Blood Enemy

by Martin Lake

  ‘Then you doubt my heart, lord?’

  Alfred came towards him and clasped his hands.

  ‘Never think that, Ulf. I do not doubt your heart and never will.’

  ‘Then what do you doubt, my lord.’

  Alfred sighed. ‘I doubt your mind, Ulf. I doubt that you have full control of your thoughts.’

  Ulf looked at the others. Ethelnoth gave a perceptible sigh. Edgwulf stared at him, unmoving, though he thought he saw him shrink a little into himself.

  ‘You told me, Edgwulf, that the heathens should not be the only ones to fight with wild abandon and rage. That it is fit for we Saxons to be the same. You told me this when I doubted myself.’

  ‘I did,’ Edgwulf said. ‘I am sorry for it.’

  ‘So you told me a falsehood?’

  ‘I am sorry for my words.’

  Ulf closed his eyes. He could not believe this. It was one thing to doubt himself, to wonder about whether he could be the warrior he wanted to be. But to have his lords doubt it, his ealdorman, the Horse-thegn, the King himself. He felt unmanned, his legs grew weak. Wulfric carried a stool to him and bade him sit. It was the worst thing he could have done. Ulf began to weep, tears of frustration and, he realised to his horror, of anger. He struggled to master himself, fearful that he would lose control and by doing so prove the wisdom of the King’s decision.

  ‘But I’m a King’s-thegn,’ he said, his voice cracked and high.

  ‘No longer,’ Alfred said. ‘This is not your fate.’

  His words checked the tears, dried them up completely. He felt bleak and hollow inside.

  ‘But I want to serve you,’ he whispered.

  ‘There are other ways to serve your King,’ Alfred said. He rose from his seat, knelt on the ground and took Ulf’s hands. ‘I am your lord, and you my man. I pledge to you now that, although you cannot fight as one of my thegns, I will find some other task for you. I will not desert you.’

  ‘But you have,’ Ulf whispered.

  ‘The fact that the King kneels before you shows he has not and never will,’ said Edgwulf.

  Ulf closed his eyes and a moment later felt the King’s hand rest upon his head. It was a benediction, he supposed.

  But it felt like a benediction of a corpse.

  THE DANES DEPART

  It was the morning that the Danes had agreed to leave Lunden. Alfred waited with his family as his captains approached.

  ‘Another day of victory,’ Aethelflaed whispered to Inga. ‘Was there ever a greater king than my father?’

  ‘The army is assembled,’ Edgwulf said. ‘The whole host.’

  Alfred smiled. ‘Good. I want to demonstrate our strength to the Danes and persuade them there is no hope of them defying me.’

  ‘Our men are fully armed,’ Edgwulf said. ‘They are ready to attack if necessary.’

  ‘I hope there will be no need of that. But I want them to use their weapons in another way.’

  His captains shared confused glances.

  ‘At my signal, Alfred continued, ‘I want the army to raise their weapons in salute of the Danes.’

  There was a stunned silence and then everyone began to speak at once.

  Eventually, Ethelnoth won the battle for attention. ‘Alfred, I think this is foolish.’

  Most of the other captains murmured in agreement.

  The Mercian lord Æthelred was surprised to witness this. He had served three Kings of Mercia and none of them would have tolerated such dissent. Could the King of Wessex be so supine as to allow this?

  ‘Why foolish?’ Alfred asked. He did not seem angry at their disagreeing with him.

  ‘Because the Danes have been defeated,’ Ethelnoth said, ‘and they are our enemy. What need do we have to salute them?’

  ‘To honour them. Honour them for their courage and steadfastness to their lord.’

  ‘But their lord is Guthrum,’ said Ealdorman Daeglaf. ‘Our deadliest foe.’

  ‘If I cannot respect the oath these men made to Guthrum then what sort of a king am I?’ Alfred said. ‘Loyalty is what binds a people and a kingdom together.’

  ‘See how wise my father is?’ Aethelflaed whispered.

  Inga smiled. Alfred was surrounded by people utterly loyal to him but his daughter was undoubtedly the most devoted. And the person most able to to get her own way with him. He sought and listened to the advice of his captains with great earnestness. But always, in the end, he made up his own mind, made his own decisions. Only his daughter could ever persuade him to do something against his better judgement.

  His judgement today was that he would honour his enemies. He believed that this, as much as the victory of his army, would demonstrate his power. It might also, he hoped, earn the Danes’ respect, even if grudging.

  And besides, he had another observer in mind. His eyes darted towards Æthelred. He looked confused and thoughtful, which was as Alfred had hoped.

  The captains departed, Ethelnoth still grumbling to himself.

  Æthelred made to follow but Alfred detained him.

  ‘I want you to ride by my side,’ he said. ‘I do not forget that Lundenwic and the old city used to belong to Mercia.’

  Æthelred bowed courteously although he took note that Alfred had said used to belong.

  ‘You will ride with my family,’ Alfred continued. ‘Edward and Osferth will accompany me today.’

  But before Æthelred could answer an angry voice sounded in his ear.

  ‘What about me? I’m your family.’

  Aethelflaed marched up to confront her father.

  Æthelred watched with astonishment as she pleaded with Alfred to allow her to see the Danes depart. He was even more astonished to see Alfred argue against her, win the argument, yet still acquiesce.

  His astonishment changed to admiration when she marched off, head held high at her victory.

  ‘She is a king’s daughter, right enough,’ he said to Alfred.

  ‘That she is,’ Alfred said ruefully. ‘I cannot make up my mind whether she combines the best traits of her mother and me, or our worst.’

  The army waited in silence before the walls. At last the gate opened. Alfred turned towards his warriors. They stared back, waiting for his signal.

  A solitary horseman rode out of the gates.

  It is him, Inga thought.

  ‘Isn’t that the nice Dane,’ Aethelflaed said, in surprise. ‘The one who protected us when we were captives?’

  ‘Ketil,’ Inga murmured.

  Aethelflaed gave her a swift, intrigued glance. Now was not the time to question her but she would do so later. She contented herself with only a few words.

  ‘He’s very handsome, isn’t he?’

  Inga blushed but did not reply.

  ‘I thought so,’ Aethelflaed said. ‘You think kindly on him.’

  ‘Don’t be so foolish,’ Inga said. ‘He’s a Dane.’

  Aethelflaed smiled. ‘We’ll talk more of this, later.’

  Ketil approached the King and bowed his head.

  ‘I give you greetings, Alfred, King of Wessex,’ he said.

  ‘I remember you,’ Alfred said. ‘Ketil, one of Guthrum’s captains.’

  ‘Yes. Though, having lost this city, how long I will remain one remains to be seen.’

  ‘You fought honourably,’ Alfred said. ‘There is no shame in that and no cause for punishment.’

  Ketil was about to answer but he fell silent. He had caught a glimpse of Aethelflaed and Inga.

  ‘I know you ladies,’ he said. ‘If I am not mistaken.’

  ‘You do,’ Aethelflaed said. ‘You were kind to us when we were held captive by Guthrum’s brother.’

  Ketil smiled and rubbed his head. ‘And I was rewarded for my kindness by being knocked out by a rock.’

  Inga blushed even more furiously.

  ‘No harm done, lady,’ he answered. ‘My head is the hardest part of my body.’

  ‘Your forgiveness suggests your heart is less hard,’
Aethelflaed said. ‘My friend Inga and I believe it to be so, at any rate.’

  ‘Enough talk of heads and hearts,’ Alfred said. ‘Ketil, you must tell my godson, King Athelstan of East Anglia, that I am greatly amazed at his sending a Danish army against me. I had thought we had a peace.’

  ‘I suspect he will agree with you on this matter,’ Ketil said. ‘You both, as I recall, agreed not to go to war against one another.’ He pointed to Alfred’s army. ‘And yet…’

  ‘I would have been content to allow you the old city,’ Alfred said, ‘had you not harboured the Norsemen who attacked my people in Kent.’

  ‘They were casual visitors,’ Ketil said. ‘I treated them as guests. As I did to your thegn, Ulf.’

  ‘One of my men was no danger to the Danes,’ Alfred said. ‘Shiploads of Norsemen were danger to me.’

  ‘Not any longer, it seems. I leave Lunden to you, Alfred, although I deem it was not part of your kingdom. Will you give it to the Mercians, I wonder? Or will you clasp it to your own bosom?’

  ‘That is for me to decide,’ Alfred said. ‘No one else but me.’

  Ketil held his eyes for a moment and then bowed his head. ‘As you wish, Alfred. You speak with the voice of your kingdom and your warriors.’

  ‘I am glad that you realise it,’ Alfred said. ‘Be on your way, my friend, in peace and honour.’

  Ketil bowed and started off.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said to Aethelflaed and Inga as he rode by them.

  The rest of the Danes filed out of the city and Alfred rose his hand.

  The soldiers of Wessex raised their weapons in the air and cried out words of salute. The Danes were alarmed by this at first and many unsheathed their swords.

  But then Ketil cried, ‘They honour us. They salute us as mighty warriors.’

  The Danes were pacified by his words and marched with heads held high along the road.

  Last came another group of men, marching behind a tall man with spindly legs.

  Ulf stared at Hrólfr bitterly. The Norseman had allowed him to live twice now. A part of him was grateful for this. But another part hated him for it. Showing mercy was something the powerful did to the powerless. It proved who was strong and who was weak. The act of mercy could be merciless. It was with hollow heart that Ulf watched the man who had saved his life.

  ‘Is this the Norseman?’ Alfred asked.

  Ulf nodded. Edgwulf rode his horse forward a few paces, blocking the progress of the Norsemen.

  ‘You are not Danes,’ Alfred said.

  ‘We are from the hard lands further north,’ said their leader. ‘I am Hrólfr.’

  ‘You attacked my lands in Kent,’ Alfred said. ‘That was not wise.’

  Hrólfr shrugged. ‘Wisdom is an overrated talent. Courage and daring are the paths to glory.’

  ‘Not in this case.’

  Hrólfr shrugged once again. And then he spied Ulf.

  ‘Hail to thee, berserker,’ he called. ‘Your king speaks of wisdom yet I would counsel it is most unwise for lords to place faith in madmen such as thee.’

  ‘Be gone, Norseman,’ Edgwulf said. ‘And thank the wisdom of King Alfred that you are allowed your miserable life.’

  Hrólfr laughed. ‘I am not sure it is wise, Horse-thegn. All of you will come to regret that you allowed Hrólfr Giantson to slip through your fingers. I will have my revenge. In time, I will prove the victor and you will be forced to chew on dust and ashes.’

  He strode off after the Danes.

  ‘I fear he might be right in saying we will regret this day,’ Alfred said bleakly. ‘I may come to repent my mercy towards him.’

  ÆTHELRED’S ANGER

  ‘It’s a Mercian town,’ Æthelred stormed. ‘Lunden has always been a Mercian town.’

  Alfred did not answer, deeming it best to let Æthelred vent his anger.

  Æthelred strode to the entrance of the tent and stared out across the fields to the old Roman city. ‘It should be returned to us.’

  Part of the army of Wessex had already occupied the city and the sounds of hammering and sawing could be heard across the morning air.

  ‘Even though you played no part in its liberation?’ Ethelnoth said.

  ‘My warriors stood in your shield-wall,’ Æthelred cried. ‘Had I known of your plan I would have brought ten thousand warriors here.’

  ‘But you didn’t. The city was conquered by the men of Wessex. It seems to me that we should keep it.’

  ‘Then that makes you little better than the Danes.’ Æthelred’s voice was bitter and scornful. ‘They rob and steal, they claim lordship over land that is not theirs. What now the difference between the Dane and the Saxon?’

  ‘We won the battle,’ Ethelnoth said. ‘We keep the spoils.’

  Æthelred’s face blackened at the word spoils. It reeked of warfare, brigandage and heedless avarice.

  ‘And also,’ added Edgwulf, ‘we keep the trading post of Lundenwic.’

  Æthelred started out of his seat with rage. ‘This is a deliberate insult. First you seek to steal the Roman city, now you try to swallow Lundenwic as well. All this land should be returned to us. All of it belongs to the Kingdom of Mercia.’

  ‘And therein lies the problem,’ Alfred said. ‘There is no Kingdom of Mercia. There is no King.’

  Æthelred opened his mouth to answer but no words came. He could find no reply to this argument. He might be the dominant lord in Mercia but he had many rivals waiting for him to slip. Each coveted the title of king. None had power enough to secure it. Nor did he.

  As well as that, the Mercians had lost their half of their former territory to the Danes. It was a shadow of its previous might and glory.

  And as for ten thousand warriors, everyone in the tent knew that was an idle boast. Wessex could field perhaps fourteen thousand fully equipped thegns, the rump of Mercia six thousand at most.

  Wessex had conquered the city and in all matters of lordship Alfred would make the final decision. Mercia might have legal and moral claim but it lacked the power to enforce it.

  A weak army, no King, no Kingdom. Æthelred felt sick to the heart.

  ‘I will consult with my chiefs,’ he said, finally. It was an attempt to save face. In reality, he needed to leave the tent, needed time to think.

  The others remained silent after he had left. Finally, Ethelnoth poured three cups of wine.

  ‘Did that go as you hoped?’ he asked Alfred.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alfred answered. ‘I’m no longer certain what I hope.’

  ‘You mean to keep Lunden?’ Edgwulf said. It was barely a question. ‘Lundenwic might be a different matter, it is a poor place. But the old Roman walls are a powerful weapon to us.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Ethelnoth. ‘I’d prefer we keep both towns and ignore the Mercians. But it might be sensible to offer them the crumb of Lundenwic.’

  ‘It’s not much of a crumb,’ Alfred said. ‘Not any longer. There was a time when it was a place of trade and riches. Now it is little more than an overgrown village.’

  ‘Then all the more reason to give it to Æthelred,’ Edgwulf said. ‘It will be no loss to us. If we kept it we would have to fortify it against the Danes. It’s not worth the cost.’

  Alfred pondered this carefully before answering. If he took both the walled city and Lundenwic it would be considered a deliberate insult to Mercia. At the moment, Æthelred gave Wessex his support but he would find it hard to persuade his countrymen to continue this if they felt betrayed. He might even lose his preeminent position and his successor prove less willing an ally. Mercia might, heaven knows, decide to befriend the Danes.

  ‘I shall return Lundenwic to them,’ the King said at last. ‘They can do with it as they will. But I will not give them the Roman city. We shall make it one of our new burghs. It was a mighty place when the Romans ruled it and we shall make it mightier yet. No heathen fleet will ever again be able to sail past it and threaten our heartlands.’

  ‘Do you
think that Guthrum will be content to let you fortify it against him?’ Ethelnoth asked.

  ‘That will be a good test of his strength. If he attacks us here then he remains a deadly menace. If he refrains it means something else. Either he is less powerful than hitherto or he intends to keep the peace between us.’

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ Edgwulf said, ‘or any heathens. And there are plenty more across the seas waiting to attack.’

  ‘I don’t trust him either,’ Alfred said. ‘All the more reason for us to swiftly make the city strong and keep it for Wessex.’

  Yet even as he said this a little wrinkle of doubt crossed his mind. He recalled Æthelred saying there was no difference between the Saxon and the Dane. But he dismissed the memory and left the tent, gazing at the massive, ageless walls.

  ‘Let’s give the city a new name,’ he said. ‘Lundenburh. A new name for Wessex’s newest territory.’

  He strode off to see how work was progressing.

  ‘Æthelred will not like this one little bit,’ Ethelnoth said.

  ‘He won’t,’ Edgwulf said. ‘Perhaps there will come a time when Alfred has to be more conciliatory to him. But he will need to prove he has power in Mercia before that will happen.’

  WOOING THE MERCIANS

  Edgwulf hurried across the fields towards the river where Alfred was waiting.

  ‘You wanted me, my lord?’

  Alfred had been staring at the huge walls rearing above him. It was with reluctance that he turned his gaze from them to his Horse-thegn.

  ‘I am troubled concerning our decision to keep the city from Mercia,’ he said.

  Edgwulf’s heart sunk. He had feared this would surface sooner or later. But he had not expected it so swiftly. It was only a few weeks since Alfred had informed Æthelred of his decision to keep both towns.

  He glanced up at the walls above. No matter how often he looked at them he stood in awe of their might and majesty. What power the Roman lords must have wielded to command such an edifice. What skill their workmen to produce the dizzying expanse of unbreakable stone. What foresight to produce a fortress that neither war nor the slow decay of time could shatter.