The Second Lost Tale of Mercia: Ethelred the King (3 page)

After a long and terrible silence, at last
she turned and walked away. She paused as she pushed open the
door.

“I’ll … send you some wine,” she said. And
then she left.

*

They crowned him at Kingston, where his
brother and many kings before him had been crowned, and the people
gathered in a great church and sang, their voices resounding
against the tremendous walls.

“Glory be to the Father, and the Son, and the
Holy Ghost,” they chanted. Some of them turned their eyes
heavenwards, hands clasped in supplication; others peered at him
from dirty faces, mumbling the prayer with lazy lips. Sometimes
their eyes were curious and piercing, sometimes they were simply
blank. Ethelred tried not to look at them, for they made his heart
race and his palms sweat. He could not afford for his hands to be
slippery, for both of them were clasped to the hands of the bishops
on either side of him, leading him to the altar.

“Let thy hands be strengthened,” chanted the
bishops.

Ethelred tried to stare straight ahead,
ignoring all the rest, trying to think of the crown and none of the
responsibilities that went with it. He should be proud, his mother
had said. He should be grateful. In any case, it was God’s will, he
told himself. He must accept it, just like the people here, who
accepted him as King even though their eyes and voices lacked love
or devotion. So he tried to focus on the kingship alone, the glory
of the coronation; but then he saw Archbishop Dunstan, standing at
the altar, and even though he had known the archbishop would be
there, he thought he might vomit from fear.

Archbishop Dunstan: the same old man who had
baptized him as a baby and claimed that he would be a miserable man
all his life. The man stared at him now with a blank expression,
but Ethelred thought he detected the cold hatred behind the blue
discs of his eyes. He was so very old, his shoulders stooped, his
skin sagging, and yet he seemed to radiate with power. His heavy
pallium glowed with the colors of a distant stained glass window,
and glittered with golden pins and brooches.

For a moment, Ethelred feared that this man
was more of a king than he was. He looked down at himself: at his
soft flowing robes, at the golden-thread embroidery, at the thick
brooch on his chest made of gold, blue glass, and garnet stone. Did
all these fancy things make him a king? The thought filled him with
doubt.

Hands pushed at him, and he realized these
were the bishops, nudging him to perform his next act. Remembering
his script, he let go and prostrated himself on the floor, fancy
robes and all.

“We praise thee, oh God,” sang the people.“We
acknowledge thee to be the Lord.”

His cheek pressed against the filthy floor,
Ethelred felt inclined to agree with them. As long as the Lord was
truly the one in power, all would be well, he thought.

At last the bishops helped lift him from the
floor, and he knelt before Dunstan and the great coronation stone
at the altar. All of the church fell silent, knowing that his turn
came to speak. He took a deep breath and did so, trying not to let
his voice waver, trying to fill it with the strength of a king.

“In the name of Christ, I promise three
things to the Christian people my subjects. First, that the Church
of God, and all the Christian people, shall always preserve true
peace through our arbitration. Second, that I will forbid rapacity
and all iniquities to every condition. Third, that I will command
equity and mercy in all judgments, that to me and to you the
gracious and merciful God may extend his mercy.”

“Amen,” said the people, and he exhaled with
relief.

The prayers went on, and the smoke of the
candles made him dizzy, and his ears rang with the never-ending
words. All the while he stared at the foot of Dunstan’s robes, as
unwavering and steady as the man himself. Then the bishop held the
crown over his head, and Ethelred could hardly find the strength to
breathe. He thought he could feel the weight of the large metal
piece, though it had not yet descended.

“Almighty Creator, everlasting Lord, Governor
of heaven and earth, the Maker and Disposer of angels and men, look
down propitiously on our humble prayers, and multiply the gifts of
thy blessing on this thy servant, whom with humble devotion we have
chosen to be King of the Angles and the Saxons: surround him
everywhere with the right hand of thy power, that, strengthened
with the faithfulness of Abraham, the meekness of Moses, the
courage of Joshua, the humility of David, and the wisdom of
Solomon, he may be well pleasing to thee in all things, and may
always advance in the way of justice with inoffensive progress.”
(*)

All the words followed the script his mother
had described to him; they were all normal and ceremonious
statements. But Ethelred heard them now as if he had never heard
them before, and they filled his head with a heavy burden. After a
short while, he seemed to cease hearing them altogether, for it was
too much to endure. How could he do all these things? How could all
these people expect him to?

His lips continued to move, playing their
expected role; so did his hands, accepting the gifts bestowed upon
him. Dunstan continued to hold the crown high while Ethelred
received the sword, a great heavy thing which sagged in his
fingertips, sparkling with a gilt pommel.“May all the strength of
his enemies be broken by the virtue of the spiritual sword, and may
thou combat with him, so they may be utterly destroyed,” Dunstan
prayed.

And then, at last, the archbishop lowered the
crown, glittering as it descended to Ethelred’s head. The breath of
the entire congregation seemed to catch and hold.

“May God crown thee with the crown of glory,”
Dunstan intoned,“and with honor and justice, and the strength of
fortitude, that by virtue of our benediction, and by a right faith
of the various fruits of good works, thou may attain to the crown
of the everlasting kingdom, through his bounty, whose kingdom
endures for ever.”

At last the crown fell upon Ethelred’s hair,
and he breathed deep, closing his eyes. It was only a thing, he
knew; and yet for a moment, he felt as if it filled him with
strength, energizing and empowering him.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Dunstan
leaning down, the fire of his holy gaze boring into him, and his
blood ran cold. When next he spoke, Ethelred did not know if it was
loud enough for all the gathering to hear. And yet to him, the
words seemed louder than any spoken yet.

“Since you have taken the kingdom by the
death of thy brother, hear the word of God.”

Ethelred could only stare up at the
archbishop in horror. This was not part of the script, and this did
not sound like something that had been said to any other king
before.

Dunstan straightened up, eyes scanning the
congregation. His voice rose, making the stone pillars
tremble.“Thus saith the Lord God: the sin of thy mother, and of the
accomplices of her base design, shall not be washed out but by much
blood of the kingdom’s wretched inhabitants; and such evils shall
come upon the English nation as they have never suffered from the
time they came to Engla-lond until then.”

People murmured and whispered to each other;
a general wave of moans seemed to float over the room. The sweat of
Ethelred’s hands dripped down the precious metals of his new sword.
His mother’s sins could “not be washed out but by much blood of the
kingdom’s wretched inhabitants.” What could it possibly mean?

Whatever it meant, Ethelred knew it would be
terrible.

**

RELEASE DATES

One Lost Tale of Mercia will release every
other Tuesday until October 5, 2010, when the full story of Eadric
the Grasper releases on Amazon. Visit
www.jaydenwoods.com
for more information.

The Third Lost Tale: RELEASED

The Fourth Lost Tale: June 29

The Fifth Lost Tale: July 13

The Sixth Lost Tale: July 27

The Seventh Lost Tale: August 10

The Eighth Lost Tale: August 24

The Ninth Lost Tale: September 7

The Tenth Lost Tale: September 21

OCTOBER 5th: Eadric the Grasper releases on
Amazon

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, as compiled by
various monks until the year 1140, were my primary sources of
information. So, too, were the Chronicles of Florence of Worcester
and the Chronicles of the Kings of England as written by William of
Malmesbury. Without the devotion of these men to chronicle the
chaotic events of their time, so little of the Dark Ages would be
known. Other important sources are listed below. A full list of
consulted sources is posted on
http://talesofmercia.wordpress.com
.

WORKS CITED

Freeman, Edward A. Old English History for
Children. London, MacMillan and Co., 1869.

(*) Silver, Thomas.
The Coronation service
or Consecration of the Anglosaxon Kings as it Illustrates the
Origins of the Constitution.
Baxter, Printer, Oxford. 1831