Aldfrith spoke first. “You have another choice too, Osana.”
She glanced up, forcing herself to look at him. He must think her hysterical and indiscreet. Yet she saw no scorn on his face, only compassion.
“If you decide you cannot remain here in Hagustaldes, Bebbanburg will welcome you,” he continued. “You will always have a home in my hall and will live under my protection if you need it. I promise you that.”
Chapter Eleven
Slight Dignity
A GREY MANTLE settled across the land as the king and his men headed out of Hagustaldes—bound east for Bebbanburg.
The light levels were low, and the heavens heavy with the promise of rain.
Aldfrith squinted up at the grey sky, wondering how long the rain would hold off. One thing was certain—at some point during their two-day journey home, they would all get soaked.
He rode alongside the bishop this morning—not his choice of travel companion. However, Wilfrid seemed to have assigned himself as Aldfrith’s personal escort and counselor. He sat now, perched upon his dun gelding like an ill-tempered crow. Wilfrid had been in a sour mood since their arrival in Hagustaldes, and the day they had spent there had done little to lighten his spirits.
The bishop crossed himself and muttered a prayer under his breath as they left the last of the scattered wattle and daub hovels around the town behind, and entered a road through dense woodland.
Aldfrith’s mouth curved in a wry smile. “Pleased to see the back of Hagustaldes?”
Wilfrid grunted. “Aye … full of heathens.”
Aldfrith raised an eyebrow. “Most of them are Christian folk, all baptized.”
Wilfrid cast him a long-suffering look. “They worship God, aye … but in the manner of many folk in the north. Their pagan ways lie just beneath the surface.” He broke off here, his craggy features darkening. “That funeral ceremony was an offense to God.”
Aldfrith shrugged. “Folk have their traditions; we should respect them. You conducted the ceremony … although you should have let Bishop Godwin do it.”
Wilfrid scowled at the reprimand. “The man’s a weak fool. I needed to set the folk of Hagustaldes a firm example.”
“But they like Godwin … he’s a pious man.”
“He should have never allowed them to organize such a ceremony. If I were bishop, things would change.” Wilfrid’s intense gaze settled upon Aldfrith. “Get rid of Godwin, sire. Let me have Hagustaldes under my influence.”
Aldfrith frowned. He should not be surprised that Wilfrid was making such an audacious demand, and yet he was. “No, Father. Inhrypum is under your care, not this land. Bishop Godwin will stay where he is.”
“But the fool prays in his church while the folk of Hagustaldes practice the old ways.” Wilfrid’s voice rose as his ire grew. “Soon they’ll be sacrificing animals to the pagan gods for Blood Month and hailing Woden at Yule, while girls dance barefoot around fires with flowers in their hair at Eostre.”
There’s no harm in it,” Aldfrith replied, deliberately not rising to the bishop’s heckling tone. “A change of faith takes time.”
Wilfrid glared at him. “That’s what those monks upon Iona told you?” The scorn in the bishop’s voice made Aldfrith tense.
Aldfrith let out a long sigh. He was not getting into this discussion again. Wilfrid took offense at how those of northern Britannia worshipped Christ. He missed no opportunity to criticize. However, his sniping had little effect on Aldfrith. He had his own faith, a steadying constant in his life, and did not care if the bishop thought it was a lesser one.
The bishop’s views spoke of a vanity, of a need to feel superior to those around him. Wilfrid had not taken those years of exile well.
“No, they are my own views,” Aldfrith replied, a warning note in his voice. “Ones I stand firm on.”
With that, he nudged his grey stallion into a canter and left the bishop’s side.
He had no desire to spend the day listening to Wilfrid’s criticisms. Instead, he urged his stallion along the column of riders to where Cerdic rode just behind his bannermen.
“Good morning,” Aldfirth greeted him.
The warrior blinked, coming out of a reverie. “Morning, sire.” A half-smile curved Cerdic’s lips then. “Had enough of the bishop already?”
Aldfrith snorted. “How did you know?”
