Alvar the Kingmaker

by Annie Whitehead

  When the murmurs subsided, Æthelred cleared his throat. “Lord Alvar, you come…” He coughed. “My lord you come before… Before…” The boy looked across at his mother.

  She rested a hand on her son’s shoulder and said, “My lord, you come to stand before us that we might give to you a gift of land, the first of our kingship, for we would show you, and all who are here this day, that we owe you a great deal.” Alfreda paused and looked at her son, but Æthelred stared straight ahead so she continued. “We know you to be a stalwart lord to your folk. We know you to be a true man to your king. We know you to be a wise teacher to the king. We would have it that all men here this day know of these things, and know that they are the truth.”

  Alfreda nodded to the scribe, who read out the boundaries of the gift of land at Olney in Buckinghamshire. Alvar remained on one knee, but looked up and held out his hands.

  The young king handed him a twig. “I give you this token from the aforesaid land, that all may see your ownership of it.”

  Alvar smiled, hoping to soothe the boy’s nerves, but Æthelred clamped his mouth shut and his bottom lip trembled.

  Alvar stood up and walked back to his seat. He looked at Brandon and opened his mouth to speak, but pushed out the air with a half-sigh, half-smile. He put his tongue to his lower lip and sat down. Brock would have been proud, not only that his little brother had been so honoured, but that he had let go of an opportunity to goad Brandon. He sat back to watch the rest of the gift-giving.

  But Dunstan stood up and cleared his throat.

  Alvar said, “I do not have the strength for one of his sermons. I will wander about before I fill my belly.”

  He stood up and walked over to the feasting tables. He hailed a tall man standing by the roasting-spits. “Thored, it is good to see you. I was sorry beyond belief to hear of your father’s death. Earl Beorn was a good man and I loved him well.”

  “It was hard for him to bear being sent from these shores, to be away from all those whom he loved. I think he welcomed the illness when it came. He spoke highly of you, my lord, you above all others. He said it was you to whom he owed his life.”

  Alvar clapped the younger man on the back. “It is good to see you here, and all the sins of the fathers forgotten. Edward’s men are here alongside Æthelred’s, and old wounds are healed. It is a good beginning for a kingship.”

  Thored nodded and turned away to take his seat. Edwin of Kent and a companion came from the seating area.

  Alvar said, “I see you are still lame. The leg is not healing well?” Not all things were forgotten, for there were many reminders of the tragedy at Calne.

  Edwin shook his head. “The stiffness will not go. But I can ride a horse, so there is hope yet. And I have learned to keep away from stairs.” He nodded to the young man beside him and grabbed his elbow to bring him forward. “You know Ethelmær?”

  Alvar squinted. “You look as if I know you…” He dredged his memory until the name made sense to him. This was the nephew of the Fairchild’s young bride. God, how many years had it been since their annulment was engineered to allow Edgar to strengthen his claim to the throne? “God’s bones; seeing you here as a man grown, it makes me think of all the years that have gone by since the Fairchild’s time.”

  A gentle touch on his shoulder made him turn. Alfreda was standing behind him.

  He took a step back, turned fully, and bowed low before her. “My lady. It is a great day for us all.”

  She inclined her head. “It is. Although I must say I do feel every one of my years when I think that I have been queen in the lifetime of three kings now.”

  “Lady, you are as young to me as on the day we first met.”

  “You are a liar, but I thank you for your kind words.” Her smile faded. “In truth, I have to thank you for so many kindnesses. What I owe you goes beyond reckoning.”

  He held a finger to her lips. “Lady, whatever I have done for you, I did with gladness and always willingly.”

  She placed a hand on her mouth and traced the path his finger had taken. She smiled and laid her hand on his forearm. “We would have made a good match, you and I, do you not think?”

  Everyone had expected that they would eventually wed. He wondered whether if, at times, he had assumed the same thing. He might even have believed that he was in love with her, except that he had never in fact stopped to ponder it. Yes, she was beautiful, but the more her beauty became her salvation, the more something withered within. Besides, his heart had always belonged to Káta, even before he was aware of it. He had always found it easy to flirt, but then it was easy enough to tell a beautiful woman the truth, to compliment her. It was with Káta that he was so tongue-tied, because it mattered.

  Alfreda was waiting for an answer. He raised an eyebrow. “My lady, I could never have hoped to reach so high. And the witan would never have said yes to such a match.”

  It was a lie. He had held the country in his hands, there had been no-one left to stop him had he chosen to take the queen.

  But this beautiful, damaged woman nodded, acknowledging defeat and retaining the one thing to which she had clung tenaciously; her dignity. “It is true,” she said. “You might have become too strong as husband to the queen.” She raised her chin, gave a little shake of her head and fixed her face in a smile. “Yet look at you now; lord of all Mercia and beyond, leading earl of the witan, nearest to the king’s ear and, I believe, the richest among us. What is left for you now?”

  Alvar looked over her shoulder. “The one thing that in all that time was forbidden to me,” he said.

  Káta was sitting at the table with Mildrith and Wulfgar, and had kept a space open for him to join them.

  Alfreda followed his gaze. A fleeting expression threatened to betray her thoughts before she composed her features into an unfathomable mask. “Ah, I see.”

  He rushed to fill the silence for her. “And there is something you must do, too.”

  Once again, a king was dead before reaching the age of twenty, and now his brother was the new boy-king. When folk read the chronicles many years from now they would think the scribes had mistakenly written it twice. But this was not the same story. Edgar had leaned on him so heavily that Alvar had been caught off-balance when relieved of the pressure, but Æthelred would not call on him in the same way. Alvar looked around and saw many younger men, men who might one day do for the king what he had once done for Edgar. But in the meantime, if ever there was a role for Alfreda, it was to be the guiding hand behind the throne. Her most redeeming trait was that she had always been a fierce and loving mother. He took her hands and said, “Sons might be born, but you will always be the mother of the king. No-one can take that from you.”

  She raised her chin, took a deep breath and put the smile back on. “Indeed. And will you stay to help us?”

  It had been his lifelong role to sweep up the mess which others had left behind, and he had sacrificed an important thing along the way. God grant him enough years to make up for all the time lost and wasted. Æthelred was crowned; Alvar had done his work.

  “No, my lady. I am going home.”

  Chapter Twenty One AD983

  Gloucestershire

  With their backs to the little wooden church, they crossed the stream at the ford and made their way towards the house. Káta ran her hands through the rosebay willow herb at the edge of the path. “The fireweed has blossomed early this summer.”

  Gytha grunted and moved her basket to the other arm.

  “Let us go home through the orchard.”

  “Why, Lady?”

  “I like it there. It is pretty.”

  Gytha shook her head. “It is all as one to me. But if you wish to go, then we go.”

  Káta said, “We did not have groves like this at Ashleigh. Here I can sit and watch the wryneck and the owl looking out from the pear blossom.”

  Gytha pointed up at the trees, where the fruits hung, heavily plump. “The blossom has all gone, Lady
, both from the pear and the apple. Next you are going to tell me that you like the apple-wine they make here, even though I know you find it bitter. Or instead of finding silly reasons not to go back to the house, you could simply go and ask him if it is true.” She rested her basket on an upturned cart.

  Káta’s cheeks grew warm. “You know me so well, dear friend. Yes, I can put it off no longer but must go and ask him.”

  Gytha nodded towards the house. “No need. Here comes the lord now. I will go and find work; I have seen that look in his eyes before.” Gytha shuffled away.

  Alvar strode into the orchard and put his arms round Káta’s waist. He lifted her off her feet and held her just high enough to kiss her mouth, while her feet dangled above the ground.

  When he put her down she said, “It is true, then?”

  He had the grace to look shame-faced.

  “But why must it be you?”

  “Hywel has asked for my help. Not for the help of the English, but for me. We have fought together before, as you know.”

  “That was to get his uncle out of Gwynedd and you helped him to get back his kingdom. But this is elsewhere in Wales and it has naught to do with you. This Deh… Deheu…”

  “Deheubarth. It is in the lands of Einion ab Owain.”

  “Whoever he might be. This is not about kingship, but yet another fight over land.”

  “Yes,” he said with ingenuousness, “All fights are about land ownership. But we cannot afford to lose Hywel as a friend. Æthelred is growing, but is still tied to his mother’s skirts. I must look to our borders, keep them strong, make sure that no man thinks our land weak, and tries to take it for himself.”

  She sat back on the edge of the cart and he knelt on the grass before her.

  “Besides, you would not want me growing fat like Brock did.”

  She poked his hard stomach. “There is no danger of that. Why can you not go hunting, if you are restless? I would rather have you wrestling a boar than a horde of Welshmen.”

  “I have sent word that I will go. You would not want me to withdraw my promise and show my word to be worthless.”

  He was staring up at her with those light-grey eyes that were so hard to resist. No wonder his mother had indulged him. At this moment he looked like a child pleading for a new wooden sword.

  “What I want is to have you here, unharmed, alive.” She looked up, but could not see or hear any of the birds that she normally found in the orchard.

  “Hywel and I have a long-standing friendship. I owe it to him.” He sat back and rested his hands on his thighs. “You have never worried so before.”

  “You have never been so old before.”

  He laughed. “I am not yet fifty.”

  “You are nearer to it than forty. As for me, I am a grandmother now and that makes me feel old even if you do not.”

  He jumped up and his knees cracked. “Ride with me, then.”

  “Are you mad?”

  He picked her up again, twirled her round, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Come to Ashleigh. You can see Siferth, Eadyth and the bairn, and bide there until I come back.”

  He set her down on the ground, but she clung to him and rested her head against his chest. “I would look a forsaken old woman indeed, would I not, standing each day atop Elfshill watching for you?” She locked her fingers behind his neck and tilted her head back to look up at him. “I am your woman now, and I will bide here until you come home. There would be little for me to do in another woman’s house and I need to be busy whilst you are away. And mind you come back whole, for I have told you before that I am not going to keep sewing you back together like so many bits of ripped cloth.”

  He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “I will come back, and you will not have to heal me. Upon my oath.”

  She rewarded him with a small laugh that was meant to sound jolly but came out shrill. “I was once so in awe of a great earl that he only had to tell me things for me to believe them to be true.”

  He smiled, his head to one side, so keen to go off that she could only think of a puppy going on its first hunt.

  She stamped her foot and released him. “Oh, it is in your blood. Go and gird yourself if you must, even though your knees crack and I see you holding your stiff back.”

  He ran off towards the house and called for his man, Steapa, to make the carts ready.

  She laughed and called after him. “Slow down, or you will wear yourself out ere you get anywhere near Wales.”

  He turned and ran backwards for a few paces. “I have strength and more to spare. I will show you tonight in bed; you have my word on that.”

  “May God make it so.” She put her hand up, waved until he was out of sight, and brought it down to clasp the other hand as she prayed that her great earl still had the power to make all his other promises come true.

  “Where in merry hell is it? I told Steapa to shine it for me; I might as well spit in the wind.”

  Káta passed Steward Heanric on the stairs and smiled. “Is he making your life harder? I will try to calm him.”

  “Bless you, my lady.” Heanric paused. “I have grown used to his outbursts over the years. Besides, they have been few and far between, and went away the day you came to live here. Indeed, I have not seen him like this for many years. Not since King Edgar died.”

  She patted him on the arm. “When things rip, there is always a loud noise.” Alvar was torn and it was making him testy, the pull of his friend’s call vying with the desire to stay at home with her. And in response, she struggled with both elation at the strength of his love for her and the heartbreak caused by his leaving.

  She tidied her emotions away into the very back of her mind and marched into the bedchamber. “My lord, what use will it be to shout so loudly that you can be heard in Rome? What is it that have you lost, you silly old man?”

  Alvar continued to throw clothing out of a chest and did not look up. “My helm. The one the Fairchild gave me when he made me earl. Steapa has taken it and not put it back. I would get more work out of a gnat. He is such a slack…”

  “Oh be still. Look what you have done.”

  Alvar stood up and looked around the room. “What?”

  Jewelled plate and chalices were still rolling along the floor, upended from the long table at the end of the room. Tunics and breeches, tipped out of clothing chests, had formed into crumpled heaps and the furs and blankets from the bed lay in a pile on the floor.

  Káta bent down to pick up the clothes. “The helm is still with the smith, having the knock beaten out. They should do that with your head.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and folded each tunic and shirt, smoothing out the creases with her palms with increasing force.

  “What is it, my love? You are cross and I am sorry I made a mess, but that is not why you are upset.” He sat down on the bed beside her and tilted her chin with his fingers. “What is it?”

  She stood up and went to the table. Picking up a cup, she twirled it in her fingers. “It is naught. Such a little thing. I spoke of being your woman…”

  He leaped up and came to stand beside her. “But not ‘wife’. That is it, is it not?” He took her hand and pulled. “Come, sit. Come on.”

  She followed him back to the bed. “Really, it is naught.”

  He sat her down and put his arm around her shoulders. “No, forgive me, for I should have said all this a long time ago. And it is I who am in the wrong.”

  She opened her mouth but he put up his hand.

  “No, hear me out. There is a ghost between us, my love. Not an unwelcome one, but he is here. Once, I thought myself not worthy of your love…”

  She began to demur.

  “No, I know now that it is untrue, for I think I earned the right to love you by giving half my lifetime for it. But you were once wed to a thegn of mine who was unwavering in his loyalty. If I were to wed his widow, would it not look as if I were glad of his death?”

  She t
urned and laid her head against his chest. “Oh, my love, I will not tell you that I never loved the man, for I did, deeply. But I have loved you for so long and I will not throw away any more time. I am glad to have you near; I need no more.”

  “When you came to live here, in my house, I should have…”

  She put her hand up to his lips. “When I came to live here I gave my life to you. I did not look back on my old house. How could I ever go forward if I looked back? Here, with you, I have all that I…”

  He sat forward, clapped his hands and lifted her face to look at him. “We could become handfasted. As the Danes do.”

  “To wed, but not in a church? I like that thought.”

  She put a hand out to touch his greying hair, and ran her palm along his jaw line.

  He turned his face and kissed her fingers. He looked behind him at the expanse of comfortable bed. “Are you busy this morning?”

  She tapped his cheek. “Do you think of naught else?” She turned. The clouds had moved away from the sun and by the window a misshapen form was glinting on the floor. “Oh, the glass is broken.” She prodded him and went to kneel down to pick up the broken pieces.

  “I do not know why you are cross. I can get another one made.”

  She sat back on her heels. “This Gloucester glass is so pretty; I had never seen it before I came here.” She reached out to the largest shard and her fingers shook. It was not a time for things to be broken. All was mended and should stay like that. She breathed in, stood up, and turned to wag a finger at him. “Swear to me. Swear that you will get me another.” She pulled her face into a smile that her mother would have been proud of. “And then I will let you go off to your silly fight.”

  He grinned and looked again at the bed. “Is that all? Well, if you are selling things cheaply this day…”

  Glastonbury

  Wulfgar’s laughter was subjugating his breathing and it was hard to catch every word he said. “One of them had been having a shit… Sorry my lady, but his arse was still hanging out. They all looked so startled, sweating on their lips and brows. They made it so easy for us that all we had to do was stroll in.”