Stinginess is disparaged.
Humility engenders gentleness.
Familiarity fuels strife.
Arrogance produces disfavor.”
Aldfrith finished reading. Hollow. Those words he had labored over now seemed meaningless. Osana’s words returned to him then. Months ago she had sat next to him in this annex and questioned him.
You must be very sure of your beliefs, of the nature of folk, to write so confidently.
He had once been very sure, but these days he was less so. He had always liked the idea of having ideals to live by; it had made the messiness of life easier to deal with. It created order out of chaos.
The Philosopher King.He had thought himself so wise, yet now he felt a fool.
Without those ideals who was he? A man with an empty heart and a barren soul, who sat upon a lonely throne.
Aldfrith cursed and pushed himself back from his desk. “Damn you, Osana,” he muttered. “This is your doing.”
Next to him Argus stirred and rose to his feet, shaking himself off after a nap. The wolfhound moved forward, pressing against his master’s leg for some affection. With a sigh, Aldfrith reached down and stroked the dog’s ears. He was fortunate in Argus. The hound’s love was simple, uncomplicated.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s take a walk in the orchard. I need some fresh air.”
They left the annex, Aldfrith crossing the yard in front of the Great Tower in long strides with his hound trotting at his heels. Lora, the companion Osana had brought with her from Hagustaldes, was kneeling by the well, scrubbing linen tunics on a wooden washing board, a cake of lye in hand.
“Good morning, sire,” she called out with a wide smile as he passed.
Aldfrith acknowledged her with a nod. The woman had looked miserable for the first days after Osana’s departure, yet two moons on she appeared to have recovered her spirits. Whenever Aldfrith saw her of late, she was smiling.
Aldfrith continued on to the orchard. The blossom had come and gone on the apple and pear trees here, and the branches were bright with tender new leaves. They were nearing the end of spring now, and soon the first tiny fruits would start to appear.
The orchard was Aldfrith’s favorite spot in Bebbanburg. Hidden away inside the inner palisade of the fort, it was a private space that only those who lived in the Great Tower had access to. Even so, the king often had the space to himself.
He wandered down the avenue between two rows of apple trees and breathed deeply, enjoying the heat of the sun on his back. Despite that it was peaceful in here, the sounds of daily life in the fort intruded: the clang of iron from the forges on the King’s Way, the shouts of vendors in the market square, and a burst of laughter from one of his warriors in the training yard behind the tower.
The sounds of life.
Today Aldfrith felt apart from it all. He did not like feeling so alone. In the past, he had sought solitude, reveled in it. Upon Iona there had been days in the winter, especially, when he would not see anyone; yet it had not mattered then. He had been lost with his reading and writing, his musing.
His thoughts no longer brought him solace. Instead, they had begun to torture him.
Reaching the far side of the orchard, he stopped before a low wooden bench. Aldfrith’s gaze settled upon it. It had been a mistake coming here, for this spot reminded him of Osana and the first time they had spoken.
He remembered how guilty she had looked, for she had been eating an apple when she stumbled upon him playing his harp. The conversation that had followed between them had been the most revealing of his life.
Osana had a way of challenging him that excited him, body and soul. Life with her would never be dull.
Enough … stop thinking of her.
Aldfrith turned away from the bench and walked back the way he had come. Argus trotted off and lifted his leg against a tree, oblivious to his master’s despair.
And despair it was.
It was an illness he could not shake. He had thought her absence would heal him, cleanse him, that life would go back to the way it was. Instead, with each passing day, he felt the lack of Osana in his life ever more keenly. He ached to see her, to hear the softness of her voice, to touch her soft skin.
Aldfrith swallowed a groan of frustration.Why do I torture myself so?
It seemed the more he tried to push her from his thoughts, the more Osana intruded.
