Free Nightfall till Daybreak (The Kingdom of the East Angles Book 2) by Jayne Castel Page B

prayer room at the back of the hall.
    “I fear our food may not be to your men’s taste.” Botulf
passed Sigeberht an earthen bowl of pottage. “We do not consume meat and our
fare is very humble.”
    “They will not complain. I do not encourage overindulgence in
my hall,” Sigeberht replied.
    Aidan received his bowl of pottage. After a mouthful, he decided
this was even worse than the muck they served in the king’s hall.  No wonder
the monks were so thin. He broke off a piece of griddle bread and ate that
instead; it was still warm and although made of coarse flour, it was tasty
enough. Chewing slowly, he listened to Sigeberht and Botulf’s conversation.
They were speaking quietly, and only Aidan sat close enough to make out their
words.
    “I find myself in a difficult position Botulf,” the king
began, staring down at his pottage. “When I heard that Ricberht had killed my
half-brother and taken the crown of the East Angles, I was filled with rage. A
need for vengeance fuelled me. It drove me across the water and, blind with it,
I struck Ricberht down and took back Rendlaesham for my family. Now that the throne
is mine, I feel empty, lost.”
    “Why is that?” Botulf replied gently. “Surely the throne was
your right?”
    “It was, but we butchered many to take it. I feel that I have
sinned greatly, and that our Lord will never forgive me.”
    “Sigeberht.” The monk leaned towards his king, his face
solemn. “May I say that you are most severe with yourself; far more so than I
believe our Lord would be.”
    The king shrugged and stared moodily into the fire pit’s
flickering flames.
    “You are right to feel sorrow for the lives you and your men
have taken. But there are ways to atone for it.”
    “How?” The king looked up and seized the monk’s gaze in his.
    Botulf smiled and took another mouthful of pottage.
    “Tomorrow we shall talk of this. For now, fill your belly my
king, enjoy our hospitality and rest.”
     
    ***
     
    In Rendlaesham, a solitary figure picked her way towards the
door of the Great Hall. The only light within the hall came from the glowing
embers of the fire pit; just enough light for Freya to make out the shapes of
slumbering men and women that carpeted the rush-matting.
    It took an age to cross the hall and Freya’s heart was
pounding when she reached the doorway. Slipping out into the night, Freya
welcomed the cool air on her heated face. She paused on the steps outside,
steeling her nerves, before she descended into the stable yard below. In the
shadow of one of the buildings, under a pile of straw, she fished out the bag
she had hidden just after dusk. She had filled a small jute sack with two
loaves of bread, a large slab of cheese and a water bladder.
    Slinging the sack over her shoulder, Freya crept towards the
gatehouse. She hugged the shadows and crept silently towards the gates. She
could see that they were open. Then, she spied the outline of a guard, leaning
up against the wall.
    Freya shrank back into the shadows.
    Woden save me.
    Had he seen her?
    It appeared not, for a moment later Freya heard the rumble of
snoring. The Father of the Gods appeared to be watching over her. The guard was
asleep. Freya tip-toed past the snoring guard, holding her breath as she did
so.
    On the empty street beyond, she made her way up to the back
gates, only to find them locked. Heart thumping, she retraced her steps and
walked through the streets of Rendlaesham towards the main gates. The town
slumbered, and apart from two drunken warriors leaving the mead hall, she saw
no one. The men were so drunk that they paid Freya no mind. They staggered
across the street in front of her, barely able to walk, let alone take note of
their surroundings. Nonetheless, Freya froze to the spot and held her breath
till they disappeared down a narrow lane.
    Upon her arrival at the main gates, Freya also found them
locked for the night. It was as she had feared. She had no choice now but to
wait