by Martin Lake
Edward stepped towards Ulf and reached out for his hand.
‘And do you pledge to help make me King?’ he asked.
Ulf sighed and gave a little half shrug. ‘It is not for the likes of me to have a voice. That is for the Witan, the wise men of the kingdom.’
‘But if you were a member of the Witan? Who would you choose?’
A chill crossed Ulf’s belly.
‘I would choose whoever would be the best King of Wessex.’
Edward grinned widely. ‘I’m glad you said that, Ulf. I feared that you would say me.’
He strode out of the stable. Ulf leaned against the hay-byre. Very clever, he thought. Let’s hope he grows to be the sort of man I can follow.
ETHELRED’S JUDGEMENT
December 884
The snow stopped falling the following day but because it was still unseasonably cold it took a week longer to thaw.
But still the archbishop gave no sign that he had come to a decision. Dean Tobias grew increasingly agitated whenever he saw Ulf, having run out of excuses for the delay. But Ulf’s patience had worn as thin as a beggar’s shirt and finally he grabbed Tobias by the arm, none too gently, and demanded that he see the archbishop.
‘He’s at a conclave of bishops and abbots,’ Tobias said, his eyes bright with fear.
‘Then with so many holy men in attendance I expect I’ll get a definitive answer. Where is he?’
Tobias pointed to the cathedral. ‘In a chamber at the rear,’ he said.
‘Lead me there,’ Ulf said.
The cathedral was as cold as death as they strode up the nave.
‘In there,’ Tobias said. ‘But please don’t say that I told you.’
Ulf marched into the chamber and looked around. The archbishop was seated at the far end of a table with six other men. Every eye turned to him in surprise.
‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’ the archbishop asked.
‘No pleasure unless I get an answer,’ Ulf said. He tried to keep calm but the churchmen noticed the dangerous edge to his voice and glanced at each other uneasily.
‘Perhaps we should leave,’ said one elderly bishop, making to rise.
‘There’s no need for that,’ Ulf said. ‘I have come to tell the archbishop that I need his answer to my question immediately for I shall be returning to the king today.’
If he thought that this would prove a threat to Ethelred he thought wrong. The archbishop gave a fulsome smile and put his finger to his chin as if trying to recall something on the tip of his tongue.
‘I do have a judgement,’ he said. He gave Ulf a look of admonishment and sighed. ‘I had planned to tell you later in the day, in private, but alas…’
‘Here will do just as well,’ Ulf said. ‘In fact it is good that the fathers of the church shall hear it at the same time as I do.’
‘You might think so,’ said the archbishop in a flat tone. ‘I cannot say.’
He leafed through the pile of parchments in front of him, brought one close to his face and read it quickly to himself.
He has to read it again, Ulf thought angrily. How long ago was it written?
‘First, to the matter of yourself and the black girl,’ the archbishop said at last, putting the parchment back on the table.
‘I have consulted Holy Scripture and books written by the Fathers of the Church. Eventually I found references to a Christian sect far to the south of Egypt, in Ethiopia. One passage said that this is the same as the land of Axum, where the young woman claims she was born. I have also questioned her about her faith and, although she bears a number of strange doctrines —’
‘That is because her church follows the rite of Constantinople and not of Rome.’
‘Please don’t interrupt me, young man, no matter how deep your knowledge of theology.’
Ulf blushed at the reprimand.
‘Although she holds a number of strange and erroneous doctrines,’ Ethelred continued, ‘I have become convinced that she is indeed a Christian, of sorts. If she agrees to be baptised in the faith of Rome then there is no reason why she cannot wed you.’
‘Thank you,’ Ulf said. He felt joyful at the news and was taken by surprise at the intensity of it. He hoped that Rebekah would feel the same.
‘And my sister and the Dane?’
‘A more contentious question,’ Ethelred said. ‘I have spoken with Ketil the Dane and he knows less of our faith than the humblest slave child. I do not think he underwent baptism with any degree of commitment or honesty. His is a black soul, given over still to his odious pagan demons. Worse than that, he has borne false witness to Christ and will surely burn in everlasting torment for it.’
‘But can he marry Inga?’
Ethelred looked shocked.
‘You have not heard what I said?’
‘I did. But I know that the King is keen for them to wed, to seal the truce between our people and the Danes.’
‘It is out of the question.’
Ulf took a deep breath. Clearly there was no point in trying to change the archbishop’s mind.
‘And the King’s daughter?’ he asked. ‘What of her marriage to the Mercian ealdorman?’
Ethelred gave him a fleeting glance which Ulf thought almost sly.
‘Is something that King Alfred desires for his daughter?’ he asked.
‘Very much.’
Ethelred’s mouth curled into a little smile and Ulf realised, to his horror, that he had just made a terrible error.
‘I grieve that the King has set his heart on this wedding,’ Ethelred said. ‘But it cannot go ahead, partly because Aethelflaed is so opposed herself.’
‘But she has no say in it,’ Ulf said. ‘Her father has decided and there’s an end to it.’
‘That, is true of course, although it is sad to hear that the King is so opposed to his daughter’s wishes. But alas, one of my bishops has brought news that overturns the rights of any father.’
He turned to one of the bishops. He was a young man, already going to fat. He bobbed his head, gave a self-satisfied smile and turned to Ulf.
‘Ealdorman Æthelred is already married,’ he said. ‘His wife has taken holy orders and lives in one of the convents under my jurisdiction.’
Ulf stared at the man in astonishment. Surely the King and his advisers would not have made such a mistake?
‘And you have proof of this?’
The bishop looked outraged. ‘Do you doubt my word?’
‘I doubt any word that is too convenient,’ Ulf said. ‘And so might the King.’
But in his heart he knew that the bishop was probably saying the truth. Alfred would be incensed but Aethelflaed would dance with delight.
He gave a small bow to the archbishop.
Three judgements, he thought, and every one of them contrary to what Alfred would want. And, to make it even worse, the archbishop had kept the King waiting an intolerably long time to receive these unpalatable answers.
He strode out of the chamber, cursing that he had failed so signally at this mission. He wondered if he would ever be able to redeem his favour with the king. Or, come to that with Inga.
Rebekah would be happy and so would Aethelflaed. And so, of course, was he. But he realised that Archbishop Ethelred’s intense desire to thwart the will of the king had also ruined his own chance of favour and advancement.
He cursed the archbishop. Then he froze. What folly to curse the head of the church in his own cathedral. He glanced up at the roof, as if he feared to see the mighty eye of God staring down at him.
He was doubly damned now. Perhaps he should not even wed Rebekah. If he did he would, no doubt, cause her untold misery.
Rebekah did not feel this way when he told her all that had happened.
‘I’m glad we can wed,’ she said. ‘Although I’m sad for Inga because she loves Ketil greatly. Perhaps this will not be the end of the matter.
‘And as for cursing the archbishop, I would not worry about it. He is
chief priest of a strange, primitive church of little power and less importance. God will visit these islands only rarely so I doubt He would have heard your curse. Even if He had, it would not have greatly grieved Him. He would take comfort that you were about to wed a member of the true Church of the East.’
‘Except that Ethelred said you will need to be baptised in the Roman faith.’
Rebekah gave a snort of derision. ‘Even if I’m half drowned in Roman water God will know that I’m a true daughter of the Eastern Church. You will be protected, never fear.’
Ulf sighed. The best protection he had was his own sword and those of his friends. Having failed so spectacularly in his mission he doubted he would ever again be able to count as fully on the support of the king.
Edward, on the other hand, was full of praise for Ulf. He had got what he and his sister most desired, a ban on her wedding to Æthelred. It was some consolation to Ulf but not much.
His heart was heavy as he went in search of his sister. She looked up the moment he appeared in the doorway. Her face grew grave. He went to her and took both her hands in his.
She was distraught at the news, at least at first. But then she fell silent, almost in a trance, pondering whether this would mean an end to all her hopes of being with Ketil.
She knew that they need not get wed, of course. But if she were Ketil’s lover rather than his wife she doubted she could remain Aethelflaed’s companion.
Or perhaps they would be allowed to leave Wessex and live in Guthrum’s kingdom. But no sooner had she considered this than she dismissed it out of hand. The thought of Guthrum’s brother, the foul monster, Eohric, was more than enough to dissuade her from any such action.
‘I’m sorry that he said this,’ Ulf said.
‘It was none of your doing,’ she said. ‘I think, in this, we are but the playthings of the powerful. Yet I wonder whether this is truly the fate laid down for any of us. Time will prove it so, or not.’
Ulf was struck by her words. Most people’s destinies were laid down for them, it was true. Yet the old woman Ymma believed that some could challenge their fate, fashion their lives in the way they desired. He knew now, that he was such a one and so was Inga.
He left her room and walked out into the cold morning air and stared at the great cathedral. His eyes narrowed as he thought about the decisions the archbishop had made and recalled that all were contrary to what the king desired. He wondered what had guided Ethelred most, theology or dislike of Alfred.
‘Six bishops,’ he murmured under his breath. Six bishops had witnessed the archbishop’s judgements. Yet, in the future, how many of them would be able to recall exactly what was said? And if they did, how many would seek out the king to tell him what he did not want to hear?
The following morning, a little after dawn, the party assembled in the large space in front of the cathedral, waiting for the archbishop to arrive to bid them farewell. Not one of them was sorry to depart.
Ulf recalled his thoughts of the day before. It would be an easy matter to tell the King that Ethelred had agreed to Inga marrying Ketil. There would be none to dispute it, not at the time at any rate. And if, later, Ethelred or any of his six bishops said that he had lied, it would be too late. Inga and Ketil would be wed and that would be an end to the matter.
Frost rimed the cobble-stones and hung from the doors and statues like silver cobwebs. The bell in the tower was tolling mournfully and the sound seemed dull and deadened.
The breath from the horses rose above them, a morning mist which flickered and danced.
‘We’ll wait a little longer,’ Edward said.
A few minutes later, Tobias could be seen hurrying towards them. He looked distracted and uncomfortable.
‘The Archbishop sends his compliments,’ he told Edward. ‘He in unable to say farewell personally for he is leading prayer in the cathedral. But he gives his blessings on your journey and Godspeed.’
He darted back towards the cathedral before they could answer.
‘Let’s go quickly,’ said Holdwine, ‘before Ethelred reaches Amen.’
Ulf glance at Edward who nodded his head and led them out of the city and towards home.
ROCHESTER
Late December 884
Snow remained on the hills to the west of Canterbury but it disappeared as they reached lower ground. The Roman road was well maintained in these parts and forged across the land straight as a spear, a constant beckoner to a new horizon.
They journeyed fifteen miles and with each step the sky ahead grew blacker.
‘More snow threatens,’ Cuthred said. ‘Ulf, we’re only a few miles from Mideltun. We should stay the night there.’
Ulf brightened at the thought. It was over a year since he had left the village in pursuit of Hrólfr’s Longships. It would be good to rest there again and see the villagers. Cuthred was obviously keen to return to his home. Although his wife had died several years before, he still had many friends in the village and, so it was said, numerous lovers.
They arrived at the tiny hamlet of Sittingbourne just as snow began to swirl around them. A chill wind blew from the west. They turned north along a little track towards Mideltun, reaching it as the snow began to settle on the land. All appeared exactly as it had on the day Ulf and Cuthred had left.
The village nestled along the tidal creek which had provided a route for Hrólfr’s ships. Today it was as wide as it ever got, swollen by winter rains. A pall of smoke hung above the village, promising warmth and good cheer. Ulf was pleased to see smoke billowing through the roof of his hall. It meant his steward was still in residence, keeping the place fit for his master’s return.
Without a word, Ulf kicked his heels and led them to the village.
‘Do you think Siflaed will have returned to Hunsige’s bed?’ Cuthred asked Ulf.
Ulf’s heart beat a little faster at sound of her name.
‘I doubt it. I think she’d have rather stayed with Hrólfr and his savages.’
He glanced at Rebekah, a pang of guilt at how he had reacted to Cuthred’s words. ‘Though I saw no sign that she was with him in Francia.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Ketil said. ‘Not if you’re talking about the woman who you sought news of in Lundenburh. Hrólfr sold her to a fat, old merchant. He seemed inordinately pleased at purchasing such a comely young woman.’
‘He might not be happy for long,’ Cuthred said. ‘Siflaed was not a woman to be subservient to any man. Even that bullying oaf Hunsige couldn’t tame her.’
They passed through the village, their hoofs muffled by the snow.
The door to his hall opened and Ulf’s steward appeared.
‘We have a party of forty,’ Ulf said. ‘Hungry, cold and thirsty.’
The man looked worried for a moment but then flung the doors open. ‘Ale I can provide straight away, my lord. Food may take longer.’
But the steward was a man of great resource. Within an hour he had gathered the supplies of the hall and bought extra from some of the wealthier villagers: cheese, butter and apples. The baker was roused from sleep and put to making bread, the butcher produced some salt pork and bacon and Lilla the priest contributed wine.
It was not a grand feast but it was sufficient. Ulf gave Edward his own chamber, the steward gave his room to Inga and Rebekah and the warriors wrapped themselves in their cloaks and found sleeping spots around the hall.
It was bitterly cold when they set out the next morning. When he glanced out of the door Ulf wondered if they should stay another day in hope that the weather improved. But he decided against it. He did not wish to consume more of the food the villagers had hoarded for the hungry days ahead.
In any case, he felt anxious to move on.
‘You feel it too,’ Inga whispered to him as they started off. ‘A sense of unease, here.’ She touched her chest.
Ulf nodded but did not answer.
Snow had fallen throughout the night and shrouded the land in dense billows and
drifts which hid landmarks and muffled sound. A solitary blackbird sang as they left the village and a fox stepped gingerly across distant fields. But they were the only people abroad on such a morning.
The Roman road was covered by snow but its track could still be discerned in the landscape, a narrow ridgeway leading ever westward. They climbed onto it and were surprised to feel the stone-work lying just below the mantle of snow. What magical powers the builders must have possessed to create such a road, a highway which would serve in all weathers. Once again he pondered the power the men of Rome must have wielded and contrasted it miserably with what his own people could achieve. He would go to Rome one day, he was determined.
They rode in silence for the rest of the morning, each traveller marvelling at the beauty of the snow or lost in their own thoughts. Towards noon their passage disturbed a colony of crows, sending them screaming with rage into the grey sky. Inga looked at the wheeling birds anxiously. It made Ulf equally concerned. Crows were not normally a cause for alarm.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw them.
Half a mile to the south a band of horsemen were heading their way. At first he thought they were casual travellers like themselves. But there was something in their speed which worried him. That and the fact that there were four score of them.
Holdwine saw him look and followed his gaze.
‘Trouble?’
‘Possibly.’
Ulf shielded his eyes from the winter sun, trying to discern the nature of the horsemen. A prickle of fear ran down his spine. He felt Edward move closer to him. His presence made him grow still more alert. His mouth went dry and his heart began to hammer.
‘I think no good of this, Edward,’ he said. ‘We should go.’
‘We’re four miles from Rochester,’ Cuthred said.
His voice hung in the air. Ulf did not reply but watched the horsemen a moment longer.
And then he realised.
‘They’re Vikings,’ he cried. ‘Go.’
They moved into a trot, then into a canter. They dare go no faster for fear of slipping off the causeway and floundering in the snowdrifts.