by Joan Wolf
“He did?” Erlend did not have to feign surprise. This emotion was genuine. “That was … selfless of him,” he said. “Few kings would choose to bypass their own direct descendants.”
“The royal house of Wessex is not like other kingly houses,” came the proud reply from somewhere down the circle. “Your Frankish princes would cut each other’s throats before they would assist each other. The house of Cerdic is not like that. They are for the country first. All of Wessex does know that.”
Erlend’s neighbor added, “And all of Wessex does know the love and the trust King Ethelred had for his brother. Alfred was the only choice in such a time as this.”
Erlend listened hard but there was not the hint of a dissenting voice in the group. The young Dane lay down to sleep in the midst of the West Saxon thanes and mulled over what he had learned.
If what the thanes had said was true, then truly the house of Cerdic was singular among the race of men. But these were Alfred’s own men, Erlend thought. As were the folk at Lambourn, who had given him a previous report of the relationship between Ethelred and his brother. Erlend strongly doubted that things in Wessex were as unified as these thanes would have him think. It was not in the nature of man to be, as one of the thanes had said, “for the country first.” Erlend had no doubt that he lived in an age of wolves. Now that Wessex’ crowned king was dead, the wolves would be out and snarling over the kingdom he had left.
Erlend decided he would stay with the army for a little longer, to see just who the wolves turned out to be.
The Saxon army was up early the following morning, but to Erlend, who was accustomed to the speed with which the Danes could move, Alfred’s men seemed ponderously slow. It was the lack of horses, he supposed as he marched along in the midst of the fyrd, his harp over his shoulder, listening to the talk about him. An army that traveled by foot was considerably slower than an army that traveled on horseback, he thought. The only men on horseback among the Saxons were the king, his immediate companion thanes, and the ealdormen. In contrast, every Danish soldier was mounted. The East Anglian horses they had acquired upon landing in England had proved invaluable.
A distinct advantage for the Danes, Erlend thought, they could outrun the Saxons anytime they chose. A useful piece of information for him to pass on to Halfdan and Guthrum when he returned to camp.
The rows of thanes moved slowly down the thinly graveled Roman road, and Erlend’s green eyes flicked from line to line of the marching men, counting numbers. Not nearly the number that had fought at Ashdown, he thought. But all the men seemed well-accoutred, and carried swords as well as spears, the sure sign of the upper class. The farmers, apparently, had gone home,
Erlend found his eyes going back again and again to the figure of Alfred, riding his chestnut stallion so confidently at the head of his marching men. Erlend could almost find it in his heart to pity the boyishly slender West Saxon king. Alfred could not possibly stand against the army the Danes had collected at Reading this April. He was outnumbered nearly four-to-one.
The West Saxon thanes seemed to expect that Erlend would make camp with them and he was tuning his harp, waiting for the cookfires to be lit, when a clean-shaven young man with brown hair and greenish eyes rather like his own came up to him and said, “Harper, the king invites you to sup with him this night.”
Erlend got slowly to his feet. The thane’s resemblance to him did not extend to size. He had to look up to meet the other man’s eyes even when he was finally standing. “I am honored,” he said softly, and slinging his harp over his back, he fell into step beside Alfred’s man.
“We do not have any harpers with the fyrd,” the thane told him as they walked together toward the king’s camp place. “In truth, the royal harpers have all grown too old to march any great distance. So it is a boon to have you fall in with us like this.” The man, who looked to be but in his early twenties, smiled down at him. “My name is Brand,” he said. “I am one of Alfred’s companions.”
“Is that why you wear a headband?” Erlend asked ingenuously.
Brand laughed. “Yes. It has been our badge ever since Nottingham.”
Erlend deliberately slowed his steps. “Nottingham?” he asked, widening his eyes with simulated wonder. “Was there a battle at Nottingham? I thought the Mercian and West Saxon kings chose not to fight.”
“It was the Mercian king who did not want to fight.” This was evidently a sore point. “They should have listened to Alfred,” Brand said. “We had the fyrds of two countries at Nottingham and we let the Danes go free.”
“Alfred wanted to fight?” Erlend asked.
“Yes. Do not think, Harper, that it was the men of Wessex who backed away from Nottingham. It was the Mercians.” Brand sounded as if the word “Mercian” left a bad taste in his mouth,
Before Erlend could ask another question, however, they had reached their destination. “Come,” said Brand, and the thane walked directly up to where the king was standing, with Erlend trailing behind him. “I have brought the harper, my lord,” Brand said. And turned aside to gesture Erlend closer.
It was the first time Erlend had ever seen Alfred up close, and he bowed his head, then looked with candid curiosity at the man standing before him. Alfred was taller than Erlend, but still no one would ever call the West Saxon king a big man. His shoulder-length hair was a unique shade of dark gold, and he was almost boyishly slim in build. He was clean-shaven, and in the glow from the cookfire his skin gleamed with a faintly golden glow. If he were a girl, Erlend thought, you would have called him beautiful.
Erlend thought of the strong bones and massive muscles of his uncle. Next to Guthrum, Alfred of Wessex would look like a child. If Erlend had not seen Alfred fight at Ashdown, he would have wondered how the West Saxons ever chose him to be their king.
But Erlend remembered Ashdown all too well, and he remembered also the defense this man had organized to cover the retreat of his wounded brother from Meretun. For all his apparent delicacy, Alfred was a man to be reckoned with.
Alfred said to him, “I am pleased to welcome so accomplished a harper into our camp.” Erlend’s musician’s ears noted that the king’s voice was of the middle register, but his way of speaking was short and clipped.
Erlend suddenly remembered that no poor lowborn harper would stare quite so boldly at a crowned king, and he dropped his eyes. “Thank you, my lord,” he replied, and shuffled his feet a little to denote his awe. “It is my good fortune to have fallen in with so generous a group,” he added.
“We will make you sing for your supper,” Alfred said. “I heard you last night. You are very good.”
The words were certainly not extravagant. There was no reason for such a thrill of pride to run through him. Erlend frowned, annoyed with himself. “Thank you, my lord,” he said shortly, aware that he sounded ungracious, and was even more annoyed.
Alfred appeared not to notice, but gestured the boy to a place near the cookfire. Seating himself, Erlend was startled to find the king was taking the place beside him. Brand served Alfred his dinner, which tonight was dried fish, and next he served Erlend.
Harpers, Erlend knew, were honored by the West Saxons, but he had not quite expected this.
“You are Frankish?” the king asked pleasantly as Erlend took up his fish.
“Yes, my lord,” Erlend replied cautiously. Guthrum had said truly that it was one thing to fool the simple but another to hoodwink the great.
“My father’s second wife was Frankish,” Alfred said. “She was a very great lady. Judith of France. She is married now to Baldwin of Flanders.”
Erlend knew the story of Judith of France. All of Europe knew the story of Judith of France. Another beautiful woman who had trampled all decency in the dust in order to get the man she wanted into her bed. What had Alfred called her? A very great lady? Erlend’s mother was a very great lady also. He did not think much of the breed.
“I am the son of simple folk, my lord,” he said now
, woodenly. “I know little of princes.”
“Yet you know the courtly songs,” came the easy answer. “And the harp you carry is a fine one.”
Erlend made himself chew his fish slowly. So there was a brain under that gleaming golden hair, he thought. He felt a pleasant sense of exhilaration stir within him, He was going to have to think. He swallowed his fish. “I learned to play from a wandering harper, my lord.” He took a bite from his barley bread. Better not to volunteer too much information, he thought. Only answer direct questions. “He had played all over England and Europe at one time,” Erlend mumbled rudely around the bread in his mouth. “He was old when I met him, and when he died he left me his harp.”
“I see,” Alfred said. He had not eaten the fish, Erlend noticed. Now, for the first time, he took a bite of his bread.
“We should reach Wilton by midday tomorrow, my lord,” Brand said on Alfred’s other side. “The weather looks to hold fair.”
“That will be good,” Alfred replied tranquilly. “It is always good to come home.”
Erlend was still with the Saxon army when it arrived at the royal manor of Wilton the following afternoon. He stayed partly because he still did not have the information he wanted, and partly because it was a challenge he could not resist, to come within the very halls of the enemy’s stronghold and still maintain his disguise. The West Saxon thanes welcomed his company good-naturedly and told him there was always room on a hall bench for a harper of his talent.
It was danger of a very different sort from the kind offered on the field of battle, and Erlend was discovering a distinct taste for it.
They rode into Wilton under a cobalt-blue sky. Erlend, who had never seen the palaces of France, was impressed with this dwelling of the kings of Wessex. There were five substantial-size dwelling halls within the wooden palisade fence of Wilton, as well as the church and the outbuildings and the barns. Each of the halls had a second floor, where the serving folk slept. The chief thanes slept in the halls beneath, with the remainder of the army camping out within the perimeter of the manor walls. Erlend was surprised to be given a bench in the smallest of the dwelling houses; another sign, he thought, of the respect for harpers evinced by the West Saxons. The sleeping room in this particular hall was being occupied by the Ealdorman of Kent, Ceolmund by name, and it was Ceolmund’s thanes among whom Erlend was quartered.
The small hall was soon filled with thanes, arranging their gear and checking their weapons. Erlend put his harp carefully under his allotted bench and decided to go outdoors into the courtyard, away from the noise and the clutter that was accumulating so quickly indoors.
The courtyard was busy as well, with serving girls scurrying with buckets of water and serving men running back and forth with messages and food. A number of Alfred’s thanes lounged comfortably in the sun, leaning against a hitching post before the great hall. Suddenly, through the open gate there came a single horse and rider. Erlend, like everyone else in the courtyard, turned to look.
It was a black-haired girl, Erlend saw in surprise, riding the most beautiful filly he had ever seen. The filly snorted in surprise at the number of people before her and reared. The girl leaned forward a little and patted the gleaming chestnut shoulder, The filly came down, halted, and stood watching the scene before her out of wide white-rimmed eyes. The girl made no attempt to press the horse forward, but from the movement of her lips, Erlend could see she was talking.
The door of the main hall opened and Erlend saw Alfred come out. There was a very small girl riding on his shoulders, and from the color of the child’s hair Erlend guessed she must be his daughter. Alfred came lightly down the stairs, his hands raised to hold the child’s small hands in order to balance her, and walked across the courtyard toward the girl on the chestnut filly.
A voice floated to Erlend’s ear. “Mama!” He realized in some surprise that this black-haired girl must be Alfred’s queen.
The filly’s ears pricked forward as Alfred approached, but she stood quietly enough. The girl—the queen—remained in the saddle until her husband was by her side. They remained thus for a few minutes, talking. Then Alfred went to the filly’s head and held the bridle while the girl dismounted.
She swung down with effortless ease and Erlend was shocked to see that she was wearing trousers, just like a man. Alfred beckoned, and a serving man, one of the twenty or so people who had been watching this scene with silent fascination, came running forward to take the filly’s reins and lead her to the stable. The king and the queen came across the courtyard toward the main hall, deep in conversation. The child was still perched on her father’s shoulders, but now her hands were wound into his hair for balance.
The three went up the steps and into the hall, out of the view of those in the courtyard. The thanes and serving folk, who for the last five minutes had been frozen into stillness, began to talk and move about again.
Erlend realized that someone was standing beside him, and he turned to the thane and asked, “Was that the queen?”
“We do not have queens in Wessex,” came the unexpected answer. “But that was Alfred’s wife, the Lady Elswyth.”
“No queens?” Erlend was surprised.
“It is not our custom.” The thane, who was of Ethelnoth’s hearthband, looked at Erlend with tolerance. “It is never wise to give a woman too much power,” he said.
There was a brief pause as Erlend pushed away from his mind’s eye the image of Eline’s small heart-shaped, green-eyed face. “I suppose that is true,” he answered then, his clear harper’s voice a little harsh.
“That was the king’s daughter,” the thane continued.
“I thought so. They have the same color hair.”
“There is a son also.” The thane seemed eager to establish that fact. “He is but a few months old, but very promising, they say.”
“I am certain that he is,” Erlend replied politely. His own half-brother back at Nasgaard would be older than that, he thought. Would be as old as the little girl who had ridden so securely upon her father’s shoulders. Was Asmund carrying his son about in such a loving and paternal way?
Somehow, Erlend doubted it.
* * *
Chapter 22
The following morning Alfred’s personal household priest said Mass in the church for the king, the ealdormen, and the thanes of the witan. One of the first things Alfred had done after his coronation was to find a congenial personal priest to travel with him. While he was but second in command, the manor priests had been sufficient, but the king must always travel with a priest for himself and his men. Alfred had bypassed Ethelred’s chaplain, a man pious enough but unlearned and simple, and named a man from Canterbury, one of the few priests left in Wessex who could somewhat read and write in Latin.
Consequently, while Father Erwald said Mass in the church, the household priest of Wilton said Mass in the great hall for the rest of the thanes and the household folk. Erlend went with the others, afraid to differentiate himself in any way,
It was the first time the Dane had ever attended a Christian religious service, and he was extremely disappointed. He did not understand the Latin. There was no sacrifice, no banquet. He had always understood that Christians feasted on the flesh of their god, but there was nothing like that. The priest gave out small pieces of bread, which were received reverently by about half of those present, and that was all. Erlend did not go forward to take the bread. He had been careful to imitate the actions of those around him, but he was not at all certain of the ritual and did not want to make a mistake.
It did not seem like much, he thought, watching as the thane next to him bowed his head and moved his lips in what Erlend supposed was prayer. Depressingly tame, in fact. Erlend had expected more.
In a mere hour it all was finished and the trestle tables were being set up for breakfast.
A tedious religion, Erlend thought. Guthrum would laugh at it. Assuredly, it held no interest for a warrior.
After
a breakfast of bread and honey and porridge had been served, Erlend slipped away from the hall and went out through the manor gate.
He thought he would spy out the countryside as best he could. He had not been this far south and west during his travels last winter.
It was another magnificent spring day. The grass had greened and thickened these past weeks, and the fenced pastures lying without the manor walls looked temptingly rich and lush. Certainly the horses turned out in the nearest pasture seemed to think so. They were all grazing industriously and did not even raise a head when Erlend began to walk toward the wattle fence that held them in. All, that is, except the beautiful chestnut filly Erlend had seen Alfred’s wife riding the day before. The filly was standing nearest the fence, head already lifted, gazing in the direction of the manor. Erlend walked slowly in her direction, wishing he had a treat he could offer her.
The chestnut filly remained where she was and watched him come. When he reached the five-foot wattle fence he halted and looked her over with reverent awe. Like most Danes, Erlend was a good horseman, and his father had kept some highly bred stock in the pastures of Nasgaard, He knew a good animal when he saw one.
This one was almost perfect, he thought. Her legs were long, slender but strong, the knees flat and the canon bones sufficiently short. Her shoulder had admirable length and slope and her withers were well-defined for so young a mare. Her hindquarters showed great depth, with strong muscling through the stifle and the gaskin. Her head was particularly beautiful, he thought, lost in admiration of the big eyes, small neat ears, and chiseled shape of her nostrils. Her coat gleamed reddish gold in the bright sunlight. She was beautifully cared-for, Erlend thought with approval, and obviously well-treated. She watched him with mild interest and absolutely no fear. Then, all of a sudden, her ears pricked.
“What a complete beauty you are,” he was saying in reverence when a deep drawling voice spoke from behind him.