by Joan Wolf
“Nor are our men in the best of heart,” Erlend continued remorselessly. “We have been besieged for too many months, first in Wareham and now here. It is not a way of life to the liking of a Dane.”
Guthrum cursed again.
“About these hostages ...” Erlend said.
Guthrum sat down. “I cannot send him a jarl.”
“No.”
“Name of the Raven, I cannot send him anyone of rank!”
“Not after what happened to the last hostages,” Erlend agreed smoothly.
“I will keep to my word this time. Now Guthrum was sounding aggrieved. “I have every intention of removing into Mercia. If he will agree to return the hostages when once I have left Wessex, then perhaps—”
“I do not think that is what Alfred had in mind.”
Guthrum gave Erlend a piercing blue look. “What is it that you have in mind, Nephew?” he asked. “I can see from your face that you have something to say.”
“I think I might have a solution,” Erlend admitted.
“Tell me,” Guthrum said.
It took the better part of the night to convince the Danish leader to accede to the proposal Erlend put forth. On the following morning, Erlend rode once more into the West Saxon camp.
Alfred’s answer to Erlend’s first question was simple, “I shall keep the hostages,” he said, “as guarantees that Guthrum stays out of Wessex. The moment a Danish army sets its foot over my borders again, I shall kill them all.”
“Fifty is a large number, my lord,” Erlend countered. “To have to feed and house and guard fifty men for an indefinite period of time will be a burden to you. Wessex is not a prison, nor are your thanes or reeves prison guards.”
Alfred’s face did not change, but Erlend could see from the way the king lowered his lashes to screen his eyes that this thought was not new to him. But, “I must have a guarantee,” Alfred repeated.
They were meeting once more in Alfred’s tent, but this morning the sun was shining and the flap door was open to let in the light. “Guthrum will send you the hostages you require, plus one man of high rank,” Erlend said. “If you swear to return the fifty when once the Danish army has passed over your borders, you may keep the man of rank indefinitely as guarantee of Guthrum’s word.”
Alfred raised his eyes and looked once again at the Dane. Now that Erlend had reached his full growth, there was but an inch between the two of them. “Who is this man of rank whom Guthrum can so dispense with?” Alfred asked.
“Me.”
There was a surprised silence. After it had gone on for too long, Erlend added, “Nor would you have to keep me under close guard, Alfred of Wessex. I will give you my word not to try to escape. Unlike Guthrum’s” —and here spots of color flamed in his usually pale cheeks—“my word is good.”
Alfred’s face remained unreadable. He said, “From what Athulf has told me, there is little love between you and your uncle. Athulf says in fact that Guthrum has some reason to wish you dead. If this is so, you are no good to me as hostage for Guthrum’s word, Erlend.”
The king’s voice was its most clipped. The spots of color faded from Erlend’s face and he replied in equally crisp tones, “It is true that Guthrum has no great love for me. If I were dead, then would my uncle be the proper heir to Nasgaard, and Nasgaard is a great prize indeed. But if Guthrum truly covets Nasgaard, my lord, he cannot betray me to my death. There is no Dane would follow him if he bore bloodguilt for a nephew upon his hands.” Erlend raised his eyebrows in Alfred’s own gesture. “I am in fact the safest hostage you could hold. It would please Guthrum to see me fall in battle, but he will not cause my death himself,”
“Was it Guthrum’s idea to propose you as hostage?” Alfred asked.
“No.” Erlend met those unreadable eyes and held them. “The idea was mine. Guthrum did not like it. It took me near half the night to convince him that this was the best way.” Erlend smiled wryly. “It would prove a little difficult to find a jarl to send in my stead, you see.”
“I can imagine that is so.” Alfred’s voice was bleak.
“My uncle did not think you would have the stomach to kill our hostages in cold blood,” Erlend said candidly. “He knows differently now, and so does our army.”
A shadow seemed to cross Alfred’s face, a bruising under the eyes which had not been there before. “Yes,” he said. “Now you know.”
“Let us go safely into Mercia, my lord,” Erlend said. “It will be best for all.”
With a quick, lithe movement, Alfred suddenly stepped forward so that he was but a hairbreadth away from Erlend. In an abrupt, harsh voice, he asked, “What does Guthrum plan to do in Mercia?”
Erlend looked into the narrowed golden eyes. He had never before been so close to Alfred of Wessex. All his detached calm fled and his heart began to slam within his chest.
What is the matter with me? he thought frantically. He wet his lips with his tongue and answered, “He will parcel out the country to those of his men who desire land, my lord. There are those among us who are weary of war, who would settle down to the farm and the plow. It is the reason many Danes came to England, to find the land they could not get at home.”
“And what of the Mercian king?” Alfred demanded. “What of Ceolwulf?”
Erlend was so close to Alfred that he could feel the heat from the king’s body, see the golden stubble of beard under the skin of his face. Erlend said, in a voice that was not as steady as he wished, “Ceolwulf will have his share, a part of the kingdom to keep for himself and his people. The rest will Guthrum take for the Danes.”
There was a silence. Alfred’s body did not move, but Alfred himself seemed to withdraw. It was a trick of the king’s Erlend had seen before, this withdrawal of his spirit deep within while he made a decision.
Then, after nearly a full minute had passed, “So be it,” Alfred said. “If the Mercians object, then must they join with Ethelred. My charge is Wessex.”
Erlend said nothing, was incapable of saying anything, just stood there before the king and waited. He feared that Alfred must be able to hear the hammering of his heart, it beat so loudly in his own ears. Alfred said, “You may tell Guthrum that I accept his offer. I will return his hostages once he is over the Mercian border. But you, Erlend Olafson, you I will keep.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Erlend. He began to step back, away from Alfred, but the king put a hand upon his upper arm to hold him.
“You will give me your solemn word not to escape?”
“Yes,” said Erlend. “I will.”
Hawk eyes searched his face. Then, slowly: “Your word I will take.”
“Why?” It was suddenly the most important thing in the world to know why Alfred would trust him.
“For the same reason I let you stay five years ago,” Alfred answered.
“And what is that, my lord?”
Alfred smiled. “Elswyth likes you,” he said, “and I have never known her to be wrong about a man yet.”
Erlend stared into the face that was so close to his. Alfred was not jesting, he thought incredulously. He truly was basing his trust upon the judgment of a woman.
Alfred finally released his arm, but Erlend did not immediately step away. The king said grimly, “Your uncle, on the other hand, I would not trust beyond the range of my sight. I will take those fifty hostages, Erlend, and Guthrum will not get them back until he is well into Mercia and away from my borders.”
Erlend took one step back. “I will deliver your message,” he answered, “and tomorrow I will come with fifty other hostages to your camp.”
Two pairs of eyes, almost on a level, met and held. Alfred nodded, turned away, and went to call for Erlend’s escort.
* * *
Chapter 32
Alfred took no chances this time, but gathered all the men still left to him and followed the Danish army as it went up the Fosse Way and into Mercia. Only when Guthrum was reported safely in Repton did Alfred release his
hostages and send them in the wake of their retreating army. Then he himself, along with his companion thanes, returned to Chippenham, where his family awaited him, Erlend Olafson rode to Chippenham in Alfred’s train.
Erlend knew Chippenham from his previous sojourn in the West Saxon royal household. Chippenham had ever been a favorite manor of Alfred’s for hunting; the forests in the area were very fine. It was a good time of year for hunting too, Erlend thought as the high stockade fence of Chippenham rose up under the ever-changing March sky. He thought the chances were good he would be allowed to join the royal hunting parties; Alfred’s companion thanes seemed disposed to treat him more as guest than as enemy hostage. They would not be behaving thus if they had not had their directions from the king.
The king’s party had been sighted and the great gate of Chippenham was swinging open. Then the royal guard was riding into the courtyard, one hundred strong, with Erlend riding directly behind the king, Edgar on one side of him, Brand on the other.
The courtyard filled with running groomsmen, ready to take the horses. Erlend looked toward the great hall and saw two children standing on the step, jumping up and down in their excitement. Erlend could hear the high childish voices even over the jangle of stirrup and bridle and the deeper rumble of male chatter in the yard. “Papa! Papa!”
Erlend swung himself to the ground like those around him and stared in astonishment as Alfred went forward to be enveloped in a rush of arms and legs. “Name of the Raven,” he said. “That can’t be Flavia and Edward!”
Brand had come to stand beside him, and now the West Saxon grinned. “No one else,” he said.
“But they have grown so big.”
“Children will do that.” Brand looked down at the Dane. “I do not know if they will remember you,” he said, “but I am quite certain the Lady Elswyth will.”
Erlend looked up into the green eyes that were so oddly similar to his own. “What think you she will do to me?” he asked Alfred’s thane with mock apprehension.
“God knows,” said Brand. “But you had better come along and see for yourself.” He put a big hand upon Erlend’s shoulder, and Erlend recognized that its touch was for comfort rather than compulsion. Brand had guessed that the apprehension was not entirely pretense after all.
It was dark inside after the brightness of the day. Even for a royal manor, the great hall at Chippenham was extremely large, with a double hearth in its center to give the warmth of two fires to those who clustered within. A trestle table was standing before the hearth this day, with a tapestry laid out upon it. The women who had been working there had gone, however, and only Elswyth remained in the room, with her husband, her children, and four deliriously happy dogs. The men were beginning to come in to claim their sleeping spaces on the benches along the wall. Alfred was holding a very young child in his arms, and all the royal family, with the exception of the baby in her father’s arms, turned to watch Erlend as he slowly crossed the floor toward them. The dogs ran up to sniff at him, then raced back to crowd around Alfred’s legs once more, their tails creating a breeze, they wagged so hard.
Then Erlend was before them. He stopped.
“Elswyth,” Alfred said, and Erlend could distinctly hear the amusement in his voice, “here is Erlend Olafson, hostage for the good word of the Danish leader.”
“My lady,” Erlend said, stood there in his twisted bracelets and his golden collar, and looked at her with wary eyes.
Dark blue eyes looked back, looked him up and looked him down. He had almost forgotten how beautiful Elswyth was. Erlend added with absolute sincerity, “It is good to see you again.”
“I should be furious with you,” Elswyth said, and her husky drawling voice was suddenly welcome to his ears. “We treated you with kindness and you spied on us.”
“Not very well, I am afraid,” Erlend answered immediately. The tips of his triangular brows rose higher. “It was I told Guthrum that Alfred was sure to defend Wilton, I who enabled the West Saxons to come in on us unawares and steal our horses.”
“Harper,” said Flavia suddenly from where she stood between her parents.
Erlend looked at Alfred’s daughter. Dark gold hair in two long braids, those startling not-to-be forgotten blue-green eyes. “Yes,” he said with a faint smile. “I used to be your harper, Flavia.”
“You are a Dane,” said Edward. “Danes dress like you.” Edward’s eyes were on Erlend’s arm bracelets; he did not sound friendly.
Elswyth put a hand on her son’s sturdy shoulder. “Lord Erlend is a special Dane, Edward,” she said. “Hewas kind to my brother Athulf when Athulf was made hostage. We owe him kindness in return.”
Edward turned his eyes, the same color as his sister’s, toward Alfred. Flavia looked like her father, Erlend thought, but not this one. Edward was already two full inches over Flavia, and the thick fair hair framing his rosy childish face was more silver than gold. “We do not like the Danes, Papa, do we?” he demanded.
Alfred shifted his younger daughter from one arm to the other in an effort to evade the fingers that were grasping at his hair. “No, Edward,” he answered, “we do not like the Danes. But as your mother said, Erlend is our guest, and we like him.”
Despite his efforts, the baby had managed to get a fistful of Alfred’s hair, and now she began to pull. His brows knit with the pain and he reached up to untangle the little fingers. Erlend smiled at the expression on Alfred’s face and said to Elswyth, “How is Copper Queen?”
The haughty look left Elswyth’s face and she almost smiled back at him. “Wait until you see her,” she said. “She is splendid.”
Alfred had managed to detach his hair from his daughter’s grasp, and now he handed the baby over to Elswyth’s waiting arms. “It takes having children to understand why it is that married women bundle their hair off their faces,” he remarked to Erlend, and then bent to scratch the ears of his oldest hound. “Erlend has given me his oath not to escape,” he said over his shoulder to his wife. “He is to do as he likes. You will have to find him a place to sleep.”
The hound was quivering all over with ecstasy at Alfred’s touch. The other dogs gathered around, anxiously awaiting their turns.
“Will you harp for us, Erlend?” Flavia asked, looking up at him with wide and innocent eyes.
Erlend looked down into the beautiful little face of Alfred’s daughter. “I should be happy to harp for you, my lady,” he said, and did not realize himself how tender his voice suddenly sounded.
Elswyth heard the note, however, and for one brief moment her eyes met with her husband’s. “Your accent is more Mercian than West Saxon these days,” she said. “Athulf’s influence?”
Erlend nodded. “I suppose so, my lady.” He asked with genuine interest, “How is your brother?”
Elswyth kissed the fat little hand that was so enthusiastically patting her lips. “As well as can be expected.” She tried to speak around a fist that had abruptly been inserted into her mouth. “He is visiting Queen Ethelswith at present. She resides on one of Alfred’s manors in Surrey.”
Erlend, prudently, said nothing.
“Where is your harp?” Flavia asked.
Alfred looked up from his dogs and grinned. “She is just like her mother,” he said. “Relentless. You had better go and get your harp, Erlend, or we will have no peace.”
“Oh, good,” said Flavia, came forward to stand beside Erlend, and put her small hand into his. She gave him a sunny smile. “I’ll go with you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to go too, Edward?” Elswyth asked, having transferred the baby to her hip.
“No,” said Edward in a tone that made it perfectly clear he still did not like Danes.
“All these men,” said Elswyth, looking around the hall. “I had better go and check with the reeve about the supper.”
“I will stay with Papa,” was the last thing Erlend heard from Edward as Flavia tugged him toward the door, toward his baggage and his harp.
*
* * *
Elswyth was already in bed when Alfred came into their sleeping room later in the evening. “I am glad you were nice to Erlend,” he said to her as he began to strip off his clothes. “He was nervous of meeting you again.”
She shrugged. “I could do nothing else. He was very good to Athulf.” She sat up against her pillow and watched him piling his clothes on the chest. “You are always so neat,” she said with amusement. “Do you fold your garments so neatly every night when you are in the field?”
“I scarcely ever get out of my clothes when I am in the field,” he retorted. “That bath I had today was the first good washing I have had in a month.”
She grinned. “If ever you write a book about the hardships of war, chief among them will be listed the lack of proper baths.”
He pulled off His last bit of clothing, his headband, ran his fingers through the hair at his brow, then shook his head like a dog. Elswyth said, only half-humorously, “How I have missed all your little rituals, Alfred.”
He turned and came toward the bed, moving with the springy grace that was so much a part of him. The single lamp shone with a golden light on his bare skin. He got into the bed beside Elswyth, leaned over her, and said, his clipped voice very soft, “I have missed one ritual in particular. Can you guess what it is?”
“I fear you have picked the wrong time of the month for your homecoming, my love,” she said. Her blue eyes were full of sympathy. “I have my courses.”
At that he groaned, flopped down beside her on his back, and stared up at the roof. It was her turn to lean over him. “I am sorry,” she said,
Golden eyes gazed up at her. “It could be worse.” Then: “Safe for another month.”
“Listening to you, one would never think you were so loving a father,” she said. Her loose hair had fallen forward and was hanging down now, enveloping him in a lavender-scented curtain of soft black silk. “You adore the children, you know you do.”
He didn’t move. “Once they are here, they are fine,” he said. “It is the waiting for them to arrive that is so hard.”