“My lord,” he said as he placed each one precisely, “We are all affronted by the heights which Alvar has now reached, but we must bide our time and wait until a way shows itself by which we can bring him and the king’s wife back down.” He stepped away from the table and paused to allow Brandon to respond. The earl looked at him as if he were having difficulty focusing and Dunstan had a brief, silent conversation with God, during which he assured his maker of his understanding that this was a trial; why else would one of his allies be as stupid as a mule while his enemy was sharp as a sword point?
He turned to Oswald, who, praise be to God, was possessed of a brain which worked swiftly and deviously. He said, “The law says that the hundred-moot must be held every four weeks, the borough court thrice a year and the shire court twice. Well then, let us look at this law and see how we can make it work for us. Your diocese is in the heart of Mercia. I think that there are many ways in which you can keep Lord Alvar busy within his own lands, and thus well away from the king?”
Oswald smiled. “As you say it, so it is done. Not only will I keep him busy, I will see to it that the wheels on our carts turn so slowly that he might never leave Mercia.”
Dunstan nodded. “Good. And while you are away, I will take every chance that I can to whisper in the king’s ear, to make him think about how often his wife’s smile alights upon the lord Alvar. Let me plant the seed and I will water it well.”
Brandon sat up as if waking. “What? Alvar and my brother’s whore? Is this true?”
Dunstan tried to keep his tone light and to resist the temptation to address the man as if he were a particularly unresponsive pupil. “I do not know.”
“Then why…”
Oswald said, “It does not matter if it is true. What matters is only that the king believes it.”
Dunstan offered up thanks that if Brandon was his trial, then at least Oswald was his assistance, and that the bishop understood his intent. But it was a plan with scant chance of success. Without proof, it would be difficult to convince one as supremely confident as Edgar that he was a cuckold. Dunstan needed more. He said to Oswald, “While you are busy in Worcester, my lord Bishop, keep a wary eye and an open ear for anything that could be fashioned into a shovel to dig the upstart’s grave.” He kept the rest of the thought to himself, remembering his status as archbishop. And bury the whore-queen with him.
Cheshire
The chickens settled down to resume their pecking and the little boy ran at them again. He clapped his hands and they squawked and garbled and attempted to fly away, and he ran back to the fence to wait for them to quieten down again.
Out over the fields, the swallows twittered and chattered as they shot like arrows back and forth. Gytha came from behind the bake-house with a wooden bowl filled with wood-ash. “Siferth, it will be your bedtime soon,” she said, but the toddler took no notice as he launched the chickens for a third time.
“Be good and I will show you where the new hazelnuts are growing. Next month we will pick them and we can eat them dried at Yuletide.” She raised her voice. “Have a care; there is an ant bed over there and you are barefoot, little Helmstan-son.”
He ran to show her his find. “Feather.”
She sat down where the last of the evening sunshine was casting a warm spot on the ground, and picked up a saucepan. “Why did Leofsige bring out the trivet when he cooked outside?” She clicked her tongue, tucked a cloth into her belt and scrubbed the pan with handfuls of ash. “There was no need.”
Siferth said, “Bad Leofy,” and ran away again.
Gytha grunted. “He is a strong little man.”
Káta reached out to catch two dandelion seed fluff-balls, stuck together and floating on the breeze. “Yes, I do thank God for it. When I think what it took to bear him…” She gathered her cloak from the ground and draped it over her shoulders.
Gytha said, “We thought you both would die. All that blood lost, and you were so white. He would not feed and went yellow. Ha! Look at him now.”
Káta smiled as Siferth once more sent the chickens pelting around the yard in confusion. “Yes, I think that both God and my mother’s gods were watching over us that night.” She opened her mouth to call again to Siferth and as she did so she glanced at the path to the stables. “See, Siferth; here is your father, come to tell you a tale, so you must go to bed if you wish to hear it.” She stood up and watched as her husband walked wearily towards the house, each step slow and heavy, as if he were walking through wet sand.
The little boy ran to his father. “Offa, Offa!”
Helmstan brushed his hair out of his eyes with a muddy hand and scooped his son up from the ground. “Look at that, youngling; my fingers no longer reach all the way round you.”
The little boy repeated his demand. “Offa!”
Helmstan looked over Siferth’s shoulder, lowered his head to kiss his wife and raised his eyebrows in query.
“He wants to hear the story of King Offa; how he kept the Welsh out of our kingdom.”
Helmstan said, “Ah, I understand.”
“Siferth said, “Tell me, tell me.”
Helmstan sighed. “Not tonight, my son.” He adjusted his grip and said, “Come, put your feet through my belt and cling on. I’ll take you to the hearth and tell you of another great man of Mercia, who was known as the Greybeard.”
Káta touched Helmstan’s arm. “Was?”
He said, “My lord died this morning.”
“Oh, my love, I am so sorry to hear it. I know you loved your lord dearly.” She stood aside and he carried the boy through the doorway.
As he walked past her he said, “Lord Alvar rode with me from Chester. He is with the horses, for he is worried that his steed is lame.”
He went inside, but she stood by the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She looked into the hall, then down the path towards the stables. The information had been delivered as if in afterthought, but she could not so easily dismiss it. “Gytha, what must I do?”
It was a name from another time, a time before she became a mother and her life was made complete. She had not seen him for three years and at that meeting, she recalled, she had been inexplicably angry that he seemed not to care that she was pregnant with a longed-for child. It should not have mattered to her whether he held any opinion, because the happy tidings had made her life with Helmstan all the more rewarding. Yet it had seemed to her that by telling him, she had shut a door without ever knowing if he even wished to step through it. But why should she wish to leave that door ajar? And why was her stomach now turning circles much as it did when the early flutters of pregnancy had first stirred in there? She repeated her plea. “What must I do?”
Gytha stood up and wiped her hands on her cloth. “What do you mean, Lady?”
After all this time there should be no reaction at all, and yet she was in disarray. She tried to attribute her state of agitation to the social requirements. “I should be with my husband; we are saddened by the Greybeard’s death. And yet a great earl has come to be at our hearth and I would be no lady if I did not see to his needs.”
Gytha looked through the doorway. “Lord Helmstan is playing with the child. You can leave him for a while. Let us go to Leofsige.”
The cook said, “Lady, it is late in the day. It might not be the fare that the lord is used to, but I will do what I can.”
“It is not a rare thing that our household grows to twice as many.” Káta pointed to the beef he had set aside, marinating in vinegar and herbs. “We are rich enough to have that in our kitchen. You are the cook; do what you must.”
Leofsige puffed his cheeks out and muttered. “I have already said that I will.”
Gytha laid a hand on his arm. “My lady does not mean to speak so harshly.”
Káta left them and walked down the lane, punching her hips as she went. “No, it will not do, to speak that way; it will not do.” She stopped on the path and took deep breaths.
Dear God, what was it about this man that prickled her skin like a nettle rash? He had ridden away all those years ago leaving her to think that he was uninterested in her news, which was as it should be. She was the wife of his friend, nothing more. She sighed and slapped her forehead. Of course; that was it. She was angry on Helmstan’s behalf, that Alvar had not visited the friend who missed his company.
She stepped into the stables and he stood up but made no greeting. “I do not think it is broken,” he said to the stable-boy. “I will look at it again in the morning light.”
Káta held out a hand that would not keep steady. “Lord Alvar, you are welcome, though it is a sad time for us all.”
He stumbled forward, steadied himself, and took a step back. “My lady, forgive me, I could not see who it was in the doorway. Yes, it is a sad time.”
He wiped his hands on his breeches and took her hand, held it for a moment, and then let his arm hang by his side.
He picked at a fingernail and she looked at the horses.
She patted the black stallion in the nearest stall and he stared at the floor.
He opened his mouth and she leaned forward and turned her head to listen, but he said nothing. The warm smell of sweat and leather was the same on every man who rode hard. She breathed it in as if for the first time. “Shall we walk to the hall, my lord?”
He nodded and followed her out into the dusk. Above the stable doorway, a red and white cloth flapped in the breeze, hung there to ward off hag-riding. “I do not like the thought of evil witches taking the horses at night and working them to death,” she said, though he had not asked. The silence continued, magnifying the silliness of her remark.
The sun was gone and the sky grew dark and cold as quickly as a fire quenched with cold water. She shivered and pulled the light woollen cloak tighter about her body. From the corner of her eye she saw him begin to remove his own cloak and her stomach lurched as she waited for him to drop it around her shoulders. But he changed his mind, refastened his brooch, and his arms hung once again by his side.
“So you have a son?”
“Yes, we named him Siferth, after my father. He will not yet be abed, so you can meet him.”
“I heard that you were unwell afterwards.”
She laughed. It was too loud, and she took a deep breath. “That is one way to say it. It made a sword wound seem like a mere bee sting. Not that I know much of sword wounds…” She put her hands to her mouth. She was happy to talk of childbirth, but men were not so keen. He would think her such a silly woman, to clatter on.
“But you are well now?”
“Thank you, yes, but I do not think that there will be any more bairns.” She chanced a look up at his face and saw nothing in the half light to give her any insight into his thoughts. Besides, how ridiculous to think that he would care one way or the other whether she were able to have more children. She kept her chin in the air, imagined that her mother was listening and said, “I must be thankful for what I have.”
He glanced at her, and looked ahead again. He stopped on the path in front of her and she had nowhere to turn as he stared at her.
“My lord, is there something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No. I was led to believe that you had died whilst giving birth. I am glad to see that I was told wrongly.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, for she was too in awe of the earl even now to berate him. If he had, as he said, believed her to be dead, then he had all the more reason to visit his friend Helmstan. Why would he stay away? Unless…
She shook her head to free her mind of the madness that seemed to have landed therein. When she opened the door of the hall, Helmstan looked up from his chair. He kissed the top of his son’s head and mouthed, “My love.”
She smiled and sniffed, and turned to look once more at the man who was standing beside her, who came less than every other summertime and yet, when he did, disturbed her like one of Siferth’s chickens. But somehow his presence always warmed and excited her, and even in the dusk and covered with grime, his face was so pleasing to her that if the price to pay for being able to gaze upon it was a little heartache when he left again, then so be it.
She said, “It will do my husband’s heart good to see you, my lord. Do not leave it so long next time.” She smiled at him, and knew that for the first time she was conveying genuine warmth.
“What? Well, let us hope that happier tidings bring me north in future. God, but I am weary to my bones from the sadness this day. Let us go to your husband and son then, and drink to the poor old Greybeard. Then I will get drunk and tell you all the latest tales from the king’s house.”
“Much of what goes on is, no doubt, not fit for my ears, my lord.” She tried to keep a straight face, but failed.
He grinned back. “You are right. But I shall tell you anyway.”
Chapter Nine AD965
Cheshire
Káta partially closed her eyes against the sun, and looked through rainbow-lashes at the brightness. Away near the woods, the incessant triple hoot of the wood pigeon announced that full summer had arrived, while beyond the mill the rising laugh of the curlew marked the way to the estuary, but, beside them, the downward slope of the riverbank offered shelter from the breeze, and the loudest noise here was the gentle chatter of the water. She turned to check once more that Siferth was safe above her in the field, and dangled her feet in the water.
“So must I wear my best kirtle?”
“No-one will be looking upon you, my lady. All eyes will be on the rich, good-looking earl and his new thegn.”
“Do you think so?”
Alvar was lying on the grass beside her, with his hands behind his head. His legs were crossed at the ankles and he was chewing on a blade of grass. He turned his head, opened one eye, and grinned.
“Oh, I see now...” Her cheeks warmed; she felt a little foolish as she realised that he was teasing.
He chuckled and said, “Lady, when your husband kneels and swears the hold-oath to me as his lord, he could cluck like a chicken and no-one would hear, for they will all be looking at his lovely fair wife. You have no need for bright clothes.”
“I will put some on, even so.” Káta swished her feet one more time and drew them up out of the water to dry on the grass. She lay back and smoothed her veil under her head. Arms outstretched, she pushed her fingers through the long grass, curling the blades round her knuckles. She pulled against their strength and allowed them to spring back up again. She was relaxed enough in his company to have begun to see why Helmstan valued his friendship so much. Alvar had an easy way of making her laugh and, where once she thought him arrogant, now all she heard were self-deprecating jokes about his exalted position at court. She had to acknowledge that he was, in fact, both amiable and affable. The doorway of possibility which had slammed shut when she bore a son left nowhere for wondering regrets to shelter, and had placed a barrier between her and any emotional danger. And, in an odd way, it had allowed her to begin to like this man. “And you; will you be the best clad lord in all Mercia?”
“I am the lord of all Mercia,” he said.
She laughed. “As if you would let us forget it.”
“No, you will never forget it, because I will be here more often, coming to the moots and overseeing the land. Before, I came only when time allowed, now I will come because I must.”
She wagged a finger in the air, but with her eyes shut she could only guess that it was pointing in the right direction. “There you go again, always telling me how great a lord you are.”
She sat up in a scrabble. In relaxing, she had forgotten how loose her tongue could also get. “I am sorry, my lord, that was not well said.” Urged on by an honest desire to make amends, she held his gaze. “I was harsh to you when we first met. I thought that you were haughty, that you looked down upon us from a great height. Now that I know the happiness of motherhood, I would not envy the heavy burdens of a life like yours.”
He s
miled, but not enough to crease the skin around his eyes. “You have naught to say sorry for. If I seemed lofty, I think it was only because my tongue would not untie itself long enough for me to speak the right words. It is I who envies you and Helmstan, but you know this.”
Káta wriggled her shoulders and lay with her eyes fully shut, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. “I could bide here all day,” she said.
“And I.”
All she heard then was the chuckle of the river, and somewhere on the grass on the bank above her, a busybody bee investigated the clover. She wrinkled her nose at a tickle and raised her hand to swat away the fly. It tickled again, and once more she batted it away with her hand. When she felt the soft touch a third time, she opened her eyes. He had stopped chewing the blade of grass and had been brushing it against her face. Propped up on one elbow, his head above her face, he looked into her eyes. His hair fell forward and almost touched her cheek. With shallow half-breaths she tried to remain still, but her stomach turned a somersault and her chest rose and fell, so she held her breath.
“Mother? Mother?” Siferth tottered down the bank.
Alvar rolled away from her and sat up. She had the space then to do the same, and the boy toddled to her and fell into her lap.
Alvar the Kingmaker Page 18