The Northumbrian Saga

Part 5

Aethelwin was no stranger to war. She had seen her father ride at the front of countless processions, riding out to help his neighbours subdue the northern borders with the Picts, or to suppress a rebellion or rival kingdom in the south. He had told her tales of when he had fought in the battle against the Heathens, the terrible Danes who came from the east and killed King Raedwulf. He fought by King Osbert’s side in the civil war that followed, and when her uncle had finally won the throne her father was rewarded with lands and the title of aeldorman. She had seen each of her brothers ride out one by one on their first battles. They had always come home safely, grinning from ear to ear, eager to recount the gory details and to try their best to scare and mortify their baby sister.

Aethelwin was under no illusion about the horrors of conflict either. She had seen the men who had returned, some bloody and crippled, scarred inside and out. She had even noted those who did not return, favourites some of them.

But her father always returned, her brothers also. There was never any question of whether she would see them again. It always worked out.

Here in Shepworth was no different. She watched the men practising their sword play, teaching the younger ones in the stubbled field how to make a shield wall, how to use daggers and swords, pitchforks, knives, slingshots and any other item they could afford to lay their hands on. The forge was going almost day and night, fixing, shaping, sharpening, and creating weapons for the death and destruction of their enemies. It was all too familiar. She could imagine her father and brothers doing the same things, her mother watching over them, just as she watched the village now.

There was, however, one significant difference. This time Aethelwin had a husband. A man she barely knew, yet felt for nonetheless. She knew it was not love. She did not look at him in the same way that Caedmon looked at Beornwynn, or the way her father mooned after Ailith’s mother. Nevertheless, there was something that drew her towards him. Something that made her care about him more than anyone else.

Aethelwin found the closer to the eventual departure of her husband towards war, the more anxious she became, a situation she was not used to. She hoped he came back, fervently. Not only would she be devastated by his passing, but logistically, she would be all alone amongst strangers. A widow with no children and no purpose. The alliance would be over and then what would she do? Stay in Shepworth? Remarry to another of her uncle’s allies? She didn't like the thought of that.

Of course she would go home; there would be nothing and no-one here to stay for, but she couldn’t think of making another strategic alliance either. Travelling to God knows where and starting all over again. After living amongst her new people for almost half a year, she felt welcomed to an extent, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before acceptance turned to fondness. All the same, it was such hard work, constantly trying to please people, trying to make allies and friends. Aethelwin wasn’t sure if she could do that all over again, starting from the beginning.

Eventually, the morning arrived for the fyrd to march out to battle. Aethelwin cried. Moved by his daughter-in-law’s apparent grief, Lord Raedwald kissed her cheek and smiled kindly at her.

“Do not cry for us my daughter. I will be home in a day or two with your dear husband. Nothing but God will stop us from returning home.”

Uneasy with his wife’s tears, Eadred awkwardly kissed her other cheek, patted her on the hand and told her not to cry. He knelt for his mother’s blessing, who gave it willingly but with a blank face, then pulled himself easily into the saddle of his horse.

The whole village had come out to watch them leave. Mothers, sisters, aunts, children and grandparents all waved and cheered. They lined the road or gathered around in groups by the gates to the village, watching Lord Raedwald and Eadred with a handful of thegns on horseback. Behind them strode the boys amongst the men, walking in their leather jerkins, shields banging on their backs.