercians to guard it, in addition to his own warrior band. Annis was provided with a steady cob and allowed to take the new clothes with her. The queen added a small gold brooch in the shape of a dragon, with a garnet in its eye, for she said that the nurse had behaved with a dragon’s courage.

  Egfrid and Chad stood on the palisade walkway, above the main gate, and watched as the cavalcade vanished into the distance. As they turned away, Sigurd strode out from the training ground, the spotted hound on a leash beside him.

  ‘Time for another bout of spear-work, lad,’ he said. ‘Before the sun sets and the meal is ready.’

  Egfrid reached forward to fondle the hound’s silky ears as it reared to lick his hand.

  ‘And Queen Cynewise says you’re to have this beast and keep him with you for protection, if you wish it.’

  ‘I wish it,’ Egfrid said quickly, his spirits lifting. ‘What is his name?’

  ‘You may name him as you like.’

  ‘Dapple,’ the boy said, ‘for he’s dappled like a deer.’

  ‘Then Dapple he is. Give him to your holy man, while we work on your stance and feet.’

  Chad took the dog and followed them to the training ground. Dapple trotted obediently in his new master’s wake.

  The following days fell into a hard pattern of work. Egfrid rose at dawn each day to work with shield and spear, and sometimes wrestled with Sigurd’s son, Ranulf. The first time he managed to throw the bigger lad, he whooped wildly with delight, and then hurried to help him up.

  ‘You won’t do that again, in a hurry,’ Ranulf said cheerfully, dusting himself down.

  Dapple went everywhere at his master’s heels and slept at the bottom of Egfrid’s bed. He brought comfort whenever the boy’s thoughts strayed to the loss of Annis, and woke with a growl when the slightest sound or movement disturbed their sleep.

  As Weed-month began, the weather grew warm. Chad, concerned that Egfrid might forget his book-learning, spoke to the queen. ‘Christian princes are expected to learn such skills,’ he told her.

  ‘But I’m training to be a warrior now,’ Egfrid protested, uncertain that he wanted to return to books.

  ‘Ethelwald can read and write,’ Cynewise acknowledged. ‘But my husband scorns such skills… not the way of the warrior king.’

  ‘Writing can be put to good use,’ Chad persisted. ‘Your sister, the widowed queen, reads well. I could write a letter to her from you.’

  The queen looked up with interest. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Write a message to my sister for me, and my foster son shall have his lessons again.’

  Chad searched for goose quills, dipped the tips in boiling water and sharpened them to make pens. He made ink by crushing the round galls from oak trees. The queen bought vellum from a travelling merchant and a private message was written and sent to the widowed Queen Cyneburgh.

  Though Penda struggled more than ever with his painful leg, he often stumped outside to watch Egfrid’s training sessions and give advice and praise.

  The weather turned cool as Offerings-month began, and still no word came from King Oswy. Egfrid knew his father would hate to make peace with such a bitter enemy, but as the Night of the Dead approached, Ethelwald arrived back in Tamworth.

  He too brought a wagonload of gifts and the news that Oswy waited at Londesbrough, on the north bank of the Humber, where—with the King of Deira’s permission—a meeting could take place.

  ‘They agree to Princess Alchfled as a peace-weaver bride for Beorn,’ Ethelwald announced. ‘But they want more.’

  ‘What more?’ Penda demanded.

  Ethelwald grinned as Cynewise’s golden-haired eldest daughter presented him with a gold-rimmed drink-horn of mead. ‘They want your Cyneburgh for Oswy’s eldest son.’

  ‘Huh!’ Penda growled. ‘Can he run as fast as his father then?’

  Ethelwald snorted with laughter.

  The queen was all smiles at the suggestion, though the young princess looked somewhat unsure.

  ‘They propose a meeting and an exchange of brides at Londesbrough. Oswin the Good is willing to act as host and it can be done before Blood-month begins.’

  ‘Oh, husband,’ Cynewise touched Penda’s arm, imploring his consent.

  The king moved his leg and groaned. ‘Very well,’ he growled. ‘I cannot lead an army like this. It seems we must make peace with Faint-heart.’

  Cynewise flung her arms about him and drink-horns were raised to the coming peace agreement.

  CHAPTER 9

  Peace

  Egfrid’s spirits swung wildly back and forth as he rode through the backbone hills, heading towards the flat wet-lands that surrounded the Humber. They made slow progress, due to Penda’s wound, which gave him more pain than ever. Sometimes Egfrid fizzed with excitement—he’d see his parents again! At other times his thoughts drifted back to the earlier journey, when he’d ridden in front of Penda, fearful that he’d be killed at any moment.

  Chad saw the way his thoughts strayed. ‘A better journey,’ he said.

  ‘Better for you,’ Egfrid, answered, remembering the black eye the monk had suffered. ‘But not better for the king!’ he added, with a backward glance to where Penda was carried in a wagon.

  ‘No indeed,’ Chad
agreed.

  Penda had refused to be left in Tamworth like an old mule put out to grass, but he suffered the indignity of the wagon with impatience. Cynewise rode at his side, patiently doing all she could to ease his pain. Fritha tended the king each time they made camp.

  They forded the River Humber at the ancient crossing place, close to the remains of the old Roman camp at Brough. After one night’s rest, they moved on to Londesburgh and when they came in sight of the palisade, they found it surrounded by a great spread of tents, all marked by different battle standards.

  Egfrid’s stomach churned at the sight. What would it be like to meet his parents again, in front of this vast gathering? He knew he couldn’t return to Bamburgh and wondered how it would feel to say goodbye again.

  Horns blared to announce their arrival and Oswy and his queen rode out to meet them. Egfrid sat tall in the saddle, glad that Cynewise had insisted that he wear his new leather warrior’s jacket and a soft woollen cloak dyed in rich purple. What would his father think when he saw him dressed as royally as his cousin Ethelwald?

  Horns blared again as the two parties lifted their hands in greeting. Oswy swung down from the saddle and strode past Egfrid to Penda, who was carried uncomfortably upright on his carved gold-painted throne.

  Egfrid was dismayed that his father did not even appear to have noticed him. But his mother had seen him. Eanfleda rushed towards him, tears pouring down her cheeks.

  ‘My son, my son!’ she cried. Egfrid found himself enveloped in a loving, though rather damp embrace—at least somebody had missed him.

  ‘It’s all right, Mother,’ he whispered. ‘I’m safe.’

  ‘Dear boy, dear boy,’ she cried. ‘Have they made you take part in their wicked pagan ceremonies?’

  ‘No, Mother. Chad is always at my side. I am allowed my faith.’

  ‘King Oswy Iding welcomes the great King Penda to Deira,’ a herald announced.

  Penda’s throne was lowered to the ground and he struggled painfully to his feet. ‘Oswin Yffi should be the one to welcome us,’ he said.

  Young King Oswin hurried forward, eager to make amends.

  Penda gripped the younger man’s hand warmly and only then turned to Oswy, nodding curtly. Cynewise hurried to her husband’s side, anxious to smooth things over.

  The herald announced, ‘Queen Cyneburgh, widow of the late and great King Oswald Whiteblade.’

  A curtained litter was carried forwards and Cynewise took a few nervous steps towards it, her expression strained. The curtains opened and Whiteblade’s widow stepped out to greet the older sister she hadn’t seen since she was a child. Everyone gasped as the two women, so alike and yet so different, kissed, then hugged each other tightly.

  Cynewise gave a fierce smile ‘I named my first daughter in your honour,’ she said.

  The tension that had surrounded the men lifted a little and there followed a light ripple of applause. What further was said between the two sisters could not be heard, but Cynewise led her sister to Penda, and the old man bowed over the widowed queen’s hand and kissed it.

  ‘Your husband was a true warrior, lady,’ he said. ‘I regret his death.’

  Cyneburgh lifted her chin a little. ‘I am a Christian. I forgive,’ she said.

  ‘You forgive your husband’s killer?’ Penda said, surprised.

  ‘I do,’ she said firmly.

  Penda bowed to her again.

  Egfrid suddenly saw his poor aunt in a new, courageous light.

  There was another awkward pause and then Oswy led Alchfled forward. ‘My daughter the peace-weaver bride,’ he announced.

  Even Egfrid was impressed, Alchfled had never looked so fine, her long fair hair brushed loose and falling about her shoulders. She was dressed in red trimmed with gold braiding, and carried a mead-horn that she proffered to the grizzled old Mercian. He took a sip and handed it back to her, then landed a smacking kiss on her cheek that startled her.

  ‘My daughter is also a peace-weaver bride, named after her aunt,’ he said, and the younger Cyneburgh emerged from amongst her waiting women, also beautifully dressed and escorted by an eager, smiling Prince Beorn.

  Both couples who were to marry bowed and curtsied to each other, then dutifully kissed. Egfrid was glad he wasn’t old enough to be ordered to marry an enemy bride for the sake of peace. What must they really be feeling?

  More drinks were proffered and accepted and Oswin the Good invited them to a feast.

  ‘Should not Oswy Iding greet my foster-son first?’ Penda asked.

  Oswy turned pale and glanced about him, clearly discomforted. Egfrid’s mother led him forward to his father, who quickly recovered and kissed him on both cheeks.

  ‘You’ve grown,’ he said. ‘I…almost didn’t know you.’

  Egfrid bowed. ‘I am well, Father,’ he said curtly.

  ‘We are training him in courage,’ Penda said pointedly.

  Anger blazed for a moment in Oswy’s blue eyes but was swiftly suppressed. ‘Come, the feast is prepared,’ was all he said.

  Egfrid saw that every word that passed between those two had a deeper, darker meaning, but everyone moved politely off towards the main gateway. Great show was made of setting weapons aside in the sheltered porch as they entered the hall, while slaves and servants started to raise the tents. They made a Mercian camp well away from the Bernician one—and left a wide swathe of no-man’s land between them.

  The feast Oswin the Good provided was lavish and the talk cordial, but as the mead was passed and the night wore on, spirits grew reckless. Egfrid recognised the low-voiced singing of a Bernician battle song, and whispered riddles that contained hidden insults. The earlier goodwill began to turn sour.

  Queen Eanfleda went to join Cynewise and her sister, who’d been sitting together, their heads bowed in close conversation. The three queens rose as one and a sudden hush fell over the hall.

  ‘We thank our dear cousin Oswin for providing such an excellent feast,’ Eanfleda began, ‘but we have much to discuss in the morning.’

  The three women faced their men with determination. ‘True peace between our kingdoms must depend on clear heads,’ said Cynewise. ‘It is time for us all to go to our beds.’

  Penda chuckled and nodded at Oswy. ‘I think we are dismissed,’ he said.

  They got up and left the hall for the comfort of their beds.

  CHAPTER 10

  A Battle of Words

  Formal negotiations took place in the morning, and Egfrid and Chad attended the meeting of the kings. The two bitter enemies Penda and Oswy faced each other on their thrones, their queens at their side on smaller seats.

  A snag rose in the smooth running of the agreement, for Oswy insisted that Prince Beorn should become a Christian, if he was to wed the devout Princess Alchfled.

  Penda’s face turned red with rage. The Mercian priest of Woden raised his raven wand and began to mutter curses, but Beorn spoke quietly to his father and after a few tense moments Chad was called to join them.

  Beorn then made an announcement. ‘My father agrees that I should speak for myself in this,’ he said. ‘I am willing to take instruction in the Christian religion, and Brother Chad, Prince Egfrid’s tutor, is willing to teach me. Then, if I truly come to believe that the Christ-God’s way is a better way I shall become a Christian. My father agrees that I should choose such a thing of my own free will.’

  This speech was followed by nods of approval from both sides. Young Princess Cyneburgh spoke quietly to her father, and Penda kissed her. ‘My daughter will take Christian instruction too,’ he said. ‘She will make her own choice. I do not force my children one way or another. Are you content with that?’

  Cynewise flashed him a look of gratitude.

  Oswy said, ‘I am content.’

  Somehow Penda had scored a point, whilst appearing to give ground, and Egfrid sensed that his father raged in silence.

  ‘This is a battle fought with words,’ he said quietly to Chad.

/>   The monk nodded grimly. ‘Better than a battle of swords,’ he said. ‘No life is lost—no blood is shed.’

  The weddings took place that afternoon. Lavish gifts of gold and jewels were exchanged and suddenly it was almost over. The final feast was ready and preparations were made to return to Tamworth—the only difference being that pretty young Cyneburgh would ride away to Bamburgh, while Alchfled would be riding in the Mercian train with him.

  Egfrid had just dressed for the feast when Cynewise called him to her tent. ‘Penda has given permission for you to see your parents,’ she said. ‘Chad will escort you to King Oswy’s chamber.’

  Egfrid smiled. ‘Thank you, lady,’ he said. ‘This is your doing, I think.’

  ‘Remember you are still my foster-son,’ she said.

  Egfrid’s mother welcomed him with more kisses, while his father sat in his chair looking uncomfortable. Chad hovered in the doorway, to allow them privacy.

  ‘My poor son,’ his mother said. ‘Your courage has brought about this peace. Do you suffer very much, being forced to live with wicked pagans?’

  ‘They treat me kindly,’ Egfrid said. ‘I have my own gelding and hound.’ He wished his father would speak, rather than watch him darkly from the other side of the room.

  At last Oswy looked up.

  ‘Never trust them,’ he said. ‘This peace may not hold, for I will never believe the word of any Mercian, and neither Oswin the Perfect nor Ethelwald are all they seem to be.’

  Egfrid nodded, knowing that his father was right to doubt their loyalty.

  ‘Londesbrough should be mine,’ Oswy said, as he glanced around him at the strongly built oak beams and rich wall hangings. ‘My brother ruled both Deira and Bernicia. Your mother is the daughter of Edwin of Deira. I have a better right to rule here than the Perfect One ever had.’

  Eanfleda sighed. ‘But surely this chance for peace must make it worth giving a little,’ she said.

  ‘We give too much,’ Oswy said sharply. Then he seemed to recollect his son’s vulnerable position. ‘Keep Chad at your side,’ he said. ‘For there at least is one you can trust. Your mother has brought vellum and ink to help you in your lessons.’