Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (14 page)

Fourteen

Sutton Courtenay, Berkshire, Wessex: late June 868

On the last Wednesday of June, Alfred and Ealhswith were married at the royal estate of Sutton Courtenay. It was a truly beautiful venue, located in the glorious Vale of White Horse, on the Thames border between Wessex and Mercia. Two miles to the north was the town of Abingdon with its magnificent old abbey, and seven miles to the south-east stood Alfred’s own vill at Wantage.

The weather held bright and sunny on the day of the ceremony. A light breeze carried scents of wild garlic from across the Vale, and trees proudly lofted their verdant foliage. Fledgling birds hopped, open-beaked, pursuing overtaxed parents for grubs and seeds, and brightly coloured butterflies fluttered by.

After spending what seemed like hours donning his finest clothes and having his thick, wheat-coloured hair suitably trimmed, Alfred headed for the white-stoned church, his grinning brother at his side. There he would make his vows to the woman he had come to love. As he walked, he drank in the fragrance of the June day, thinking of his coming honeymoon. During the few weeks they planned to spend at Wantage, he and Ealhswith could ride out across the Vale, or up the steep, scarp slope of the chalk ridge to the ancient trackway known as the Great Ridgeway, and gallop to their hearts’ content.

Ealhswith looked radiant in her wedding apparel, her beauty taking Alfred’s breath away as she entered the large nave, crammed with smiling guests from across their two kingdoms, including the Mercian king and his wife, Alfred’s beloved sister, Aethelswith. Ealhswith’s pale yellow gown, decorated with colourful trims depicting florets and spirals, complemented her silky, gold-brown hair, on which sat a circlet of amber-hued rosebuds. Her large, aquamarine eyes seemed fixed on Alfred. The bouquet she carried was a heady combination of wild roses and bright meadow flowers. He glanced at Aethelswith, smiling beside her dour-faced husband, suddenly reminded of the anger and confusion he’d felt on her wedding day. So long ago now . . .

Then the voices of the choir were soaring, cutting off the memories, and Alfred led Ealhswith to the church doorway behind the priest in his trailing robes. And as they made their vows to each other, it suddenly seemed to Alfred that, at that moment, no one else existed in the entire world.

*****

The wedding feast was a grand affair. For three days the vast assortment of foods and delicacies on the trestles inside Sutton Courtenay’s spacious hall were continuously replenished. Musicians played and minstrels sang, and the festive hours were enjoyed by all. Alfred tucked into the succulent meats, the cheeses, freshly baked breads and honeyed desserts with a relish suggestive of previous weeks of near starvation. Nor did he ration himself when it came to downing mead, or sampling the fine Rhenish wines.

Beside her new husband, Ealhswith nibbled and sipped. Although she enjoyed her food as much as the next person, she knew her limits. Over-indulgence in rich foods and strong drink was not for her. She kept a wary eye on Alfred, who seemed to be suffering no ill-effects from his voracity, other than the gaping yawns toward the end of each day. But, tired or not, Alfred proved to be the perfect husband in the bedchamber, initiating her into the tender art of lovemaking with gentleness and feeling. Ealhswith thanked God that Alfred had not transpired to be one of those husbands who sated their own lust with callous brutality, overlooking a new wife’s need for sensitive and loving understanding.

By late afternoon of the final day of the celebrations, Alfred complained of stomach cramps and a feeling of nausea that seemed to wash over him in waves. Not unduly concerned, Ealhswith expressed her sympathies, and playfully suggested that, perhaps, he should forego the goblet of wine and almond cakes he’d been enjoying.

But soon, Alfred was clutching his belly. His face had blanched, contorted by a rictus grin and gritted teeth as he fought to overcome the pain. His body was rigid, his fists clenched, and his breaths fast and shallow. Ealhswith rose to call out for aid, but she understood the raised fingers and almost imperceptible shake of Alfred’s head to mean her to wait. Her eyes searched for Aethelred, knowing that if her husband’s pain continued, she’d be compelled to disobey him . . . Instead she found Aethelswith, already hurrying toward them.

‘My lady,’ Ealhswith said, curtsying as her new sister-by-marriage reached them. Across the room, Burgred continued his conversation with those around him, his wife’s movements unnoticed. ‘Alfred is quite unwell and needs to be helped to our room,’ Ealhswith continued, unable to conceal the anxiety that had now taken hold. ‘He’s in considerable pain, and nauseous – and I know he would not wish to disgrace himself before our guests.’

‘No, I would not,’ Alfred said, the effort of speaking causing him further agony.’ After moments of grimacing silence, he added, ‘And I beg you both to explain my plight to anyone who asks as no more than an upset stomach.’

‘You think it is not, brother?’ At Alfred’s slight nod, the worried look on Aethelswith’s face intensified to match that on Ealhswith’s. ‘But what else could it be? Stomach pains are generally the result of too much food and drink, and I daresay everyone in the hall has observed your indulgences over the past few days.’

Another harrowing pain forestalled Alfred’s reply, almost doubling him over. Opportunely, the wedding guests were now singing merrily with a group of musicians and no one noticed.

Ealhswith grabbed the moment. ‘I’ll need your help to move Alfred into our room, Lady Aethelswith,’ she said, without stopping to think. Suddenly feeling mortified at the realisation that people simply did not ask the Queen of Mercia to perform menial tasks, she put in quickly, ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I was not thinking. I’ll summon a servant, of course.’

But Aethelswith’s reassuring smile put an end to her embarrassment. ‘Of course I’ll help you, sister. If Alfred can manage to walk, that is . . .’

‘I can try, but I’ll probably stagger like a drunkard,’ Alfred panted, struggling to fix his features into an inebriated grin as his wife and sister each took an elbow and slowly escorted him from the room. Anyone who glanced in their direction was offered a smiling explanation by Ealhswith regarding the state of imbalance of her husband’s digestive juices, and his need to retire until they settled.

Once he was safely in the marital bed, Alfred waved their administrations away, declaring his desire for solitude, and even greater desire to appear well and hearty when the wedding guests took their leave in the morning. Although not convinced of the wisdom of leaving him alone, Ealhswith and Aethelswith did as requested and returned to the hall to ensure the guests that there was no call for concern regarding Alfred’s well-being. It seemed likely, they claimed, that the oysters, followed by unaccustomed amounts of wine, had had quite an undesirable effect.

*****

Obdurate determination alone enabled Alfred to abandon his bed the following morning. Ealhswith helped him to dress, having already fetched warm water and linen cloths from the hall in order to bathe his sweating body. She had crept beside him beneath the furs last night, thinking him to be soundly asleep – an impression all too soon proven false. Alfred had spent much of the night writhing in agony, only succumbing to fitful slumbers during the couple of hours before dawn. Ealhswith had felt so helpless. There was just nothing she could do. Love and sympathy alone could not afford him salve.

Throughout the wakeful hours, Ealhswith had pondered on Aethelswith and their earlier conversation. Now past her thirtieth birthday, Alfred’s sister was still an exceptionally beautiful lady, and Ealhswith couldn’t help hoping she’d age half as well herself. Around the edges of her light head covering, golden hair gleamed, a shade or two fairer than Ealhswith’s own. Her blue eyes held an expression that Ealhswith found hard to fathom. It could have been sadness, or perhaps resignation. But when she spoke of Alfred, Aethelswith’s love lit up her face, and her eyes took on a vivacity of their own. That the Mercian queen still missed the family she’d left behind in Wessex after sixteen years of marriage could not be concealed.

Ealhswith had felt a sudden frisson of alarm that, before long, she may feel the same way. But she looked at Alfred, and knew she would never want to leave his side. Whereas Aethelswith had only Burgred . . . Again she felt that shudder of distaste as she thought of her people’s king. Cold, grim-faced Burgred. If there had ever been love between them, Aethelswith and Burgred had lost it somewhere along the way.

Not surprisingly, Aethelswith said little about her husband, other than to relate his anxieties over the siege of Nottingham. But her delight in her pretty daughter, ten-year-old Mildrede, who’d relished the attention given her at the wedding feast, brought a glow of pride to Aethelswith’s face.

As the early June dawn pervaded the shadowy corners of their chamber, Ealhswith had sensed Alfred rousing again, and quickly risen and dressed in readiness for devoting her attentions to him. Though tired and sluggish herself, it was evident that Alfred would not cope without her help. But once washed and garbed he put on a brave face and practised his movements until they appeared unaffected by his pains, which had eased but by no means completely abated during the night.

He endured the morning meal, feigning light-hearted banter, laughing off his upset stomach as perfectly normal for a new husband at his own marriage feast. Only Ealhswith, at Alfred’s side, observed his hand pressing his cramping abdomen beneath the table top, and his occasional, sharp intakes of breath – or that he was nibbling the edges of the same piece of bread. No more than a few sips of well-watered ale actually passed through his lips. The guests were all too busy conveying their thanks to Aethelred and Wulfrida for their exemplary hospitality and the superlative standard of the feast to notice.

Expressing heartfelt thanks for the many wedding gifts, Ealhswith stood outside with her ailing husband beside King Aethelred and his wife as each of the guests eventually took their leave. The most difficult of partings for Alfred was that of his beloved sister, and Ealhswith did not miss the moist eyes of either. For herself, the tears at her own family’s departure evaporated in light of her intense worries for Alfred.

*****

Aethelred moved between Alfred and Ealhswith, draping an arm around their shoulders once they were back inside the hall. ‘So, when do our newlyweds intend to head off to Wantage?’

Alfred frowned, seeming unsure of what to say, and Ealhswith averted her eyes as she, too, considered whether she could offer a plausible answer – one acceptable to both Alfred and the king. She wasn’t even sure whether Alfred wanted his brother to know of this strange affliction that affected him.

‘I hope your silence doesn’t mean you’ve had your first disagreement already,’ Aethelred jested, his impish gaze turning from one to the other before settling on Alfred. ‘You could at least have waited until you reached your own vill, brother.’

Ealhswith watched Alfred arrange his pallid face into the semblance of a smile. ‘We hope to take our leave within the next day or two, Aethelred,’ he said. ‘I just need a little time to allow those cursed oysters to be completely ousted from my gut.’

‘I do hope you realise exactly what you’ve taken on with my dear brother, Lady Ealhswith,’ Aethelred said, grinning at her. Alfred’s never been one to mince his words, so I hope his blunt descriptions of bodily functions don’t offend you. I’ve had to put up with them for years . . .’

‘I would be more offended if he were not plain-spoken, my lord. I, myself, do not believe in coating my words in honey. It serves no purpose, other than to deceive.’ Ealhswith glanced guiltily at Alfred, realising that, at that very moment, they were both deceiving the Wessex king.

‘Then, you’re more perfectly matched than I could have hoped,’ Aethelred replied with a sincere smile. ‘And I couldn’t be happier for you both. Marriages for the purpose of alliance making are all too often unhappy ones. But I can see that you two will get along famously.’ He paused and took a breath, as though about to add something else, but evidently deciding against it. ‘But, regarding the next few weeks,’ he resumed, ‘once you and your entourage have departed, I intend to move the court on to Wilton, as planned. We’ll be there until the end of August, when we’ll move on to Somerset. Wedmore’s a delightful estate in early autumn, and it’s over two years since we were there. You have my full leave, Alfred, to stay in Wantage throughout the summer. I know how much that vill means to you. But I want you at my side by September. Your advice and support are invaluable to me.'

*****

Wantage, Berkshire: July to late August 868

The long summer weeks passed by in a succession of fun-filled days, and warm, heady nights devoted to fervent lovemaking. Even the sprinkling of rainy days did nothing to mar Alfred and Ealhswith’s pleasure in each other. Alfred felt that his life’s deepest desire had been fulfilled. Ealhswith was all he could have ever hoped for in a wife, and he grudgingly acknowledged that he owed thanks to Burgred for suggesting her.

They had left Sutton Courtenay two days after the wedding feast – the gruelling pains having taken that long to abate – arriving at Wantage, a mere seven miles away, over three hours later. After years of travelling between the various royal manors with the Wessex Court, Alfred was accustomed to the trundling rate of wagons filled with servants and goods, and since the day was fine, there had been no real need for haste. He had entrusted their safe passage to his large entourage of mounted warriors, leaving himself and his exuberant wife free to enjoy the views as they rode.

The vill at Wantage had been Alfred’s natural choice of primary residence. It was one of several estates bequeathed to him in his father’s will, although they had all remained under the custodianship of the successive Wessex kings – Alfred’s older brothers – until he’d become a married man. But Wantage was special. Not only was it Alfred’s place of birth, he had spent many happy weeks here as a boy and his passion for the vill, and its lovely surroundings, had never waned. Another of his endowed estates was at nearby Lambourn, and Alfred had taken great pleasure in introducing his new wife to the reeves at each.