Alvar the Kingmaker (27 page)

He could only take the rebuke with good grace. He would not insult her by pretending that wars in Wales did not offer opportunities for fame, and for booty to be distributed to allies and kinsmen. It was an enjoyable and profitable pastime and he was, as she said, as excited as a small boy.

On cue, Siferth walked over to Alvar. “Lift me up and spin me,” he said.

“I thought you would have forgotten that,” Alvar said, but he scooped the boy up by his legs and whirled round, while Siferth flung his arms out and shrieked and whooped.

Káta spoke through her own laughter. “Put him down before he is sick.”

After a few more turns, Alvar set the boy down and Siferth giggled and tottered like a drunk towards the builders, who laughed, turned him round and pushed him back towards his mother.

Alvar sat back down. “You do not mind? I thought you might be over-chary with him.”

“Even if I were, it looks as though you have done it before, while I was not looking.” She put her hands up, palms towards him. “No, keep your ‘sorry’ for another day.” Leaning over, she picked up a bowl from under the stool. “I do not know if he will want to eat this now though.”

She stirred the mush of boiled rosehip with her finger. “Siferth, will you eat this before the wasps settle in it?”

She licked the puree off her finger, and Alvar ran his finger round the neck of his tunic. He coughed. “You do not fret over him much, then?”

She rested her hands in her lap. “I nearly died bearing him. God willed that we would both live; He is not going to take him away from me in the middle of a silly game.”

Alvar nodded. He said, “I understand. Only when you have fought hard for something do you earn the right to hold it dear. That is why I…” That was why he could only sit and talk with her instead of lying in her bed. He shook his head.

“What is it?”

He coughed out a laugh. “I only meant that I should not be thinking of soft pillows on the eve of a fight. I must earn my rest first.”

She nodded her understanding, but her quizzical frown betrayed that nod as a polite pretence.

He shuffled his stool back so that he could lean against the cook-house wall, stretched his legs out, and disturbed a foraging chicken. “And what about me, my lady; will I be taken from my child’s game, as you call it?”

She gave him a long, slow smile and he shuffled in his seat, at once warmed and yet too hot.

“You think to tease me. Will you die in the fight, you ask? Well, who would take you; I think that both the Devil and Christ would claim you as one of their own.”

“Then truly I cannot be harmed by any Welshman’s spear.”

“Oh, you may laugh now, and you may laugh loudly, but you will not laugh again if you bring Helmstan or yourself home wounded.”

“Lady, it was only a meal, not a big gathering. The woad-dyed one was pretty enough; you could have worn it.”

Káta, wearing only her linen shift, danced with the red and yellow shot-silk gown and ignored Gytha’s attempts to catch her and brush her hair. “But this one was brighter, do you not think? The Godweb cloth was not cheap, and the workings on it are pretty.”

Gytha sniffed. “I think you would have looked good in either. Now, are you going to let me comb your hair?”

Yes, I will sit. Aah! No need to wrench my head from my shoulders.”

“Sorry. But if you had not worn the head-cloth I would not have needed to use so many hair-needles. I do not know why you worried so much about tonight. Leofsige told me that you were clucking in the kitchen while he was cooking. You do not usually do that.”

Káta sat up straight as Gytha worked the carved-antler comb through to the ends of her hair. “Lord Alvar is a great and wealthy lord and should have the best food. To have an earl eating in our hall brings my husband a higher standing, and I was acting in his stead. I did not wish to shame him.”

Gytha puffed out a snort of air.

“I gave out the drinks myself and did not spill a drop, like thus.” Káta picked up the water jug, lifted it high and splashed the liquid into the cup. “Not one drop.”

“And you are proud of yourself? I do that every day. Now sit still.”

Káta sat back and hugged herself. “I do not feel so worthless now that I know I can do the right things in front of such a lord,” she said.

Gytha tugged on a tangle. “Maybe you will go to the king’s house now, sometimes?”

Káta sat up straight. “There is no need. Besides, there are too many other high-born ladies there.”

“So? You have shown what you can do. You have the best clothes…”

“No, I like it better here; when it is only… I mean that it is not so hard. I can make believe that everything belongs to me when I am here.”

Gytha sniffed, pulled the comb through the separated hair and said, “That will do.” She placed the comb on the table and held a taper to the fire. When it caught the flame, she held it up to light the wicks in the wall cressets and said, “I do not know what you mean, Lady. All this does belong to you.” She threw the taper into the fire.

“Naught; forget what I said.” Káta climbed into her bed. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “When I was little I would let my mother think I was sleeping. When she had left the room, I would open the hangings, and think of a comely king, or fair-looking lord, who would come in and sweep me away. It was but a game, but it was such a lovely way to go to sleep. Did you ever…”

“Me? I keep too busy to find time for love.” Gytha reached up to draw the bed-curtains.

“No, leave them…”

She woke, but did not open her eyes. She could not tell if she had dreamed; there was no distinct vision to recall, only a lingering contentment that she was in no hurry to chase away. She lay under the blankets and stretched out her arms.

“Be still, you dim-witted hound. Burgred, fetch him back; he is on the net.”

Káta heaved herself from the bed, opened the shutter, and peered out into the sunshine. The dogs were padding over the hunting-nets as the men tried to fold them away.

“Kat! Dearling!” Helmstan waved. “We have boar for the spit tonight and none of us wounded in the hunting of it.” He stepped over the dogs who meandered round his feet while their tails thrummed. “Here comes the man who saw a hart and let it get away. You should get yourself a bow made of yew, my friend.” Helmstan’s laugh boomed out across the yard.

The young thegn, Lyfing, said, “My lord, my bow is as long as a man, and is harder than most. Yet the ash yields in my hands like a soft woman.”

Helmstan looked up at his wife and smiled. “He speaks as if he knows what a woman feels like. With tales like that, we should have him as our scop. I will be with you shortly, my love, but we have a wounded hound and a lame horse to see to.”

Káta laughed. His face was flushed and grubby and he was in need of a shave, but he did not look ready to sit down, like the boys who raced in the fields every summer and needed a few moments to slow to a stop. “I will not call you from your games yet awhile,” she said.

She grabbed her clothes and threw them on over her shift. Gathering her hair forward over her shoulder, she braided it on her way outside as she rushed to try to make up lost time with her chores.

Alvar was outside the bake-house, supervising the loading of provisions onto the pack horses. She opened her mouth to speak, but left the words unsaid as Helmstan hurried back up the path from the stables and caught her up in an embrace that lifted her off the ground.

He bent his head and whispered in her ear. “This is not much of a homecoming my love, I know. But keep our bed warm for me when I come back again.”

He set her back down, and her cheeks throbbed at the thought of Alvar as witness. But his back was turned as he took more dried meat from Leofsige and he had not noticed.

“I must say, Helmstan, that if the thegns of Chester give as many men and as much food, we will soon be strong enough to meet aught that we might find in Wales.” He bestowed a charming smile on Káta but the skin around his eyes did not crinkle. “I thank you for your warm welcome, Lady.”

“What? Oh, it was naught, my lord. We are always glad to see you here.”

His smile remained in place, but he looked past her.

The men mounted their horses and Káta begged one indulgence, turning to gather what she needed from the pile by the door. “It will stop the evil one pulling at the bridle and will stop your horses falling,” she said. She presented each of the riders at the front of the column with a switch made from ash. She reached up to give Alvar his stick, but though he took it, he did not meet her gaze. The sun hurt her eyes. She took a step back to allow them to depart, and blinked to lose the black circle that blurred in front of her eyelids.

Gytha appeared at her side. “What is wrong, Lady?”

“Naught is wrong. Here you see a lady waving off her man and his lord, and hoping that her man gets time to rest at Chester before he moves on. All is as it should be. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a dull-wit.” She brought her sleeve up to her eye, wiped it, and went to attend to her duties.

After seeing to the upturned bucket in the milking shed, and helping Gytha on the loom, she spent the day checking the stores and provisions, making sure that they had enough for their needs while the men were away. After that, with fewer folk around, there was nothing to prevent her catching up with her mending tasks, and the need for neat stitches kept her thoughts busy as well as her hands. But as night fell she put down her sewing, unable to do more without the light, and let her gaze wander to the window. Had the sun also shone all day over Wales?

When Siferth asked that night to share her bed instead of Gytha’s, she agreed; he cuddling up for warmth, she for comfort.

North Wales 

Helmstan put his hands to his ears. “Stop! Enough names! I brought you one weapon-man from every five hides of my land, I am here in this rainy spot, and that should be enough for you. I do not care why I fight; I only wonder when I can go home and get dry.”

Alvar halted his list of the warring Welsh princes. He nodded at Helmstan’s man, Lyfing, as he made his way towards the latrine ditch. When Lyfing had walked past, he answered Helmstan. “You are right. All you need to know is that there are many sons of the Welsh leader, Idwal, who are now set against one another, and Edgar has sent us here to be the fox in the hen-house.” He had taken the commission without question or hesitation, but it was not the way he preferred to fight. To him it seemed a misuse of men and resources, as well as being morally questionable, to lay waste to the land whilst the inhabitants were engaged elsewhere. But he had his orders. “Think of us as Edgar’s big foot, stamping down heavily on small ants who might think to bite us.”

“Have we not stamped enough?  It has been weeks.” Helmstan stretched out his big hands and warmed them, holding his palms towards the flames, and rubbing them together from time to time. “I understand that we are here to make mischief, but where can it end? We are fighting neither for one side nor the other. Must we keep on until one lot of Welsh wins out over another; what if that takes more than the sixty days?”

It was a reasonable question. Alvar only wished he had the answer. His instructions were to show the sons of Idwal that whenever they rose up to take arms, the English would be there, breathing threateningly down their necks. But how to end it? They had wreaked destruction up and down the peninsular called the Lleyn, and wherever they had met any Welshmen with a mind to fight, they had persuaded them otherwise. Perhaps Helmstan was right and it was time to go home. The men would, by law, only serve sixty days and if nothing was resolved by then they would have to leave anyway. He looked around him. Knowing the Welsh liking for an ambush, they had set up camp at a site which left them less vulnerable to attack, but more open to the weather. The day’s rain had subsided enough for them to light the fires, but the ground beneath them was soggy, a sodden mix of slippery leaves, sopping grass and twigs that would never snap, only bend. If the weather was as bad on the other side of the march, then the harvest might be under threat. With that thought, Alvar leaned forward and slapped his hand down on Helmstan’s thigh. “You are right. It is time to go home.”

Helmstan looked up. “The clouds are gathering. How far will we get before nightfall?”

Alvar stood up, trying to remember how far they were from the settlement of Nefyn, and how long it would take them to get back over the border. They’d not ridden a direct route from Nefyn, but had taken a detour to rout a band of Welshmen who had challenged them on the road. “How many miles was it to the…” He turned at the sound of shouting.

Lyfing was running back from the latrine ditch, pursued by half a dozen Welshmen. Alvar, Helmstan and the rest of the men leaped to gather their weapons, and Helmstan scooped up a spear. He ran to give the spear to Lyfing who, as soon as he had a weapon in his hand, turned and faced the enemy. With a spear but no shield, he stood his ground, jabbing at the intruders, keeping them at bay until Helmstan found his footing and began slashing with his sword, and did his best to protect them both with his shield. It was only a matter of moments then until Alvar and the others were able to join them, and a hastily established shield wall gave strength and protection. To Alvar and, no doubt, all of the men there, the clattering of the shields coming together was the most comforting sound they could hear on the battlefield. They fought as one, until they gained ground and the wall altered to form smaller, tighter formations. Lyfing was engaged in a scuffle with a Welshman; he was forced to keep back, poking with his spear but unable to come forward because he had no shield. Helmstan rushed round Lyfing, reaching with his sword, and stabbed the adversary in the shoulder. The Welshman went down, but even whilst on his knees, he thrust forward with his spear. Lyfing jumped out of the way and the man’s swing brought his body round. For a moment he was facing the other way. Helmstan stepped forward, went down on one knee, and brought his sword across the man’s throat, standing up and booting the body forward away from him. Immediately he stepped back, retreating behind the wall, dragging the brave but increasingly vulnerable Lyfing with him. As the wall closed around them, the man next to Alvar slipped on the rain-soaked grass. He fell, and a tall Welshman came forward through the gap. Helmstan slashed at him with his sword until Alvar could adjust his footing. Helmstan’s sword thrust had severed the man’s arm muscle and his arm hung useless. Alvar finished him off with a blow to the skull, and the Welshman fell back. Alvar and Helmstan continued to hack and push, standing close and working in unison.