Shadow of the Raven: Sons of Kings: Book One

by Millie Thom

  The carefully planned ceremonies, during which Aethelwulf had intended to present the pope with his lavish gifts, were therefore postponed. On reflection, Aethelwulf considered that to be no bad thing. Benedict may not sit in the pontifical chair for much longer, and the costly gifts could be put to better use with the duly consecrated pontiff. So he resigned himself to viewing the sights of the Leonine City and the substantial remains across the Tiber of that bygone age of Empire, now interspersed with the shabby residential areas where most of Rome’s population lived. His visits to the awe-inspiring churches and shrines strengthened his love of God, filling him with a profound sense of regret at his decision to leave the Church after his early education at Winchester. But regrets were futile and he rapidly dismissed them. As King of Wessex, Aethelwulf had been blessed with a wife he’d deeply loved, and sons who would continue to make the kingdom great.

  Alfred was in a reverie of his own as the days passed in the wonderment of learning. At the tomb of the Apostle he said prayers for his mother, the simple act serving to ease the deep pain of bereavement that Aethelwulf knew he still felt.

  The uncomfortable heat and humidity of summer with its swarms of buzzing insects gradually faded, giving way to the fresher air of autumn. By early October the uncertain occupancy of the pontifical chair seemed finally resolved. Though Aethelwulf had seen little of Pope Benedict, he knew from the gossiping Romans that Louis of Bavaria had sent a cardinal priest named Anastasius to be installed as pope. Anastasius’s men had stormed the Lateran Palace and for a week Benedict had suffered the indignity of imprisonment. But the senate, nobles and clergy of Rome simply refused to consecrate the priest as pope. Anastasius’s position was hopeless and Benedict was released to reclaim his position.

  Following Pope Benedict’s consecration on October 6, the people were in festive mood; the pontiff of their choice sat in his rightful seat, albeit without the approval of the Holy Roman Emperors.

  Weeks stretched into months, the lingering warmth and blue skies of the Roman autumn gradually marred by the rains and cooler air of winter. The West Saxons unpacked thicker cloaks and dodged the heavy showers. Yet compared to the biting winds and freezing fog and ice of a Wessex winter, Rome seemed to embrace the perpetuity of a spring paradise. By the time spring did blossom again, Aethelwulf began making plans for the return journey. Since mid October he’d been received in the Lateran Palace on several occasions. Exquisite gifts were carried in by his retainers and Father Felix stood by to record the joyous events. Golden chalices and gilded silver candlesticks, robes elaborately decorated with gold and silver thread, a beautiful ornamental sword and chests of gold and silver coin were amongst the offerings that delighted the new pontiff – and paved the way for amicable and constructive discussions between them. Aethelwulf would leave Rome with the knowledge that Pope Benedict would remember Wessex in his prayers.

  At the end of May all was in readiness for their departure.

  ‘When do we see His Holiness to say goodbye?’ Alfred popped another grape into his mouth, looking expectantly at his father. They’d eaten a hearty meal of roasted pork, with pastries from the market and a variety of colourful fruits, and the hostel’s hall buzzed with cheerful conversation. Beyond the open door, daylight was fading as the sun sank to the horizon across the stretch of sea the Greeks had called the Tyrrhenian. Alfred reached for an orange. ‘Will you give it to him then?’

  ‘In two days’ time, and yes,’ Aethelwulf answered the two questions, watching juice squirt into Alfred eye as he peeled the orange’s thick skin with his small scramseax.

  ‘So we meet with the pope in two days and you’ll give him the last of the gifts then,’ Alfred said, trying to avoid cutting his fingers. ‘I can’t wait to see his face.’

  * * *

  Inside the huge Basilica of St Peter’s on the first day of June, Pope Benedict held the magnificent crown of solid gold above his head. His lips moved in silent prayer as he lowered his arms to place the crown on the altar, beneath which lay the tomb of the Blessed Apostle. Aethelwulf felt truly humbled as the congregation of Romans and Saxons knelt together to be led in prayers by His Holiness the Pope. His gift had been well received; recognised as a true representation of his devotion to the Church and his deep love of God.

  With Alfred and Felix at his sides and his retinue behind, Aethelwulf stepped from the solemnity of the basilica, feeling as though the hand of God had enveloped him. But silence ended as cheers erupted from the gathered crowds. Shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun he waved to the smiling faces below the wide steps and gestured to a dozen of his guards. The men disappeared into the basilica as Aethelwulf held up his hands to quieten the crowd.

  ‘People of Rome,’ he yelled in perfect Latin once he could make himself heard. ‘You have heard that tomorrow we return to our own lands and wish to say farewell to you all. Thank you for allowing us to do so. The year we have spent amongst you has been one of the most enjoyable of my life and I thank you all for your generosity and hospitality to my companions. We will remember Rome’s splendour, her wines, fruits and pastries for many years. But we’ll remember Rome’s people for ever!’

  Resounding cheers filled the air and Athelwulf raised his hands for their attention. ‘It is now my turn to show my generosity to you.’

  He signalled to the chosen men, each of whom now held a large sack. Positioning themselves across the breadth of the steps they began hurling out handfuls of silver coin. People jostled to catch them or retrieve them from the ground . . . until the sacks were empty and Pope Benedict stepped out to stand beside Aethelwulf, as had been arranged.

  ‘Return to your work now, my children,’ Benedict said in a voice that projected itself forward without being greatly raised. ‘Today you have been given a rare gift of thanks from one of the many thousands of pilgrims who visit our Holy City. But King Aethelwulf wants no other thanks than to see you return to your everyday pursuits and live the rest of your lives in peace and happiness.’

  The people gradually melted away and Aethelwulf reluctantly took his leave of Pope Benedict. In the Schola’s stables he chortled as Osberht told him of Satan’s latest antics and they discussed preparations for horses and wagons to be ready for tomorrow’s departure. Unlike Aethelwulf, Osberht could barely wait to get home.

  ‘I just miss Edith, my lord,’ the groom said with a morose shrug.

  Aethewulf found himself laughing, though he knew the sentiment not to be funny at all. He had no wife in Wessex to miss, and the sadness of that thought added to the sorrow he already felt on leaving this glorious city.

  Twenty One

  Charles the Bald was delighted to welcome Aethelwulf and his entourage back to his court and keen to hear of their experiences in the Holy City. On the evening of their arrival they dined in the large stone hall, which was sumptuously furnished with thick, colourful wall hangings, and even thicker ones on the floor instead of rushes. Alfred recalled Charles explaining on their previous visit that these were called carpets and had been brought all the way from Persia.

  As a notable guest, Aethelwulf was seated next to the emperor at the high table, with Alfred at his side. Content to enjoy the hospitality of the Frankish court and listen to the melodies of the harpist, Alfred glanced about, smiling as he caught the eye of his new friend, Charles, seated with three other boys at a separate table who, he decided, must be Charles’s brothers. But at the high table, perched silently on the far side of the emperor, was a girl some years Alfred’s senior. He glanced at her occasionally, presuming her to be Charles’s daughter, Judith, although they’d not been introduced, nor had she dined with them last year.

  Alfred thought that Judith looked a pleasant person. He liked the way her shiny dark hair flowed like waves down her back, and the colours of the swirling patterns on her embroidered gown. But Judith’s pretty face was unsmiling and she constantly gnawed her bottom lip, taking fre
quent, anxious peeps at Aethelwulf. Alfred thought she was probably just shy in the company of strangers.

  ‘It was unfortunate your stay coincided with the election of the new pope,’ Charles was saying as a serving woman heaped his plate with roast venison. ‘The selection and consecration to the papal seat is rarely a straightforward matter. I well remember the trouble over the previous pontiff, Leo the Fourth. The Romans are demanding the right to choose their own pontiff, independently of the Empire.’

  ‘For some weeks the situation certainly seemed precarious for Benedict,’ Aethelwulf confirmed, allowing the woman to place slabs of meat on his tastefully decorated dish. ‘But everything was resolved by October and our stay was very enjoyable from then on.’

  Charles washed down a mouthful of venison with a gulp from his wine goblet. ‘You may also realise that my two brothers continue to threaten the peace of West Francia – though, having said that, Lothar passed away last November and his son, Louis, now rules in his stead. So I’m hoping we’ll have some peace from that area whilst my nephew finds his feet.’ He scowled, tapping the table with the handle of his scramseax in his agitation. ‘It’s my brother Louis causing problems right now. Bavaria’s never been enough for him; he’s greedy to get his hands on Aquitaine, despite the stipulations of the Treaty of Verdun. But I’ll fight him to the bitter end to keep Aquitaine. I swear, Aethelwulf, it niggles them all that I got the lands west of the Rhine.’

  Alfred’s ears pricked when Aethelwulf murmured, ‘Too often family members create the greatest problems for a ruler, no matter how extensive the kingdom.’ Charles’s bushy eyebrows rose in anticipation of elaboration, but Aethelwulf seemed not to notice and offered some compliment regarding the tenderness of the venison, and congenial conversation continued. But the remark troubled Alfred and he wondered whether his father was talking about his own family. Determined to ask him about it later, he put it from his mind by considering the Frankish emperor.

  In appearance Charles was as dark as Alfred’s father was fair, though like Aethelwulf, his thick hair and beard were well streaked with grey. He was a scrawny man with narrow shoulders and hollow cheeks, despite seeming to gulp down his food and wine with relish. His small, dark eyes and hooked nose made him look like a hawk about to swoop on its prey, but tonight, Charles played the genial host. However, Alfred wondered why he’d still not introduced his daughter, even though he occasionally spoke to her himself.

  But, as servants cleared away the remnants of the meal, Charles turned and addressed Aethelwulf. ‘My lord, may I present to you my daughter, Judith? She is a gentle and obedient girl and, as you see, comely in appearance and of childbearing age.’

  Alfred silently sympathised as the girl flushed crimson. Too embarrassed to catch anyone’s eye, Judith hung her head and chewed her bottom lip quite brutally.

  ‘Come and greet King Aethelwulf properly, daughter.’

  Looking utterly mortified Judith obeyed, stepping behind her father and curtsying as Athelwulf rose to greet her. ‘I am honoured to meet you, my lord,’ she said in the Saxon tongue, with only the hint of a Frankish accent.

  ‘And I’m delighted to meet the daughter of such an esteemed emperor,’ Aethelwulf replied as she tentatively took his proffered hand. ‘I’m sure you are a credit to your father. Your fluent use of the Saxon tongue is truly impressive.’

  ‘I have an excellent tutor from your own lands, my lord – from Sussex.’

  Aethelwulf smiled warmly at the girl. ‘Then, with both intelligence and beauty, no doubt one day you will make some king a very happy man.’ Judith shot a look of such panic at her father that Aethelwulf hurriedly added, ‘Of course, the prospect of marriage may not yet have been discussed, in which case, please accept my apologies, Lady Judith.’

  Judith gave Alfred’s father a wan smile. ‘My lord, I have been surrounded by discussions regarding possible husbands as long as I can remember. The daughter of an emperor must marry well,’ she added, casting another glance at her father.

  ‘Very true, my lady. I also have a daughter, and though I cannot aspire to the status of emperor, the daughters of all kings must marry for political reasons.’

  Interest sparked in Judith’s eyes. ‘Your daughter married well, my lord?’

  ‘Aethelswith is wedded to a neighbouring king. The match served to strengthen the unity between our two kingdoms.’

  ‘And Aethelswith is happy in her marriage?’

  ‘She is content enough.’

  Alfred was taken aback by the outright lie: his father knew too well of Aethelswith’s unhappiness. Perhaps he just didn’t want to admit it to the Frankish emperor.

  ‘Now, Judith,’ Charles said, standing beside his daughter, ‘would you like to take Alfred to see our collection of relics?’

  Without waiting for her reply, Charles turned to Alfred. ‘Your father tells me you have a passion for such things, and we have a goodly collection here. Many nobles making pilgrimage to Rome pay their respects at our court – as you, yourselves, have done,’ he added, inclining his head to Aethelwulf. ‘Many bring us gifts of unusual relics relating to the life of our Lord.’

  Although surprised that he and Judith should be dismissed, Alfred couldn’t hide his excitement at the prospect of seeing these relics. ‘I would be pleased to see your collection, my lord,’ he replied, considering how short Charles appeared beside Aethelwulf. Even Judith was as tall as her father.

  ‘The relics are very interesting, Alfred,’ Judith assured, holding out her hand with an encouraging smile. He placed his own small, chubby hand in Judith’s slender one and allowed her to lead him towards the prized relics.

  * * *

  ‘Not all of the relics come from Rome,’ Judith said as they sat together in a small chamber behind the main hall with box-loads of strange looking objects on the table before them. ‘Some of these were brought to us from the holy city of Jerusalem. I can see that impresses you.’ She smiled. ‘Your eyes could not open much wider, young lord.’

  Alfred thought Judith was one of the nicest people he’d ever met, and felt quite at ease in her company, though he still sensed she was upset about something. ‘Are you are unhappy, Judith?’ he broached. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘You are a strange one,’ she said with an appraising look. ‘You speak as someone much older than your six years.’

  ‘I have been seven since before Eastertide!’ Alfred retorted, causing Judith to giggle.

  ‘Well, I am thirteen,’ she said, suddenly sad again. ‘Alfred, I want to tell you something, but you must promise not to tell anyone that I spoke to you of it.’

  Confused, he nodded anyway. He was good at keeping secrets.

  ‘At this moment my father will be speaking of a certain matter with King Aethelwulf.’

  ‘Do you know what he’ll be speaking about?’

  Judith nodded and closed her eyes, twisting a long strand of hair round her finger. Her sudden outburst took him by surprise. ‘It is all right for you, Alfred – you’re a boy! I’m just a girl, no use for anything except presenting some lord with sons!’ She covered her face with her hands and Alfred knew that tears were welling. He stayed silent, not knowing what to say or how to give comfort.

  ‘I am sorry, Alfred,’ she sniffed, taking a small, white kerchief from her sleeve to blow her nose. ‘I have had many weeks to become used to this idea, but confronted with it directly I find I am a coward.’

  ‘You are distressed because you are soon to be married?’

  Judith stared at him for some moments before taking breath. ‘Alfred, I am to marry your father.’

  Alfred gasped, stunned by the revelation, and feeling certain that his father had known nothing about it before tonight. But Judith had known, and had been fretting about it for some time. No wonder she’d been behaving so strangely. He watched her staring down at her interlocked fin
gers, her lower lip quivering. ‘It must be scary to face marrying someone so much older than yourself,’ he said, laying a hand on her arm.

  ‘It truly is, Alfred,’ she whispered. ‘I had hoped my father would choose a younger man for me – but politics must come first, I have always known that. My father believes the match will be good, politically, and is certain that King Aethelwulf will agree. Charles is a powerful emperor and – please do not take offence at this, Alfred – he believes that Aethelwulf will be more than pleased to ally Wessex to West Francia, nor would he wish to insult Charles by refusing him in this.

  ‘I shall miss my home and family greatly,’ Judith admitted, ‘even though our kingdom is constantly under threat of invasion by my two uncles. And to make matters worse, we have the Danes raiding our lands again. We are told the Danes are becoming a problem in the Saxon lands too,’ she continued, her eyes holding Alfred’s. ‘I know my father was impressed when he heard of King Aethelwulf’s victory over them at Aclea. The Danes cause our people such hardship, pillaging and killing, and burning the crops. And they are almost unstoppable once they gain foothold in a land. Only two weeks ago a large band, led by a man called Weland, made their base at Jeufosse, from where they can strike at Paris and our palaces along the River Oise. I fear my father will soon have no option but to do battle, or else pay tribute to be rid of them.’

  Unable to think of anything useful to say, Alfred just nodded.

  ‘Tell me, Alfred, is your father a kind man?’ Judith suddenly asked, tilting her head to one side. ‘Perhaps I could overlook his age if he treats me kindly.’

  They talked quietly about Alfred’s father and siblings for a while before moving to retire for the night. ‘Thank you for keeping me company tonight, Alfred,’ Judith said, as they left the relics behind. ‘I know we will be great friends when we are in Wessex and, although I shall be your stepmother, I will never try to take the place of the mother you loved so dearly. Sleep well, young lord.’