15
Bebbanburg, Bernicia. November 10, AD 642
“There,” Celyn said, pulling Arawn to a halt as they rounded a corner in the road. “Bebbanburg.”
Thomas squinted in the direction of Celyn’s pointing finger, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off the ocean waves on his right. A dramatic upthrust of land, crowned by a large building, jutted up from the horizon. Smoke drifted up from the structure as well as from the walled village, which huddled at the bottom of the rocky hill.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The thought of meeting the King of Bernicia tied his stomach in knots. The ten days that had passed since his failed escape had not served to decrease his anxiety at the thought of his arrival at Celyn’s home. If anything, it had only incr
