COLD rain fell relentlessly over the fortress of Dunholm in Northumbria, the grey clouds looming ominously in the frigid November sky. The incessant drizzle promised to transform into snowfall as the temperatures continued to plummet, blanketing the land in an icy shroud.
The fortress, perched atop a rocky cliffside, seemed impervious to the elements, its imposing stone walls and tall towers standing strong against the harsh Northumbrian weather.
Prince Aethelwold, nephew to King Alfred, surveyed Uhtred of Bebbanburg's sister, Thyra, with critical interest.
She was an eerie beauty, a woman of strong Dane stock, and her presence held his attention like a deer caught in sight of an arrow. Aethelwold had accompanied Lord Uhtred on a perilous journey from Winchester to the distant Northumbria, a mission prompted by his uncle's request to assist Uhtred in reclaiming Dunholm.
However, deep down, Aethelwold harbored no illusions about the true intentions behind his uncle's directive; he knew that King Alfred hoped he might meet his end on this treacherous venture. As they traversed the fortress's bailey, the cold rain had begun to fall, gradually morphing into a frigid drizzle.
Undeterred by the inclement weather, Prince Aethelwold's penetrating gaze remained fixed on Thyra, the red-haired, timid, and introverted Dane woman who appeared utterly out of place among the battle-hardened warriors of Kjartan's clan. In these dire times, all men who wished to preserve their lives willingly swore allegiance to Ragnar, and Uhtred and Ragnar went among the surviving men, conversing with them and accepting their pledges of loyalty. These oaths were granted only after a thorough investigation to ascertain that they had not played any part in the horrific massacre that had unfolded on the night of Thyra's wedding years ago.
On that fateful night, Kjartan and his son, Sven, kidnapped Thyra as an act of vengeance against Earl Ragnar for a perceived slight. Sven had received a brutal punishment from Ragnar for casting inappropriate glances at Thyra, culminating in the loss of one of his eyes.
The subsequent abduction of Thyra had torn her away from her loved ones and cast a dark shadow over their lives, leaving a debt of vengeance yet unpaid.
Aethelwold continued to silently observe as Uhtred's sister moved with caution, her nervous eyes constantly darting around as if fearing a sudden ambush. Aethelwold's curiosity was piqued, and he continued to study Thyra Ragnarsdottir with a critical interest.
To his left, he noticed Tidman, one of his men, who had accompanied him on this journey. Tidman's colorless grey eyes were also fixed on Thyra.
The slightly older man was observing the redhead with a look of revulsion that was not lost on the prince. Aethelwold, however, dismissed it, chalking it up to the harsh, cold environment that could make any man seek warmth and solace in the presence of a woman, be she a Saxon or a Dane.
As he found himself following Uhtred's sister, as she turned and began to make her way back inside the daunting fortress, Prince Aethelwold couldn't shake the thought of the young Dane woman. She was a stark contrast to the brutality and coldness that permeated the atmosphere of Dunholm. The prince felt a strange mix of sympathy and intrigue for her, wondering how such a gentle soul had found herself trapped amid such savagery, how she'd managed to survive this.
As Prince Aethelwold continued to gaze upon Thyra, something shifted within him. The events that had unfolded earlier, as Uhtred and Thyra's friend, a Dane and a she-warrior who called herself Brida, had taken her from the bailey after the fighting had ended, had etched an indelible impression on him.
In the aftermath of the skirmish, it had been Brida who had tended to Thyra, washing away the grime and horrors that had marred her delicate figure.
She and Abbess Hild had cleansed her body, and her hair, and with every touch, it seemed as if they were washing away the madness that had been inflicted upon her these long years. Now, as Thyra walked a free woman through the bailey, she was nearly a vision of radiant beauty.
Her hair, once disheveled and tangled, now flowed like a fiery cascade, catching the warm hues of autumn in the dim torchlight that encircled the fortress's bailey. The grime, dirt, and bloodstains had been painstakingly cleansed away, revealing her porcelain skin, bearing the scars of captivity but still entrancing to him.
Thyra was now dressed in garments that better suited her true self, a simple woolen dress and a cloak of otter fur, and every step she took, although still marked by timidity, exuded an undeniable grace and poise. She walked alongside his uncle's most trusted advisor and the man Alfred considered as close to a friend, Father Beocca, as they ventured further into the heart of the fortress.
As Aethelwold's gaze shifted to Father Beocca, a pang of jealousy and irritation surged through him. The way the holy man's eyes were fixed on Thyra did not go unnoticed by the prince. Aethelwold's blood boiled as he saw how the priest was captivated by Uhtred of Bebbanburg's foster sister, and what man wouldn't be?
The young prince wrestled with the turbulent emotions that had suddenly erupted within him. He was torn between his growing interest in Uhtred's sister and the disconcerting realization that even a man of the cloth like Beocca couldn't resist her allure. It was a maddening feeling, one that he had not anticipated nor wished to entertain, as his mind could not afford such distractions if he ever wished to take his rightful place as king of Wessex.
With every step they took, Aethelwold's disdain for Father Beocca only deepened. The holy man's fascination with Uhtred's sister grated on the prince's nerves, more than he cared to admit, and his dislike for the priest intensified. To Aethelwold, Beocca appeared loud and ugly in every sense of the words.
Approaching forty, the passage of years had marked Beocca with visible signs of aging. His head bore little hair to speak of, leaving it mostly bare. In terms of stature, he was rather short for a grown man. In height comparison, Aethelwold towered over the priest by at least a foot and a half.
Beocca had always wanted to marry, yet, despite his esteemed position as a priest in the royal palace and his role as a trusted advisor and friend to King Alfred, no woman had ever come to him in the hopes that he would seek their hand in marriage. There were plenty of women willing to marry him based on his status alone, though Aethelwold knew the old fool was waiting for love to strike him down like a lightning bolt.
As they walked through the fortress, the pious priest's voice seemed to ring louder in Aethelwold's ears, his words spoken with a sanctimonious zeal that grated on the prince's already frayed nerves. Aethelwold couldn't understand how anyone could find Beocca's unrefined and unwelcome presence endearing.
Aethelwold felt no shame in surreptitiously listening to Father Beocca's conversation with Thyra as they made their way through the fortress. The relentless rain had finally grown too cold and unforgiving to permit them to linger in the bailey any longer.
As they retreated into the welcoming warmth of the fortress, Aethelwold, and Tidman, with a shared purpose, deliberately kept their distance. The two of them discreetly stuck to the shadows, their ears keenly tuned to the exchange, their curiosity unabated.
Even from this distance, Thyra's unhappiness was palpable; she had believed that Uhtred and Ragnar had left her when Ragnar went Viking.
Her trust in her brothers had been shattered, and the pain showed in her eyes.
As Aethelwold listened in and strained to hear, his dislike for Beocca grew. The bastard priest had always had a way with words, as long as Aethelwold had known Beocca, and the prince begrudgingly acknowledged his ability to offer the Dane solace and comfort.
It was as if Father Beocca possessed the power to reach into Thyra's heart and draw out her fears and sorrow, like a woman dying of thirst in a desert, who finally found an oasis as Beocca had the words to comfort her. Aethelwold couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy.
His initial attraction to Thyra had evolved into genuine concern for her well-being, and he wished he could be the one to offer her the solace she so desperately needed. He inappropriately began to wish that it was his arm for which the redhead reached, instead of the priest's as they continued to walk down the darkened corridors.
As Aethelwold listened in, he couldn't help but find Father Beocca's words both comforting and maddeningly effective, that even he found himself calming at his words. Father Beocca spoke with a gentle and soothing tone, "Thyra, I know that your heart is heavy with sorrow, and the path forward may seem uncertain. But your brothers have wanted for so long to find you, and are bound by a love for you that knows no bounds. They did not abandon you, and they will not."
Thyra's voice, laden with melancholy, quivered as she replied, "I thought…they had left me behind, Beocca, that they were no better than the bastards who whored me. I thought they did not need for me the night our family was killed," she whispered.
Beocca's words flowed like a river of consolation, "No, Thyra, that is not true. They fought today not only to defend your family's murder but to reunite with you, the sister they hold so dearly. Trust in your brothers' love, Thyra, for it will guide them back to you."
As Father Beocca continued to offer his words of solace to Thyra, Aethelwold couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of being an outside in this intimate moment between the young Dane and the priest and he felt the urge to kill the priest pump through his veins once more as Thyra, in her vulnerable state, seemed to find some small measure of strength in Father Beocca's words.
She wiped away a tear and nodded, a faint glimmer of hope beginning to replace the despair in her eyes. "I want to believe you, Beocca. I've missed my brothers so much, and I never thought I'd see them again after all this time."
Beocca's voice remained gentle and reassuring as he said, "Believe, Thyra. Have faith that the love your brothers have for you will guide them back to your side. Soon, once we return to Wessex and you are free of this place, your nightmares will end."
As they walked through the darkened corridors, Thyra clung to Father Beocca's arm for support, her trust in him evident. Aethelwold watched them with mixed emotions, feeling a sense of jealousy and longing that he couldn't ignore. He couldn't help but wonder if there was a growing bond between her and the priest.
In this emotional turmoil, Aethelwold knew that he had a role to play in helping Thyra acclimate to her new home. He couldn't let his jealousy get the best of him.
Aethelwold couldn't bear to stay in the shadows any longer. Alongside his loyal companion Tidman, he followed the priest and the Dane's winding path through the dimly lit corridors. He hesitated for a moment before awkwardly clearing his throat and speaking, his voice a blend of concern and determination.
"My lady," he began, "I too am devoted to aiding you in getting used to the...strangeness of your new home. Your safety and happiness are of paramount importance to me, and I share in your aspiration for a brighter future for yourself."
At the sound of his voice, Father Beocca, and Thyra both turned to look at him, surprised by his sudden interjection. The priest's expression was one of surprise and annoyance, but he quickly composed himself.
Aethelwold was well aware that he was intruding on a private moment between Uhtred's sister and his uncle's advisor, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to assert his presence and dominance over the situation. Thyra's gaze shifted from Father Beocca to Aethelwold, and a flicker of recognition appeared in her eyes. Her lips parted as if she meant to speak, however, no sounds came forth.
Before she could utter a word, their expressions shifted from surprise to looks of confusion as they beheld Aethelwold and Tidman emerging from the shadows and approaching them.
Father Beocca's initial surprise quickly gave way to anger and suspicion. His brows furrowed, and his tone was laced with tension as he addressed Aethelwold. "What is the meaning of this, Aethelwold? Why do you follow us like a shadow? And what is the purpose of your sudden interest in Uhtred's sister's well-being?"
Aethelwold, taken aback by Father Beocca's sharp reaction, realized that he had not thought through the consequences of his actions, or how it might seem to them to perceive him stepping out of the shadows.
He stammered, trying to explain himself as an odd flush came over his cheeks as he felt the burn of the Dane woman's gaze on him, "I apologize, Father Beocca. I meant no harm. I am merely concerned for Lady Thyra's comfort and safety, as I mentioned. I want to ensure she finds her place in her new surroundings if she's to return with us."
Thyra, now caught between the tension of the two men, looked from Aethelwold to Beocca, her uncertainty evident. She had not expected this confrontation and was unsure of how to react. Father Beocca's gaze remained fixed on Aethelwold, his suspicion unabated. It was a moment before he turned to her and spoke.
"Thyra, you should turn a deaf ear to this man, far too many in Winchester are drawn by the lies and bile he spews into the ear of any willing to listen," he snapped with a harsh bark to his voice that made Thyra look up in alarm as the priest's protective instincts began to flare.
Thyra, caught in the middle, hesitated for a moment before responding, "I believe he means well, Beocca. I don't think he meant any harm," she said shyly.
Beocca's skepticism persisted, and he fixed Aethelwold with a stern gaze. "Stay away from Uhtred's sister, Aethelwold. She's suffered enough, and her safety and well-being are of utmost importance to Uhtred. And to me," he added as an afterthought. "I want to make it clear, boy," he declared, sparing a glance at Tidman to Aethelwold's left but not bothering to learn the man's name. "We will not allow anyone to bring Thyra further distress."
Aethelwold's eyes narrowed, and his voice took on a subtle, menacing tone as he responded to Beocca's warning. "Father Beocca, it seems you care deeply for Uhtred's sister, and I wouldn't dream of causing her any distress." He leaned in closer to Beocca, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But let me remind you, priest, that distress can come in many forms, and sometimes, the most dangerous threats are the ones that wear a friendly face."
Thyra felt a shiver run down her spine, sensing the underlying threat in Aethelwold's words. She looked nervously back and forth between the two men, not wanting a brawl to break out in Dunholm's corridor.
Father Beocca remained steadfast, his narrowed eyes locked onto Aethelwold's, his resolve unshaken. "I understand your warning, boy, and I pray you mean no harm to Thyra. But know this, Uhtred has asked that Abbess Hild and I look after her in Winchester when we return, and I will do whatever it takes to protect her, as will the Abbess. You might be a king's son, but you are a man whom your father would be ashamed of, were he still alive to see what you've become, what you've stooped to."
Aethelwold, still smiling, straightened his gait and nodded curtly at Father Beocca, acknowledging the priest's words. "Very well, Father Beocca. I'll heed your advice for now and leave the two of you to your…stroll," he murmured, though there was a veiled threat in the young prince's tone. He turned his attention to Thyra and spoke with a touch of charm, "Lady, it was a pleasure. I hope to see you again very soon. We have much to catch up on, you and I. Until later then, my lady."
Thyra offered a small, uncertain smile, not sure how to respond to Aethelwold's parting words. She didn't want to offend him, yet Beocca's warning had left her feeling cautious.
As Aethelwold made his way to the door, he gestured for Tidman to follow him, and the two men exited the room. Aethelwold couldn't resist one last glance back at Thyra, his eyes lingering on her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.
Father Beocca's gaze remained locked on Aethelwold, his stern expression serving as a clear message: stay away from Thyra. With that, Aethelwold and Tidman left, leaving Thyra and Father Beocca in a tense silence, uncertain of what the future might hold with Aethelwold's subtle threat still hanging in the air.
Thyra watched as the Saxon prince and the man loyal to him disappeared out of sight as they rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, not wanting to tear her gaze away from the two men until they were truly gone. She felt a mixture of relief and unease, the tension in the corridor slowly dissipating as soon it was only the two of them left in the halls of Dunholm.
Remembering she owed the priest her gratitude, she turned her attention back to Beocca, her expression a combination of gratitude and concern.
"Thank you, Beocca," she said, her voice soft and filled with uncertainty. "I'm not sure what your Prince Aethelwold meant by his words, but I trust your judgment, and Uhtred's if you tell me he is not to be trusted."
Beocca offered Thyra a reassuring smile and reached out to place a comforting hand on her arm and he found himself grateful when she did not immediately shy away from his touch. "Thyra, it has always been my duty to protect those in my care, and I take that responsibility very seriously. Aethelwold's intentions may be unclear, but I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. You needn't worry, do not let the snake take up any more space in your mind, he is not worth the trouble."
Thyra realized that she had not known Father Beocca for long, just a few precious hours. Despite the brief time they had spent together, his protective instincts had been evident, and she felt an inexplicable sense of trust in him. As Aethelwold and Tidman left, she turned to Father Beocca with a small smile and a newfound sense of vulnerability. Thyra nodded, her eyes reflecting the gratitude she felt for Beocca's steadfast support.
She thought it strange how the Saxon priest's calm and mild-mannered way of speaking had a reassuring effect on her frayed nerves. She had a suspicion that she could rely on this man, a friend of Uhtred's, even when faced with potential danger.
"A-are you hungry, Beocca?" she began hesitantly, biting her lip as she spoke, "If you are, would…would you mind keeping me company while I eat? I could use some good company."
To her relief, Beocca's warm smile widened, and he nodded in agreement. Of course, Thyra. It would be my pleasure. I am indeed hungry, and your company would be a most welcome reprieve. Come, the hall is this way."
He shyly offered her his arm and Thyra accepted and together, the pair made their way to the feasting hall, the promise of a meal and the prospect of continuing to get to know each other melting the tension that had settled in the air from the encounter moments ago with Prince Aethelwold.
Beocca and Thyra sat at the ends of the long wooden table in the hall of Dunholm, enjoying the hearty meal of roasted venison, fresh bread, and a variety of vegetables that a wench had brought them. The hall was dimly lit, and the smell of the food filled the air. Beocca couldn't help but notice the grim atmosphere in Dunholm, and he looked around with a hint of disgust. Beocca leaned in toward Thyra, speaking softly to her over their meal.
"Thyra," he said, "I know this place may seem haunting, but you will enjoy Winchester. It's a vibrant city, full of life and opportunity. You'll leave this haunt behind and start afresh."
Thyra glanced at Beocca, a faint ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "I hope you're right, Beocca. It's just that this place…I fear it will always be with me, no much how far I travel or where I go."
Beocca nodded sympathetically. "I understand, Thyra, better than you think. But you've been through so much, and this is your chance for a new beginning. We'll find a way to make it work."
As they continued to eat, the conversation between Beocca and Thyra turned more cheerful. Beocca regaled her with stories of Winchester, its bustling markets, and the warmth of its people. He painted a picture of a better life, free from the ghosts of their past. Thyra found herself looking forward to the journey to Winchester and the fresh start that awaited her there. Beocca's optimism and his promise of a brighter future filled her with hope.
As they ate their meal in the dimly lit hall, she felt a sense of anticipation building within her, eager to leave the haunting memories of Dunholm behind.
Aethelwold's resentment simmered as he observed Beocca and Thyra, his mind racing with schemes on how to manipulate the priest's growing attraction to Uhtred's sister to his advantage. His disdain for Beocca was palpable, and he wondered if this developing infatuation might serve as a chink in the priest's armor.
As he concealed himself in the shadows, Aethelwold considered that Beocca's distraction by romantic interests could potentially divert his attention from the larger political game.
If the priest were preoccupied, perhaps he would not be as vigilant in his support for Alfred, and this could create an opportunity for Aethelwold to further plot the downfall of the Wessex king. A wicked grin crept across Aethelwold's face as he pondered the possibilities.
He knew that any opening, no matter how small, could be leveraged to his advantage in his quest for power and vengeance. With Beocca potentially preoccupied with growing emotions for this Danish whore, Aethelwold could seize the chance to sow discord and disruption, moving one step closer to achieving the throne.
As they finished their meal, Aethelwold remained hidden, brooding in the shadows. He couldn't help but think of the secrets he possessed, secrets that could shatter the illusion of a fresh start for Thyra. He contemplated his next move, considering whether to confront them or bide his time.
For now, he watched, his jealousy and bitterness growing with each passing moment, as Beocca and Thyra continued their conversation, oblivious to the lurking threat in the darkness.
