by M J Porter
Ælfgar sat beside the commander of his own household troops, Godwulf, and bent his head low. He offered little in the way of explanation but instructed him to have five horses saddled, and three of the men to escort him from midday onwards.
Godwulf grunted his agreement. He asked nothing, and Ælfgar was grateful as his eyes skimmed the room. Godwulf knew an explanation would come, in good time. If there were something to be done, under subterfuge, there would be a valid reason for it.
“Please also see that Creoda receives this,” into his hand Ælfgar placed a small pouch containing twenty of the king’s silver pennies. It would be more than enough to buy the silence of the servants Creoda had commanded last night. If he had any sense, Creoda would share the proceeds three ways. But if he didn’t, Ælfgar could only be grateful for the man’s lack of desire to profit from what he’d witnessed the previous night.
“Has the king been seen this morning?” Ælfgar asked softly, but Godwulf shook his head.
“No, he’s not. Not that anyone’s asking why. The remains of four jugs were found this morning. If he drank all that alone, I doubt we’ll see him until a week’s time.”
Ælfgar smirked at the attempt at humour. Hungrily he dug into a bowl of pottage brought to him by one of his other men and savoured the warmth of the food, and the sweetness of the honey that had been smeared over it. He also drank thirstily. He’d have preferred a warm drink, but the king’s hall wasn’t the place to find one.
Ælfgar lingered in the hall long after most had gone about their duties for the day. He didn’t want to see the king, but neither could he avoid him. Ælfgar had decided the only way forward was to face the cause of his anger immediately. If he couldn’t speak civilly to the king this morning, then he doubted he ever would.
He also wanted to examine the floor where he’d found Harald’s wife. If he could see with his own eyes that there was no evidence of the king’s rage of the previous night, he knew taking the injured woman away from London would be easier.
The king, with no visible reminder of what he’d done, would not think to even consider where she was for some days. Until he drank his fill once more, and his urges returned, either to beat or to sate his desires, Ælfgar was unsure what drove Harald more.
Yet the hall never emptied enough for Ælfgar to risk looking at the floor, and neither did the king arrive.
Irritated and tired, Ælfgar rose from his seat and made his way to the king’s stables.
As instructed, Godwulf was there, and so too were three more of his men, with two other horses saddled and ready for their journey.
“My thanks,” he acknowledged, as he mounted his horse, and turned the animal toward the gateway. Seated on his horse, he felt the rush of the wind even more than on ground level, and he glared upwards. Would the damn wind never blow itself out?
Kneeing his horse forward, mindful of those who milled around the forecourt with no thought that horses might be riding past them, Ælfgar deftly sought escape from the king’s palace. He almost wished he never had to return, but the argument was mute.
He was his father’s heir, and would one day, hopefully not any time soon, become Earl of Mercia. Ælfgar knew it wouldn’t be possible to achieve it if he distanced himself from the king, even as angry with Harald as he was.
As the gateway opened, he heard a voice raised to call him back, but blaming the wind for clouding his hearing, he ignored the cry of the king and continued into the roadway of London.
He’s given no thought as to how to account for his actions today. No doubt his wife would provide him with some excuses, but for now, he was just relieved to have managed to both sneak back into the palace, and then leave, without more pomp. Perhaps he should make a detour, he considered, when the choice came to him as to where he should lead his men. It would be wise not to go straight to the nunnery.
Decided, he turned his horse’s head toward the river and quayside, allowing his men to follow him as carefully as they could, as the roadway became more and more cluttered with traders keen to sell their goods, and purchasers eager to find the best of the day’s haul of treasures and trinkets.
Ælfgar watched it all with hooded eyes. He was heading toward where the king’s compact ship army lay at rest. Along the way, he kept his eyes and ears alert to the flowing conversations around him, and also to the build of the ships and men and women they carried. It was just possible that a trader might be found who’d been in Denmark recently, and knew of the current state of affairs. If not, at least he had a good answer to give if he was questioned by the king, or someone else, as to why he rode with a spare horse. Finding a rare cargo could never be passed up on, and so the additional horse was needed. Just in case.
The Thames was far from still as he watched it. The wind was causing all the ships to twitch and turn in their moorings, and he spared a moment of pity for the men and women trying to keep their feet, and bodies dry, as they hustled ashore.
The smell of fish was less intense than usual, and he sniffed appreciatively. It seemed the wind did have one use, after all.
It was a good day to come into London, but it seemed that leaving the quayside was impossible as he watched one vessel try and row its way into the strong wind. The ship’s master hollered and yelled at his men, that much was evident from his red, contorted face, although the words didn’t reach Ælfgar’s ears. But none of them, even with the best will in the world, could battle the strength of the wind whipping up the current of the river.
As Ælfgar rode past the point where the ship was seemingly motionless in the water, the rowers only able to maintain their current position, and not dip forward, the ship’s commander finally gave up, ordering the oars raised, and the vessel coasted unhappily on the strength of the tide back toward the quayside. If the man wasn’t careful, or so Ælfgar thought, the ship would end up in Oxford, far to the west of London.
Within sight of the king’s ship army, the five vessels at the quayside bobbing around like small children with excitement, Ælfgar led the men away from the riverfront.
There was no one to see, and no news to be gleaned from the day’s pickings. It was still early in the year. If the winds were this bad inland, he feared to think what might be happening out on the vast expanse of the sea.
It was a treacherous time of the year for traders and shipmen. Not, and he admitted this ruefully, that some shipmen would ever not complain about tides, currents and storms.
Riding his horse through one of the stone gateways that led into the streets of London, and which could be barred should enemy ships be sighted, Ælfgar took a brief moment to re-orientate himself, before continuing.
His men had left him to his own thoughts, and Ælfgar listened with half an ear as the three debated the true art of using an axe in battle. He wished his own mind could be consumed with the seemingly mundane, but instead it teemed with questions that couldn’t yet be answered.
Only when Ælfgar drew up at the rear of the nunnery, did Godwulf furnish him with a raised eyebrow in question, but Ælfgar shook his head. Hammering on the wooden door that guarded this side of the Benedictine nunnery, all five horses and their riders were quickly ushered inside. Here, the larger gateway was of solid wood, extending above head height. Ælfgar assumed it was this way that the tradespeople brought their goods into the complex of the nunnery, rather than through the much smaller front door.
“My Lord, your men are welcome to escort you into the main hall.” The nun who spoke had clearly been apprised of their arrival, and Ælfgar turned to Godwulf to see what he wanted to do.
“We’ll remain here,” Godwulf advised, sliding from his saddle, to take command of Ælfgar’s horse.
The nun dipped her head, and lead Ælfgar across the cleared forecourt. In the daylight, the Church looked commonplace, and the buildings in need of some repair. Ælfgar thought to arrange a donation to the foundation. It would ensure he held their regard, but also, it would be a sincere way of thanking them f
or their assistance. It would have been easy for them to turn him away.
Recognising him, as they had, they must have known that trouble could arise from their actions, and yet they’d not even hesitated, other than to ask for some reinforcement.
Ælfgar was led back to the infirmary, although he waited for the nun to announce his arrival before stepping inside. He doubted many men ever gained admittance.
His wife raised a tired face to his own questioning one as he was led to the bed where the injured woman lay. Alfifa looked deathly pale, and his wife’s face was pinched.
“Has she not improved?” he asked, suddenly worried all over again, having convinced himself that she would live.
“It’s too early to say,” Sister Cwenburh said at his elbow. He stepped aside to allow her to enter the small wickered off area. Sister Cwenburh quickly touched the king’s wife’s forehead and felt for her pulse. She nodded at what she discovered.
“The healing process will take some time. But she’s a strong-willed woman. Her pulse is strong, and there’s no sign of corruption on her wounds. It will just take time, My Lord.”
“Of course,” he found himself agreeing, wondering just what he’d been hoping to see on his return.
“Here,” he offered, pressing yet another pouch filled with coins into the hands of someone who helped him. “For the works of the Nunnery and also for whatever the lady needs. I’m most grateful for all you’ve already managed.”
Sister Cwenburh bowed her head and took the offered pouch without any refusal. Ælfgar suddenly wished he’d loaded it with more coins, but he could do that. When he returned.
“I suggest you leave the good woman here for a week. Then, I’d hope, she’ll be able to move. I’ll send word if the situation deteriorates,” Sister Cwenburh spoke to his wife, Elgiva’s mouth already open to deny such a long wait.
“It’ll be best for all concerned if your time here is not observed, or too often. I’m sorry for the necessity.”
“But you’ll send word should anything happen?” Lady Elgiva demanded the reassurance once more, and Cwenburh smiled with understanding.
“I guarantee that I’ll ensure you know if my patient’s health declines. But I hope it will not. I expect her to wake tomorrow, or the day after at the worse.” Ælfgar found those words offered comfort and turned to his wife.
“Come, Godwulf is here, and a handful of the men. We’ll need some excuse for what we’ve been doing.”
His wife, apparently loath to leave her friend, resisted his attempt to lift her to her feet, but eventually succumbed to his entreaties, with a gentle kiss to Alfifa’s forehead.
“Be well,” she muttered and then turned to walk from the wicker partition, without looking back.
Outside, Ælfgar went to throw his cloak around his wife’s slim shoulders. As he did so, he noticed that her hand rested on her belly, but he kept the surge of delight from showing on his face. He’d begun to consider the possibility that his wife was with child, but understood why she wished to keep the secret for that little bit longer.
At his side Sister Cwenburh, perhaps noticing the movement, coughed to distract him, and then met his eyes unflinchingly. He nodded with understanding and turned to lead his wife to her horse, only a hand stopped him as Cwenburh leaned in close to his ear.
“The other child will survive as well.” The revelation pleased him and yet also caused more problems.
He’d need to find somewhere safe for Alfifa, away from the prying eyes of all, and where none would ever think the child she bore was actually the king’s son and heir to the kingdom of England.
Ælfgar had the thread of an idea in mind but knew he’d have to consider it most carefully before putting the plan in place. It seemed he had more than one life to guard and protect from the king’s tantrums.
Before coming in sight of the palace, Ælfgar called a halt to his small convoy, now minus Godwulf and Cena, who’d remained behind at the nunnery in Barking.
“I know none of you would intentionally place anyone in danger, but our visit to Barking must remain a secret. Should you be questioned, reply that we went to visit the ship-army, nothing more. I would explain further, but for now, I can’t.”
As he spoke, his two remaining commended men fixed him with their eyes. They were his sworn men. He didn’t even have to ask them to know that they’d die to protect him, and his wife, should the need arise. But there was a difference between dying and lying. He knew it only too well.
“Of course, Lord Ælfgar,” Æthelheard agreed, still quizzical. The other man readily agreed, looking as though he might enjoy such a secret. Elgiva spoke then.
“If any is particularly testing with you, direct them my way. I’ll handle their queries on your behalf.”
Her light voice held a reassurance the Æthelheard seemed to need, and then their train resumed its short journey.
Ælfgar would be pleased when a week had passed, and he could leave London. His father had asked him to attend upon the king in his absence, but it would be impossible for him to remain, now. If his wife chose to use her pregnancy as an excuse to return to their properties, near Northampton, it would make their involvement in secreting away the king’s wife, that much easier. But he wouldn’t force her. No, when she was ready would be fine. In the meantime, he’d need to think of another excuse to furnish the king with. His father wouldn’t need an explanation for his son’s actions. He never had.
Within sight of the palace, Ælfgar stiffened his posture and made ready to be summoned to the king’s presence immediately. But instead, he was greeted with silence as he stopped at the gateway.
The gate warden, recognising him, called for the gate to be opened, and allowed Ælfgar inside.
“Where’s the king?” Ælfgar enquired of the man.
“Gone hunting. Fine fettle he was in when they set out. I hope they catch something. I pity the buggers if they don’t.”
The man turned away then, to shut the gate, as Ælfgar rode on to the stables. He couldn’t entirely quell the relief he felt at finding the king gone.
“My thanks,” Ælfgar called to the gate warden, as his men also came through the gate. With the king gone, his bed beckoned to him, and he was sure his wife felt the same.
Lady Elgiva slid from her horse and turned to thank Æthelheard and the other man. She walked away alone, leaving Ælfgar with the questions that needed to be asked. Using the noise of removing harness and saddles from the horses, Ælfgar quickly told his men all he knew.
Æthelheard’s face flashed with fury, but he kept his tongue.
“I’ll arrange everything for seven days,” he assured Ælfgar. “This is more the sort of thing I should be doing than you. I also have someone who can visit more often and ensure the Lady knows all is well. Leave it with me,” the reassurance of the older man was what Ælfgar needed, and he walked to his bedchamber knowing that he had only to endure seven days of Harald, before he could escape back to his properties, hopefully for some time to come.
When he entered his bedchamber, Elgiva was already asleep, curled up on top of the bed furs, and removing only his boots, he lay down next to her. His arm snuck over her belly as he did so, and he felt a tightening there, as she slipped her own hand inside his own.
His father would be pleased to become a grandfather. His mother would be ecstatic.
Chapter Fourteen
AD1038 Northampton Ælfgar
The journey to Northampton had been difficult. The winter rains, which he’d thought long behind them, had resurfaced almost as soon as they’d escaped through one of London’s gates.
Ælfgar was free from the towering fury of his king, who none seemed able to speak to without inciting a rage, but shivering inside his cloak, he almost wished for the anger instead.
His wife travelled with her friend, awake now, and well on the way to recovery, if pale and listless. Æthelheard had been true to his word and had arranged for a covered wagon to take the two wome
n North, and inside the canvas structure, they were sheltered from the driving rain, and probably far warmer than he was.
He struck his legs, either side of his horse, with his hands, trying to force some warmth into them. But he just winced with pain. Ælfgar needed more than a short, sharp slap to feel his legs beneath him.
Yet his horse was merry as he quested North. Ælfgar almost managed a smile on his frigid face. He was not convinced his horse appreciated the stabling of the London palace any more than he liked the accommodations.
“My Lord, what will you do now?” It was Orkning who asked the question, but Ælfgar scowled at him. It was all well and good ‘My Lording’ him when they were before the other nobility or the king, but out here, on the road, carrying the secret that they did, Ælfgar preferred it if his men called him by his name, especially Orkning.
Orkning laughed at the grimace, knowing what caused it, and offering no apology either way. Orkning had no problem with the ‘My Lords’. If anything, he struggled more when he was asked not to use them.
Orkning had ridden in from Oxford with messages from his father not three days ago, and Ælfgar had quickly confided in the older man, while also swearing him to utter secrecy. Orkning had agreed, unwillingly, to Ælfgar’s request. Ælfgar had protested that if his father knew about Harald and his wife, it would only further sour relations between the two. They were dire enough already.
“It’s simple, I’ll hide the good woman in the plain sight of the king and his mother,” Ælfgar responded to Orkning’s question.
“In Northampton?” Orkning, while knowing the destination, still seemed to find this revelation surprising.
“Northampton is the home of the king and his mother. The people love and support the royal family, and it’s well guarded, even when neither of them are in attendance. Even though none shall know who she is, I still think it better.”