The Lost Tales of Mercia (2 page)

He was an older man, weathered and tainted
as if by a permanent layer of filth from the nature of his trade.
Nevertheless he had gentle blue eyes, and his face was unassuming
even as he looked upon their suspicious visitor. He nodded humbly.
“My lord, I am Hunwald, a swineherd,” he said. “What … event …
should I thank … for the honor of your ... presence?” Golde winced
at the swineherd’s awkwardness.

Alfric looked from Hunwald, to Golde, and
back again. “Are you two man and wife?” he asked.

Hunwald opened his mouth to reply, but Golde
interrupted him. “That is none of your concern.”

Alfric stared at her in horror a moment,
then burst into laughter. “God help you, Hunwald! This wench is
spoiled goods. I hope you know that!”

Despite herself, Golde flushed with shame
and embarrassment. Normally, she was not embarrassed by such
things. Long ago, she had surrendered the sanctity of her body to
obtain security for herself in the protection of such men as
Alfric—whatever his protection may be worth. For a long time she
had possessed no wealth nor station: to warm a rich man’s bed at
night was a means of gaining food and shelter. But when she bore
her son Eadric, she nearly died in the process. For this reason she
had stayed from Hunwald’s bed despite all of his kindness, despite
his good heart and selflessness. God knew he deserved any pleasures
her body could give him more than the nobleman sitting on their
stool, yet she had withheld them. That Alfric would bring it up
this way filled her with a sensation more vile than any she had
felt before.

Unable to stop herself, she reached out and
slapped Alfric across the face.

His head hung sideways a moment, suspended
as a red wave spread up his cheek. His mouth remained opened,
gaping, as at last his eyes twisted to look at her. They gleamed
like the points of two blades.

He stood up. She stepped back, but he
reached out and gripped her wrist, tightly enough to leave a
bruise.

He had never been a particularly violent
man, preferring to avoid conflict whenever possible. But he
sometimes behaved differently around the few people he perceived as
weaker than himself. Without a doubt, that was how he saw Golde.
She peered up at him, narrowing her own pale eyes, challenging
him.

“Why did you come here, Alfric?” she
hissed.

“For food and drink, and anything else I may
want.” His hot fingers tightened on the bones of her forearms, and
she winced.

Despite all she knew of Alfric, there was a
danger in his gaze now that she did not recognize, like a starving
wolf spotting the only lamb in a flock that was weak enough to
catch. Even so, she did not know what he would have done next, and
perhaps never would; for at that moment, Eadric stepped inside.

He stood in the doorway, blond curls long
and dripping, small woolen tunic matted to his skin. He stared up
in shock at the looming figure of the wealthy ealdorman, sparkling
with his diamond-crusted tunic and hanging swordbelt. Even more
fascinating to the little boy, perhaps, was the intensity with
which Alfric stared back at him.

The lord released Golde suddenly. “Who is
this?”

“He, uh … he is Eadric.” Golde rubbed her
sore arms.

“Eadric.” Alfric stepped forward, leather
boots squeaking. He grabbed a wet curl of Eadric’s hair in his
fingertips, so like his own, and twirled it. Then he pulled away.
“Hm.” He jutted up his chin as he turned towards Golde. “Let’s eat,
then.”

“Shut the door, Eadric, for God’s sake,”
cried Golde.

Eadric obeyed, though by now a wet ring of
rainwater lay round the threshold. As he joined everyone at the
table, he grinned. “I fed everyone in the barn,” he said.

“Everyone?” said Golde as she spooned out
the soup. “The pigs, you mean?”

“Everyone—all of them!”

Alfric looked at the boy curiously. “Even my
men?”

Eadric nodded, eyes twinkling. “Yes, lord. I
gave them acorns, beechnuts, and grains—just like the pigs!”

Golde went pale with embarrassment, but to
her shock, Alfric released a chiming laugh. “Serves them right!
Pigs, indeed! Good job, Eadric. That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, lord, and yours?”

Golde clenched her teeth angrily. The boy
could be so impertinent! But the ealdorman just smiled. “Alfric.
Alfric Alfhereson. And you’re the son of …?”

Eadric shrugged his little wet shoulders. “I
don’t know!”

Golde set down the bowl with a resounding
thump, her stomach churning. “Eat up before it gets cold,” she
commanded them, even though she had lost her own appetite. Then she
hurried off to fetch the bread.

When at last they were all seated and
eating, a terrible silence fell over them. Eadric began kicking his
legs under the table. The temporary glimmer of light in Alfric’s
eyes faded once more. His mouth drooped with a frown and his jaws
bulged as he chewed angrily at his stale bread.

“Eadric, be still!” hissed Golde.

Alfric looked at Eadric again, and this time
a strange look fell over his face.

“I think I might stay here awhile,” he
declared.

The maid nearly choked on her first bite of
bread. “What?” She lifted her own cup of ale and drank desperately.
“You’re joking, right?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll stay here with you,
and little Eadric—” he tossed the boy a wink—“along with ...” He
frowned at Hunwald. “Whatever your name is.”

“Alfric—that’s ridiculous! I don’t
understand. You have manors to live in, and a fyrd to command, and
reeves and stewards to supervise ...” Her mouth went on flapping a
moment before her thoughts could catch up. “You … you do still
have
all those things, don’t you?”

He picked up his bowl, though there was
still a decent amount of pottage left, and flung it against the
wall. Everyone stared in horror as the broth dripped down the
planks. Even Alfric gazed at his own mess as if it saddened him,
his rage spent in his meaningless tantrum.

Golde stood up, chest heaving with anger.
“Step outside, Alfric.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “What was
that?”

“You’re not an ealdorman anymore, are you?
You didn’t just ‘escape’ from the Danes, did you? Whatever you did
was far worse than that. Wasn’t it?” He looked away from her, face
burning. “Get out of this house, Alfric, or God help me I will get
on my horse, ride to the king, and tell him your whereabouts
myself.” This was a bluff, of course, for she did not even have a
horse to ride upon. But she did not think Alfric would realize
this.

Her suspicions must have been correct, for
Alfric rose so suddenly that his stool flew out from under him. He
was frightened now—it did not take much to frighten him. His eyes
flicked to Eadric, who simply watched this spectacle with
unassuming awe.

“You think King Ethelred will protect you
from the Vikings?” Alfric’s voice trembled with passion as he
looked from one of them to the next. “He won’t. He can’t. I helped
the Danes because they will rule eventually, anyway; and I’d rather
it not be over my own dead body!”

Golde could hardly contain her horror. So,
he had not only run away; he had “helped” the Danes! Had he given
them Ethelred’s plans? Had he supported them with his own fleet?
She was not sure she wanted to know. In truth, she hardly even
cared about the war; what she cared about was the safety of her own
home, and Alfric standing here now as traitor to the Anglo-Saxons
poised too great a danger. If he stayed here much longer he would
bring the king’s rage upon them all. She stormed around the table
and grabbed Alfric’s tunic. “
Out!
”

He stumbled as she dragged him through the
doorway, then cried out and sputtered as the rain splashed his
face. She slammed the door behind them and blocked it with her
small but sturdy frame.

He looked miserable, rivers of rain running
down his face as he stared at her. Nevertheless, mischief flared
momentarily from behind his golden lashes, and his expression
reminded her of one Eadric often wore. “Ethelred will forgive me
eventually, Golde dearest. I’ll talk some sense into him
again.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “How could
he forgive you? You helped the enemy.”

She could not see his tears through the
rain, but she sensed they were there. He stared up at the veiled
moon. “I did. I gave them Ethelred’s plans. I told them
everything.”

“Stop, Alfric I don’t want to know—!”

“I took my ships and went with them.” He
took in a heaving breath. “We all would have died otherwise. It was
the only way …” Helpless, she waited for him to go on. She saw that
he could no longer hold it in. “That’s what I thought, Golde. I
really did. But then the rest of Ethelred’s fleet pursued us, and
he … he took … he took one of my ships …” He sobbed openly. Golde
did not know whether to feel sorry for him, or furious. “He
slaughtered everyone on board. And then his ships went after the
Danes anyway, and the battle … oh God.” He bowed his head and shook
violently. “I escaped my ship, with these men … but they took my
ship, and some of my men were on board … and now they’re dead.”

She was surprised to find tears pricking her
own eyes. Of course, Alfric had been a fool to act as he had. And
yet perhaps he had truly wanted to save his men’s lives—on that she
preferred to give him the benefit of doubt—and despite everything,
he had failed. “Alfric, you shouldn’t be here. Not only are you
endangering me, but you are leaving your true family to the king’s
mercy. Get back to your own family. Protect them. Go somewhere
safe. But you’ll solve nothing hiding here, cramming the last of
your loyal men in a pig-sty. Stay in the barn until morning, if you
must, but I want you gone before the cock’s crow.”

He scowled at that. “You’ll regret casting
me out when I’m in the king’s favor again, wench.”

“So be it. Until that time comes, farewell,
Alfric.”

There was nothing else to say, so she went
back inside and bolted the door. She remained leaning against it a
moment, trembling.

“Mother?”

Reluctantly, Golde turned to meet her son’s
gaze. To her surprise, he looked angry.

“Why did you send him away?” demanded
Eadric. “I liked him!”

“Because he’s dangerous.”

“No he isn’t! I could tell!”

Golde sighed wearily and sank down onto a
stool, dripping everywhere. Her heart ached as she watched Hunwald
clean the table without question or complaint. He was such a good
man. He did not deserve the trouble she brought to his doorstep.
“Alfric is dangerous in an unusual way, my boy,” she said. “Better
just to forget about him.”

“I don’t want to.” Eadric crossed his arms.
“I want to go with him.”

“You
what?
”

Eadric set his mouth stubbornly.

“Absolutely not, Eadric! I left him in the
first place to keep you far from his wily ways.”

His stern expression cracked somewhat,
giving way to puzzlement. “What do you mean, ‘left’ him?”

Golde looked away, suddenly feeling a
painful ache in her head. She had lived openly with Alfric once,
running to his side whenever he tired of his wife. Those days had
been strange for her, and were probably as close she would ever
come to living a courtly life. She had met a few important nobles
and wealthy thegns of Mercia during her stays in the manor. They
all knew she was little better than a whore, and most of them had
used her as such, but she was surprised by the inclusion they gave
her compared to most women. She wondered whether her shamelessness
and openness in her way of life gave her an unusual status in their
eyes. When King Ethelred sacked Rochester and cast out Alfric the
first time, she had run to Hunwald for shelter, still wearing a
soft linen dress decked with beads and embroidery. The swineherd
had taken her for some sort of noblewoman and she had let him
believe it. He had not asked any questions when her belly swelled
and she gave birth to what was obviously a bastard. She nearly died
that day, and he could have let her, giving himself two less mouths
to feed. Instead he sent for a midwife to help bring Eadric into
the world.

She had dreaded the day she would have to
explain any of her past to Eadric. She wanted to go on living as if
it had never happened. She had let him assume, to whatever extent
he could understand the situation, that Hunwald was his
father—although he clearly doubted this, and had said as much to
Alfric. She had even let him believe that she and Hunwald were
husband and wife, though she never stated as much. How could she
explain the complexities of her situation to a boy like Eadric? She
had been close to another man before leaving the ealdorman’s manor,
as well: a wealthy swineherd named Wulfric, who was something of
Alfric’s friend. How could she tell Eadric with any dignity that
she did not even know which one was his father?

Unfortunately, Eadric was too smart for his
own good. He watched Golde’s face closely. “Tell me, Mother! Could
we go with Alfric, too? Could I live with Algar?”

Algar was Alfric’s legitimate son, only a
little older than Eadric. The two boys had encountered each other a
few times while Alfric was away and enjoyed playing together. For a
moment Golde wanted to explain everything to Eadric, but found she
could not. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of the burden she
was unwilling to release.

“I want to wear nice tunics like Algar, and
cloaks with pretty brooches, and when I’m older, a swordbelt.”
Eadric was getting carried away with these notions, and she could
see in his eyes that he would keep dreaming if she let him.

“Stop it, Eadric. The cost for those things
is very dear, and it is better to forget them. Forget Lord Alfric,
forget about Algar, and silly brooches! Go to bed, and don’t say
another word about them.”