Darkest before Dawn
A Historic Romance set in Anglo-Saxon England
Book #2: The Kingdom of Mercia
Jayne Castel
Historical romances by Jayne Castel
The Kingdom of the East Angles series
Night Shadows (prequel novella)
Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)
Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)
The Deepening Night (Book Three)
The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Mercia series
The Breaking Dawn (Book One)
Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)
Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)
All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
Darkest before Dawn by Jayne Castel
Copyright © 2016 Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Edited by Tim Burton.
Cover photography courtesy of www.istockphotos.com.
Maps courtesy of Wikipedia.
Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com
Follow Jayne on Twitter at: @JayneCastel
***
This book is for Tim, with love.
***
Contents
Maps
Glossary of Old English
Cast of characters
Prologue
Peace-weaving
Chapter One
The Eve of Battle
Chapter Two
Oswiu’s Reckoning
Chapter Three
A New Allegiance
Chapter Four
Return to Bebbanburg
Chapter Five
A Daughter’s Duty
Chapter Six
The Victory Feast
Chapter Seven
The Reluctant Assassin
Chapter Eight
The Road South
Chapter Nine
Arrival at Pons Aelius
Chapter Ten
The Ealdorman’s Welcome
Chapter Eleven
Insults
Chapter Twelve
The Snows Come
Chapter Thirteen
Closer
Chapter Fourteen
Meeting at Winwaed
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
The Truth of Matters
Chapter Seventeen
The Plea
Chapter Eighteen
Maric’s Tale
Chapter Nineteen
A Chill Welcome
Chapter Twenty
The Handfasting
Chapter Twenty-one
Mother Night
Chapter Twenty-two
Cyneswide’s Announcement
Chapter Twenty-three
Bad Blood
Chapter Twenty-four
Bitter Cold
Chapter Twenty-five
Emissary from the North
Chapter Twenty-six
A Brotherly Reminder
Chapter Twenty-seven
Loss
Chapter Twenty-eight
Turning Points
Chapter Twenty-nine
Gathering Herbs
Chapter Thirty
Blood at Ēostre
Chapter Thirty-one
Escape from Tamworth
Chapter Thirty-two
Treachery
Chapter Thirty-three
The Hunt
Chapter Thirty-four
On the Other Side of the Curtain
Chapter Thirty-five
A New Dawn
Epilogue
On the Shore
Historical Note
Coming soon… mid-2016
More works by Jayne Castel
About the Author
Maps
Historical background for Darkest before Dawn
In the 7th Century, England was not as we know it today. The Anglo-Saxon period lasted from the departure of the Romans, in around 430 A.D., to the Norman invasion in 1066 A.D. My novels focus on the period in between the departure of the Romans, and the first Viking invasion in 793 A.D. – a 300 year period in which Anglo-Saxon culture flourished. The British Isles were named Britannia (a legacy of the Roman colonization) and split into rival kingdoms. For the purposes of this novel, we focus on two of them: Mercia and Northumbria. The Kingdom of Gwynedd and The Kingdom of the East Angles, are also mentioned.
Many locations in Northumbria and northern Britannia appear in this novel, although their names are somewhat different to modern-day England. Northumbria was split into two kingdoms: Bernicia and Deira. Bebbanburg was the old name for Bamburgh, the seat of Northumbrian Kings for many centuries. At the time of our story, the castle would not have been built, however there would have been a wooden fort at the top of the rocky outcrop, and, possibly, a Great Tower made of local stone. Farther south, Pons Aelius was the Latin name for the settlement, which would one day become Newcastle. Tinanmuðe was the Anglo-Saxon name for the River Tyne. Our characters make a stop at the town of Eoforwic, which would be renamed Jorvik after settlement by the Danes – today, we know it as York. Toward the end of the novel, we visit Laegrecastrescir – today known as Leicester.
Glossary of Old English (in alphabetical order)
Æftera Geola – January
béagas – arm-rings
Blod monath – Blood month (November)
ceorl – a free man
Eoforwic – York (Anglo-Saxon name, prior to Danish settlement – also spelled Eoferwic)
ealdorman – earl
Ēostre – Easter
fæder – father
Frea – Freya – Anglo-Saxon goddess of love and fertility
fyrd – a king's army, gathered for war
handfasted – married
heah-setl – high seat (later called a ‘dais’) for the king and queen
hōre – whore
Hrēðmonath – March
Hwaet? – What?
Legacæstir – Chester
Lindisfarena – Lindisfarne Island (Holy Island)
misteltãn – mistletoe
mōder – mother
nithing – a person without honor or status, also refers to a coward
Nithhogg – a fire-breathing dragon that lived in the underworld
nón-mete – midday meal (literally: noon-meat)
Powys – Wales
Sōlmōnath – February
steopmōdor – step-mother
thegn – a king’s retainer
theow – a slave
thrymsas – Anglo-saxon gold shillings
Thunor – Thor
Tinanmuðe (pronounced: tienanmootha) – The River Tyne (Newcastle)
Tiw – Anglo-saxon god of war and combat
wealca – a tube linen dress with shoulder straps attached with brooches
Wes hāl – ‘greetings’ in old English
Winterfyllth – Anglo-saxon Halloween
Woden – the Anglo-saxon father of the gods (Viking: Odin)
Wyrd – fate
Cast of characters
Alchflaed (pronounced Alkfled) – Princess of Bernicia (Northumbria)/Queen of Mercia.
Maric – Mercian warrior
Oswiu – King of Bernicia (Northumbria)
Eanflaed (pronounced Anfled) – Queen of Bernicia
Alchfrith – Prince of Bernicia/King of Deira
Cyneburh (pronounced Sinber) Penda’s daughter, married to Alchfrith
Penda – King of Mercia
Cyneswide (pronounced Sinesweed) – Queen of Mercia/Queen Mother
Paeda (pronounced Peda) – Prince/King of Mercia
Wulfhere and Aethelred – Penda’s sons, princes of Mercia
Glaedwine – cunning man (healer)
Wada and Alfwald – King Oswiu’s stewards
Seaxwulf – monk
Elfhere, Osulf, Edgard and Bryni – Mercian warriors
Eadweard of Eoforwic – ealdorman of Eoforwic (York)
“The nearer the dawn, the darker the night.”
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
“Lif sceal wið deaþe, leoht sceal wið þystrum!”
“Life must be against death, light against darkness!”
-Maxims II
Prologue
Peace-weaving
Bebbanburg, the Kingdom of Northumbria,
Britannia
Late autumn, 653 A.D.
Alchflaed was riding on the beach when she saw the horsemen approach from the south.
She had taken a long ride that morning, enjoying the chill wind in her face and the clean, salt-laced air in her lungs. On the last stretch of shoreline toward home, she urged her pony into a brisk canter. Her two dogs ran alongside her, tongues lolling. She rode close to the water, accompanied by the roar of the surf and the hollow drum of her pony’s hooves on the hard silver sand.
The wind whipped tendrils of hair in her face but Alchflaed paid it no mind. Her gaze travelled across the smooth beach, over the reed-covered dunes, to the rocky promontory ahead, on which the fort of Bebbanburg perched. She could see the wooden palisades that ringed the flat top of the outcrop, and the great tower, made of dark red stone that stood out against the pale sky. The Northumbrian flag – eight yellow rectangles on a blood-red field – snapped in the breeze.
Alchflaed looked away from her home and was about to glance east to where the North Sea shimmered, when something caught her eye.
The horsemen thundered along the road leading to the base of the fortress. It was a sizeable company, the warriors’ spears and standards bristling above their heads.
Seized by curiosity, Alchflaed kicked her mare into a flat gallop. Behind her, the dogs barked excitedly and gave chase. As she drew closer, Alchflaed could make out the colors of the standards that the warriors bore: blue and gold.
Mercians.
***
“Thunor’s hammer, it’s cold up here!”
“That’s just the sea breeze, Elfhere. It’s like the finest ale – drink it in.”
Maric loosened his horse’s girth, grinning at the blond warrior next to him. They had just followed the king into Bebbanburg’s stable complex, which lay beyond the high gate within the inner palisade, and were in the process of unsaddling their horses.
“I grew up amongst hills and forests,” Elfhere grumbled. “What use do I have for the sea?”
“Surely, you admired the view on the way up?”
“Listen to you,” Osulf, a heavy-set warrior with a thick mane of chestnut hair and beard to match, jeered. “It sounds like you’ve had your head in a barrel of ale all morning.”
“Can’t a man be happy about life?”
Osulf snorted. “Aye, but ever since your handfasting you’ve been in repulsively good spirits.”
Maric’s grin widened. “I’ll not deny it – Gytha was the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“So you managed to wed the fairest maid in Tamworth. You don’t have to crow about it.”
“Come now. Don’t begrudge a man a bit of happiness.”
Osulf favored him with a scowl. “Some of us can do no better than a mead-hall whore.”
Nearby, Elfhere choked on a laugh, while Maric turned away from Osulf to hide a smirk. As he did so, he spotted the king heading their way. The king’s eldest son, Paeda, strode at his heels. Maric’s smile abruptly faded. His banter with his friends forgotten, he stepped forward to greet the King of Mercia.
“Milord?”
As always, the king’s face appeared hewn from stone. He had passed at least fifty five winters, and his face now bore every one of his years. His long hair, tied back in a thong at his neck, once blond, was snowy white; yet his physique was still one of a battle-hardened warrior. Beside him, Prince Paeda, although strongly built like his father, was as dark as Penda was pale.
“Leave your horses with the slaves,” Penda ordered. “I need the three of you to attend us. King Oswiu awaits.”
Wordlessly, they did as he bid. The three warriors fell in behind their king and prince, following them out of the stable yard. Beyond, they crossed a wide grassy space and climbed the steps into Bebbanburg’s Great Tower.
Inside, Maric’s first impression of the Great Hall of Bebbanburg was that the seat of the King of Bernicia was a much more welcoming space then Penda’s grey, austere hall. The red stone gave off a warmth in the light of four enormous fire pits burning in each corner. Fresh rushes covered the ground and the air smelt of smoke, roasting mutton and rosemary.
The Mercians strode across the center of the vast space. As he walked, Maric was aware that the gazes of all present had swiveled to the small party. The King of Mercia barely seemed to notice, although his son’s shoulders stiffened under their inspection.
Upon the high seat, King Oswiu watched them approach. Flanked by his kin on both sides, Oswiu sat upon a magnificent carved oaken chair. He was at least a decade younger than the Mercian king; a tall, sinewy man with high-cheekbones and deep-set green eyes. Long sandy hair, flecked through with grey, was brushed out across his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard covered a strong jaw. He wore a splendid, rich green tunic, edged with red silk. A plush grey squirrel cloak hung from his shoulders, fastened by gold and amber brooches.
Oswiu favored Penda with a wintry smile.
“Lord Penda. For what do we owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”
The thinly veiled hostility in the King of Bernicia’s voice came as no surprise. Penda’s reputation as a ruthless warmonger preceded him. He had arranged for his daughter’s marriage to Oswiu’s son, in a gesture of peace, but had broken the alliance shortly after. Oswiu had every reason not to trust his warlord neighbor.
“Greetings, Lord Oswiu. How fares Bebbanburg?”
“It still stands, as you can see?”
“And how fares my daughter?”
Oswiu’s gaze narrowed and shifted to where a golden haired beauty sat demurely on the high seat next to a young man with short auburn hair.
“Ask her yourself.”
The young woman, as regal and fair as Maric remembered, favored her father with a tight smile.
“Greetings, fæder.”
Penda’s gaze moved down his daughter’s lithe figure, coldly assessing.
“No sons yet, Cyneburh?”
The princess blanched, her gaze dropping to her feet, while the young man seated beside her stiffened, his expression hardening.
Maric shifted uncomfortably, his gaze briefly meeting Elfhere’s. They had left their weapons outside, as was customary, but should Penda cause a brawl in Oswiu’s hall they would have only their bare hands to defend him with. Maric readied himself for that possibility.
“Penda,” Oswiu cut in, his voice even colder than before. “I take it you did not travel all this way to enquire after your daughter.”
Penda inclined his head, letting a few moments pass before he replied.
“Indeed… I come to make a pledge of peace.”
Oswiu’s mouth twisted.
“Really? Will it be as enduring as your last one?”
To his credit, Penda appeared not remotely disturbed by the Northumbrian ruler’s chill welcome, or his sarcasm.
“The alliance between us is not yet complete,” he rumbled. “I have played my part, by wedding my first-born da
ughter to your son. Now, it is time for you to pledge one of your kin to my house.”
“Is raiding our borders also part of this alliance?” Oswiu asked, his mouth twisting.
Ignoring Oswiu’s hostility once more, Penda motioned to the silent young man who stood, ramrod straight, next to him.
“My eldest son, Paeda, is first in line to the throne. I propose a match between him and your daughter, Alchflaed.”
Silence fell, broken only by the snapping of the logs in the fire pits. Penda eventually broke it.
“She is of age, is she not?”
Oswiu leaned back in his chair and regarded Penda under hooded lids.
“Aye… and more trouble than she’s worth.”
Penda stiffened. “Is she still a maid?”
Oswiu nodded, before glancing to his left, where his wife, Queen Eanflaed, sat observing the proceedings. In her arms, she carried a swaddled babe. Eanflaed was a plump woman with a pretty, if slightly pugnacious, face. She wore her dark hair in elaborate braids. The queen met her husband’s gaze and they shared a smile. Oswiu then turned back to address Penda.
“Alchflaed is indeed a maid, but she is a little… wild.”
“My son will tame her,” Penda’s voice held a sneer, “if her father has not already had the backbone to do so.”
His pale gaze shifted behind Oswiu, to where his kin sat.
“Where is the princess?”
“She went out riding this morning,” the queen spoke, her voice high-pitched and oddly girlish. “She has not yet returned.”
Oswiu spoke next, his voice even colder and more unwelcoming than earlier.
“Do you really think this pathetic attempt to peace-weave will fool me, Penda? It made no difference before. I have even less reason to trust you now.”
Penda gave a low laugh, a humorless sound.
“As I said, our alliance is not yet complete. Betrothe your daughter to my son, and I will leave your borders in peace.”