by Martin Lake
‘These Jutes are a suspicious lot,’ Holdwine murmured.
‘Don’t think I didn’t hear that,’ Cuthred said. ‘If we are suspicious of you Saxons then we’ve good cause to be.’
He said it with a grin for he and Holdwine had become good friends.
‘Will we stay here all day?’ Ketil asked. His horse stamped the ground, seemingly as impatient as he.
‘I think Ulf’s waiting for a welcome party from the archbishop,’ Inga answered. ‘Our messenger arrived here early this morning so they’ve had plenty of warning.’
But there was no sign of any deputation coming along the road.
Finally, Ulf turned to the rider beside him. ‘What do you want to do, Edward?’
The boy stared silently at the cathedral for a while longer before answering.
‘It feels like an insult not to send a delegation to meet us,’ he said at last. ‘If we enter alone we will seem like any passing travellers.’ He paused, his eyes narrowing. ‘Yet if we wait here any longer we will look like fools.’
He glanced at Ulf, seeking his response.
‘I agree, my lord. Yet I would counsel you not to assume it is an insult. Assume instead, that the Archbishop is merely remiss in not sending folk to escort us.’
‘That he is too busy with matters of church to attend to matters of state?’
Edward smiled as he said it and, not for the first time, Ulf realised how like his father the young prince was. He was only thirteen years old yet already he showed an unusual ability to read a situation and the motives of people he met. It was a little unnerving.
‘Well I’ve come here not to seek audience with the Archbishop but to show myself to the people of Kent,’ Edward continued. ‘I don’t need Ethelred’s welcome or his agreement to enter one of my cities.’
And with that he spurred his horse and headed towards the city.
Ulf hoped that Edward would prove more diplomatic than his words. On the day before they set out, the king had told Ulf why he was sending Edward to the easternmost parts of the kingdom. It was to strengthen his position here, to forestall any attempt by powerful men to support a rival, to help ensure that he succeeded to the throne of a united Wessex.
They came to a halt at the western gate of the city. A sentry looked down at them from the walls above, nervously fingering his spear.
‘Who are you?’ he called. ‘So many armed warriors are not welcome here.’
‘This is Edward, son of King Alfred,’ Holdwine said. ‘Open the door to him.’
The sentry called to another man who looked intently at the party. ‘We’ve had message you were coming,’ he said. He gave a signal and the gates were swung open.
‘They seem cautious,’ Holdwine said.
Grimbold sniffed. ‘The Archbishop has no liking for the King.’
‘I doubt it’s that,’ said Cuthred. ‘Kent is the head of the kingdom and Canterbury its ears and eyes. The guards are rightly watchful of threat and danger.’
His eyes slid towards Ketil who chose to ignore it.
They trotted through the narrow lanes of the city and soon arrived at the open space surrounding the Cathedral. It was paved with cobbles and the horses’ hooves rung loudly as they headed towards the main door of the Cathedral.
They came to a halt and the men dismounted. Ulf turned to the prince, waiting for his command.
‘Let’s enter,’ Edward said. ‘You, me, your sister, Ketil and Rebekah, with four or five men.’
Ulf nodded and gestured Holdwine, Grimbold, Cuthred and two others to join them. He pushed open the huge oak doors and led the way in.
The cathedral seemed larger than it had from the outside. They found themselves in a vast, cavernous hall where every sound they made echoed from wall to wall. It was gloomy, for the day was dull and the light from the small windows too feeble to penetrate far into the interior. A row of candles flickered along the central part of the nave.
A man in long black robes came hurrying towards them. He looked alarmed.
‘I am Tobias, the Dean,’ he said, wiping his hands nervously at the sight of so many armed men. He stared at Ulf. ‘You are Prince Edward?’
Ulf shook his head. ‘This is the prince.’
Tobias looked surprised to see that the prince was such a young man but quickly disguised it and gave a swift bow.
‘You are welcome, my lord.’ He paused. ‘The Archbishop is at prayer or he would have welcomed you himself. I am directed to provide for your comfort and you are to be lodged in the Archbishop’s palace.’ He stared a moment at Rebekah, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to recall something and failing to do so.
He led them out of the Cathedral and to the palace. It was of a good size, as large as some belonging to the King, and rather better constructed.
They were shown into a chamber at the rear of the main hall. It had several chairs and stools and a brazier in the centre with glowing logs for heat. A window looked to the south. It was covered with glass allowing the light outside to permeate the room.
‘This is amazing,’ Ulf said, touching the glass.
‘It’s from Rome,’ Tobias said. He gently removed Ulf’s hand. ‘Very old and rather fragile.’
And very crude, Rebekah thought, although she decided not to voice it.
‘We are hungry and thirsty,’ Ulf said. ‘And so are our men.’
‘The Archbishop said that I was to bring food and wine to you,’ Tobias answered. ‘It will arrive shortly. And sleeping chambers are being prepared for you here, three in number. Your men are to lodge in a hostel nearby.’
‘How long will the Archbishop be at his prayers?’ Edward asked. ‘My father would assume that he’d attend upon me immediately.’
Tobias looked a little worried. ‘I fear that the Archbishop’s attention to God sometimes blinds him to the demands of even kings and princes.’
‘Then you must open his eyes to our presence.’ Edward paused. ‘Now would be good.’
Tobias licked his lips, gave a nod, and hurried from the room.
The food arrived a short while later. Inga exchanged a glance with Ulf. It was a paltry offering, two loaves of bread, some cheese, half a dozen apples and a jug of wine.
One of the servants poured them each a cup. Ketil sniffed it before drinking.
‘This is poor, sour stuff,’ he said.
‘Perhaps the Danes have taken all the good wine,’ Grimbold said.
‘I doubt it. We northerners prefer ale to wine.’
‘Enough of your squabbling,’ Ulf said. ‘Drink the wine or not, as you please.’
They ate their meal, putting more logs on the brazier as the day grew colder.
‘This delay seems a deliberate insult,’ Ulf said at last. ‘I shall go and find Archbishop Ethelred.’
Edward nodded. ‘Do so. And bring him here even if he is the middle of a chant or prayer.’
They sat watching the fire, wearied by waiting. At last, the door was thrust open and Ulf strode into the room followed by Archbishop Ethelred.
The old man looked uncomfortable and out of sorts. ‘I see that my Dean has done as I instructed and made you welcome,’ he said. His tone was formal and decidedly cool.
‘I hoped you would have welcomed me yourself,’ Edward said. ‘We have travelled across the kingdom to be here.’
‘But not at my request.’
Edward did not answer. The silence hung in the air, hard, cold and uncomfortable.
‘Should that make a difference to the courtesy you owe me?’ he said at last.
The Archbishop tilted his head, neither a yes nor a no. ‘Tobias has arranged sleeping chambers for you and your men. And I see you have eaten.’
‘Barely,’ Ulf said. ‘Food fit for common travellers.’
‘The House of God does not differentiate between manner of men,’ Ethelred said.
‘Naturally,’ Ulf said. ‘Then we shall sup with you this evening. Eating exactly as you do.’
Ethelred smiled. ‘Of course. Today is the feast-day of Saint Martin so that is highly appropriate.’
‘Why so?’
‘Saint Martin is the patron of soldiers and of inn-keepers,’ Ethelred answered. ‘And, of course, of beggars.’
The meal that evening was somewhat better than that they had eaten earlier. The centre-piece was a pair of geese, roasted crisp on the outside, succulent and fat in flesh. There was a stew of wild boar and another of river fish. Kale and cabbage steamed in pots and there was fine white bread and cheese. The wine was as fine as they could wish for.
It appeared to Inga that the Archbishop was a king in his own palace. He acted exactly as Alfred did and his priests behaved towards him as ealdormen and thegns did to their lord.
He was polite if somewhat wary and condescending. She was not surprised as Aethelflaed had earlier told her that there was little liking between Ethelred and the king and he would be suspicious of the reason for this mission.
Alfred, although a devout Christian, made demands which the Archbishop thought heavy and unreasonable. The most important was his insistence that the church pay money for the defence of the kingdom. Ethelred had been particularly incensed when Alfred told him the church should pray for the dead and pay for the living. When Ethelred had refused full payment the king had taken a number of church lands into his own possession. Arguments still raged over this.
Alfred was also highly critical of the poor state of learning in the church. Many priests and monks were unable to read or speak Latin with any skill and some had only the haziest notion of scripture. While Ethelred also bemoaned this and had taken steps to improve matters, he felt aggrieved by Alfred’s complaints about it.
Moreover, it was whispered in some circles that the Archbishop had never been happy that Alfred had become King. Some even went as far as to say that he supported the claims of Alfred’s nephews to the throne. He had never said this publicly, of course.
Inga observed the Archbishop carefully throughout the meal. Aethelflaed, who considered anybody who disagreed with her father an enemy, had described Ethelred as a devious charlatan. Inga did not find him so. He stood on his dignity but was blunt and direct. Perhaps a little more deviousness might have stood him in better stead with the king.
The truth of this came at the end of the meal.
Ulf had been hinting throughout that they had come to discuss an important matter. Dean Tobias had deflected all such discussion as being unseemly while dining and liable to lead to untold digestive difficulties.
But when the dishes had been cleared and a prayer of thanks offered up, Edward pressed to the attack.
‘My father sent us to you to seek your advice,’ he said.
The Archbishop heard this with some surprise and then an uncertain smile crossed his face. The headstrong king seeking his advice? This was most unusual, in fact unparalleled. His usual wariness relaxed.
‘I am happy to help the king,’ he said. ‘On what matter?’
‘This man Ulf, one of my father’s most valued thegns, has fallen in love with a woman from Africa. They wish to wed. The King wonders what Holy Scripture has to say about such a marriage.’
‘And this is the woman?’ Ethelred gestured to Rebekah. He studied her for a little while, his gaze searching but not unfriendly.
‘There’s more,’ said Ulf. ‘My sister, Inga, seeks to wed this man.’
Ethelred turned towards Ketil. ‘He appears to be a Dane.’
‘He is,’ Ulf said. ‘One of Guthrum’s captains.’
Ethelred shook his head. ‘A Christian cannot wed a heathen.’
‘But he is not a heathen,’ Ulf said. ‘He was baptised after the victory of Ethandun.’
Ethelred sighed. ‘Was this a true conversion to the faith, I ask myself. Or was it merely an act of expedience?’
He closed his eyes immediately, perhaps in prayer, perhaps to avoid seeing any reaction to his words.
‘Ketil is esteemed by the king,’ Ulf said, ‘for he once saved Aethelflaed’s life.’
The Archbishop made no response other than to sigh.
‘And there is more,’ said Edward. ‘My father has pledged Aethelflaed to marry Ealdorman Æthelred of Mercia. My sister does not wish this and has asked that I seek your advice on this matter also.’
The others looked at him in surprise. This had not been mentioned before. This was not, surely, part of the mission?
Ethelred’s eyes opened wide at Edward’s words. It seemed to Inga that he had sensed a sudden advantage he had never before had in his dealings with Alfred. She could not understand why Edward had said this. Surely the Archbishop must agree with what the king had decided for his own daughter? Such was the right of any father.
‘These are no easy matters,’ Ethelred said, ‘but they are ones on which I will be able to advise, given sufficient time for thought and prayer.’
He looked pointedly at Tobias who rose and offered to show them to their sleeping chambers.
LONG DELIBERATIONS
December 884
Ulf hurried from the Archbishop’s Palace to the stables. Snow was falling fast which was unusual so early in December. He cursed. It promised to be a bleak winter. If the weather worsened, the journey home would be difficult.
That is if they could ever head home. They had been here almost a month but had still received no answer from Ethelred. If the long wait to be escorted into Canterbury had seemed an insult this felt like humiliation.
‘I thought to find you here,’ Ulf said.
He spoke lightly, hiding the relief in his voice. Edward had grown increasingly frustrated at the delay and had begun to complain loudly about it. Ulf feared that the boy might do something unfortunate. Insult the Archbishop perhaps or saddle a horse and ride home alone.
‘I am sick of kicking around Ethelred’s hall,’ Edward said. He gestured angrily at the falling snow. ‘And if this gets any worse we may be stuck here even longer.’
‘Snow this early in the winter rarely stays for long,’ Ulf said.
Edward nodded, although he looked far from convinced. He patted his horse on the neck. ‘Why did you come in search of me?’ he asked. ‘Did you think that I would saddle my horse and go home?’
‘Why not? It’s what I’ve been considering doing.’
‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly? Yes, I’ve considered it. But I can’t leave because your father commanded me to come to Canterbury for the archbishop’s response. So I must wait here until I get one.’
Edward sighed, picked up an apple and fed it to his horse.
‘Why do you think Ethelred is taking so long to answer?’
Ulf shrugged. It was a question which had been nagging him more each day. ‘Perhaps he has genuine concerns about Inga wedding a Dane and me marrying a woman from Axum.’
‘Maybe it’s not that at all,’ Edward said. ‘Maybe he’s doing it to vex my father.’
Ulf bit his lip. He hadn’t thought of that. He gave a rueful glance at the young prince. Edward was clever beyond his years. Not as wise as his sister, perhaps, but then few could match Aethelflaed’s quick wit. Yet maybe he would grow to catch her up.
‘Why do you think the archbishop wishes to annoy the king?’
He was conscious that this was the first time he had asked Edward a question he did not know the answer to. Up till now his questions had been the typical type adults asked of children. They already know the answers, of course, and ask them solely to get the child to think. But now, for the first time, Ulf suspected that he might learn more from Edward than he could teach.
‘Because he favours my cousins, Æthelhelm and Æthelwold,’ Edward said.
Ulf paused, remembering Alfred’s doubts concerning the risks to his son’s succession.
‘That was settled long ago,’ Ulf said. ‘Your father is King of Wessex. There is no disputing it.’
Silence settled on the stable, broken only by the occasional sound of the horses.
&nb
sp; Ulf made for the door, content that Edward was safe and thankful that he had stopped asking questions. But then Edward called out once more.
‘Ulf,’ he said, ‘why do you think father sent me here?’
Ulf’s hand was on the latch but he did not open it.
‘You said so yourself, when we came to Canterbury. He wants the people of Kent to see you.’
‘For when I become king?’
‘Presumably.’
Edward picked up another apple, bit into it and then grimaced. Then he turned towards Ulf, his face now deadly serious.
‘Do you think I’ll become king?’ he asked.
‘If you weary me with any more questions then maybe not.’
He hoped that Edward would laugh at his jest but the boy remained deadly serious.
‘Of course you’ll be king,’ Ulf continued. ‘You are Alfred’s son. The King’s son.’
‘Æthelhelm and Æthelwold were the sons of a king. Yet my father succeeded to the throne; not them.’
‘But they were young. Too young to rule.’
‘And if my father died tomorrow? Would I not be too young? I’m not quite thirteen. Æthelhelm is aged twenty. I think that the Witan would choose him as king.’
‘Æthelhelm is sickly,’ Ulf said. ‘He would not make a warrior and has said that he wants to be a priest.’
‘Æthelwold, then?’ Edward said. ‘He’s nineteen, strong and vigorous. Popular. He would be a safer choice than me.’
Ulf did not answer. Edward was right, absolutely right, but he did not want to say so.
‘So I ask you again,’ Edward continued. ‘Do you think I’ll ever be king?’
‘Your father is hale and vigorous,’ Ulf said. ‘He’ll rule for many years yet. By the time he dies you will be a man in your prime. So yes, I think you will become King of Wessex.’
He fell silent, wondering if Æthelwold would step aside for Edward or make a claim on the throne himself. Or perhaps Alfred would be forced to do as his grandfather had done and split the kingdom between his son and nephews.
