Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (13 page)

But his dreams seemed destined to belong to Freydis forever.

Eadwulf had caught Alfred’s eye on several occasions, but, as yet, no conversation between them had ensued. Alfred recognised him, he felt certain; the appraising amber gaze lasted just a little too long on each occasion. But there had always been others around, and Eadwulf somehow knew that Alfred declined to speak because of that.

Though Danes constantly lined the defensive ramparts, Eadwulf hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Ivar or Halfdan. If, at intervals, Danish warlords had appeared to assess the encircling foe, they were too distant to recognise. It seriously rankled him to be so close to men he was itching to get his hands on, but couldn’t.

*****

As the end of March neared it seemed that Burgred had come to the same conclusion as Eadwulf regarding the siege: it was achieving nothing. His uncle rode with an air of aplomb toward the nearest city gate, flanked by two of his men – one of whom carried the white flag of truce – to offer negotiations for a peaceful resolution. The Danes evidently reached a decision quickly; Burgred seemed to have been gone for barely moments.

Over the following few days, talks proceeded within Nottingham’s defences. Burgred kept the Wessex king and his own men informed of developments, and Wigstan, one of Mercia’s few select ealdormen permitted to accompany their king, apprised Eadwulf and Aethelnoth daily of the finer details. Eventually, wrangling over an acceptable tribute came to an end, and Burgred dispatched a contingent of men to Tamworth, his capital, with a letter bearing his seal. The missive instructed the counsellors he’d left in charge of the manor to release the specified sum to his messengers.

The journey there and back took them over a week, the wagon bearing the heavy bags of silver coin slowing them down considerably. Then, whilst the details of the ‘peace treaty’ were finalised, Aethelred’s armies struck camp and left for Wessex. The pact was between Mercia and the Danes, and did not involve Wessex in any way at all.

In the second week of April the Danes made a mass return to York. Nottingham was free, at last, and Mercian armies could also go home.

*****

Elston, Mercia: late April 868

Eadwulf handed the bawling infant to the outstretched arms of her mother, the look of such panic on his face causing fits of laughter to erupt from those still gathered in the hall after the morning meal.

‘Leofwynn’s cutting another tooth, that’s all,’ Leoflaed assured him with a smile. ‘Don’t worry, she hasn’t taken aversion to you yet.’

Eadwulf attempted to return his wife’s smile. ‘Does that mean she may well do so before long?’

‘That depends on how much she sees of you over the next few months, I suppose,’ Leoflaed replied. ‘If you become a virtual stranger to her, she may well scream at the sight of you. On the other hand, she could turn out to be the kind of child that smiles at anyone who smiles at her.’

‘I think it’ll be the latter on that score, my friend,’ Aethelnoth consoled, ‘seeing that she always giggles at my hairy face. If anyone’s going to frighten the mite, it’ll be me.’

Eadwulf harrumphed, not convinced. ‘Well, I hadn’t planned on going anywhere just yet, so I suppose I’ll have to see how things progress. But that’s twice Leofwynn’s screamed as soon as I’ve picked her up.’

‘Then there’s your answer,’ Jorund put in. ‘You’re not getting your timing right. As I recall, the last time she howled at you, she was over-tired. Remember, Eadwulf, you lifted her out of her pen because she was already chuntering? You can’t expect her to want to play if all she needs is sleep.’

Thankful for at least one amenable offspring, Eadwulf glanced down at the smiling six-year-old sitting at his side. ‘I can’t recall Aethelred ever bawling at me,’ he grouched. ‘But perhaps boys are different . . .’

More than a little embarrassed by the outright guffaws, Eadwulf clammed up.

They’d been back now for over a week and life had taken on a welcomed normality. Jorund had been more than irked at not being allowed to accompany them to Nottingham. According to Odella, he’d griped about it for weeks. But on hearing that they hadn’t seen any familiar faces amongst the Danes, he was soon mollified.

Both Eadwulf and Aethelnoth were disappointed at not having even glimpsed either Ivar or Halfdan, despite being relieved that – as far as they knew – the brothers had not spotted
them
either. The terms of the so-called treaty between Mercia and the Danes were a source of concern, too. The enormous payment made was obscene, particularly as Mercia was already in financial difficulty. Hostages had been exchanged, as was to be expected, but the fact that Burgred should offer friendship to the Danes was worrying. And just how far this ‘friendship’ would be stretched remained to be seen.

Thirteen

Winchcombe, Mercia:
early
May 868

Had she but known it, Ealhswith had reacted to proposals for her forthcoming marriage with as much indignation as had her intended husband. She had gaped at Ealdorman Mucel, her father, in stunned silence. Marriage . . .? She didn’t want to get married; not yet anyway. She was happy here in Winchcombe with her parents, who tended to overlook her existence at times. This situation suited Ealhswith, since it left her free to pursue her own interests, like riding out with her older brother, Aethelwulf, exploring the lovely Cotswold countryside, or sitting quietly, hidden away in some corner of the estate, reading the texts she loved so much. Or watching snowflakes fall in the depth of winter, and dust motes dancing in the sunbeams pouring through the open windows of the hall. Or simply daydreaming . . .

Having contemplated the situation for over a month, Ealhswith had gradually come around to thinking that marriage to the Wessex king’s brother might not be such a bad idea after all. As the daughter of an ealdorman, she already lived quite a privileged life. Yes, she had some responsibilities about the hall, especially now that she was sixteen. There were servants to direct at mealtimes, and ale and mead to be served. And sometimes she was needed to work at the looms or on a new tapestry, which she hated. But, as the wife of the second most important man in Wessex, Ealhswith would have a status to be envied amongst women. Not that she coveted power, or fine clothes and jewellery. She just didn’t like people telling her what to do all the time. If she wanted to go out riding, or take a walk, why should it cause such a palaver? As an important wife, she hoped she could simply suit herself.

Of course, Ealhswith knew that her new husband would have designs on at least some of her time; she wasn’t such a child as to believe she would escape her responsibilities in the bed chamber. And by next year she could even be a mother. She baulked at that idea, dismissed it quickly and resumed her thoughts of Alfred . . .

For a start, she’d heard some very uncomplimentary tales about the number of women he’d used and abandoned, and wondered what Alfred of Wessex was really like. Tittle-tattle had never interested Ealhswith. Most of it was either total fabrication or exaggeration in any case. But, perhaps there could be some small seed of truth buried in its midst. Would Alfred treat a wife with equal disdain?

Tomorrow she would accompany her parents to Chippenham to meet Alfred and his brother, King Aethelred. Nervous as she was, she was pleased that, soon, she’d be able to put a face to the man who’d dominated her thoughts in recent weeks.

*****

Chippenham, Wessex
:
mid May, 868

Afternoon sunlight beamed down on the royal hall at Chippenham, affording the approaching Mercians a cheerful welcome. Waiting in anxious anticipation, the West Saxons adopted cordial smiles and emerged from the straw-thatched hall, King Aethelred at the fore. A pace behind his brother, beside Brihtnoth, the Wiltshire ealdorman, Alfred struggled to appear cheerful. Having not yet resigned himself to the idea of becoming espoused, he felt his affable expression slip entirely as the visiting party came to a halt.

Battling the sensation of pending doom, he watched the escort of warriors dismount, and two of them head for the back of the covered wagon to assist the ageing Ealdorman Mucel and his wife and daughter to alight. His expression morphed into a puzzled frown when he realised that Ealhswith had not emerged.

Did he feel affronted or relieved that she hadn’t come . . . ?

Before Alfred’s deliberations could progress further, two riders trotted into view. One of them was a young woman, her gold-brown hair glinting in the sunlight. The pair reined to a stop beside the wagon and smiled down at the gaping faces.

‘My sister and I beg pardon for our late arrival, my lord,’ the young man said, addressing King Aethelred. Beside him, the smiling girl’s gaze suddenly locked with Alfred’s, who quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring. ‘We were delayed by an encounter with a young deer, struggling at the side of the path, a mile or so from here,’ the young man continued. ‘The creature’s forelegs had become entangled in a length of discarded twine and we couldn’t just leave it to suffer. By the time we’d disentangled it, our party had moved some distance ahead.’

‘Such kindness to a stricken animal does you both credit . . . Lord Aethelwulf?’ Aethelred said, raising his eyebrows. The young man replied politely in the affirmative. ‘And a moment or two’s lateness is quite understandable in this instance.’ Aethelred suddenly grinned. ‘At this point it seems appropriate to add that you have a very commendable name, one very dear to our family.’ He did not have to explain further. King Aethelwulf’s name and reputation reached far and wide. Once the murmurs of agreement abated, he turned to address the young woman. ‘And you must be Lady Ealhswith . . .’

Ealhswith jumped nimbly down, and stepped toward him to accept the welcome. Aethelred’s grin at her proficient dismount caused her smile to widen considerably, and the two embraced warmly, as though they’d known each other for years. Seeming to suddenly remember his manners, Aethelred moved to shake Ealdorman Mucel’s hand. ‘You are most welcome to Chippenham, my lord,’ he said, and turned to include the mature lady at Mucel’s side in his greeting. ‘As are you, Lady Eadburh.’ Meeting only a frosty stare and stiff curtsy, Aethelred bowed and returned his attentions to the smiling ealdorman. ‘We hope you’ll find our hospitality favourable and that the arrangements we’re here to discuss can be completed to everyone’s satisfaction.’

Aethelred gestured to Alfred to join them and, grinning at his brother’s affronted expression at Lady Eadburh’s snub, Alfred stepped forward to be introduced to his future parents-by-marriage.

‘Lord Mucel and Lady Eadburh, may I present my brother, Alfred,’ Aethelred said. Alfred bowed courteously and offered his own polite welcome to the seemingly mismatched pair as Ealhswith came to join them.

‘I believe you’ve already been introduced to our daughter, my lord,’ Mucel said, grinning at Aethelred before returning his attentions to Alfred. ‘So, Lord Alfred, might I present our daughter, Ealhswith to you . . .’

Ealhswith curtsied most elegantly, Alfred noted, and he offered a flamboyant bow in response. Her amused smile at his obvious play-acting lit up her face, and Alfred was becoming increasingly intrigued by this vivacious creature.

Of medium height for a woman, the top of Ealhswith’s head reached up to Alfred’s chin. She looked fit and well toned. Her simple riding gown clung alluringly to supple curves beneath her short riding cloak and her lovely hair gleamed as it flowed, sheet-like, down her back, its golden hues complemented by the creamy tones of her skin. Big, expressive eyes dominated her face, at this moment reflecting appraisal of him, much in the same way, Alfred imagined, as his own eyes would reflect his own assessment of her.

With a gracious smile, Alfred proffered his arm, and Ealhswith accepted it, her smile matching his own. Together they headed for the waiting hosts, to enable Ealhswith to be introduced to Alfred’s family and attendant nobles.

*****

The evening meal had the feel of a celebratory feast which, Alfred supposed, it was. Beeswax candles and soapstone oil lamps flickered merrily, endeavouring to compete with the bright glow from the hearthfire. Alfred’s brother was in good spirits, engaged in jovial conversation with Ealhswith’s easy-going father, who occupied the place of honour to his right. But, at Mucel’s side, the Lady Eadburh dined in silence, concentrating on cutting her food into pieces small enough to pass between her tight lips. Since she was a guest of the Wessex king, Alfred deemed her pompous and blatantly rude behaviour to be quite unacceptable. Her religious zeal was no excuse for incivility. And when it came to piety, there weren’t many to match Aethelred, or even Alfred himself, come to that. But Aethelred was always courteous and extremely genial, and Alfred tried hard to match him.

At his brother’s left tonight, Alfred wondered whether Lady Eadburh’s silence was simply a ploy to enable her to eavesdrop on the various conversations in order to find something to complain about to her husband later. He smiled to himself, realising he was allowing his imagination to override his better judgement. But he’d simply not taken to Ealhswith’s mother. Even the name, Eadburh, made him shudder. It was a name despised by Wessex nobility, a reminder of a time, decades before, when another Mercian woman called Eadburh had been crowned as Queen of Wessex, after which she plotted to bring about the downfall of her husband, King Beorhtric, for her father, the mighty Mercian Bretwalda, Offa.

Ealhswith herself was seated beside Aethelred’s wife, Lady Wulfrida, and attempting to appear immersed in Wulfrida’s endless chatter regarding her infant son’s development. It seemed that Aethelhelm, at just a year old, had achieved quite miraculous levels in both physical development and language. Alfred sent Ealhswith his silent sympathies as Wulfrida proceeded to spout forth regarding the manifold discomforts of expecting a second child so soon after the first.

The meal passed pleasantly and once the tables had been cleared, the company sat back to converse quietly and sip their mead to the lulling tones of the lute player. Aethelred and Mucel delivered speeches regarding the importance of fortifying Wessex and Mercian unity, which were followed by discussions pertaining to the date and location of the marriage ceremony. And when, at last, all formalities were completed, and general conversation resumed, Alfred managed to find a few moments to sit alone with Ealhswith at a table away from the flapping ears of their respective families.

To some men, Alfred considered, Ealhswith’s direct, unabashed gaze, could have been quite disconcerting. He also noted that, at certain angles, her eyes appeared to be distinctly blue; at others, a definite green. This, he realised on closer inspection, was because her irises were a combination of both colours: a basic, vivid blue, but dotted with specks of green. The overall colour seemed to depend upon how the light from the hearthfire and oil lamps caught them. Out in the sunlight, they would undoubtedly be quite beguiling.

‘You are evidently an accomplished rider, my lady,’ Alfred began, opening the way towards better acquaintance. He was of the opinion that, if the personality was found to be lacking, physical beauty mattered little. Of course, beauty was important in some ways. Naturally, he didn’t want his heirs to live with the stigma of ugliness. But he wanted more from a wife than a mere body to warm his bed and bear his children. He wanted someone with intelligence, someone he could confide in; a woman who would listen and offer advice, and share his worst times as well as his happiest. In return, Alfred would offer such a woman not only his endless love, but his deepest respect and loyalty. His eyes would never again be tempted to stray to the tender body of another.

‘I am simply Ealhswith, if it pleases my lord.’

Alfred grinned, unsurprised at her candour. ‘Then, to you, I shall simply be Alfred. And I quite agree with you,’ he said, leaning close to her, ‘titles can be unbearably stuffy.’

‘To answer your question, Alfred,’ Ealhswith continued, the corners of her mouth still upturned at his reply, ‘riding gives me great pleasure. It is something I’ve loved since I could barely walk. My father taught me to ride and always took me out, before his old legs got the better of him. Now he can’t even mount a horse.’ She nodded at her brother sitting with their mother. ‘Aethelwulf usually accompanies me now. We share a love of the open countryside. He has a passion for birds, and indeed, anything furry or scaly that moves!’

Alfred smiled at the image. ‘And you?’

‘I just like to be out, riding into the wind, with my hair streaming behind me. Sometimes I long to feel the warm sun on my cheeks, or the sharp sting of raindrops . . .’ She paused, frowning. ‘I know you must think me an unruly creature. But that isn’t so. I love my parents and brother dearly, and I always try to be a dutiful daughter, respectful and helpful. It’s just that I can’t bear to be cooped up inside – especially when my mother insists I should work at embroidery.’

‘Well, I can appreciate that embroidery could be construed a most tedious task,’ Alfred agreed, amused by her wrinkled nose. ‘And I share your love of riding, and vast, open spaces. As indeed, does my sister, Aethelswith, with whom you are doubtless acquainted?’

‘Queen Aethelswith is one of the kindest and most beautiful ladies I’ve ever encountered, although I was not aware of her love of riding. We’ve only met during stately occasions, indoors of course. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but our queen has never seemed the happiest of people. Her husband, our king . . . Again, forgive my directness, Alfred, but there’s just something about King Burgred that I find–’

‘Distasteful, perhaps?’

‘Certainly that, but so much more. I find him calculating, humourless and utterly hard-hearted.’

Alfred’s laugh was grim. ‘You needn’t list Burgred’s graces to me, Ealhswith. If Aethelred wasn’t so polite, he’d tell you how I’ve loathed the man since I was four. He’s never been good enough for Aethelswith. In fact, I’ll go as far as saying that I believe he’s made her life a misery.’

Ealhswith’s shocked expression at the vehemence in Alfred’s voice rapidly changed to one of amusement. ‘Then perhaps we’ve more in common than we originally thought,’ she said.

‘I sincerely hope you’re right,’ Alfred replied, considering that even the idea of sharing his life with someone with whom he was constantly at odds was simply too daunting. He recalled the deep, abiding love between his own parents, and hoped to find the same. He glanced at the cheerful Mucel, then at the pouting Eadburh, and grimaced. Like mother, like daughter . . .?

But another look at Ealhswith’s candid gaze washed away such thoughts and, greatly comforted, Alfred took her hand and smiled.