The Lost Tales of Mercia (26 page)

She spent long days and nights holding him,
rocking him, singing to him. One night Thorkell found her thus and
walked up behind her, wrapping them both in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Thorkell,” she whispered. “I
didn’t think it would be like this. I never thought I would create
something so … so ...” She could not find a word for it, so she
didn’t try. Thorkell nuzzled his beard against her shoulder and
kissed her neck.

At first she enjoyed staying with little
Harald always. She even tolerated his crying throughout the night,
and his constant thirst throughout the day.

But one day she longed for the woods again.
And then she realized she was trapped.

She paced round and round the lodge,
listening to Harald scream, wondering what to do. She couldn’t just
leave him. But now that she wanted to for the first time, her
inability to do so filled her with rage. What other options did she
have?

She stayed with the baby, but by the time
Thorkell came home, she was seething. In the past, she had never
told Thorkell before she left him for days on end. She never had to
deal with him asking her not to leave, for she never bothered
seeking his permission or approval. All she had to do was leave,
and then when she returned, he would be so happy to see her that
all would be well. This time, she had to state the truth.

“We need to find someone to look after
Harald whenever I’m … gone.”

The baby seemed to sense the distress in the
room. He wailed, only quieting when Thorkell picked him up and
rocked him. The father glared at her over the writhing form. “But
you’re his mother.”

“Would you rather I leave him alone?”

Thorkell got the baby to quiet again, and
gently returned him to his bed. He spoke softly, though it was a
strain to do so. “He needs you to feed him.”

“Another woman could do that, as well.”

A terrible silence followed her words. His
response struck her like a splash of cold water in her face. “Then
perhaps I’ll marry another woman.”

She struggled to breathe. This was the first
time he had ever threatened her with such a thing. She never had to
say how strongly the idea revolted her, for he had already
guessed.

“There’s an offer,” he went on relentlessly.
“From Chief Asgaut of Denmark. For his eldest daughter.”

She bit back her words of argument. She
could not forbid him to do it. She had already shared herself with
another man, so she had no right. And in truth, she wanted him to
be as free to pursue his desires as he allowed her to be. She
simply did not think she could endure it.

She turned to leave.

“Runa.”

Something in his voice stopped her.

“What do you want?”

The question surprised her. What did she
want? She thought the answer would be simple. Freedom. But that
wasn’t all she wanted. Freedom alone did not make her happy. There
was more she wanted to do with her life, more that she wanted to
see and accomplish, which she simply had no opportunity to achieve
on her own, no matter how much time she could spend as she pleased.
The answer arose from deep within her, where it had already been
for a long time. “I want to cross the seas. I want to see
Engla-lond. I want to plunder and rape.” She laughed at the
silliness of it all. But her eyes sparkled with joy as she turned
them back to Thorkell. “I want to be a Viking.”

He blinked with surprise. As well as he knew
and understood her, this came as a shock to him.

She walked over to him, gripping his arm in
her excitement. “Think of it, Thorkell. I am already a master of
the bow. You have also trained me with a blade. We could have so
much fun together.”

He looked away, his jaws grinding. She knew
that “fun” had been the wrong word to use. Thorkell did not find
any of the pillaging and killing “fun.” It was his job, his duty,
and so he did it. She was not even sure she would find it fun,
herself. But she had to try it at least once. It was her ultimate
act of defiance against society, against her father … against
everyone.

She stroked his neck lovingly, twirling his
hair in her fingers. “I’ll stay with the baby until your next
voyage to Engla-lond, if you would let me go with you.”

He took a deep, heaving breath. “Very well,”
he said at last. “If it means that much to you.”

She let out a helpless cry of delight. She
pushed him back into a chair and straddled his lap, the poor wood
creaking under their weight. “It does,” she said.

To her surprise, a smile tugged at his
mouth. “You understand that if you’re in my army, you’re mine to
command.”

“Am I? I suppose that’s true.” She leaned
against him and nibbled at his ear. “Then I am yours.”

His hands slid up her waist, but when
another thought struck her, she pulled back again, tensing. “You
must do what you must,” she said, her heart racing nervously in her
chest. “But I have to know. Would you really marry another
woman?”

He chuckled. “By the mercy of Thor,” he
said, “not if I could help it. You’re all the wife I can
handle.”

She fell back against him, losing herself to
the pleasure of his embrace. When next she slept, she dreamt of the
shores of Engla-lond, and awoke knowing that she would live to see
them.

**

10

The
Tenth Lost Tale of Mercia:

EDMUND THE AETHELING

(Or go back to
TABLE OF
CONTENTS
)

*

“
... it was told the king, that [the Danes] would
beshrew him of his life, and afterwards all his council, and then
have his kingdom without any resistance.”

—The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, Entry for Year 1002

*

LUNDENBURG

1002 A.D.

Edmund put his hand over his mouth to trap
his own breath, but his lungs continued heaving like a blacksmith’s
bellows. His gloved fingers clutched the sword at his belt, a heavy
thing that normally seemed presumptuous for a boy thirteen years of
age, but now seemed the only thing capable of saving his life. Its
primary flaw was that pulling it from its sheath would cause
noise—noise he could not afford to make.

The boots around the corner shuffled against
the stone, steel trinkets clinked, a cloak whooshed … and then all
sounds faded as the source retreated.

A groan of dismay ripped from Edmund’s
throat as he removed his hand from his lips. He clutched his chest
as if his heart might escape. He could not believe what he had just
overheard. It would take him a long while to make sense of it—time
he was not sure he had.

He stumbled as he made his way back into the
palace, his feet like blocks of wood on his legs. He went over the
words in his memory over and over again, trying to unroll the plot
they contained. But the more he unraveled the strings, the more
easily they seemed to tangle in his mind.

As he walked by the king’s hall, a great
stone chamber surrounded by the old Roman structure, his stomach
growled. He could smell honey-glazed meats and spices. Even the
rustic scent of ale hanging over everything added to his hunger. He
could not explain why he had skipped tonight’s dinner, nor many
other nights lately, at least not aloud. But he knew he hated
listening to the noblemen’s driveling. All his father wanted to
discuss was how to raise money for the next Danegald so that he
could pay off the Vikings rather than fighting them. Then he would
go on about food and women—topics that seemed trivial at a time of
war. Edmund preferred to stop by the kitchens and pick out his
victuals than to sit through such nonsense.

At last he reached his father’s bedroom. It
was surrounded, as usual, by retainers and hearth companions. Many
of them slumped from the weight of their drinking; others laughed
with each other, sometimes putting their ears to the door of
Ethelred’s chamber, then laughing some more. They stank of grease
and unwashed clothes. Edmund remembered how when his mother had
been alive, she made all the royal retainers take better care of
themselves.

They frowned uncertainly as Edmund
approached, noting how his face was long and blanched, his boots
muddy and his cloak falling askance. “I need to speak to Father,”
the young aetheling gasped. “Now.”

“Then go on in.” The man who spoke wore a
smirk on his face. Chuckles spread through the group.

“I will, thank you.” Refusing to be daunted,
Edmund stormed to the door and grabbed the handle. Immediately, a
sound from within stopped him cold.

“Oh yes, right there.”

The voice belonged to a woman. But then he
heard a grunt, which he suspected came from his father.

“Oh yes—
yes!
”

Edmund flushed and jumped from the door as
if from a physical blow. The men roared with laughter, and yet even
over their chortling he could still hear his father and the maiden
squealing like pigs. Their joyous cries seemed to follow him down
the hall as he raced away, his fists clenching even more violently
than before. King Ethelred had only recently married Queen Emma of
Normandy, but Edmund knew with certainty that those were not her
moans carrying down the stone walls. She was only twelve years
old.

He neared his own bedroom, but he could not
bring himself to go inside. Instead he paced in front of the
doorway, left and right and left again. He felt as if he might go
into some sort of frenzy. He had such important information in his
head, information that needed to come out, needed to be made sense
of. And yet he could not think of what to do with it. His father’s
behavior infuriated him, though it came as little surprise. And as
for the men of his father’s court, he trusted none of
them—especially after what he had heard today.

He snapped his fingers with a sudden
revelation. “Aethelstan,” he said aloud. Yes, his older brother
would at least listen without betraying him, and that was certainly
something. He rushed down the hallway again, his cloak dragging
heavily behind him.

On his way down the hall, however, he passed
several of his own retainers. He glowered at them, for they had not
been there to protect him when he needed them most. No doubt they
were also angry at him, however, for wandering off so often, and
not dining in the great hall like the rest of his family.

Then he saw Aydith. She stood staring out of
an aperture at the moon, sadness making her pale face even whiter
than usual. His heart stirred with sympathy for his younger sister,
and he almost stopped to say hello. But his purpose demanded that
he continue, so he passed her by.

“Edmund? Edmund!”

With an angry huff, he stopped and turned to
see Aydith hurrying towards him.

“Edmund, what’s the matter? Where have you
been?”

“I ... I ... I have to speak to
Aethelstan.”

“What happened?”

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Lord Egil
of Nottingham. I think he’s plotting to ... to
do
something
to Father.”

Aydith turned a notch paler, but did not yet
panic. “Do what?”

“I’m ... not sure. Something bad. I heard
him talking about it, and worse, he addressed the man he spoke to
as Lord Alfric.”

“That bastard!” Aydith blushed a little and
crossed herself. “We’ll need proof. What specifically did you
hear?”

It irritated Edmund that Aydith required
some sort of proof and didn’t immediately believe him. “I should be
talking to Aethelstan,” he grumbled.

“Very well then,” she said. “I’ll go with
you.”

Together, they completed the weary
procession to Aetheling Aethelstan’s room. For whatever reason,
Edmund wished his sister would go away. As dearly as he cared for
her, she always made matters so complicated, and tended to get even
more frustrated than he did when plans went awry. Nevertheless, he
could not refuse her help.

Aethelstan had already gone to bed, which
nearly set Edmund off again. But Aydith promptly entered the room
anyway, shushing away his bower-thegn, then shook their older
brother awake.

He blinked sleepily through his pale lashes,
already crusted from deep sleep. “What? What’s the matter?” He sat
up and rubbed at his face. Aydith walked around the room lighting
candles.

Aydith opened her mouth as if to speak, then
thought better of it, and turned to Edmund.

“I think Father’s in danger,” he said as the
light flared around them.

“Oh no! In danger of what?”

“Assassination,” Edmund hissed, though at
Aydith’s prompt gasp, he regretted saying so. He only
suspected
that an assassination attempt was afoot based on
what he had heard. But he could not be certain.

“Oh my God.” Aethelstan scratched his pale
hair again, and seemed to be at a loss.

Aydith fixed Edmund with her fierce brown
eyes, eyes she’d inherited from their mother. “Tell us everything
you saw and heard,” she said. “Starting from the beginning.”

“Wait,” said Aethelstan. “Shouldn’t we be
talking to Father about this?”

“He’s ... he’s busy.” With a sigh that was a
half growl, Edmund returned his concentration to the origin of the
night’s events. “Here’s what happened. I was taking a walk around
the palace around dusk. I ventured away from the walls into Lunden
town—”

“Without your companions?” Aethelstan
reproached him. “You know Father doesn’t like that!”

Edmund ignored this and forged on. “I saw
men I recognized outside a tavern, though at first I couldn’t place
their names. But they were Danish nobles, and they’ve been
contributing to the witenagemot for the last few days—that much I
knew. One of them I never learned the name of, but I heard him call
the other man Egil, and then I realized he was Lord Egil of
Nottingham. Anyway, I heard them talking about Father. They called
him
weak
, and
stupid
, and
incompetent
.” The
very words made him tremble with rage, even though he was not quite
sure what the last one meant. “They said they needed to
do
something about him.”