The Edge of Light (38 page)

He had gone to Guthrum seeking aid for the achievement of that vow, but he did not entirely trust his uncle. Guthrum would help him, true enough, but Erlend was not sure who would end up as lord of Nasgaard once Asmund was driven out: himself or Guthrum.

Consequently, Erlend had determined that he needed a champion other than Guthrum if he were to see his rights restored in Denmark. Halfdan, he thought, could be such a champion. A son of Ragnar Lothbrok was still a power in Denmark. If Halfdan would stand up for him, then Erlend thought he could oust Asmund from his wrongfully held lands and still manage to keep them clear of his uncle’s big-fisted grasp.

If only Erlend could somehow put Halfdan into his debt … if he could find a weapon to put into Halfdan’s hand that would assist the Danes in their conquest of Wessex.

For Wessex was not going to be easily taken. The Danes had beaten Alfred again and again, yet still he had come back. He had ambushed so many of the raiding parties the Danes had sent out from Wilton to plunder the countryside that Halfdan had eventually decided to move his army back to Reading. In fact, Alfred had made such an effective nuisance of himself that when eventually he sued for peace, Halfdan had accepted with alacrity.

Treachery from within. That was what Erlend was seeking in this new venture into Alfred’s court. West Saxon or Dane, it did not matter, all men were out for their own aggrandizement. Erlend had taken as his mission the task of finding the weakest link in Alfred’s defenses. This was a king who had taken the throne over the better right of others. There would be someone who hated him, someone who would be willing to betray him. Erlend would find that someone.

This might be the way to Alfred’s downfall.

Only the king’s companion thanes were attending him at Wantage, and it was Brand who recognized and went to welcome Erlend as he came in through the gates of the royal manor. The young thane had ridden in himself but a moment before and was handing his horse over to a groomsman when he spied Erlend.

“Welcome, Harper,” he said as he came to meet Erlend in the center of the courtyard. “You come in good time. Alfred’s harper is ill and we have been reduced to listening to my own poor strumming these past two nights.”

Erlend smiled. “That is a fine welcome indeed, my lord. I shall be most happy to play for the king.”

“Come along,” said Brand, placing a friendly hand on Erlend’s arm, “and I shall find you a bench to sleep upon.”

Erlend walked beside Brand toward the great wooden hall of Wantage. This manor, he saw, was not as large as the one at Wilton. Here there were but three living halls, all smaller than the ones Erlend had seen last spring at Wilton. There were few men in the courtyard this time of day, but the hall benches were full when Erlend followed Brand in through the great door. The fire in the central hearth was burning brightly, but the smoke was drifting high and going out the smoke hole in the roof. Erlend slowed his steps and looked around, admiring the great tapestry depicting a white horse that hung over the high seat. The hall was filled with the deep, comfortable rumble of male conversation. “The king did not go hunting today,” Brand said to explain the profusion of men in the hall. Then: “There is an empty place over here, I think.”

A few of the men called a greeting to Erlend as he crossed to the benches that lined the hall along its long right side. “Here,” Brand said, indicating a section of bench that did not have a shield and sword hanging over it. “You may sleep here.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Erlend replied, dropping his small bundle of belongings on the wooden bench. His harp he placed carefully under the bench, where it would be safe.

“Where have you been, Harper, since you left us at Wilton?” Brand asked, sitting down beside Erlend’s bundle and stretching his long legs out before him.

“In Sussex and Kent, mostly,” Erlend answered evasively. He smiled deprecatingly at Alfred’s thane. “I was not overeager to see a battle, my lord. Fighting is not good for a harper’s health. Particularly a harper as small as I am.”

Brand laughed good-naturedly. “You have grown, I think, since last we saw you.” He stood up again. Erlend’s head reached only to the level of Brand’s eyes. “Height and weight are not everything, boy. Look at Alfred. Speed and agility can compensate for height and heft. He is living proof of that.”

“Where is the king now?” Erlend asked, looking involuntarily toward the closed doors of the sleeping rooms.

“Out checking the horses,” came the easy reply. “We go from checking the ships to checking the horses.”

Erlend made himself widen his eyes. “I heard you stole a great many horses from the Danes at Wilton.”

Brand grinned. “Near five hundred. The whole time the two armies were chasing and killing each other around the countryside, Alfred had us bridling horses. We have three hundred of them here at Wantage, eating their heads off.”

Erlend pretended to fuss with his bundle. “You were talking of checking ships? What ships?” he asked over his shoulder.

Brand answered readily, “Alfred is building ships. The Danes, damn them to hell, rely on the sea for reinforcements. We must stop that if we ever hope to win this war.”

A small silence fell as Erlend digested this information. “The king has been busy,” he said.

“The king is always busy,” replied Brand. “Now, if your things are arranged to your satisfaction, come to the kitchens with me and I will see you get something to eat.”

“You are very kind,” Erlend said. And was surprised to find that he meant it.

The king and his wife rode into Wantage an hour after Erlend had arrived. They came into the great hall together, and this time Erlend was not shocked by Elswyth’s trousers. Three dogs had followed them in, and the thanes who had been lounging comfortably on the benches all straightened and looked toward their king. Alfred and Elswyth went immediately to the hearth and held out their hands to the fire. Elswyth looked up at her husband and said something in too low a voice for Erlend to hear. Alfred bent his head and listened intently.

A thane with striking red-gold hair, whom Erlend had not seen before, detached himself from a bench and approached the king. “Did you find all to your satisfaction, Uncle?” His voice was a clear tenor, perfectly audible to Erlend, indeed to all in the room.

Uncle?
Erlend thought. He had understood that Ethelred’s sons were much younger. This man looked to be about Alfred’s age.

“The horses look to be thriving,” Alfred replied. His clipped voice was perfectly civil.

“You can be certain that any horse left in my care will prosper, Athelwold.” It was Elswyth. Erlend would have recognized that husky drawl anywhere. She sounded distinctly annoyed.

The redhead hastened to make amends. “I did not mean, my lady, that you would be remiss. I only meant—”

The black-haired girl who was Alfred’s wife gave Athelwold a brief dismissing wave of her hand, turned to her husband, and said, “I had better go and see to the children.”

Erlend watched her walk to one of the sleeping-room doors, and wondered how so small a female figure, and one clad in men’s trousers at that, could yet look so formidably imperious.

The red-haired thane began to talk to Alfred, but now his voice was lowered and thus inaudible to the rest of the room.

Erlend turned to Edgar, who was sitting on the bench closest to him, whittling a figure out of wood. “Who is this Athelwold?” he asked, his own voice carefully modulated. “He was not with the king when I was at Wilton. That is not a color hair I would have missed.”

“Athelwold is Alfred’s nephew,” Edgar replied, “The son of his eldest brother, Athelstan.”

Erlend assimilated this information for a minute in silence. He said then: “Athelwold is the eldest son of the eldest son?”

“Yes.”

“Then he should be king, not Alfred.” The words were out as soon as they were thought. A mistake, Erlend thought, watching Edgar’s face change.

“Not so,” Alfred’s thane growled. “In Wessex we do not choose our kings solely by line of descent. Alfred was duly chosen by the witan because he was the one most fit to lead us—and he was chosen over Athelwold, too.” Edgar put down his whittling for a minute and stared at Erlend out of challenging blue eyes.

“I see,” Erlend replied hastily. After a minute Edgar picked up his wood again. “What is that you are making?” the harper asked, deeming it wise to change the subject.

“A figure of a deer. For Flavia.” Edgar’s skillful fingers were carving with careful authority.

“Flavia?” Erlend asked.

“The Princess Flavia. Alfred’s daughter.”

“Oh, yes,” said Erlend, remembering the small figure riding on her father’s shoulders in the courtyard at Wilton. “A pretty child,” he added.

“She is a terror,” Edgar said with palpable pride. “And she is beautiful.”

“There is a son too, if I remember.”

“Edward. Yes. Two fair children does Alfred have.”

Erlend watched in silence as Edgar began to carve an antler. But after a minute his eyes went from the delicate work of the wood to the figure of the tall young man with the red-gold hair standing beside the smaller figure of the king.

Athelwold. Son of Alfred’s eldest brother. The weapon he was searching for might lie right there, Erlend thought, in that flaming red head. “How old is Athelwold?” he asked Edgar.

The thane’s lingers never faltered. “Twenty-one,” he answered.

Twenty-one, Erlend thought. Full old enough to be king. “Why was Alfred chosen over Athelwold?” he asked Edgar, careful to sound merely curious.

“Athelwold has never yet seen battle. It was deemed wisest to choose the man everyone knew could lead in battle as well as in council.” Edgar shrugged. “There was really never any question as to whom the witan would choose. Ethelred named Alfred in his will. No one even thought of Athelwold. It was a shock to all when Cenwulf did place his name before the witenagemot.”

Erlend raised his brows. “Who is Cenwulf?”

“A shire thane of Dorset. A friend of Athelwold’s father, Athelstan.” It was Edgar’s turn to ask a question. “Why are you so interested in Athelwold, Harper?”

Erlend shrugged, then grinned. “A harper ever has a nose for a good tale, my lord. And a Frank is more aware than others of the enmity that may lurk within a royal house.”

“You are looking in the wrong place for your story,” Edgar answered bluntly. “The West Saxons are not like the Franks.”

Erlend smiled agreement, but in his heart he knew that what Edgar had said was false. All men were alike, ruled by greed and guided by treachery.

He must try to make friends with this Athelwold, he thought. After
all,
they were two who had much in common.

Erlend played in the great hall after supper that night, and Alfred spoke him fair and gave him a gift of a fine golden ring. The young harper lay down on his bench with the rest of the king’s companion thanes, well content with the place he had won for himself. Considering the enthusiastic response to his playing this night, he should be able to stretch his stay at Wantage into a month easily. He went to sleep dreaming of Nasgaard.

He awoke some hours later to the sound of a sleeping-room door opening. Then Alfred’s voice came from within the room, sounding sharply alert. A child’s quavering voice answered, “I had a bad dream, Papa. Can I come sleep with you?”

Alfred’s voice came again, then Elswyth’s. Erlend heard the sound of a child’s running feet. Then Elswyth said, “Close the door, Flavia.” Footsteps once more, the sleeping-room door closed, and silence descended on the hall again. Erlend lay and stared at the smoldering fire in the middle of the hall.

He also had had bad dreams, he remembered, when he was a child. For days at a stretch sometimes he had feared to go to bed, feared to close his eyes because of the monsters that chased him through his sleep. When he had told his nurse, she had scolded him for being a baby. He had never told his father or his mother. It had never once crossed his mind that he might find comfort in their bed.

At last Erlend drifted back to sleep. He woke to find the household preparing itself for Mass.

Erlend did not immediately find an opportunity to speak to Athelwold. Alfred and his thanes rode out to hunt immediately after breakfast, and Erlend, who did not have a horse, was forced to remain behind.

Elswyth stayed at the manor as well, and Erlend filled the day by keeping watch on Alfred’s wife. She intrigued him, this black-haired girl who was not like any other woman he had ever met. Erlend knew two kinds of women: the kind who followed the Danish army and the kind who were ladies, like his mother. Erlend was old enough to have made use of the first kind and to have learned to be wary of the second. Alfred’s wife did not seem to fit into either category.

Elswyth spent the day with her children. Flavia, the child who had awakened in the night, was two years old and full of boundless energy; in all the day, Erlend never once saw her walk. She ran. Constantly. The baby, Edward, was just learning to walk, and so was necessarily slower, But he too was in constant motion. Erlend discovered this fascinating information from Elswyth when she invited him to join her after seeing him playing his harp a little lonesomely in the corner of the hall.

Two fair children does Alfred have, Edgar had said the day before. And they were fair indeed, Erlend thought as he followed along beside Elswyth on their way to the kitchen house. Flavia’s hair was the same color as Alfred’s, a rich dark gold, while Edward’s was so blond it was almost silver. Both children had extraordinarily striking blue-green eyes.

“Such beautiful eyes your children have,” he said to their mother. “I have never seen their like before.”

“They are a color that runs in the West Saxon royal house,” Elswyth replied. “Alfred says that his brother Ethelbald had eyes of a like color, as did his grandfather.” She was carrying Edward in her arms and now she boosted him a little higher on her shoulder. He was a big boy, weighing nearly as much as his elder sister.

“Would you like me to carry him for you?” Erlend surprised himself by asking.