“No,” she replied, embarrassment making her snappish.
“Here.” Grinning now, he held out a hand. “You look like you could do with some help.”
Lora reached out, grasping his hand. The warmth and strength of it felt good, and she tightened her grip on him before pulling herself up. He lifted her easily, as if she were no more than a child.
A moment later they were standing close. Lora let go of him and made a fuss of brushing snow off herself, flustered now. “Thank you,” she murmured. She was not usually this coy, did not usually have problems meeting a man’s eye. Yet she suddenly felt shy.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice warm, the laughter now gone. “We weren’t introduced yesterday. I’m Cerdic.”
She glanced up, her gaze meeting dark brown eyes. His expression was warm, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. Warmth spread through her then, and she felt her own lips curving in response. “My name is Lora.”
Chapter Fifteen
I am my own man
A VISITOR ARRIVED at the Great Tower of Bebbanburg five days after Osana’s arrival.
The last of the snow had melted, leaving a sea of mud in its wake. Men kept tracking it into the hall, only to earn a scolding from the women who tried in vain to keep the rushes clean. Mid-morning, as Osana sat mending a tunic, humming a tune under her breath to help ease the monotony, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, and a slender figure swathed in voluminous, brown robes entered.
The newcomer wore a solemn expression. He had a gaunt, bearded face, and a neatly shaved tonsure. His dark eyes swept around the interior of the hall with interest. Two monks in simple brown habits flanked him.
Osana continued to sew, observing the man with interest. He was so frail that it was impossible to discern his age. He walked stiffly, yet carried an air of authority with him.
“It’s Cuthbert, Prior of Lindisfarena,” one of the women next to Osana whispered. “We’ve not seen him here in years.” Her name was Mildryth, and she was one of the few of the gaggle of wives who bothered with Osana, for Eldflaed and her friends still paid Osana scant attention.
Osana’s fascination increased. News of Cuthbert had spread far and wide across the north over the years. Tales of his miracles and his unshakable faith had first reached Osana when she was a child. Folk spoke of his extraordinary powers: healing the sick and freeing those who were possessed by demons.
“He looks much older than I expected,” she mused aloud.
Mildryth made a clucking sound. “Aye, years of fasting and praying are taking their toll.”
“I heard he healed a man of leprosy,” Lora whispered, her gaze fascinated as she tracked Cuthbert across the floor. “Folk say the fisherman was covered in sores when he traveled to Lindisfarena, and that he returned home healthy.”
Mildryth nodded, her long face serious. “Aye, there are many such tales.”
A draft of cold air rushed into the hall, and Osana tore her gaze from the newcomer to see the king stride indoors. She had not yet seen him today. Mildryth had told her that he often spent mornings writing and studying in the stone annex adjoining the tower. Osana had passed the annex the day before, after returning from Bebbanburg’s market. The door was open, and she had been tempted to go inside. Fortunately, she had curbed her curiosity.
The priest Oswald entered a few paces behind the king, his robes fluttering in his haste.
Aldfrith’s face was alive with joy as he approached Cuthbert. The interior of the Great Hall fell silent, all gazes riveted upon the king and the hermit. Aldfrith dropped to one knee before Cuthbert then, bowing his head. He took the frail hand that the prior offered and kissed it.
“Father Cuthbert … it’s an unexpected pleasure to see you here again. I’d heard you were unwell?”
Cuthbert grimaced. “Aye, my health worsens I’m afraid.”
“Welcome to Bebbanburg, Father.” Oswald bowed low, his face flushed. “May God grant you a speedy recovery.”
The Prior of Lindisfarne favored Oswald with a wry smile. “If only he could … alas, I fear there’s little anyone—even Our Lord—can do.”
A subdued mood fell over the interior of the Great Hall then, dimming the excitement of the prior’s arrival.
Aldfrith rose to his feet. Standing next to the prior—tall and strong, and in the prime of life—Aldfrith made Cuthbert look even more fragile. Reaching out, the king placed a hand on the prior’s shoulder. “I’m pleased you have managed a visit here, Father. Will you stay a night or two?”
Cuthbert nodded, smiling. “Aye, a warm fire and a good meal would ease these old bones.”
Osana carried the ewer of wine to the high seat, stepped up onto the raised dais, and began a slow circuit of the table. The rich aroma of boar stew filled the tower, mixed with the scent of freshly baked griddle bread. Her mouth filled with saliva as she watched the stew being served from a huge tureen. The cold had given her a voracious appetite of late.
She could not take her seat at one of the low tables yet though; this evening she had been given the task of serving the king and his retainers wine. This role usually fell to the womenfolk of the household, but since the king had no wife, and she was an ealdorman’s widow, the task had fallen to her.
