Born of the Sun by Joan Wolf Page B

cold fingers in her lap to keep them from shaking too visibly. She tasted blood. Edwin’s teeth had cut her lip.
    Dear Blessed Jesus, she prayed. Help me. The noise in the hall was deafening. Please, please, dear Lord. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her short nails cut into her palms.
    “Try to look happy, you little fool,” said the queen beside her. “Remember you are to be a bride.”

    Three days before the wedding of Niniane and Edwin was to take place, Cynric took a bodyguard and rode into Venta to give justice. Cutha went with him, to interpret and to advise. They were not gone two hours before Edwin challenged Ceawlin to a duel.
    Duels were not uncommon among the Saxons. In Winchester, dueling was a prestigious way of ending rivalries and quarrels. It was considered both a recreation and a sport. The rules were strictly formulated to avoid serious injury although injury did occasionally occur. A duel was fought until the judge ruled that one of the participants had been officially disarmed. Then everyone usually retired to the great hall to get drunk.
    There was no one in Winchester, however, who expected that a duel between the two princes would be at all usual. The bad blood between Edwin and Ceawlin went far beyond the kind of quarrel that was normally settled on the dueling ground. Both Guthfrid and Fara made attempts to dissuade their sons from an action that both mothers perceived as far too dangerous.
    “Why did you challenge him?” Guthfrid asked her son as soon as she closed the door of her sleeping room behind him to give them privacy. “You know how good Ceawlin is with a sword, Edwin! Are you mad?”
    Edwin was pale with fury, his brown eyes so lightless they looked almost black in the pallor of his face. “I can bear him no more.” His voice was flat, cold, and absolutely final.
    “But what did he do?”
    “What he always does. Tried to take what was mine.”
    “What did he try to take?”
    “He knows Hilda sleeps in my bed. He tried to take her away from me. I saw him smiling at her.”
    “Smiling at her!” Guthfrid almost screamed the words. “What do you care about Hilda?”
    “I don’t care about Hilda. But she is mine.” The set, white look on his face had not changed.
    Guthfrid put her hand on his arm. “Edwin, my son, listen to me. This duel … he could hurt you.”
    “He won’t. He is afraid to hurt me. But I am going to hurt him.” The lightless eyes fixed themselves on Guthfrid’s frantic face. “Don’t worry, Mother.” He sounded irritated, impatient. “I will be safe. And I promise you that today will see the end of the bastard and all his ambition.” He pulled his arm out of her grasp. “Now I must go and collect my weapons. Come to the dueling grounds with me, if you like, and see what I mean.”
    For the first time in the history of their relationship, Guthfrid and Fara were in agreement about something. Fara was so concerned about the proposed duel that she sent a man into Venta to bring back Cynric, even though she knew it would not be possible for the king to return to Winchester in time.
    “I hoped that just the threat of the king’s return would force them to wait. It seems I was wrong,” Fara said to Sigurd shortly after her messenger had ridden out of Winchester for Venta.
    “I am sorry, my lady.” Sigurd’s voice was gentle. He had come to the women’s hall in answer to Ceawlin’s mother’s summons and he had come reluctantly. “Ceawlin cannot in honor draw back. Edwin was the one to challenge him.”
    “But it is so foolish! All because Ceawlin smiled at one of the bower girls!”
    “Edwin was just looking for an excuse, my lady. Everyone knows that.”
    “Sigurd”—Fara’s white face was piteous—“cannot you persuade Ceawlin to wait for his father?”
    “If he would not listen to you, my lady, be sure that he will not listen to me.”
    “I could not move him.”
    “I’m not surprised,” Sigurd said frankly. “I saw