Alvar the Kingmaker (23 page)

“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 smiled, 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 reached out and patted the boy’s head. “He looks like you; his hair is so fair.”

“Do you think so? I see only his father’s brown eyes. And he is like Helmstan, for once he knows what he craves he will have it then and there, or fight until he gets it.”

“Much like all men, then, would you say?”

She smoothed Siferth’s hair away from his eyes with the back of her hand, and stroked his face with her little finger. “No, it is more than that. I can see it in his eyes; he will forever be losing his heart to someone or something, because once he looks with longing he can see naught else.”

“Uncle Var-Var, swim?”

Alvar ruffled the boy’s hair. “Not today. I have something I must do with your father; I took but a heartbeat to speak with your mother first. Besides, she likes it not when I take off my clothes to swim.”

“Oh, that was such a long time ago.”

He stood up and crossed his arms, grabbing the hem of his tunic as if he were about to pull it off over his head.

She laughed and wagged a finger again. “Do not dare.”

Siferth pushed his lip forward to form a baby-frown. He said, “Get Gytha swim,” and scrambled back up into the field.

Káta stood up and watched him go. “You see, he will not sit while you make up your mind, and he will not rest until someone swims with him.” She sat back down and gave Alvar another gently delivered admonishment, pointing at his dishevelled clothing. “You are wayward.”

Alvar fastened his belt over his repositioned tunic. He grinned. “I am sorry, my lady. You said it was long ago, and so I took you to mean that you no longer minded my nakedness.”

She bit her lip. If he did but know how beautiful she had thought his body when first she had laid eyes on him. “You should be ashamed. You are a bad teacher for my son.”

He nodded, but grinned, making him seem less ashamed than a drunk staggering from one whorehouse to another. “My sister Swytha tells me so, too. As does the queen, and her bairn is still in his cradle.”

She sat back. It was a relief to be able to change the topic of conversation, even if there was a nagging discomfort attached to the subject. “Tell me about Lady Alfreda. Is she truly lovely?”

He laughed.

“Tell me, is she comely?”

He folded his arms.

Káta said, “Is she fair as the lily? Slight like the Welsh poppy?” She got up, and gathered flowers from the grassy slope and the hedgerow beyond. She sat back down and dropped them into his lap. “Is she tall as the cowslip? Small like the clover? Prickly as the thistle? Tell me. Or have we found, at last, someone who is too grand even for a great lord like you?”

He held his hands up. “No more. I will tell you. She is…” He looked up. “Her hair is dark and she is tall, taller than the king, anyway.”

“Taller than Gytha?”

“Yes, but not so…” He put his arms out to the sides, to indicate the Norsewoman’s rounded figure.

“Oh, that is not kind.”

“Well do not laugh, then.”

“Tell me more about the queen.”

He stared out across the river. “It is hard to find the words. Men speak to each other in ways that are not seemly.”

“Simply tell me what you see, then.”

He started again. “Her hair is dark; I know this because she always leaves a twist of it free from her head-cloth, as if she has put her clothes on swiftly, having come late from her bed. She is sloe-eyed, and those eyes are so big that she has the look of a helpless child. She gives freely of her smile and yet, when she bestows that smile, it feels as if no other man has ever seen it. And when she walks before you on those long legs, her arse swings like…”

“Enough.” Káta laughed and covered her ears. “I have heard enough.”

“I am sorry. I warned you I would be uncouth…”

“No, it was not that. I meant that I have heard enough to know.” She hesitated, unsure whether it was her place to speak of such things. But he was waiting for her explanation. She sighed. “It must be hard to love a woman who is wed to another. Harder still, when she is not from the same rank.”

She folded her hands in her lap and tried to calm her breathing. When she dared to look up he was staring at her, a bemused expression on his face, as if she had told him something of which he was not aware.

However many times she had been in this situation, she never seemed to learn, and instead of keeping silent to limit the damage already done, as usual she felt her mouth opening to let more stupid words come tumbling out. “All I meant was, my lord, that I think I understand a little of what you feel.” Too late, the words were there, hanging in the air, waiting to be interpreted. Or misinterpreted. Dear God, what had she said? Her cheeks grew warm and she looked away.

He sat up and took her hand in his. Her only live sense then was that of touch; the warmth of his hand and the rough patches on his palm, the strength in his fingers.

“Lady, I would never…”

He said something and she did not hear properly, for her own thoughts were too loud. But she was certain that he spoke of loyalty, of wanting what cannot be had, of accepting what was not to be.

She could not lift her head, but stared at his hand, for if she looked at it, he could not move it away.

Then he spoke of what it was to be married, and she knew his hurt, for Alfreda was now the king’s wife and forever lost to him. Wasn’t that what he meant? She looked up. “I am sorry, my lord. I had no right…” Káta blinked back tears and said, “I am blessed. My husband is a good man.” She pulled a little with her arm and waited for him to stand.

He did not release her hand. “Yes, he is a good man.”

At last, he let go, and still she could feel where his fingers had pressed against hers.

He stood up. “And now I know why you look away from me, and you will understand why I ride away from you.”

Helmstan knelt before Alvar, clutching a gold cross between his joined hands, which he presented for his lord to hold while the oath was sworn. “By the Lord, before whom this hallowed thing is holy, I will be steadfast and true to Alvar and love all that he loves and shun all that he shuns, after God’s law and the world’s law and never, by will or by thought, by word or by deed, do aught of what is loathsome to him, as long as he upholds me as I am willing to earn and fulfil all that our understanding was, when I bowed to him and took his will.”

Alvar accepted the oath, raised his thegn up to kiss him, and reflected that the duty to keep his man as he deserved probably did not include harbouring the occasional daydream in which he swapped his life for his. He waited for Helmstan to get properly to his feet again and he looked around the hall, used until now by the Greybeard of Chester, held in the name of kings who never came. There was a large gold cross on the wall; he looked up to the ceiling, projected his thoughts beyond it and silently apologised for his lust and envy. And, while he was about it, for most of the other five deadly sins as well.

Alvar handed Helmstan the items of heriot, glad that they had chosen the war gear together. He stroked the new, dent-free helmet and he tested the hinge on the cheek-plate. He leaned forward to pick up the shield. It was the usual round, with an iron boss and leather strap, but the lime-wood was covered with leather, painted to Helmstan’s own design, with curling motifs and dragon heads. Alvar gave Helmstan the sword, pattern-welded from twisted iron rods, which would mark him out as a rich and powerful thegn.

Many men had come this day; men who, like Helmstan, had sworn oaths to the late Greybeard and needed a new lord. He scanned the benches to see if any man remained who had not yet come forward to be placed under his protection. Káta sat among them, with Siferth on her lap. Her gaze flicked from her husband to his new lord. She looked down at the boy and adjusted her veil, but the action was idle habit, not nervous fiddling. Siferth wriggled off her knee and as she ran across the room after him, she looked over at the dais once more, her face bright and her cheeks uncoloured. These days she walked tall and let her sleeves fall back; she was like her flowers near the river, showing their petals to the sun.

He, too, felt as if he had been standing taller, divested of a dull ache, which had eased the moment he was able legitimately to return to Cheshire, and then been completely dissolved by his overwhelming relief to find that she was alive.

He found her changed, more confident because she had a child, and markedly different from the woman whom he had so recently left in Winchester, a woman whose confidence grew the more men lusted after her. Alfreda had realised her ambition, but Alvar sensed that an ache lay gnawing at her heart, even now. Káta, however, had fulfilled her role and felt worthy. If marriage put a woman beyond the reach of other men, then childbirth moved her still further. Káta was a contented mother, and he was no longer a tongue-tripped fool in her presence. He dared the occasional joke about his status and, whereas once she would have reacted with distaste, now she seemed to understand that he was poking fun at himself. Gone was the shy mouse, and she was bold enough to tease him as if she were no longer cowed by his status. Yes, motherhood had completed her, and there would be no more misunderstandings.