The Edge of Light

by Joan Wolf

  Alfred was laughing as he lifted the slim black-haired girl down from her saddle. Then she was saying to the reeve, who was now standing before her, “Many thanks, Offa. It is good to see you also.”

  It was her voice that Ethelred recognized. There could be no mistaking that dark, almost husky drawl.

  The reeve had begun to escort the prince and his wife across the courtyard, and hastily Ethelred stepped forward from within the shadow of the guest-hall door.

  “Welcome to Croxden, my lord,” he said as he reached Alfred’s elbow a few paces before the steps of the great hall. The prince stopped to look at him. Ethelred held his grave expression and hope desperately that Alfred would remember him. “I have been looking forward to meeting you again,” he added.

  The prince’s golden eyes, the color of which Ethelred had never seen on any other human, lighted with pleasure. “Ethelred,” he said. “I have been looking forward to meeting you also.”

  Ethelred could feel the ready color rise to his cheeks. He hated the way his pale skin showed every change in his emotions. He wished his skin would tan, like …

  “Greetings, Ethelred,” said Alfred’s wife. “For how long have you been here?”

  Ethelred forgot his own embarrassment and stared at this beautiful girl who was, astonishingly enough, really Elswyth. He had known Elswyth for years, ever since his sister had become betrothed to her brother over four years before. They were of an age, and they had been comfortable companions on the occasions in the past when his family had visited Croxden. They had hunted together, and he had thought her braver than most boys he knew, but it had never occurred to him to find her pretty. He had been deeply surprised to learn she was to marry Alfred. He could not imagine the hoydenish Elswyth married to anyone, let alone his secret hero.

  So he looked now in some confusion at the finely boned blue-eyed face of this beautiful girl who was Elswyth, It was her hair, he thought. She looked completely different without the ubiquitous braids. He was still too young to disguise his thoughts, so he blurted out before he could stop himself, “You look so different, Elswyth!”

  She grinned and for a moment the gamine he had known returned. “It’s my hair,” she said, “You look the same, though, Ethelred. I’m glad you are here. Is Burgred going to name you ealdorman in your father’s stead?”

  “Nothing like going straight to the point,” Alfred murmured as they all began to walk slowly toward the steps.

  “I hope so,” Ethelred replied. “I have an uncle, but he is not well. My mother has spoken to the queen and she thinks it will be me. Athulf will speak for me also.” He looked at Alfred, “I am to go see the king after the wedding.”

  “Ah,” said Elswyth, and she looked also at Alfred.

  His lips twitched. “You and I must have a talk sometime, Ethelred,” he said. “I would very much like to see you named ealdorman. We two have much in common, I think.”

  Ethelred’s hazel eyes glowed very green. “Yes, my lord.”

  Suddenly Elswyth’s face changed. Ethelred’s eyes turned in the same direction as hers and he saw that Eadburgh had come out the door of the hall and was awaiting them at the top of the steps. They stopped on the step below her and their hostess said to Elswyth with regal composure, “Welcome to Croxden, my daughter.” Next Eadburgh looked at Alfred, and now she smiled graciously. “Welcome to you also, Prince.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Alfred replied in his clipped West Saxon voice. Ethelred saw how his hand lifted casually to rest on his wife’s shoulder. “We are pleased to be here to help celebrate Athulf’s marriage.”

  Eadburgh was looking once more at her daughter. “You look very well, Elswyth. I am glad to see you are wearing proper clothing for a change.”

  Ethelred was the only one to see how Alfred’s fingers tightened on his wife’s shoulder. There was a moment’s pause; then Elswyth said in a sweetly husky voice that brought a look of wonder to the reeve’s eyes, “Thank you, Mother. It is wonderful to see you also.”

  Eadburgh looked taken aback. There was a brief silence. Then she said, “Why are we standing here on the stairs? Bring your husband into the great hall, Elswyth.”

  Alfred gave his mother-by-marriage a charming smile. “Elswyth is tired, my lady. Might we be shown to our lodging instead?”

  “Certainly.” Eadburgh turned to Elswyth, “I have given you your old room in the bower, Elswyth.”

  “Oh, good.” her daughter lifted a glowing face to her husband. “My old room,” she said.

  “The older and more familiar it is, the better Elswyth likes it,” Alfred remarked to Ethelred when he saw the boy’s face. “I comfort myself that by the time I am an aged old grandfather, she will like me very well indeed.”

  Elswyth chuckled, a deep, dark, delicious sound. “Come along,” she said. “I’ll show you the way. Offa will take care of our thanes.”

  Ethelred stood in silence on the top step and watched the figures of Alfred and his black-haired wife as they recrossed the courtyard toward the small hall that was the girl’s bower. Elswyth was talking, looking up into Alfred’s face, and then she slid an arm around his waist and leaned against him. Linked thus together, they walked in through the door of the bower.

  “Well,” said Eadburgh, and Ethelred turned to see that he was not the only one watching. Eadburgh and Offa stood beside him. Eadburgh looked outraged; Offa looked delighted. “That girl has no sense of decorum,” Elswyth’s mother said, and pinched her lips together.

  “The lord Athulf did the best he could, my lady,” Offa replied piously. “But he lacked a woman’s touch.”

  Eadburgh shot her reeve a distinctly nasty look, then turned and walked away. Ethelred pretended he did not hear the unflattering comment the reeve made under his breath, and went himself to get ready for dinner.

  After a week of stringent prayer and even more stringent meals, Easter came to set the household free from the penance of Lent. Then, three days after Easter, Athulf’s household priest married him to Hild. The wedding banquet was presided over by Eadburgh and Hild’s mother, the recent widow, and was not jolly. Athulf took his new bride early to bed, and the rest of the party broke up with obvious relief.

  “Lucky man,” Ceolwulf remarked gloomily to Alfred as the two returned from a very perfunctory bedding rite for the newlywed pair. Then, “You also, Prince. I am the one who needs must retire to a lonely bed.”

  Alfred smiled at him. This brother of Elswyth’s was just his own age, and very personable. Alfred liked him. It was hard not to like Ceolwulf. “You should get married, Ceolwulf.”

  “It’s not marriage I need,” Ceolwulf returned. “It’s escape from my mother.” He gave Alfred a deliberately comical look. “Do you know how grim life has become at Croxden since Elswyth left? Life was uncomfortable enough last year, with Elswyth and my mother constantly in battle, but now things are even worse.”

  “Why so?” Alfred asked absently. His mind was on Elswyth and his bed, not on Ceolwulf’s complaints.

  “I don’t believe any of us realized how much this manor depended upon Elswyth,” Ceolwulf replied. There was an odd note of wonder in his voice. He looked at Alfred, his gray eyes wide. “She never seemed to do anything!” Alfred grinned and Ceolwulf went on, “My mother is certainly a more conscientious mistress. She supervises the work in the bakehouse, the weaving house, the dye house, the kitchens. Yet under Elswyth, all seemed to run better.” There was a pause; then Ceolwulf’s brows drew together. He corrected himself. “No, not better, perhaps. All was happier. The serving folk were happier and the service was more willing. These days, all we seem to have are brangles.”

  “It is that to Elswyth the manor folk are all individuals,” Alfred replied. His smile was gone; he was utterly serious. “The rest of us, we see the groom and the beekeeper and the goose girl. Elswyth sees Oswald and Wulfstan and Ebbe. Free or unfree, it makes no difference to her. All are individuals. And they know that. It is why they love her, would do anything
for her. Even in the few short months she had been at my own manors of Wantage and Lambourn, I can see this. It is her great gift, this ability to see the person and not just the rank.”

  Ceolwulf was looking at his brother-by-marriage, his gray eyes a little puzzled. Then he shrugged, finding his own solution. “She has ever been a strong-minded brat. From the time she was five years old, she had her way of Athulf and of me.” He smiled wryly. “It was not so difficult to get her way of me, perhaps, but Athulf is another story. Yet rarely could he stand against her. I think the manor folk felt the same.”

  Alfred grinned again. “Very likely.”

  They had reached the door of the small hall where Ceolwulf was lodged. He sighed once more. “Well, Prince, I wish you a good night.”

  Alfred responded pleasantly and went toward the bower, his stride quickening noticeably as he approached the door. The benches in the small bower hall were empty, as the maids slept in the attic room above. There was a light showing under the door of Elswyth’s sleeping room, and it was but a few long strides until Alfred could push it open and go in to his wife.

  She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a blanket draped over her thin linen undershift, her long hair tied at the nape of her neck with a strip of embroidered tapestry. There was an oil lamp lit on the table beside the bed, and she was throwing dice on the bedcover. She looked up when he came in, smiled, and remarked, “What a gloomy wedding. Poor Athulf. I will wager you that his path and my mother’s rarely cross again.”

  “Your mother is not exactly what I would call a jolly person,” Alfred agreed. He unbuckled his belt and began to pull his tunic over his head. Elswyth scooped the dice up, put them on the table, and leaned back against her pillow, watching him. “I think I ought to go to Tamworth with Ethelred,” he said, his voice a little muffled as it came from beneath the blue wool of his tunic, His head emerged and he began to fold the tunic to put it on top of the clothes chest. Next he began to take off his shirt.

  “Do you?” she responded almost lazily.

  “Yes,” He came back to the bed and sat down to take off his soft leather shoes. She reached out and laid a hand on the warm, smooth skin of his back. The muscles flexed under her hand as he reached to push his shoes under the bed. “It is important that Wessex and Mercia continue to hold together.” He straightened, turned, and looked down at her. “I had another thought too. What if we found a West Saxon girl for Ceolwulf to wed? If Ethelred is appointed ealdorman, and if Ceolwulf is bound to Wessex by marriage, that will be two more Mercians inclined to assist us.”

  “Hmm.” She clasped her hands around her updrawn knees and regarded him thoughtfully. “We could do that, I suppose. But, Alfred, I would caution you not to expect too much from Ceolwulf. He is my brother, and I am fond of him, but Ceolwulf will ever take the easiest way.” She shrugged. There was pity in her eyes, and the faintest trace of contempt. “He cannot help it. It is his nature.”

  “Still,” Alfred said, “if we make ours the easiest way …*’

  She shrugged again. “It is worth a try, certainly.”

  “We must find him a nice docile girl who will not threaten his peace,” Alfred said. Now there was laughter in his eyes. “Someone like you.”

  “True.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Ceolwulf and I have ever got along well.”

  “That is because you have him thoroughly intimidated,” her husband retorted. He reached out to pull the ribbon from her hair and watched as the shining blue-black mass slid over her shoulders like a silken cloak. “Poor man, after you and your mother, a sweet-natured West Saxon girl will seem like an angel from heaven to him.”

  Elswyth’s blue eyes flashed. She sat up straight as a spear. “Do not compare me to my mother! We are not at all alike.”

  “You both have wills of iron.” He was pushing her back against the pillow, stretching out beside her.

  She tried to draw away. “Alfred, take that back, I am not like my mother.”

  He took a fistful of her hair and held her still. “You are not like your mother,” he repeated, imitating her Mercian drawl.

  She laughed unwillingly and reached out to pretend to push him away. “If I am such a shrew, you can scarcely wish to sleep with me.”

  “But such a beautiful shrew,” he murmured, sliding his leg over hers to hold her down. She was under him now, her hair spilled like an ebony halo on the pillow around her face.

  He could see her wondering if she would be strong enough to push him off. He let her try. Then, when she fell back again against the pillow, her breath coming a little short: “And I would find a sweet-natured West Saxon girl so tedious.”

  “You are a devil,” she said. But the struggle had heated her blood; he could see that from the glitter in her eyes.

  “Elswyth,” he said. The teasing note had quite gone from his voice. “God Almighty. Elswyth.” And he set his mouth against hers.

  Her arms came up instantly to draw him close. “I love you,” she said after a while, her husky voice close to his ear. He pushed up her shift to get it out of his way, and she ran her hands up and down his smooth naked torso. He touched her and she shuddered.

  Athulf and his new bride were asleep long before Alfred and Elswyth that night.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  Alfred and Elswyth returned to Wessex at the end of April, Alfred well-pleased with the naming of Ethelred as new Ealdorman of Hwicce. The Danes remained in York. Alfred collected his food rents, the seed was sown, the lambs and piglets and calves were born. June came and the sheep were sheared and the fleeces gathered into the barns to be combed and spun into wool by the women. Fences were built and repaired and new fishing weirs were constructed. Then the summer was upon them.

  Elswyth stood without the door of the hall at Wantage one light summer night late in July and breathed in the cool evening air. It had been hot during the day and the heat still lingered within the hall. The courtyard was empty, but she could hear the sound of music and laughter coming from the far side of the stockade fence. The manor folk were having a dance this night, to celebrate the conclusion of the haymaking.

  Alfred was not at Wantage this week, having ridden to Mercia on business for his brother. Elswyth was near four months gone with child, and though she was feeling better now, she had been ill in the mornings for the first few months. She had decided to forgo the long ride to Tamworth and back in favor of remaining at Wantage and working with her filly while still she could ride.

  Ethelred had sent Alfred into Mercia in response to Burgred’s most recent message that the Danes were making ready to leave York. For all this past year the Mercians had kept watch on York, and now the dreaded signs at last were visible. Actually the Danish army had remained in the north for longer than anyone had dared hope; they must have eaten the land bare these last six months.

  Elswyth crossed her arms on her breast and shivered a little in the cool night air. She had been so happy these last six months with Alfred. She had clung fast to the joy of the moment and refused to let her happiness be marred by the uncertainties of the future. It was one faculty of childhood she still retained, that ability to live in the present.

  But their peace was over. She felt it this night, as she stood in the solitude of her safe courtyard and listened to the mirth of the manor folk floating on the soft summer air. The Danes were once more on the move. Whither would they march next?

  The music was still playing when Elswyth turned back to the hall to seek her lonely bed. She did not sleep, however, until long after the last merrymaker had fallen into his cot and lay deep in the sodden slumber of the weary and the drunk.

  In August the Danish army came pouring down the old Roman road that led from York directly into the monastery-rich fen country of East Anglia. Monasteries that had been centers of civilization since the time of Saint Guthlac gleamed as rich prizes before a Viking army which had fallen on lean times at York this last year.

  It was Elswyth’s brother
Ceolwulf who brought Alfred the news of the Danish move into East Anglia. Ceolwulf had been sent as messenger by Burgred and had ridden straight through from Tamworth to Lambourn, where Alfred and Elswyth were housed this time of year. He stopped to see Alfred first, since Ethelred, Wessex’s king, was further to the south and the east, in Sussex.

  “All the fen country is afire,” Ceolwulf said as he sat with his sister and her husband in the hall at Lambourn. Ceolwulf was eating as he talked, having barely halted for food on his ride south. “Farms, manors, monasteries—all within the path of the pagan march is going up in smoke.”

  “What monasteries?” Alfred asked bleakly.

  “Crowland, for one.” Ceolwulf swallowed the ham in his mouth. “One of their novices, a boy who is half Mercian, escaped the blaze and made it to Tamworth. The story of Crowland is just one example of what is happening all over East Anglia.”

  “What happened at Crowland?” Elswyth asked.

  Ceolwulf put down his knife. His gray eyes were very somber. He said, “It is an ugly story, my sister.” Then, when no one spoke: “From what the boy told us, they had sufficient warning that the Danes were coming. They could see the fires in the towns around them, you see.” Alfred and Elswyth nodded their understanding. Ceolwulf began to play with his knife. “Well, the abbot and the monks first buried most of their treasure—the sacred vessels and the gold.” Ceolwulf turned the knife over and over in his fingers. “Then the abbot said Mass for all the folk of the monastery. They were still in the church when the Danes burst through the monastery gates. Most of the monks tried to hide, but the pagans hunted them through all the maze of the monastery buildings. Hunted them down and killed them.”

  There was a pause as Ceolwulf put down his knife and then looked up. His handsome face was very pale. “This boy had remained in the church with the abbot. They were both within the vestry, the abbot still clothed in his sacred vestments, when the hounds out of hell broke into the church and cut the priest down.” He looked at his brother-by-marriage. “In his own church, Alfred! Almost before his own altar!”