Deogol sat at his usual place at the table, having given the ealdorman’s seat to the king, and held up a drinking horn filled with mead.
“To my brother!” he boomed. “May he find feasting, wenches, and plenty of mead in the afterlife!”
This toast brought roars of approval from many of the warriors seated at the long tables that formed a square around the fire pit. However, Bishop Wilfrid—who sat opposite Deogol—glowered at the warrior when he sat down. It was no Christian afterlife that Deogol spoke of. Farther down the table, Bishop Godwin’s face was expressionless.
Watching Hagustaldes’ bishop, Aldfrith felt a pang of regret. He should have stepped in when Wilfrid had bullied the man earlier, yet it had not been the place for a scene. Even so, he would need to have a word with Wilfrid when they were next alone. He could not have him upsetting the other bishops like this.
Aldfrith swallowed a sigh at the thought. Wilfrid was fast becoming a thorn in his arse; the man’s arrogance and bullish approach to the other men of the cloth in the kingdom was fast making him unpopular. It appeared there was only one right way to follow God—and that was Wilfrid’s way.
Osana, who had been given her usual spot at the head of the table one last time, took a sip of mead from her cup, welcoming its sweet pungency.
She was glad of Deogol’s toast though. Raedwulf would have enjoyed that.
Beside Deogol, Edlyn sat, red-eyed and wan-faced. The sight of her made Osana’s anger rise in a slow heat that caused her to tighten her grip on her cup. The woman did not even try to hide her grief, not even before her husband.
Is Deogol blind?
Maybe he was. Deogol was the same breed of man as his dead brother: brave, strong, and utterly oblivious to the feelings of others. He completely ignored his wife as he offered the king some roast boar.
“This is the beast that ended my brother, sire,” he informed Aldfrith. “He asked us to roast it for his funeral feast.”
Osana took a larger—more fortifying—gulp of mead.
Of course he did.
“The creature might as well be put to good use,” Aldfrith replied with a half-smile, taking a slice of meat. He passed the platter to Osana. “Some boar?”
Osana took the dish and gave herself a tiny slice before passing it on. “Thank you,” she murmured.
The feasting began, accompanied by numerous toasts and even more mead. A lad sat near the hearth playing a bone whistle, the music almost drowned out by the roar of conversation.
“Are you well, Osana?”
The question, spoken in a low voice, caught her off-guard. Osana had been staring at the platter before her, forcing down each mouthful of food, before she washed it down with mead. She did not usually drink so much and was starting to feel quite light-headed.
She glanced up, to find Aldfrith watching her.
“Aye,” she replied. “I’ve little appetite this eve, that’s all.”
He nodded. “I can understand that.”
“More mead?” Edlyn appeared at Osana’s shoulder then. She had been given the task of filling the feasters’ cups. However, the woman wore a pinched expression.
“Aye, thank you.” Osana held out her cup.
Edlyn sloshed mead into it, so violently that it splashed over the rim and onto the bust of Osana’s mourning tunic: a dark, high necked garment made of wool.
“Sorry, Osana.” Edlyn chimed, a gleam in her eyes. She moved on then to the king.
“Some mead, milord?” she asked sweetly.
Aldfrith shook his head, and Osana’s sister-by-marriage moved on.
Drawing in a deep breath, Osana glanced down at the dark patch covering the front of her tunic. The garment was dark anyway, so it did not really matter. What mattered was that the balance of power had already shifted within the hall.
Raedwulf’s ashes were still warm, but already Edlyn was assuming her role as lady of the house. A sinking sensation made Osana reach for her cup of mead once more.
Life was about to get difficult. She could sense it.
