Dawn of Wolves (The Kingdom of Mercia) Read Online Free Page A

blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. He could see she was shaking.
    “What’s your name, girl?”
    “Asha, m’lord.”
    “You’re new to the Great Hall—I don’t recognize you.”
    “I came here at Winterfylleth,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “My father killed one of Wada’s warriors. They were drinking in the mead hall, and an argument got out of hand. I was part of the wergild he had to pay.”
    Wulfhere raised an eyebrow. Wergild—man payment—was the price a man had to pay after committing a crime, as compensation to his victim’s family.
    “So, your father killed a Northumbrian, did he?”
    The girl nodded.
    Wulfhere watched the slave a moment. She was young, barely out of childhood. Her pale skin bore bruises; Wada had clearly been rough with her.
    Wulfhere sank back against the rim of the iron tub.
    “Your father did us all a favor,” he said finally. “I don’t need my back scrubbed. Go to my brother and tell him that I release you from slavery. Then go to the smith and get that collar removed.”
    The girl gaped at him. “Really? Am I free, m’lord?”
    Wulfhere waved her away. “You heard me, girl. Go and see my brother . . . and get him to fetch me Glaedwine. I need a healer.”
     
    Wulfhere crossed the floor toward the heah-setl—the high seat—where his brother and retainers awaited him.
    This evening, the Great Hall of Tamworth bore no resemblance to dawn’s scene of carnage. Fresh rushes crunched underfoot, and the aroma of roasting mutton and herbs replaced the stench of death, mingling with wood smoke from the hall’s two enormous fire pits.
    Long tables lined the floor, where men and women were taking their seats. He saw the smiles on their faces and shining eyes. They were pleased to have the rightful ruler of Mercia among them.
    Aethelred was the first to greet him as he stepped upon the heah-setl.
    “Good evening, brother.”
    Wulfhere nodded and took his place upon the carved wooden chair at the head of the table. This had been his father’s chair, and it was the first time he had ever sat upon it.
    Aethelred poured him a cup of wine and passed it to him.
    “How does it feel?”
    “What?”
    “To sit in that chair.”
    Wulfhere smiled. “Better than you can imagine.”
    His gaze shifted to the other folk sharing his table. There were no other members of his kin here. His mother had taken the veil and gone to live in Bonehill, and both his sisters had left Tamworth to be handfasted, years earlier. Aethelred was all he had left. The others at the table were his retainers, Werbode and Elfhere among them.
    The three ealdormen who had helped him take back Tamworth—Immin, Eafa, and Eadbert—were seated together at the far end of the table. Immin, big and blond, was flushed in the face from mead. Next to him was Eafa, a much smaller man with pale eyes and a bald head that gleamed in the light of the cressets that lined the nearby wall. The third ealdorman, Eadbert, was the youngest of the three. He was a tall, muscular man with a shock of black hair and a beard to match.
    Eadbert caught his eye and raised his cup.
    “To victory, Lord Wulfhere.”
    Wulfhere’s smile widened into a grin. “Aye, I’ll drink to that.”
    He raised his cup to his lips and took a sip of wine.
    Werbode, seated at Wulfhere’s right, also raised his cup. “And here’s to your crowning, milord. Tomorrow?”
    Wulfhere nodded. “At noon.”
    Slaves brought food to the table, interrupting their talk. Great slabs of roast mutton, fresh griddle bread, and pickled onions. Wulfhere’s mouth watered at the sight of it; he had not forgotten how good the cooks were in his father’s hall.
    He helped himself to some mutton and broke off a piece of griddle bread, before his gaze shifted out across the hall to the sea of men and women who were now eating and drinking, their voices echoing up into the rafters.
    I’ve completed the first of Eorcenberht’s conditions, he thought.