The Edge of Light

by Joan Wolf

  “And well she knows it.” Startled, Erlend turned and saw Alfred’s wife standing there on the grass. Elswyth smiled at him. “Her name is Copper Queen. Copper for short. I think she likes your compliments. She is very vain.”

  “I … She is beautiful …” Erlend stammered.

  The darkest blue eyes he had ever beheld looked forth rightly into his. “You should see her gaits,” Elswyth answered, and came forward to stand beside him.

  Erlend found himself at a loss for words. He had been at some distance from Alfred’s wife in the courtyard yesterday and had not had a really good view of her face. Up close and under the brilliant glare of the merciless sun, he realized that she was extraordinarily beautiful. She was not wearing trousers today, but a blue gown that was obviously old. Erlend had to look down to meet her eyes, which pleased him tremendously and gave him a little courage.

  “Her hooves are a trifle small,” he said. “That is the only flaw I can see in her.”

  The blue eyes flashed, then narrowed thoughtfully. “Perhaps they are a trifle small,” the girl admitted after a moment. “But they have given no trouble thus far. She is so very well put together otherwise that there is little shock to her feet when she moves.”

  “Yes, I can see that she must be a comfortable ride,” he said. “The slope of the shoulder …”

  He broke off because suddenly she was smiling at him. He realized, as he gazed in wonder at that lovely face, that she was very young. As young as he, he would wager. “You do know horses,” she was saying in warm approval. “How nice.”

  Erlend dragged his eyes away from hers in a little confusion. “What is that you are carrying?” he asked hurriedly, gesturing to the equipment she was holding in her hands. As far as he could see, she was carrying a long rope, a bridle, some separate reins, a girth, and a whip.

  “I am going to work Copper today on the long rope,” Elswyth answered.

  “What is the long rope?” She was so matter-of-fact that he found himself losing his awe and becoming more comfortable. And he really was interested. He had always been very fond of horses; his pony, in fact, had been the best companion of a lonely childhood.

  Copper nickered, not pleased by Elswyth’s neglect. Elswyth laughed and went to hang her equipment on the fence, answering briskly as she moved, “It is a system I invented when I was with child and unable to ride. I found that in some ways the long rope is more effective than riding, particularly with a young horse. The horse isn’t trying to find her balance under an additional weight, you see.”

  “But what is the point of it?” asked Erlend. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I am teaching Copper to carry herself properly,” came the surprising answer. Elswyth had been rubbing the filly’s forehead and now she proceeded to give her an apple.

  “Carry herself?” Erlend said in bewilderment as the filly crunched enthusiastically. “All horses know how to carry themselves.”

  “All horses go on their front legs,” Elswyth said, proffering the other half of the apple. It was accepted with alacrity. “I like my horses to use their hind legs. If a horse has his hind legs active and under him, the rider has more control. And the horse is lighter and in better balance, able to do what you ask with dexterity and ease.”

  “I never heard aught of this,” Erlend said with wonder.

  “Alfred says there is a book by some Greek that tells about the training of the horse. He wrote to France to try to procure it for me.” The single braid she wore was as thick as his wrist and fell sheer to her waist, gleaming blue-black in the bright sunlight. “The Greeks used horses in battle,” she added, “so control and dexterity were of prime importance to them.” She rubbed Copper’s forehead again, then turned to walk along the fence to the gate. The filly, on the other side of the fence, walked right along with her,

  “Can you read?” Erlend asked in astonishment.

  She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. “No. But Alfred can. He can even read Latin, and he says he will translate this hook and read it to me when once he gets it.”

  “Oh,” said Erlend, amazed by a king who, in the midst of fighting for his country’s very life, would take the time to send for a book. For his wife.

  “Would you like to watch while I work with Copper?” Elswyth asked.

  “Yes. I would like that very much,”

  An approving nod was tossed his way before she began to bridle her horse. “It is nice to find someone who is knowledgeable about horses,” she said. “Most of the thanes, though they take good care of their animals, have not the patience to properly train and ride a horse.” She was putting the girth on now, which was not properly a girth but a long band that went around the horse’s whole middle. Then she attached the long reins she had brought from the girth to the bit rings,

  “How did you learn, my lady?” he asked, coming to hold the gate for her as she led the filly out.

  “What I know I figured out for myself,” the king’s wife answered. “But how I would love to get my hands on that book!”

  Erlend spent the morning watching Elswyth, completely forgetting his initial plan of spying out the country surrounding Wilton. He found her work with the long rope utterly fascinating. It seemed that all she did was hold the rope and whip and make Copper Queen trot in a large circle around her, but Erlend was perceptive enough to see how the filly’s way of going changed after about five minutes. By the end of the session Copper’s hind legs were stepping into the marks made by her front hooves, and she was carrying her head stretched out low and almost on the vertical. It was beautiful.

  “I must feed my son,” Elswyth said as they walked together back toward the manor gates. “But why do you not come and play your harp for me this afternoon? I should like to hear you.”

  After a fractional hesitation, Erlend agreed.

  At midday a party of men Erlend had not seen before rode into Wilton. From the quality of the leader’s horse and clothing, Erlend thought he must be important. The leader disappeared into the great hall, and perhaps half an hour later Erlend followed, carrying his harp.

  The great hall of Wilton was the only one of the manor halls that did not have a second floor. The ceiling here rose very high, with beams supporting the roof, There were tapestries adorning the wooden walls, and a display of arms hung over the high seat. The hearthplace in the center of the hall was unusual in that it was made from brick and not stone.

  There were a few thanes sitting on the benches; the spring day had called most of the men outdoors. But Alfred was there, sitting on a bench beside the high seat, three dogs sprawled at his feet and the man who had just ridden in sitting beside him. They were deep in talk. Erlend hesitated just inside the door. There was no sign of Elswyth.

  The door of the sleeping room at the far end opened and a small girl came tumbling out, spied Alfred, and made for him with arrow-straight determination.

  “Papa,” she called. “I am awake!”

  “So I see,” replied the king, and continued his conversation. When his daughter reached him, however, he leaned down and lifted her to sit on his lap.

  “Is this your daughter?” the man to whom the king was speaking asked in obvious astonishment. They were not talking loudly, but Erlend had excellent ears and could hear them quite well.

  “Yes.” Alfred smiled. “This is Flavia.”

  “I thought she was but a babe.”

  “Not a baby!” Flavia said with indignation. “Edward a baby. I a big girl.”

  “So I see,” said the young man. “And very beautiful too.”

  Flavia was not impressed by compliments. She leaned against Alfred’s chest and said, “Who you?”

  The redheaded young man grinned. “I am Ethelred,” he said. “A friend of your father’s.”

  The young man’s voice had the same drawl that had sounded in the Lady Elswyth’s, Erlend thought. A few of the thanes on the bench had begun to look at Erlend now, and he walked toward them slowly, still listening
to the conversation at the high seat.

  “The Lord Ethelred comes from the same country as your mother, Flavia,” Alfred was saying. He spoke to the child as if she were much older.

  “Where that?” came the instant demand.

  “Mercia, love.”

  Oh, oh, Erlend thought. Mercia. Were the two Saxon countries about to band together? If so, that was not good news for the Danes.

  “What do you want here. Harper?” one of the thanes asked. The question was not belligerent, but it was quite deliberate.

  “The Lady Elswyth asked me to bring my harp this afternoon to play for her,” Erlend answered. “But I do not see her. …”

  “Oh.” The faint wariness in the group relaxed. “She is most likely with the young prince. You may wait here with us if you like.”

  Erlend nodded and took the bench that had been indicated. The men ignored him and went back to their conversation.

  “Curse Burgred for a mewling coward,” one of them said. “We went to his aid last year.”

  Another grunted in agreement. “And if Alfred had had aught to say, we would have fought at Nottingham, It was Burgred who lacked the nerve.”

  Burgred, Erlend knew, was the King of Mercia. So. It seemed the Mercians would not be coming to the aid of Wessex after all. That was good news.

  “Young Ethelred is the only Mercian with fighting blood in his veins,” the thane called Edgar said now.

  The one named Brand replied, “Ethelred and the Lady Elswyth.”

  They all laughed. “Aye,” a dark-haired man said. “Elswyth would rouse all of Mercia to arms if she were the one to lead.” A distinct note of pride sounded in his voice.

  “And God help the poor thanes who did not follow her!” They all laughed again.

  At that very moment the sleeping-chamber door opened once more and Elswyth herself came out into the hall. Erlend saw that she had changed her gown to one more seemly for such a great lady. And her hair was no longer in its long braid.

  “Ethelred,” she said, her deep husky voice audible even to those who had not Erlend’s sensitive hearing. One of the dogs jumped up and went to greet her, his tail wagging.

  “Ethelred has red hair, Mama,” Flavia announced, and Elswyth nodded.

  “Yes, Flavia, I know.” She had reached the high seat now and she and Ethelred exchanged the kiss of peace. She sat down and the dog curled himself at her feet. “What news from Burgred?” Elswyth asked.

  “What you would expect,” came the terse reply.

  “He is still fighting the Welsh?” The scorn in her voice was bitter. The Mercian shrugged and did not answer.

  “What the Welsh?” Flavia asked.

  Alfred said to his wife, “Will you get her nurse, Elswyth? It is impossible to have a discussion with an echo seated on one’s lap.”

  Flavia shrieked. Elswyth signaled to one of the serving maids who had just come into the hall. “Hilda, take Flavia to Tordis, will you please?”

  “Yes, my lady.” The girl took his daughter from Alfred after he had unwound her small arms from about his neck, and bore her relentlessly from the room.

  “She is beautiful,” Ethelred said sincerely.

  “She has a will like iron,” Flavia’s loving father replied.

  “I cannot imagine whom she inherited it from,” her mother said blandly.

  “I know,” both Alfred and Ethelred replied in unison. Then they both began to laugh.

  “She is just like Alfred,” Elswyth said to her fellow countryman. “Do not let him fool you with that mild manner, Ethelred. I have never yet seen the man not get what he wanted.”

  “He didn’t get a battle at Nottingham last year,” Ethelred replied.

  “True.” The humor of their conversation died utterly. Elswyth sighed. “That mistake has certainly come back to haunt us.”

  At this point all the thanes on the bench were openly listening to the conversation of their betters. Erlend rubbed his finger over the wooden frame of his harp and listened as well.

  “What of Athulf?” Elswyth asked.

  “Athulf is doing the best he can to fortify the towns and the monasteries of Mercia. But he has no authority to call up the fyrd, and Burgred has made no move to do so.”

  There was a speaking silence. Then, “I wish he would catch a fever and die,” said Elswyth.

  “Elswyth!” Both Alfred and Ethelred sounded horrified.

  “It is true.” She was unrepentant. “He is like a deadweight at the top. Nothing can be done while he lives. Not only does he endanger Mercia, but he is useless to Alfred as well. Useless and dangerous. The Lord would do us a favor by taking him.”

  There was silence. It was evident that both men agreed with her, although they neither felt quite comfortable in saying so. Then Alfred said to Ethelred, “When you returned to Mercia after Ashdown, I did not think to see you again so soon.”

  “I can do more good for my country fighting with you in Wessex than I can sitting on the Welsh border with Burgred,” Ethelred replied grimly. “That is, if you will have me.”

  “Of course we will have you,” Alfred said.

  “Oh, Erlend is here.” Elswyth had just seen him. “The Frankish harper,” she explained to Alfred. “I asked him to come play for me this afternoon.”

  “A little harping would not come amiss just now,” her husband replied. “Have him over.”

  And so Erlend found himself approaching the King of Wessex, his wife, and one of the chief ealdormen of Mercia. Elswyth said to her husband, “I was talking to Erlend this morning, Alfred. He is a very good man.”

  “He must know horses,” Alfred said instantly.

  “You are so amusing,” and she gave him a haughty look.

  “Know horses?” Ethelred was puzzled.

  “Elswyth’s measure of a man is how well he sits a horse,” Alfred informed his guest.

  Elswyth’s nose was still in the air. “I did not see Erlend ride,” she told her husband. Then, with a faint grin: “But he did watch me work Copper on the long rope and he was able to understand what I was doing, It takes a good eye for a horse to do that.”

  The king’s golden eyes rested on Erlend’s face. They were less friendly than his wife’s. “If my wife says you are knowledgeable, Harper, then you are.” A beat of silence. “I wonder where you learned to judge fine horseflesh?”

  Once again Erlend was aware of how quick Alfred was to pick up an incongruity. He answered before ever he knew what he was going to say, “I have not always been fortunate enough to earn my meat by my music, my lord. I have been stableboy too in my time.”

  “I have ever found that people either have a natural eye for a horse or they do not,” Elswyth said. “Look at that dreadful nag Wilfred bought. He thinks it beautiful, and it would be, I suppose, if you cut off its legs.” She looked at Erlend. “Its canon bones are thin and long, it’s over at the knee, and it’s sickle-hocked as well.”

  One of the thanes on the bench Erlend had left rustled with indignation. Elswyth called over to him, “It is true, Wilfred, as I told you when you bought him.”

  Erlend smothered a smile; Elswyth’s husband did not even try to hide his grin. Ethelred said, “You haven’t changed at all, Elswyth.”

  “I never change,” she said complacently.

  “Well,” said Alfred, and looked at Erlend, “let us have some music.”

  Two days later a scout came flying into Wilton manor with the news that the Danes were on the march. The word went out to Alfred’s thanes: “Coming toward Wilton.” And the fighting men began to prepare.

  Alfred sent his wife, his children, and an escort of thanes south to Dorchester. Erlend watched them leave, Elswyth riding a small gray gelding and holding her infant son in her arms. Flavia rode with Ethelred of Mercia, whom Alfred had asked to lead the escort guiding his family to safety. Ethelred also was charged with seeing to the defenses of Dorchester, whence the men of Wessex would retreat in case of necessity.

  Erle
nd then judged it was time for him also to depart from Wilton. It was almost a certainty by now that Alfred was not going to be able to collect any meaningful number of reinforcements, so Erlend would be able to give an accurate report of the enemy’s numbers to Halfdan. None of the West Saxons were either very interested or very surprised at his going. Clearly they had not expected a small Prankish harper to feel called upon to fight alongside them.

  Erlend came upon the Danish army a little to the southwest of Andover. First he sought out Guthrum, who listened to his tale in silence and with somewhat grudging admiration.

  “You have done well, Nephew,” he said finally when Erlend had finished. “They still do not know who you really are?”

  “No.”

  Guthrum’s face took on the look it always wore when he was plotting something. He said nothing further, however, just told Erlend to come with him to see Halfdan.

  “You outnumber them by better than four-to-one,” Erlend was telling his leader some five minutes later. “Most of their men have gone back to their farms. Alfred has with him only the thanes who live in his hall and the thanes of his ealdormen.”

  “What is the disposition of the land?” Halfdan wanted to know.

  Erlend told him as best he could.

  “This Alfred will not want to meet us in the open, then,” Halfdan said decidedly. “Not with so little forest to shelter in and with the numbers as uneven as you say. He will either shelter within a fortified position or try to run.”

  “This Wilton manor is surrounded by stout timber walls,” Guthrum said, “Erlend says the West Saxons were preparing for battle, not for flight. They will most likely try to defend the manor.”

  Erlend agreed with his uncle. “I do not think Alfred will run. He was most certainly preparing to make a stand, and with the shortage of men under him, a defense from behind stout walls is the best that he can do.”

  “Good,” said Halfdan. The Danes were experts in siege warfare. “Then that is where we shall go.”

  “One other thing, my lord,” Guthrum said softly. “I think it would be well for Erlend to keep out of the sight of the West Saxons.”