Promises In The Night

Bertha's Tale: A Novel - episode 9

These twice-monthly instalments of my serialised historical fiction novel are just for my members only. The beauty of early Anglo-Saxon history, for fiction writers, is that the surviving written record is so tiny that we can create these stories suggesting what their lives might have been like. To access this content, you can subscribe below and join our wonderful community of like-minded souls. We’d love to have you!

Palace of Eormenric, king of Kent and overlord of all kingdoms south of the Humber

Canterbury

c. A.D. 580.

Hild looked towards the door as it burst open and Æthelberht, the prince, stumbled in. The door had given way more easily than he’d thought it would, swinging open as he’d leant his full weight on it. He managed to stay on his feet - just - but he’d swayed to a comical, almost horizontal position: feet planted outside the threshold, hand gripping the door handle, head about to crash to the floor before he managed to right himself.

He looked up at Hild, sitting on the bed nursing their daughter Æthelthryth. His eyes were only half open and he was stifling a laugh as he whispered, “Shh…,” his finger to his lips. “Sorry.”

Hild had left the feast early, claiming to be called by the cries of her little one when she really just couldn’t bear to watch her husband flirting with another woman, especially another woman who was soon to be her rival for his marriage bed. It was just one week until Æthelberht would marry Bertha as arranged by his father, King Eormenric. It should have been a political contract and no more; but Hild had seen the way Æthelberht’s eyes lit up when he looked at his betrothed, the same way that they had only ever lit up for her.

When Æthelthryth was born, Hild had declined the offer of a wet-nurse, preferring to feed her herself. She didn’t like the thought of someone else having this intimacy with her child, as close a bond with her baby as she did. It raised a few eyebrows amongst the older women in the Kentish court, but Hild didn’t mind that. She wanted to do things the way her mother had done, leaning into the way her body moulded around the needs of her child. And anyway, she quite liked the idea that those wanting to do things ‘properly’ disapproved of her rebellion: they cared only about appearances amongst other royal dynasties, rather than what was best for her or her child.

Æthelberht slammed the door loudly behind him and Hild felt a jolt of frustration pass through her. He was usually more careful and loved his daughter dearly, treasured her. He looked across to the bed, a semi-conscious smile directed towards Hild. It was meant to be affectionate, she was sure, but in reality it added to her irritation with him.

She watched as he fumbled around the room getting himself undressed. How was this the man who would one day be their king, their valiant warrior who would defend them against armies that encroached by land and by sea? He seemed unable to control his own body, let alone a kingdom.