Alvar the Kingmaker (48 page)

Káta moved to her left and he stopped to wipe his eyes.

“Have I told you that bit already? I will speak on, then. They were all standing there and could not get to their spears in time. We had come upon them so softly and silently that my lord said it was like taking bread from a bairn. Then their leader came forward and spoke in Welsh and my lord answered, first in Welsh, and then in English. He looked him right in the eye and said, ‘I say again that you are a dull-wit, but I can forgive you for that. Where you have gone wrong is in being a Welsh dull-wit, for there is no cure for that.’ We were meant to be taking their weapons from them, but all we could do was stand and laugh.”

Káta laughed too. “What must they have thought? To be met by an Englishman wilder than they are, who can speak their tongue and curse them in their own words.”

“He teased them then, telling them what he was going to do with them. And they believed him.”

She thought of her lovely new glass palm-cup, brought by the foundry man from Gloucester only yesterday. “So they should, for every one of my lord’s oaths has been fulfilled. They must have heard this and known it to be true.”

“In truth, lady, I do not think they knew what to make of our lord. Is that right, never left an oath unfulfilled? I had not ever thought of it.”

“Oh yes. Many foul curses, none of which, blessedly, have come true; but always kept his word. After that first time, when he left the Fairchild, he never broke another oath. Even before he left to fight this Welshman Einion, he swore to me that I would not have to sew him back together when he came home.” The last word caught in her throat.

Wulfgar held out his arms.

She fell against him, her head on his chest.

“Lady, I know I have told you many times, but you must believe that he willed himself to keep alive; that he always hoped to get back.”

She tried to speak, but the words would not come and she shook her head. His arms, wrapped around her, were strong and she drew comfort from his warmth. Yes, Alvar would have tried to get home. He had a mightier will than any man living and no matter how badly hurt, he would have forgotten that he was but a man and he would have tried to drag his tail back to England. She clenched her fists and beat them without power on Wulfgar’s chest. This one time, may she not be wroth? No, not even now. Others would be more bereft than she, for she had learned long ago how to love him and yet be without him. She looked up as Wulfgar’s tear dropped down and wet her cheek. She said, “Thank you for bringing him home to me.”

The other mourners had moved away from the graveside to allow Alvar’s widow to grieve alone for a while, but Wulfgar refused to leave her side for a moment. She leaned against him, unsure if her legs had the strength to take her away from her lord this one last time. She stared down at the mound of new earth, so close to the grave of his brother Brock, and his king, Edgar.

Brandon was the first to return to pay respects to her. He said, “I have been at my father’s grave, for he too was laid to rest here.”

“Then my lord lies among the great and the good.” She looked back down.

“I could never hope to be as great an earl as he.” Brandon said.

He moved off towards the abbey church and she smiled. Had he been speaking of his father, or Alvar? She looked down. “Did you hear his words my love? I wish you could tell me what you think of them. Oh love, I have so much to say, and no-one to tell.”

Káta smelled the calming fragrance of lavender. She looked up, and Alfreda stepped forward to take her hand.

The queen said, “We have not met.”

Káta bobbed her head in acknowledgement of the other woman’s rank. She said, “No, but you know my son, Siferth.”

Alfreda’s eyes widened as if she had been startled, and then her brow creased into a frown. Finally she nodded, and in a small trembling voice she said, “I did not know you were his mother.”

Tears spilled down the queen’s cheeks but Káta heard self-pity more than sorrow in her words. Alfreda said, “If I had been more humble, if I had stayed more, well, more like you, perhaps I would not have lost him. Those of us who flew too near the king had all our feathers torn. But you stayed away; you were unscathed.”

The dagger that had been twisting in Káta’s heart since they brought Alvar’s body home had made such a bloody mess she wondered how anyone could look at her and not see it. Was she still so good at making the best of things? There were so many truths she could tell the queen, but decided against all bar one. “We are not so different, you and I. We have buried two husbands each and have done little to earn our suffering.”

Alfreda nodded. “We watch them fight and die and we are helpless. I tried to play the game and I lost. It was you who won. I could have learned much from you, if I had only known what he truly craved.” She lifted her chin and turned to walk slowly away, sending another waft of lavender into the air behind her.

Káta stared after her. “She wears the same blossom-water as I do.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“He never said.” She looked at Wulfgar. “Being with her made him think of me.”

She started to count all the nights she had lain awake, kept from sleep by jealousy. She shook her head and said, “No, that way lies madness.”

Wulfgar said, “From the way the queen fights hard to put one foot ahead of the other, I would say she mourns nearly as strongly as you do, my lady.”

“I would say that we all feel the loss.” Bishop Athelwold’s voice was feeble with age. He said, “I never thought to outlive him.” He laid a hand on Káta’s shoulder and looked down. “We who lived through Edgar’s kingship knew that he was guided by God. We thought those wondrous days would go on for ever. We were wrong.”

Káta lifted a hand to comfort him, but closed her fingers in the air and put her hand back by her side.

Athelwold said, “Folk have asked me if the new king will ever be as mighty as his father. I think that kings are only as strong as the men who surround them.” He sniffed. “Sometimes it is but one man who makes the difference.” He looked down at the grave. “We are all the worse for his death.”

Káta dared to touch his arm. “Will you bide here a while longer, my lord Bishop? I fear how it will be when folk stop speaking of him, for then truly it will be as if he is no longer here.”

Athelwold wiped a tear from his eye. “Folk will not stop speaking of him, for he was a great man who was true to all whom he loved.”

She laughed and he flinched. “Forgive me, Bishop. They will stop, for is it not the Church who writes the histories? But you are right; he was steadfast like no other. His whole life was spent in duty to those whom he thought he owed it and in the end, he even gave his life in the same pursuit. How bittersweet that he died whilst helping a Welshman, of all folk. I am sorry that I startled you, but I know that Alvar would have laughed louder than I at that thought.” Her laughter turned to sobs though the sound barely changed. Her legs felt as if the bones had melted and she leaned back against Wulfgar.

Bishop Athelwold said, “You must believe that he lives on in heaven, my child.”

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, the same action that Siferth used when he was little. “I only hope that in heaven he will find a warm hearth and hall, strong mead and stronger friendships.”

The bishop lowered his voice. “You do not fear for his soul, child? That God would not… Is this why you now shiver and shake?”

She lifted her chin. “No, my lord. Winter was always hard without him, but now I do feel the cold all the more. He was always too busy to let the years get in his way and moved about as if he were still a young man. It is too calm now without him. I wish the wind would blow hard and bring with it snow and rain, for in this stillness I fear I will never be warm again.”

“You had but a short time together.”

“No, my lord. We loved for a lifetime, and we were together long enough to tell each other so. We shared many tiny moments which we strung together over the years to make a life that we could both remember.” She clutched Wulfgar’s arm. “I cannot step away. Only twice have I turned my back on him. Once when I blushed at his nakedness in the river and once when he thought he had done wrong by kissing me. How do I turn away now?”

She looked up at the trees. The smallest of breezes set the leaves trembling. She gathered her cloak about her and nodded. “It is time to go.” The shiver whispered through the browning foliage and one leaf broke free. Spiralling as it fell, it landed feather-light on the ground, and all was still.

~*~

Afterword/Author’s Notes

Alfreda remained the power behind the throne. Right up until her death, she continued to exert a strong influence on her son, and is cited as being the woman who brought up her grandson. She has often been portrayed as the wicked stepmother who arranged the murder of King Edward the Martyr. Many historians now believe that the deed was carried out by a group of Æthelred’s young thegns. It seemed possible to me that one of those thegns was a young man like Siferth.

King Æthelred grew up to earn his epithet, “Unræd” (Unready). The bad counsel to which that title refers is a reflection of the quality of the earls who came after Alvar and his contemporaries, and Æthelred’s reign proved the truth that kings are only as good as the men who surround them. Brandon had five adult sons, but none succeeded him in East Anglia. Younger men rose through the witan, gave a weak ruler bad advice, and within twenty years of Alvar’s death, the king was in exile.

This story is based on historical fact. All of the main characters, apart from Helmstan and Siferth, Wulfgar, and the rest of Alvar’s thegns, existed, although I have changed some of their names because many of the original Anglo-Saxon names are hard to read, and harder to pronounce. I’ve adapted them so that they don’t make the gaze ‘stick’ on the page too much. But for those who know about this period and/or long for authenticity, here is a list of the characters with their original names in brackets:

Alvar (Ælfhere)

Káta (Eadflæd)

Brock (Ælfheah)

Alswytha/Swytha (Ælfswith)

Bridd – meaning ‘fledgling’ (Ælfweard)

Abbot Athelwold (Æthelwold)

Elwood of Ramsey (Æthelwold)

Brandon (Æthelwine)

Thetford (Ælfwold)

Alfreda (Ælfthryth)

Edelman ‘Greybeard’ (Æthelmund)

I also gave Earl Oslac the nickname of ‘Beorn’ to make the passages where he and Oswald appear together easier on the eye, and I simplified the spelling of Wulfthryth to Wulfreda. Oslac was known as an earl, and so again, for simplification, and consistency, I have referred to all the leading nobles as earls, rather than ealdormen, and their territories as earldoms instead of ealdordoms. This was a period of transition and Danish-style titles were being adopted, but only the Northumbrians are addressed as ‘Earl’, rather than ‘Lord’. I have used the title of prince to describe heirs to the throne. The word was not used by the Anglo-Saxons, but again, it is included here for ease. I chose not to name some characters: the bishop of Winchester who died on his way to Rome was called Ælfsige, and the Red Lord whose lands were so coveted, was Athelstan Rota (the Red). Two others who remain unnamed are Edwy Fairchild’s wife and her mother – Ælfgifu and Æthelgifu!

The successor to Mercia, Ælfric Cild, was in all likelihood, married to Alvar’s sister, Æthelflæd. I have not included these two in my tale for two reasons: firstly, that almost nothing is known of them before 983 and secondly, they are yet two more characters whose names begin with the Old English diphthong Æ known as ‘Æsc’.

I should also add that both Alvar and Brandon were members of families with four sons, almost all beginning with Æsc.

The Mercians: Ælfhere (Alvar) and Ælfheah (Brock) also had brothers named Eadric and Ælfwine. Tantalisingly, their father was Ealhhelm, an unusual name, and the same OE name as the character Alhelm of Shrewsbury, whom readers of To Be A Queen will remember as being an ealdorman of Mercia. Was Alhelm Alvar’s father? Try as I might, I cannot quite make the dates fit, and better historians than I have tried. There has also been some suggestion that Alvar and Brock were somehow related to the royal family, but this link is difficult to identify, and so for ease I decided not to include it as a detail. (It is true that Brock adopted the bishop of Winchester’s son, and that he was also godfather to Æthelred.) They had at least one sister, mentioned above.

The East Anglians: Those readers of To Be A Queen will also recall the character I called Frith. He was the father of the man known as the Half-king, who makes a brief appearance in ‘Queen’ as a baby named Athelstan. He had four sons, not three: along with Æthelwold (Elwood) Æthelwine (Brandon) and Ælfwold (Thetford) there was another son, Æthelsige. His career, despite being illustrious, did not have an impact on my story and so, again for ease, I omitted him.

The central love story in this book grew from a footnote in an academic paper written by Ann Williams. Alvar left no children but his successor in Mercia was castigated some years after Alvar’s death for depriving a widow of her lands at Wormleighton, Warwickshire. These lands had at one time belonged to Alvar; the widow was a lady named Eadflæd. This is the only known reference to Eadflæd, and I wove their love story around the distinct possibility that she was Alvar’s widow, and invented a reason why they might not have had any children together. I also changed her name, because Eadflæd is a particularly difficult name to pronounce.