by Stuart Hill
I watched as she continued on her way until she stood before the king and queen. “I have brought your youngest daughter, sir and madam,” she said, her voice rising into the rafters and seeming to echo over the entire hall. “She too is a Cerdinga and deserves her place at the high table.”
Father nodded. “Indeed she does, Ara. I quite agree.”
The old woman nodded as though finding the king’s behaviour acceptable. “She deserves all due respect ... there may be a time when those of her blood who are yet to be born will rule a kingdom greater in size than your own, Alfred Cerdinga. Though your name and your deeds will be considered greater still.”
I heard an intake of breath over the entire mead hall as though all the guests shared one set of lungs. But Father just nodded slowly then said, “Aethelfryth may sit next to her mother, and you may join us also, Ara-of-the-Ravens. I’m sure a place can be found for you.”
“I am but a simple woman, Alfred Cerdinga: there should be no place at your high table for the likes of me,” she answered and before anything more could be said, she turned and walked along the length of the table until she stood at the halfway point between Edward and me. Mouse slipped from under the table where he’d been lying at my feet and stood wagging his tail as Ranhald and Raarken cackled at him in greeting.
“Greetings, My Lady Aethelflaed and My Lord Edward,” Ara said. “I have come to tell you that I had a dream in the daytime that told of your futures, but the meaning was borne away before I could commit it to memory.”
“Waste of time telling us then,” I heard Edward mutter.
“Not entirely,” Ara said turning her black eyes on him. “I have a shadow of a thought remaining, that tells of alliances and glories, though where and when I cannot say. But know this, all of you now present in this hall, that Alfred King of Wessex may now be laying the foundations of a mighty future, but it is those who come after him that will build its walls and cap it with a roof that will withstand any storm sent against it.”
Her voice rang out into a deepening silence and when I was sure she had nothing more to add I nodded at her. “Thank you, Ara,” I said, suppressing a shudder that ran up my spine. “If that is the shadow, then how much greater must be the deed?”
“Don’t you start speaking like a poet too,” Edward hissed despairingly. “If I want an ordinary conversation, I’ll have to start talking to myself soon!”
Ara ignored him and after bowing to each of us she turned and slowly walked down the length of the hall and out of the main doors.
It took a few moments for the noise to return to its usual levels of clamour, but when it did I looked along the table and called down to Edward. “It looks like we’re destined to have a successful future!”
“Well of course,” he answered dismissively. “We’re the children of Alfred Cerdinga and Aelswith of Mercia. Anyway, Ara has said something like this before, at our first battle.”
“But then she was only talking to us: we were the only ones to hear. This time I think she wanted to let everyone know what we had to do, and this time she was talking about something specific, not just some idea about what the country could become.”
“Well it wasn’t that specific ... what was it? ‘Alliances and glories’ ... what alliances and glories? If her prophecies are going to be of any use, they’ve got to be more detailed than that!”
I nodded. He was right of course, but now Ara had placed me and Edward at the very centre of some future purpose, and she’d made sure that everyone of importance had heard about it.
That night as I lay in the darkness I found myself admiring Ara’s sense of style. She had the same timing and delivery as the best poets who sang in the halls of the palace. And though she didn’t wear beautiful robes and sing to the accompaniment of musical instruments, she was clothed in the mystery of herself and had the living instruments of Ranhald and Raarken to accompany her words and scinncraeft. In her own way, Ara was one of the greatest artists of the kingdom of Wessex and therefore of the entire Saxon world. I needed to remember that.
Ethelred’s visit ended not long after that and though I saw him quite a few times more before he left and even sat in on some of the discussions he had with Father, I never got a chance to talk to him alone again. I was disappointed at first without really knowing why, but I soon got over it and continued with my usual routine.
Since the Battle of Eddington the Danes had kept behind the borders of Danelaw, which was the name they gave to the lands they ruled now as agreed in the Peace of Wedmore. In fact most of the Great Army had sailed over the sea to fight on the continent and while they brought war and destruction to others, we Saxons strengthened our armies, built the defensive towns called ‘burghs’ that gave our kingdoms a network of military strongpoints, and generally prepared for the end of the peace, which we knew must come.
Both Edward and I were now an accepted and integral part of the army, but Aethelgifu and Aethelfryth no longer trained, choosing instead different routes through life. Aethelgifu became more and more involved with the Church while Aethelfryth, who was growing up quickly, was more interested in any babies she could find, helping to look after and play with them whether the mother wanted her involvement or not!
So our lives continued in a round of the familiar and the peaceful. But then one day in the year 885 the news we’d all been dreading and expecting came to our halls. The Danish Great Army had come back to our islands. They’d crossed the seas and had landed in East Anglia, the realm held by Guthrum. We all of us knew that the time had come to defend our lands again.
The messenger had arrived in the early morning and strode into the palace bringing with him the scent of the wild flowers of the season, and also a sense of dread that filled the streets with muttering groups of worried citizens. Somehow the people always knew whether the news was good or bad when a messenger arrived in Winchester, even if they didn’t know the exact details.
Edward and I were soon called to a war council and as we met in the corridor that led to the council chamber, we immediately began to discuss what might happen.
“Father will call out the fyrd straight away,” Edward said decisively. “And send them in support.”
“Yes, but where to?” I asked as we hurried along, collecting a gaggle of chamberlains and officials in our wake. “Did the message say if the Great Army was marching and if so, did it say where it was heading?”
“I suppose that’s what we’re going to find out now,” he answered.
I also expected Father to immediately call out the fyrd and get ready to march but sometimes this didn’t happen. If the part-time soldiers were all called from their jobs before they were truly needed then trade would suffer and the country could be impoverished. As Father said ‘defending the land and feeding the people is a fine balance’.
The council chamber was one of the biggest spaces in the entire palace, second only to the mead hall. It was so important that not only was the floor paved with granite, but there were even stone columns with round-topped arches that held up the main beams and rafters of the roof above us. I think Father liked to think that it looked like a Saxon version of the old Senate of Ancient Rome. Though in truth none of us really knew what that’d looked like.
When myself and Edward arrived, the double rows of benches that lined the long walls of the rectangular chamber were already full of army commanders, thegns and the entire ‘Witan’, or council of elders, whose job it was to advise the king. The place smelled of the pitch torches that studded the walls and of wood smoke rising from the hearth that blazed in the centre of the floor.
Father’s great chair stood beneath the stone arch at the top of the chamber, with two smaller chairs on either side of it for Edward and me. We both hurried forward and sat down to wait for the king amidst a low buzz of worried conversation. Whenever the Danish Great Army came to our shores there was always years of war to fight before there was any hope of regaining peace, and everyone in the chamber kne
w it.
When Father finally did arrive there was no ceremony. He was deep in conversation with Cerdic Guthweinson and they continued talking as they crossed the chamber and took their places, Father sitting and talking over his shoulder to Cerdic, who stood behind his chair.
We all waited in silence until at last the king nodded and turned to face the room. He sat quietly for a moment as he looked around at the people who helped to rule Wessex. Then he finally drew breath and said, “There’s not much to say. You all know that the Danish Great Army has landed again and threatens Saxon borders. All thegns here will return to their lands after this gathering and call out the fyrd; you’ll then march to Guildford where the army will muster. The call has been sent out to all areas as well as to Ethelred of Mercia.” He paused and the grim expression on his face relaxed until I thought I could see the ghost of a smile playing around his lips. “Last time the Danes caught us unprepared, but this time it’ll be different: we have more housecarles, the fyrd is better trained and equipped and most towns are armed with better defences and strong garrisons. Guthrum has taught the Saxon people many valuable lessons, but now it’s time he realised his pupils have become far greater than their teacher!”
I listened to the cheers echoing through the council chamber and smiled. Sometimes a ruler could achieve more with quiet and relaxed confidence than any number of speeches of fire and fury.
IX
As members of the ruling House of Cerdinga we could have ridden to battle on horseback. But what would have been the point? An army only marches as fast as its slowest soldier, so we wouldn’t have reached the Danes any earlier. And if we wanted to prove that by having horses we were in some way superior to any other Saxon, they’d only have to see us bleed in battle and, in time, die of all the things that kill every other human being, to know that we were no better than and no different from everyone else.
Father led the way, setting a pace that covered the ground at a reasonable rate, but which wouldn’t exhaust his warriors before they’d even had a chance to fight. I marched with Edward and Mouse near the head of the column that wound its way through the green countryside of Wessex. The road followed the high ground, so was dry and firm and as I turned to look back over our ranks I could see the army stretching back into the distance, as long and as sinuous as a serpent. Above us flew the White Dragon banner, the symbol of Wessex, and beneath it stepped the thousand, the elite veterans of the Battle of Eddington. These were the core of the army and would be the anchor of the shield wall when we raised it against Guthrum and the Danes. Behind them came the much larger contingent of the fyrd, marching almost as smartly as the professional soldiers and now each equipped with a good shield, spear and helmet. They were no longer the rabble of former times, but trained fighters with a determination to end the Danish threat for good.
I turned back to face the front and tried to ignore the small knot of excitement in my stomach because it had nothing to do with war. But it was no good; Ethelred of Mercia would be joining us at the muster in Guildford and I could hardly think of anything else. Well ... that wasn’t strictly true ... Guthrum’s ugly face would keep floating up and getting in the way of the Mercian lord’s bright smile, twinkling blue eyes and neatly trimmed beard, but with an effort I could usually push aside the old pirate’s image and concentrate on the much more pleasing picture of our ally!
“Why do you keep sighing?” Edward suddenly asked, taking me by surprise.
“What ...? Oh, I’m just thinking about ... about home ... and ... and the need to keep the Danes out!”
“Fair enough. I suppose we’re all thinking about that, but you look like you’ve got a stomach ache or something.”
“Only the guts of the Danes should feel pain on this day ... the pain of a Saxon sword deep in their innards.”
Both of us jumped away from the dark shape that had suddenly appeared between us.
“Ara! Can’t you wear a set of bells or something, so we can hear you coming?” my brother shouted.
The ravens, Ranhald and Raarken, in their usual place on the old woman’s shoulders, both gave cackling croaks that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and even Ara’s frown-creased face lightened for a moment. “Perhaps I should sing one of Aethelgifu’s hymns.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Edward grumpily. “A gentle cough would do.”
Ara said nothing, the silence stuffed with the sort of atmosphere that only the wise woman could pack into it.
“Anyway, what are you doing here, Ara?” Edward finally asked. “Does Father know you’re marching with us?”
“Where else would he expect me to be? I stood with him at Eddington, and I will stand with him in every battle from now until I’m finally called to the halls of the gods.”
“And ... er ... is that going to happen any time soon?” Edward asked innocently.
“When Wotan decrees.”
“No hints or details at all, I suppose.”
“The gods will act in their own good time.”
“I see,” said Edward. “Well if you get any, you know, inklings, just give us the nod and perhaps we can arrange a little send-off of some sort. You know the sort of thing, a few ales, a few funny stories and memories ...”
Ara stared at him in silence.
“Then again, perhaps not.” Edward stumbled on. “Not right to celebrate a death ... I suppose ...”
The voices of Ranhald and Raarken were raised in what sounded like dark disapproval as we marched on towards Guildford.
The weather was kind to us and we made good time. Watching the fields, woodlands and pastures of Wessex unfold about us as we marched I understood why the Danes wanted to carve out new lands for themselves on these islands. The earth was rich, the weather usually kind and gentle, the harvests good. What more could a man or woman ask of their home? The only disadvantage to living in such wealth and comfort was the need to defend it from those who would take it from you.
Guildford had been raised to the status of one of Father’s new burghs and its improved defensive dykes and ditches were still raw and without grass cover as we approached. There were also high palisades along the top of each mound that surrounded the town and housecarles were clearly visible as they patrolled the fighting platforms that ran along behind the wooden walls.
The people of Guildford greeted us with wild excitement as we marched through the gates. Usually a town has mixed feelings about a fighting force of our size suddenly descending on them and filling the place with soldiers who would all need feeding, but with Guthrum and the Danish Great Army on the rampage nearby, we were all very welcome.
Ethelred and his force hadn’t yet arrived, but they were expected in the next day or so. The town was obviously well prepared for its role as the muster point for the royal army. It was well provisioned with supplies and had also designated large areas of open land beyond the walls as places for military camps.
Of course Father and his commanders, as well as Edward and me, were invited to a feast. But once again nobody got too excited during the eating and drinking in the town’s official mead hall. After all, Guthrum and his army were still to be fought, and who could even guess how that would go?
Father politely accepted the town’s offer to make the head ealdorman’s home his headquarters, but Edward and I were glad to get back to the camp that had been pitched beyond the town walls. To be honest our well-appointed tents that we’d inspected before the campaign began were far more comfortable than the hovels that were the best some towns could offer.
The next day dawned bright and clear and I was soon up and dressed in my full military gear. Any veteran housecarle would probably say that it’s better to conduct everyday business when on campaign in a more comfortable outfit of everyday wear, rather than stomping around carrying a heavy shield and weapons. But something made me put on the full regalia I’d had made for the coming battles. The mail shirt fitted me perfectly, accentuating the fact that I was now a young woman i
n a way that I didn’t mind at all. The helmet too was a beautiful piece of work with delicate gilding around the rim and nose guard, and the fact that it was a strong piece of equipment that could turn a blow from a Danish axe only added to its beauty for me.
I then strapped on sword and dagger, picked up my shield, decorated with the White Dragon of the Royal House of Wessex, called Mouse to heel and set out into the early-morning light. Everywhere I walked the soldiers of both the elite one thousand and also the fyrd saluted me as I passed, something I found deeply pleasing. I returned the salutes with a suitably stern face and strode purposefully through the smells of wood smoke, frying griddle cakes and bacon towards the perimeter of the camp. I had no idea what I’d find there, but I hoped I looked impressive.
When I reached the picket lines I made a great show of inspecting the sentries on duty, but eventually I would have to admit to myself that I was checking the defences on the side nearest to the road that led directly from Mercia because I hoped to be the first to see Ethelred and his army arrive.
It was precisely at that moment that I looked along the road for the umpteenth time and there was the banner of Mercia, the Yellow Wyvern, emerging through the wispy mist.
If Aethelgifu had been there I’d have asked her to say a prayer of thanks for me. As it was I sketched a quick thank you to whoever was the saint of the day, and immediately strode forward to meet Ealdorman Ethelred, Lord of the Mercians.
I slung my shield on my arm and even drew my sword and stopped in the very centre of the road with Mouse standing impressively by my side as I waited for the advancing army to notice me. In fact I must have made quite a sight, because as the army paced out of the mist, they immediately came to a halt and stood in silence.