“Smoke from the fire pit at the heart of Penda’s tent drifted lazily towards the opening above. Outside, torches that had been staked into the ground, framed either-side of the entrance. They burned gently; their flames licking up at the moths dancing around them. Mist snaked through the Mercian encampment in the aftermath of battle. There was little movement in the encampment. The muffled cries and groans of the wounded was one of the few sounds, apart from the low timbre of men’s voices inside... the tents. Inside the king’s tent, Penda of Mercia poured himself a cup of mead and stood watching the glowing embers of his fire pit. The tent was a cavernous space, with the king’s sleeping area curtained off at one end. Heavy tapestries hung from the walls and rush-matting had been rolled out over the floor. Although temporary, it was a comfortable and kingly abode. A magnificent, blood-stained sword hung from one of the tapestries: Æthelfrith’s Bane. The axeman who had slain Ecgric of Exning had pried the sword from his victim’s dead hands and brought it to his king as a trophy. Penda paid little attention to his surroundings.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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