Moyra Caldecott by Etheldreda Read Free Book Online Page A

sunrise. The air would be fresh and clear as though newly washed, the long beach curving to the distant headland pure and deserted. She would stand right at the water’s edge, her sandals abandoned further up the beach, her shift gathered up and held above her knees, the waves washing over her feet, tugging at the pebbles.
    At last the sun would rise, filaments and veils of light falling from it and floating away; she at the centre.

    When Oswy had finally established himself on the throne he sent to Kent for the young princess Eanfleda. The marriage would serve a double purpose. The fact that her mother was of the Kentish royal house would help to extend his influence far to the south, but more importantly, as the last remaining offspring of the great Bretwalder Edwin, who had so effectively welded the Deiran and Bernician kingdoms together, her place on the throne beside him would strengthen his own case for doing the same. For the moment he ruled only Bernicia. Oswin, descended from Edwin’s cousin, held Deira.

    Eanfleda left for Bernicia with her chaplain Romanus, as though she were going to prison instead of to marriage.
    Her mother watched the brave train of thegns and women companions that accompanied her, the chests of treasure and the gifts of fine horses and Frankish weaponry, and thought of the time she too had set off for the north to marry a man she had never met. Edwin at that time was a pagan, a warrior prince who had won his kingdom fiercely and mercilessly. She had had no way of knowing then that as the years of their marriage passed she would grow to love him and that he would eventually embrace the Christian faith. Their child Eanfleda had been baptised by her priest Paulinus, as pledge that the king and all his people would accept baptism if the God of his wife would give him victory over the West Saxons.
    But Oswy was a very different man.
    Tears came to her eyes to think of what Eanfleda might have to face. Oswy was officially a Christian, but from the tales told of him the teachings of the Saviour had not sunk very deep. He was a man in his thirties, twice married, known to be hard natured and a womaniser, the son of her father’s enemy, Ethelfrid, who had been king of Northumbria before Edwin.
    Her daughter looked frail and young as she sat her horse, her cheeks pale as chalk, her eyes looking into her mother’s with such desperation that Ethelberga could hardly bear to meet them. She might indeed have given in at this moment, had not Eorconbert joined her and said with calm satisfaction:
    ‘Do not worry, lady, with this marriage we will all sleep easier in our beds. Besides – it is only fitting that she should take back her father’s kingdom. It is rightfully hers.’
    Ethelberga bit her lip. He was right. Eanfleda’s sacrifice would win years of peace for them. She turned back to her daughter with a speech about duty ready on her lips when she was startled to intercept a look in the girl’s eyes as she gazed at Eorconbert that could only be interpreted in one way. Sharply she looked back at Eorconbert, wondering if the same emotion would be expressed in his. But he had turned away from them and was shouting orders for the train to start moving. The mother saw Eanfleda’s expression turn to bitterness as he rode off.
    Ethelberga crossed herself and thanked God that her daughter after all was going far away from Kent.
    ‘May guardian angels go with her and protect her in all that she has to face,’ she whispered. ‘From within and from without. Amen.’
    Saxberga rode up on her chestnut horse and embraced the girl.
    ‘I want you to have this,’ she said, and held up a necklace of silver and jet with a small pendant cross. ‘It was my mother’s and I held it all the way to Kent. It gave me courage and, as you see, brought me good fortune.’ Saxberga’s smile was so warm and loving, it was clear that she had no idea of Eanfleda’s secret feelings about her husband.
    Ethelberga