The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

to Tamworth. Settled once more into the comfort of the women’s bower, she would soon recover her spirits, of that she was sure. She demanded restorative drinks from Nesta and sat dreaming in the spring sunshine. And she wrote Elisedd a letter. ‘I would like to see your dragons and the beauty of your mountains and hear the songs of your heart.’ It was romantic foolishness, and she dared not say more. If they could but meet, she would tell him everything and they could be wed. Her father need not know where she had gone. Even in her most optimistic dreams she realised that to run away with the Prince of Powys would probably cause a war, all plans for the dyke forgotten. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to feel the strong arms of the prince around her, telling her all would be well.

She entrusted the letter to Burgred, confident that he could not read, promising him riches beyond his comprehension when he brought her back a response from the royal court at Mathrafal, and threatening him with dire consequences if he spoke of this to anyone.

Then she waited.

Burgred took the letter straight to the king. Offa read it then threw it on the fire. He turned to Burgred, his face contorted with anger. ‘How many times did she meet with this man alone?’

Burgred met the king’s gaze defiantly. ‘Only the once.’

‘Are you sure?’ Offa’s eyes, the colour of a jay’s wing-flash, were hard as iron.

Burgred felt himself quail. ‘Only the once, great king, and for no time at all.’

For barely a heartbeat Offa thought, then he looked up, his decision made. ‘You will return to Sutton and stay there. The princess will think you are on your way to deliver her letter and no more will be said of the matter.’

Burgred set out the same day, relieved to have got off so lightly, raising his hand in farewell to the guards at the gate, riding fast, zigzagging towards the west before giving up all pretence of heading towards Powys and turning south as instructed by the king to join one of the old Roman roads that would take him towards Worcester and beyond it Hereford. After a while he turned his horse off the road to follow a drovers trail across a lonely windswept hill and it was there, with no witnesses beyond the curlews, that Offa’s men caught up with him and cut his throat. Once the ravens and kites had finished with the body thrown into the rushes that bordered the lonely pool nearby, there was no trace that Burgred, the guardian of Princess Eadburh’s honour and the king’s messenger, had ever passed that way.

At the royal palace Eadburh waited in ever-growing despair. Why did Elisedd not reply to her letter? In her most secret dreams she had pictured him riding in from the west to claim her hand. In the end there was nothing for it but to tell her mother. Her mouth dry with fear, she waved Nesta away and drew the older woman to the far end of the herb garden. Making sure none of the weeding women were within earshot, mother and daughter set down their baskets and sat on the bench in the sheltered corner. ‘I have missed my courses for two months. I need a tincture to bring them on and I’m not sure which herbs to use.’ She tried to sound casual, to keep the desperation out of her voice.

She darted a glance sideways at her mother’s face. It was not reassuring. Cynefryth turned to look at her, and she saw the woman’s gaze drop to her stomach. ‘You are with child.’ The fury in her voice cut like a dagger bladed with ice.

‘No! No, I can’t be,’ she stammered. ‘It is some ailment. I have been feeling ill for several days. Vomiting …’ her voice died away.

‘You are with child,’ her mother repeated stonily. ‘If your father finds out he will kill you. I take it, it was that little Welsh snake.’ It seemed impossible that so few words could contain such hatred. ‘We sent him on his way too late; we gave him gifts instead of slicing off his manhood and garrotting him for the traitor spy he was!’

‘It wasn’t his fault, Mama. I thought we were to be married.’ Eadburh raised her chin defiantly.

‘You lie! You knew there was to be no marriage! And even had we considered it for a single instant, you couldn’t wait for a treaty to be signed? You dragged him into the bracken like a cottar’s whore?’

‘I love him.’

‘No. You were full of lust! You are a princess of the royal house of Pybba. You could have said no.’

Eadburh wanted to stamp her foot, but she forced herself to lower her eyes meekly. ‘It was my fault and it was for me to say yes or no. And I …’ she faltered, ‘I wanted it. I admit it. If Papa had arranged the marriage, there would have been no harm. It is his fault, not mine.’ A quick flash of defiance.

‘But there was no plan to marry you,’ her mother repeated angrily. ‘None. We told you so. Your eldest sister will be married first and only then will your father decide on suitable husbands for you and your sister.’

‘Then you must tell me what to do.’ Eadburh waited, as always wary of a mother whose temper was legendary.

Cynefryth tightened her lips. Her face was white and drawn. ‘I will procure the right ingredients from Nesta and make you a drink.’ She spoke so quietly that Eadburh had to lean closer to hear her words. ‘Have you confided in her?’

‘No, Mama.’

Cynefryth scanned her face then nodded, satisfied. Eadburh realised with sudden horror that her mother would allow no one to find out about this and live. ‘The mixture will make you sick and you will take to your bed, confiding in only one of your women to help you with