“You didn’t have to ask, Wyn,” Æthelstan grumbled as we hurried along beside Gytha. “I won’t finish half of that. You’ll have to tell me what it’s about.” I grimaced, clutching the book Brother Grimbald had thrust into my hands as we left. I would much rather be on my way to my own room with Saint Augustine for quiet reading than headed off to a crowded council chamber.
“Did you know your father has come, Æthelstan?” Gytha asked. “He and his riders would take no rest, nor any food and drink, before they met with the lady.” Her green eyes sparkled. “Their horses are very fine—we should go to the stables after you greet him.”
“We’ve already—” I began, but Æthelstan’s elbow in my rib stopped me.
“They’ve been talking since just before the bells rang for midmorning prayer,” Gytha continued, glancing sideways at me, but asking no questions. “They called for the two of you with some haste.” Nervously, I caught Gytha’s hand, and she squeezed mine back. Gytha had lived ten winters longer than my sixteen, and was a good friend to me. Her sharp-tongued mother, Edith, oversaw all our household affairs, but Gytha would keep our secrets—I knew that, even if Æthelstan did not.
On the threshold of my mother’s council chamber we heard the confusion of voices within. I hesitated, but Æthelstan stepped forward boldly.
“They’re waiting, Wyn,” Gytha said as she slipped the book from under my arm and gave me a gentle push into the room.
Conversation stopped as Æthelstan and I appeared. I shrank closer to my cousin beneath the scrutiny of so many strangers’ eyes.
“Ah, so you’ve come.” My mother strode across the floor in her dark gown as men in dusty leather armor and linked mail parted to let her through. She smiled at me as she gripped Æthelstan’s shoulder and gave it a little shake. “I wasn’t sure if Gytha would find you with Grimbald. Word reached me that a yellow-haired fellow had ridden off with my daughter.”
I felt my face burning. As usual, Mother had discovered our mischief. But Æthelstan remained unruffled.
“He’s an irresistible horse, Aunt Æthelflæd,” he said boldly, earning a mock scowl from my mother before she cocked her head (wound round with heavy brown plaits), and called out:
“Edward, what would you have me do with your boy? Twice in a month he has abandoned his Latin tutor, taking Ælfwyn with him. I fear Brother Grimbald won’t continue to teach children who show so little respect.”
“I remember at least one cleric who did when we were young,” muttered my uncle as he joined us. He stood even taller than Æthelstan, and looked as lean as the two shaggy sight hounds that shadowed him. The dogs circled us, touching our hands with their noses.
“It’s true that Father John bore your disappearances when we were young,” Mother replied thoughtfully.
“And yours,” the king shot back. Æthelstan and I stared at the two of them, trying to imagine each of our parents as restless students. “But Æthelflæd,” Edward continued, “they are children no longer, as we have been saying.”
A shadow crossed Mother’s face before she turned briskly to the king’s men behind us. “You must eat, and rest a little before you leave us. My thane Benwic”—she gestured toward one of her own retainers—“will show you where to go.”
The room emptied quickly, and soon we were left alone with my mother and King Edward. Mother nodded to her two remaining guards, and they stepped outside, closing the heavy wooden doors behind them.
“You’ve grown, boy,” King Edward said to Æthelstan. My cousin stood up straighter, and indeed, he and the king met almost eye to eye. “I’ve left him in your care longer than some of my counselors liked, Æthelflæd,” he told my mother gruffly, “beyond his seventeenth winter, long after many noble sons have learned to ride beside their kin and carry their own swords.”
“Æthelstan can ride”—Mother’s mouth twisted—“as he proved this morning. And we have given him a sword. ...” Her tone was rueful, and I glanced at her sharply. What was happening? Mother turned to Æthelstan. “I hope you have been happy in Lunden,” she said in a quiet voice, “for we have been glad to have you in our house-band.”
“But now I need you with me,” King Edward said. “The northern border is more troubled this season. My retainers and I ride to Mameceaster and Thelwæl to secure the fortresses, and to join any new skirmish we find there.” I saw a burst of joyful surprise on Æthelstan’s face, and my own heart sank. I had always known Æthelstan’s fosterling days in our court would end, yet I had not guessed it would be this sudden.
“My messengers have brought no word of an attack,” Mother put in, but Æthelstan clearly had ears only for the king.
“And I’m to go with you? To fight with you?” my cousin exclaimed. His enthusiasm wrung a smile from his father’s grave face.
“We hope there will be no fighting, as your aunt’s Mercian scouts have reported. Still, it is wise to expect trouble so near the Humber.”
My mother nodded in agreement, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Æthelstan was leaning eagerly across the table. I watched him, feeling an aching emptiness grow inside me.
“He has many things to ask you, Edward,” Mother said. “Ælfwyn and I will leave you here to talk. I’ll have food sent from the kitchens. You want to go soon?”
“Before midday,” the king acknowledged. “Thank you, Æthelflæd.” He sat down in my mother’s carved council seat, and motioned for Æthelstan to seat himself, as well. They were already deep in conversation as Mother drew me from the room.
We stepped blinking into the full sunlight. I hung my head, hoping to hide the tears that stung my eyes.
“Edward is right,” Mother said softly after a moment. “Æthelstan has stayed with us beyond his fosterling years. Still, I would keep him longer, if I could.” She touched my wrist with a gentle hand. “I’m sorry, Wyn. There’s something more I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” I asked without looking up at her. My mother stood at least a head above me—she was tall enough to pass as a man when she hid her hair beneath a helmet, and she had learned to ride and carry a sword when she was still a girl. She was always among fighting men, I reflected with growing dread, always riding off to secure the border fortresses she had built with Edward, or to meet with allies who trusted her more than the king. And now she said there was something else. More trouble along the borderlands? Perhaps the Welsh kings were restless again. Mother might ride away as soon as Æthelstan had gone!
Mother took my arm and steered me into the shadows between the great wooden hall and the council chamber we had just left.
“Softly now,” she soothed. “Listen to me, Ælfwyn. Your uncle the king has arranged for Aldwulf, Earl of East Anglia, to visit Lunden. The earl has fought well for the king, and in King Edward’s name he holds the lands they took back from the Danes. Now the king looks to repay Aldwulf’s loyalty further, to give him an advantage of kinship.... Do you follow my meaning?”
“You’re not going away?” I asked in a small voice, and she shook her head.
“No, Wyn. Aldwulf is coming here, to Lunden. He’s coming to see you.”
“Me? Why would he ...” Suddenly, I realized what Mother had been trying to say. Aldwulf was coming at the king’s behest to meet King Edward’s niece, a bride who could bind Aldwulf to the king’s own family in marriage. He was coming to take me as his wife.
I couldn’t breathe. I jerked away, but Mother caught me and pulled me into her embrace.
“Wyn, don’t,” she said quietly, her strong arms holding me.
“I don’t want to leave Lunden,” I choked. “I don’t want to leave you!”
“I know,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against my hair, “but we will do as the king wishes. We will greet Aldwulf as our honored guest when he comes.”
I scarcely remember making my way to the stable, but I was standing outside Winter’s stall when Æthelstan found me. The big horse was asleep, one hoof cocked, head drooping until his s
oft lips touched the straw.
“Anyone would think he’d been pulling a plow all morning,” my cousin said, touching my shoulder.
“Has your father brought you a warhorse of your own to ride away?” I asked dully.
“I ... I’m sorry to leave you, Wyn”—he faltered, letting his hand fall to his side—“but it’s right for me to go, I think. It’s time.”
“And it’s time for me to marry, the king says,” I said with a shrug.
“Marry?” Æthelstan stared. “Marry whom?”
“Aldwulf of East Anglia,” I replied, feeling sick as I said the name.
“He’s an old man!” my cousin exclaimed. “Older than my father! And you ...”
“I’ve passed my sixteenth winter,” I muttered, gazing at my horse. “I’m older than my mother was when Grandfather Alfred gave her away.”
“But Wyn, I thought—” Æthelstan gripped the low door of the stall. “It was better to leave thinking that you would be here, in Lunden, when I returned.”
“Perhaps we’ll meet in East Anglia,” I said, looking straight ahead. “I’m sure King Edward’s son would be a welcome guest in Aldwulf’s household.”
“Æthelstan!” The shout rang out down the passageway, and Winter lifted his head, blinking a dark eye at us.
“They’ve already gathered all my things,” Æthelstan said helplessly. “I have to go.” He glanced once more into the stall. “You will ride him when I’ve gone, won’t you?” I shrugged, unable to speak, and then his arms were around me. His young man’s soft beard brushed my face. “God go with you, cousin,” he whispered fiercely, “until I see you again.”
“We ride, Æthelstan!” came a second shout, making Winter toss his head, and Æthelstan turned and ran for the stable door.
3
ALONE
I REMEMBER THE SPRING RAINS AFTER ÆTHELSTAN LEFT—A grey month when we rarely saw the sun, and the men who worked the land shook their heads and spoke of flooded furrows and seedlings washed away. Grimbald taught me on my own, or occasionally with Gytha when she found time to read with us. He seemed surprised at the number of pages I wanted to study each day, but there was little else for me to do between lessons. It was muddy in the streets of Lunden, and I had little taste for any excursion now that Æthelstan was gone.
My own chamber seemed best on days when I was not wanted at the library. Gytha saw how I preferred things, and on dim mornings when we had to close the wooden shutters against the rain, she made the serving women bring me extra rushlights and candles for reading, despite their frowns at such a waste.
Sometimes Mother came to read with Grimbald and me. She had been my first teacher when I was a little girl just learning the shapes of my letters, and her taste for old songs about heroes and their brave deeds helped form my own love for English poetry. Grimbald had little use for monsters and battle-stories, but when Lady Æthelflæd appeared at the scriptorium for a third day, he again put our studies aside to indulge her.
“Save the lines you have prepared until tomorrow,” he told me grudgingly. “Today we will read the deed of Judith, a maiden who saved God’s people from the barbarian sword.” I closed my book, glancing at my mother, who wore a broad smile.
“Your teacher remembers the sort of tale I liked, when he and I used to study together,” she murmured as Grimbald turned away to his pile of manuscripts.
“He taught you?” I whispered, surprised.
“When first I came to Mercia”—she nodded—“when he was a younger monk, not long at the abbey. He was gloomy, even then.”
My teacher turned back to us. “Smiling, are you?” Grimbald scowled at me. “Well, I don’t suppose you know this text.” He placed an open book before me with a thump and I shook my head.
“I have heard others tell of Judith, from God’s holy writings,” I told him, “but I have not read the story myself.”
“Good,” he grunted. “You can show us how well you read Latin by sight.”
It was not a particularly difficult passage. I began reading aloud slowly, stopping whenever Grimbald or Mother wished to take a few lines. I soon found myself gripped by its story of the Jews, besieged by their profane enemies the As-syrians. The pagan leader Holofernes demanded a beautiful Jewish widow, Judith, as a human spoil of war, and the beleaguered Jews let her go to him.
“ ‘And when Holofernes’s soldiers brought the woman to his tent,’”Iread, “ ‘she found the man drunk with wine, so that he fell down beside her in a deep sleep. And Judith stood up, and raised the idol-worshiper’s own sword, and cut off his head.’”Ilooked at Mother, startled. “She did it herself?” I said incredulously.
“Is it hard to believe that a woman could do such a thing?” Mother asked. I quickly lowered my eyes, abashed. Mother had fought when she was still a girl. Raiders had attacked the party that brought her to Mercia, and she had fought back from horseback, and had even killed the enemy leader with her dagger.
“I—I was thinking of the heft of a grown man’s sword,” I said hesitantly. I had seen enough of Æthelstan’s practice with weapons to guess how much the metal would weigh. “And the force needed to sever a thick-necked warrior’s head ...”
“The arm of God was with her,” Grimbald said severely, and Mother and I looked at each other, chastened and a little amused. “Read on, girl,” the monk commanded, tapping an impatient finger on the page in front of me. “She kills him, and then?”
“ ‘Then Judith crept among the tents of the sleeping enemy until she reached the city. She entered, and told the Jews what she had done, urging them to fall upon their foes. In God’s name she called her people to battle, and—’ ”
“My lady!” Gytha burst breathlessly into the room. “Lady Æthelflæd! A messenger of King Edward has been seen riding up to the north gate. He will have passed the sentries by now. I came to find you as soon as we heard!”
Mother stood up quickly. “Please excuse me, Brother Grimbald,” she said, shaking out the folds of her gown. “And Wyn, I’m sorry to go,” she told me, laying her hand lightly on my head. “Judith is a favorite of mine—her story would make a fine song, I’ve always thought.”
Grimbald bristled, but before he could make any retort, Mother had gone. Gytha followed her, casting a hurried smile in my direction as she went out the door.
With a sigh I turned back to my text, but Grimbald closed the book.
“Enough of Judith for now,” he said, and I thought with surprise that I heard a hint of regret in his voice. “Show me the epistle I set for your translation.” I reached again for the pages I had brought, but my mind was already slipping away from the writing table and Grimbald’s books, following my mother to her council chamber, wondering what message she would receive from the king.
It was not long before I found out. I had barely reached my own rooms after Grimbald’s lesson when Gytha appeared again, this time to fetch me.
“Dunstan is with Lady Æthelflæd,” she told me in an undertone as we hurried into the street again. Dunstan was the leader of my mother’s personal guard, and in the years since my father’s death he had become one of the lady’s most trusted friends. “And my mother is there, too,” Gytha added. I felt myself stiffen. Gytha’s mother, Edith, manager of all our household affairs, and Dunstan together in the council chamber signaled serious dealings, indeed.
It was still a shock to find Edith already securing the fastenings of Mother’s leather traveling armor. “I must ride out this hour, Wyn,” Mother said apologetically when she saw my stricken face. “I ride to Tameworthig, at King Edward’s request, to take pledges of loyalty from the thanes of those parts. The king worries that, left alone, the land-owners there may ...” She broke off, grasping my hands. “No, Wyn, don’t look that way! Tameworthig is only two days’ ride from here, and we expect no trouble. I would wear a mail shirt if we did, not this.” She tapped the molded leather on her torso.
“It’s true, Ælfwyn,” Edith put in, dropping a woolen tun
ic over my mother’s head. “Gytha will stay in Lunden with you, and I will be here, as usual, to see that no one comes to mischief. ...”
I looked away miserably. Obviously Edith had not noticed how little mischief I got into without Æthelstan to lead me to it.
“My lady.” Dunstan stepped forward, straight and powerfully built despite his greying head. “The rest of the king’s message—do not forget to tell her.”
I felt a creeping dread. What other news had the king sent?
“Yes, Wyn.” Mother drew me down beside her as she sat to pull on boots. “You will not find yourself much alone in the little time I am gone. Earl Aldwulf of East Anglia will arrive in three days’ time, and you will receive him in all honor, yes?” She cupped my reddening cheek in her hand. “You will be the lady of this household while I am gone,” she reminded me gently.
“She’s old enough to greet a visitor, and more,” Edith snapped, holding out a leather helmet to replace Mother’s wimple. “All that time with Grimbald and his dusty books makes her too shy. Should she not go with you sometimes, Lady? Should she not travel to Tameworthig, to let the people see their lady’s child?”
“Enough, Edith,” said Mother a little sharply. “Ælfwyn does what I ask of her, and will do what the king has asked,” she added in an undertone, meeting my eye. I swallowed and nodded.
Mother turned back to Dunstan. “You said you know Aldwulf?”
“By his reputation,” the soldier grunted. “I’ve heard how he took back land from the Danes in East Anglia. Hard-fought battles, they say.”
“And now he must rebuild the East Anglian fortresses, and help the folk there plant crops, as we have done so many times along our own northern borderlands.” Mother shook her head. “That’s difficult work.”
“Aldwulf’s an old man. I hope he’s fit for it.” Edith was barely bridling her anger.
“Edith, you don’t—” Mother began, but Edith would not be stopped.
Far Traveler Page 2
