by Stuart Hill
“Yes, he must,” Aethelgifu replied simply.
By this time we’d travelled as far as I thought we should go and I was just about to say we should go back to Athelney when the almost constant moaning of the wind through the reeds dropped to a stillness.
“Listen! Did you hear that?” I hissed.
“Hear what? It’s just gone totally quiet!” Edward snapped.
“There,” I said. “A whimpering.”
We all stood with our faces screwed up in concentration.
“No. Not a thing,” my brother insisted.
“Yes! I heard it,” said Aethelgifu. “A whimper.”
“It’s probably just a bird.”
“Over there,” I said, pointing as the sound came again.
I scrambled over to where a particularly thick stand of reeds crowded up to the path. Quickly I knelt, parted the tough stems and peered down into the clump. And there, nestled amongst the reeds, was a tiny and very muddy puppy.
Quickly I picked him up and he whimpered again.
“What’s that?” Edward asked, peering closely.
“Well obviously it’s a puppy,” Aethelgifu answered.
“I don’t think it’s obvious at all. It looks like a piece of dung with legs.”
I cuddled the puppy close, despite all the mud, and he raised a tiny blunt snout and licked me.
“If it is a dog it must be the runt of some huntsman’s litter left out here to die,” Edward went on. “Leave it where it is ... or drown it.”
I glared at him. “I’ll do no such thing! He’s probably a refugee running from the Danes just like us ... He must have got separated from his people.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Anyone running from the Danes wouldn’t bother to bring a useless scrap like that along. He’d be dead weight. Throw him in the marsh.”
I knew Edward was just trying to be as tough as he imagined Father’s housecarles to be, but I wasn’t going to let him bully me into leaving the puppy behind. “I was meant to find him. When he grows up he’ll be a war-dog and fight by my side in battle.”
As the words left my mouth the quiet of the surrounding marshlands deepened to almost total silence and then suddenly it was torn aside as a huge wind howled out of the sky and blasted over the reed beds.
Edward looked around nervously, but Aethelgifu moved to stand beside me. “He’s a creature of God, just like we all are. He’s coming home with us.”
I smiled at my sister and said, “I’ll call him ‘Wolf.’ ”
But Edward laughed in an effort to shake off the strangeness of the moment. “Wolf! That thing? ‘Mouse’ would be better.”
That seemed to settle everything and we set off for home without any more delay or discussion. I knew that my brother could well be right and the puppy might not ever grow into the war-dog I for some reason imagined him to be, but as I walked along I couldn’t help noticing his enormous paws as he cuddled down to sleep in my arms. One day I hoped that he’d grow to fit them.
When we got back to Athelney nobody took any notice of the small scrap of muddy dog I was carrying. So it was easy to sneak into one of the sheds and wash him before Mother and Father saw him. Aethelgifu helped me while Edward watched and made unhelpful comments.
“Don’t scrub too hard; you might wash him away.”
“If only the same could be said about you,” I answered, but then concentrated on getting the puppy clean.
At last it was done and as I dried him I realised a sturdy little dog had emerged from all the mud. He was a light fawn colour with a brown face and ears and a short, stubby tail. His muzzle was quite short but broad and when he suddenly yapped at us in happy excitement I could see he had a fine set of tiny, needle-sharp teeth.
“You should call him Moses,” Aethelgifu said as she watched the little creature sniffing at all the interesting scents in his new surroundings.
“Why?”
“Because you found him in the reeds, of course. Just like Pharaoh’s daughter found the original Moses.”
“No, he’s already been named,” said Edward trying to provoke me. “Mouse. Just right for a tiny runt like him.”
I looked at my brother, ready to be irritated by him as usual. He obviously hoped to spend a happy time arguing with me about the name, but I decided then and there to disarm him.
“Mouse it is then,” I said and stooped down to the little animal. “Mouse,” I called and held out my hand. He immediately ran to me and I scooped him up to cuddle him.
I wasn’t too worried about how my parents would react to Mouse. Father often used to be surrounded by hounds when he’d been at home in any of his palaces and Mother had been brought up in the Royal Court of Mercia which, judging by some of the stories she told about her childhood, was almost stuffed with dogs. To them owning hounds was a perfectly natural situation. If anything, Athelney was unusual in having so few dogs running about.
Ara was a different matter. I could never guess how she’d react to anything, but I was soon to find out. As I carried Mouse up to the Little Palace on that first morning I found him, she suddenly fell into step beside me as though she’d just walked into the world from some other place of shadows.
“You’ve found your companion then,” she said.
I hugged the puppy close. “Yes,” I answered, and then added fiercely, “and I won’t let him be taken from me!”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she answered. “It’s never a good idea to reject a gift.”
“A gift? From whom? I found him in the marshlands.”
“I’m sure you did,” she answered mysteriously and Ranheld and Raarken cackled from their perch on her shoulders.
“What are you saying?” I asked, getting almost as annoyed with the wise woman as I did with Edward.
She turned her black eyes on me. “Only that some things that are lost are meant to be found. And though they may be as small and as unimportant as a puppy, they make something or someone complete – so that they’re able to achieve important things.”
“What?” I snapped, completely confused by her words. “Who and what are you talking about?”
“Important things that the unimportant help to bring about.”
I gave up. When Ara wanted to be mysterious no amount of questioning would make her explain herself clearly. “Fine!” I said dismissively. “If you don’t mind, I have to find some food for a hungry puppy.”
Ara bowed her head graciously and I watched as she began to walk away. “Will he be a war-dog?” I suddenly called after her.
“Will his mistress be a shield maiden?” she answered without turning back.
“His mistress is a shield maiden!”
“Then you have your answer, Aethelflaed Cerdinga.”
During this time we learnt that the Danes had started a campaign in Devon, extending their power over the west and isolating Wessex. King Guthrum had stolen the crown of my father’s kingdom, but in Devon the Danish army was led by Ubba and it was he who had the legendary Raven banner. This was a war standard that was carried at the head of the Danish army and was said to be magical. It was woven by three Danish princesses who had chanted spells as they worked, making any fighting force that carried it invincible.
It seemed to us that the world was on fire. Cities and kingdoms were falling and the Danes were running wild throughout the lands. On Father’s orders our own war training continued too. Even little Aethelfryth was given a tiny shield and wooden sword and learnt to use them along with the rest of us. On the surface I think Father wanted us to believe we could defend ourselves if the Danes ever attacked Athelney, but underneath I think it was more than that: we were children of the Royal House of Cerdinga and in our veins ran the blood of the ancestors who first came to the land that had been our home for generations. It was the blood of warriors and somewhere mingled deep within it was the blood of the old gods our people had worshipped for centuries before Christ came and swept aside all others. This was the beginning of our pow
er and right to rule: this was what made us Cerdinga.
In Athelney we lived again as our ancestors had lived before us. The fine clothes and jewellery were gone; we wore whatever could be traded from the marsh people. The rich food and fancy dishes were a thing of the past too; we ate what could be hunted and gathered from the land around. And at night, we all slept as a family under the roof of the hall that had become Father’s palace, along that is with some of the more important fighters and thegns who were the last representatives of the ruling class of Wessex.
We children had our own corner of the great hall where we rolled out our blankets every night and slept under the raven eye of Ara. The fact that we slept under the real raven eye of Raarken too made it doubly difficult to discuss the day until he finally put his head under his wing and slept. But that never happened until he’d called to Ranhald, who was too wild to come into the hall but perched on the roof outside, and answered his cawing at the close of every day. Raarken also only slept when Ara finally did, so when at last he closed his flinty eyes we knew it was safe to speak without the risk of our nurse and wise woman’s hard hands slapping us into what she thought was the right state of mind for sleep.
“I heard Cerdic say that they’re ready and that they’re going tomorrow,” Edward suddenly whispered from the near dark that was lit only by the glowing embers of the fire in the central hearth.
“Yes, I know. All the fighters are talking about it,” I said as I settled Mouse on to his blankets next to my sleeping place. I’d been making sure he ate well and he was already growing so quickly that I’d had to find more blankets to make him a bigger bed.
“Who’s ready for what?” Aethelgifu asked irritably. “You two always talk in riddles!”
“The raiding parties are ready,” Edward explained. “The marsh people have kept the Danes out of the wetlands, but Cerdic and Father are going to lead a raid against one of their strongpoints.”
“You still haven’t said when,” Aethelgifu pointed out, obviously more than a little annoyed that Edward and I knew about the raid and she didn’t.
“Tomorrow morning. The moon’s dark for the next few days so even if it’s a clear night, when they reach their target there’ll only be starlight.”
“Which strongpoint are they going for?” she asked, surprising me that she wanted to know in such detail. Normally all her thoughts were taken up by the Church and its doings.
“It’s a post that guards the main way from Somerset into Wessex. Father and Cerdic want to remind the Danes we’re still undefeated,” Edward told her.
“I asked Father if I could go with him on his first raid,” I said importantly, wanting to remind Edward that I knew stuff too and that I was the eldest and just as much a warrior-in-training as him.
“What did he say?” he asked, his voice pleasingly edged with a sort of jealous panic.
After enjoying my small victory for a few moments I put him out of his misery and said, “He didn’t say much at all ... just that I wasn’t ready yet and that he’d be too distracted worrying about me if I went along. He said it was important that the first raid was a success for the sake of the men’s morale.”
“Oh,” said Edward, all his relief summed up in that one word.
“Well I shall pray for our victory,” said Aethelgifu. “Not all of us want to go into battle with sword and shield; some of us are the peaceful warriors of the Lord of Hosts.”
“That’s fine,” I said, stroking Mouse who could sense the tension in the air and padded backwards and forwards between us seeking reassurance. “Every army needs holy men and women praying for it.”
“Yeah,” Edward agreed. “But I’ve heard Cerdic say that the holy ones of the Danish army are some of their best warriors. The priests of Thor carry war hammers like the god they worship and once they get into one of their holy frenzies they’re almost impossible to stop.”
“Bare-sarkers,” I said, wanting to show that I knew about the mad fighters of the Danes as well. “But it’s not only the priests that go bare-sark: any of their warriors can do it.”
“Devil worshippers that allow themselves to be possessed by fighting demons,” said Aethelgifu with contempt. “No right-thinking Christian would do such a thing.”
“Well whatever they are, Cerdic says they’re a force that’s difficult to face,” said Edward.
“And anyway, if you listen to the singers in the hall at night, you’ll hear plenty of stories about Saxon warriors who were bare-sarkers,” I pointed out as I wrapped my fingers gently around Mouse’s muzzle to stop him adding his sharp little barks to the conversation.
“Yes, but only from a time before we were shown the true path and abandoned the sinful worship of the old gods,” Aethelgifu said forcefully.
Mouse stood up and suddenly started to wag his tail as though greeting someone. “Those old gods led our people for generations from long before the time we came to these islands,” said a harsh voice from the shadows. “And not everyone has shown disloyalty and replaced them with this Christ from the lands of the east.”
“Oh, Ara!” said Aethelgifu nervously. “We didn’t know you were still awake.”
“Obviously not. But even ‘peaceful warriors of the Lord of Hosts’ need to sleep if they want to be awake enough to grovel before their god in the morning.” A shadow darker than the surrounding gloom then rose up to loom over us. “Now go to sleep, before my hand finds a reason to smack a few heads!”
Raarken added his voice as though in support of his mistress, and his flinty eyes dully reflected the embers glowing in the central hearth. It was at such times that I could almost find myself feeling sorry for King Guthrum and his Danish army. How could he hope to win when something like Ara stood against him?
IV
The next day we woke up to the noise and clamour of an army getting ready to march. The fact that it was only made up of thirty lightly armed men wasn’t important. Wessex was about to strike back against the invading Danes!
I leapt up out of my blankets and ran outside with Edward close behind me, and Mouse tumbling along in our wake. The camp that surrounded the Little Palace was loud with preparations. We now had three blacksmith’s forges altogether – the two new ones had been added to serve the needs of our growing army – and all of them were hard at work belching smoke and filling the air with the sharp scent of hot metal and the ringing clatter of new blades beaten on anvils.
Mouse added his little yapping voice to the clamour and then surprised himself when a much deeper bark suddenly burst out of his throat.
“This is it!” I said excitedly to Edward. “This is the moment when we begin to fight back!”
He nodded. “I wish, I wish, I wish I was going with them,” he said, hopping from foot to foot and echoing my thoughts exactly – though I’d never admit to him that we shared anything, not even thoughts.
“We should think of the warriors who will soon be dying because of this action,” Aethelgifu said piously as she walked up to join us.
Edward glanced at her sharply. “If anyone dies it’s the fault of the Danes, and anyway, doesn’t the Church say we have the right to defend ourselves, especially against pagans?”
“It does,” she agreed. “But we should also feel sorry that those who die outside the teachings of the Church will go straight to hell.”
“Difficult to worry about that when your enemy has killed your people, burned your home and driven you into exile,” I said bitterly.
“Yes it is difficult, but as Christians we should try.”
I fell silent for a moment with bowed head. “There, I’ve tried. Christian duty done.”
Aethelgifu glared for a moment but said nothing. We turned back to watch the small force that had gathered on the sweep of open land where Cerdic and his hand-picked group of warriors carried out most of the weapons-training and mock battles needed to prepare our fighters for the coming war. Men and also some women who wanted to strike back at the Danes had been tric
kling into Athelney in a non-stop flow almost from the first day we’d arrived. The marsh people had been true to their word and continued to guide Saxon fighters to our stronghold, as well as defending the borders of the wetlands from the enemy.
Some of the people they brought to us were trained soldiers who helped Cerdic and the others with the preparations, but most were raw and untested and were put through a tough training regime where the unfit and unsuitable were weeded out. Of those that were left, a quarter of their number now stood ready to go on the first proper strike against the Viking army since Chippenham had fallen. The rest would be left behind to defend Athelney against possible counter-attack.
As we watched, a clamour rose up as two tough-looking warriors strode out of the Little Palace and joined the force. It took me a moment to realise that the soldier walking with Cerdic was my father. I’d seen him often enough in battle gear, so it wasn’t his clothing and weaponry that confused me; it was more than that.
Edward summed it up perfectly when he leant in close and almost whispered, “He looks just like a warrior-king from the old stories!”
“Yes! That’s it,” I agreed. “He’s not just our father now, he’s ...” I searched for the words. “He’s ...”
“He’s Wessex itself. He’s the kingdom and the land,” a voice suddenly said behind us, and we both spun round to see Ara standing quietly watching the muster of the small fighting force. Mouse stood and wagged his tail in greeting and when Raarken and Ranheld leant forward from Ara’s shoulders to stare at him, he dropped his head on to his forepaws, raised his rump and wagged his tail in the air, inviting them to play.
“You’re seeing the mystery of kingship,” Ara went on. “He’s not just a man who wears a crown on his head; he’s wedded to the land itself. In the old days, when the people followed the gods of our ancestors, they understood. The king was like the consort, the husband of the earth goddess who was the very land beneath their feet. It was his duty to protect that land, to fight for her and even die for her if needed.”
We nodded as though we understood and turned back to watch as Father greeted his warriors. They cheered and beat their axes and swords on the light wicker shields they carried. It all felt like we weren’t actually a part of what we were seeing. It was almost as though we were being allowed to witness a ritual and ceremony that we weren’t yet ready to take part in.
