Alvar the Kingmaker (42 page)

A cry went up from the other side of the hearth, where Siferth and some other thegns were volubly engaged in a table-game. A cleverly strategic move had been greeted with grudging respect, heads in arm-locks, and drink spilt. Siferth called for more drinks, but none was forthcoming. A small slave-boy lay asleep by the fire and Alfreda leaned forward to kick him awake. “See to the drinks. Now.”

The boy scuttled off to fetch new jugs of ale, and Alfreda smiled at Siferth, who raised his cup to her in acknowledgement. When the boy came back, his legs wobbling under the weight, Siferth drained the refill in one long swig, wiped his hand across his mouth, and held his cup up for replenishment.

Alfreda sat back in her chair. She would have a word with her steward about the lack of care paid to her thegns’ needs. Siferth had served her well, and she would not have her hospitality found wanting. The young man had been her one source of solid comfort through her dark hours.

In the depths of mourning she had clung to the hope that with Edgar dead, Alvar would at last declare his feelings. But whenever she revisited in her mind the fraught meeting after he came back from overseeing Beorn’s banishment, she saw the indifference on his face to all but her sadness. Her hands made fists on the side of her chair as she recalled how he’d ignored her overtures, and the thought had passed through her mind that he was, in fact, every bit as uncouth as his enemies had declared. He had fussed around Siferth so much that anyone would have thought that it was the boy, and not her, who had been bereaved. This had led her to accuse Alvar of fathering Siferth, but she knew she was wrong. Alvar had always been too devoted to her and to Edgar to have any life beyond court. And she could not be envious of Siferth, for he had more than made up for the slight by showing such loyalty to her.

She had spent enough moments alone to realise that her status was a weapon with two edges. Her power as queen was dependent first on Edgar and now on being the mother of the atheling. Her elevated position as royal mother would only last until such time that Edward had a child. Then who would defend her? Once upon a time she had assumed that person would be Alvar, but there lay yet another puzzle: whilst she was beginning to accept that Alvar might not, after all, want her, she was at a loss to understand why. Her title had kept her protected in a physical sense but it had not saved her emotionally. It had been so obvious that Alvar was attracted by her beauty so she had no idea what had gone wrong, and she had no other weapon in her arsenal. She had learned to use her looks, and it was the men in her life who had made it perfectly clear that this was the only way a woman like her could survive, so Alvar’s rejection was a mystery to her.

Another shout went up from the gaming table and Siferth stood up, punching the air with his free hand. His other fist was still curled tightly around his ale cup and he made his way over to Alfreda, taking a few more sips as he walked. He indicated the chair next to her with a nod and a raised eyebrow.

She leaned across and patted the seat, smiling. “You do not need to ask before you take a seat beside me.” As he sank onto the cushioned seat, she wriggled on her own chair, adjusting her kirtle so that it lay flat across her belly, and tugging it down slightly by her bosom.

“A drink, my lady?”

She turned her head so that she could look into his eyes. “Why not?” She patted his hand. “You are always so thoughtful, seeing to my needs.” She sat back and gave what she hoped was a convincing laugh as she looked out across her hall. “Are we not truly blessed, with games and laughter, and all these beloved thegns?”

A man would not starve or even complain if he ate fish every day of his life. But give him the taste of deer meat, washed down with the exotic wines from over the sea, and the fish would begin to lose its flavour. And Alfreda, who knew what it was to have an attentive man in her bed every night and to wield power over the lives of those who had crossed her, felt the noise of her happy hall ringing hollow in her ears. Yes, why not get drunk?

She looked at Siferth. “Why do you not bring your friends here, too?”

Godric, vanquished at the gaming table, came at Siferth’s signal and sat on the floor, his legs folded up under him. Alfreda looked down at him. He was not yet twenty, but his deportment gave him the slow confidence of one much older. His soft brown hair was shorn close to his head and shone like smooth mole-fur. He seemed to be staring at the mead-bench and she thought she could detect the object of his attention. One of her wards, Edith, sat nibbling daintily on a small piece of bread, her round cheek-apples bobbing up and down as she chewed. Ulf, another of Siferth’s companions, wandered over to join the group and playfully cuffed Godric round the ear before he sat down next to Siferth.

“Your aim forgets the reach of your lowly arrow, Godric.”

Godric laughed. “There is no law that forbids me to look. I know she is too high-born for me, but she can be mine whenever I sleep.”

Alfreda touched the top of his velvety head. “It is within my gift, you know. She is my ward, after all.”

Godric wriggled round and rested his forearms on her chair. “Truly? Can you do this, my lady?”

Siferth said, “My lady can do aught. For is she not the true king’s mother?”

Alfreda looked down at her lap. “Then pray to God that my little Æthelred stays strong and healthy. For without a husband of my own, what would I do if aught befell my boy or worse, if Edward were to beget sons?”

Ulf stood up and bowed low, wobbling more than a little as he straightened up again. “I will wed you, my lady.”

She laughed, as he had intended that she would. “You? You are a mere sapling.”

Godric slid forward and hooked his leg round Ulf’s, causing him to sink to his knees. Godric said, “He is not man enough to take care of you. No, Lady, I will wed you.”

She gave a gasp of mock outrage. “But what about my poor ward?”

But Godric and Ulf were now engaged in a play fight, rolling over by the hearth like two overgrown pups. Siferth chuckled into his ale cup.

She kicked him playfully. “What of you? Are you taking no part in this?”

He grinned. “Let them fight; when they are both spent, there will be no man but me to take your hand, fair lady.” He clapped his hands. “Piper! Play for us.”

With the dusk had come a low mist that hovered above the ground in the gap between the hills and chilled him with its clammy white tendrils. Alvar stopped to blow on his hands. They were raw and still bleeding, peppered with splinters. Only a fool would tell Dunstan that he was fit to ride with such injuries; only an old fool would take off with so few men.

Brihtmær of Chester said, “You are deep in thought, my lord?”

“I think my brain must have been shaken by the fall. It will take more than three men to herd one sore-tempered king. Wulfgar’s backside was hurt more than his pride, stopping him from leaping into the saddle, and he sits now by the hearth at Calne. Was I a madman not to do the same?”

Brihtmær said, “The night is too early for us to know the answer. But you were called upon to ride here and so you came. You would not have done otherwise.”

“But with so few men?”

“We brought all we could, my lord. It might be that we need no more.”

“I pray that you are right.” The daylight was all but gone, and Alvar led the way towards the shadowy outline of the queen’s house on the hillside.

The guard at the gate nodded and bowed, and Alvar, Brihtmær, and Ingulf of Worcester entered the enclosure. The hall door opened, showing a glimpse of the warm welcome that might have been theirs on any other night, beckoning fatigued visitors to the bright and cheerful hearth. A figure staggered out, ale cup in hand, and greeted a companion by the stable block. The door slammed shut. Brihtmær handed his reins to a stable-hand and said, “Is that not your foster-son, Siferth of Ashleigh?”

Alvar nodded, but put a finger to his lips.

Siferth called out to a friend. “Godric, what kept you? I thought you only went to piss out all that ale.”

The other man said, “I did, but one of the horse-thegns told me that the silver mare was about to birth her foal, so I went to see.”

“Well come back in, the glee-men have begun telling their riddles. The queen keeps guessing most of them and beating me, so I need help if I am to win. And she told me not to be away for too long, so we must hurry back. See, here is Ulf come to find you too.” Siferth threw an arm round each of the other men’s shoulders as they made their way back to the hall. He tried to reach round to his ale cup over Godric’s shoulder and the three of them zig-zagged across the courtyard until Siferth pulled them to a halt. “Uncle, is that you?”

Alvar slid from the saddle. “It is, youngling. I am weary, but it does me good to see you again, even if…” 

Siferth seemed to be vaguely aware that certain niceties were required and he waved his arms about. “Godric, fetch a horse-thegn for the lord Alvar’s steed.” He stilled his flailing arms. “Uncle, what are you doing here? I thought you were with the witan at Calne.”

Alvar held his hands out to touch Siferth’s shoulders, but the rough wool of the cloak snatched at his cuts, and he let them hang back by his sides. “I seek the lord Edward. Has he been here?”

Siferth looked into his ale cup. He tipped it up, frowning at its emptiness. “Odd. I did not think I had drunk so much.” He hiccupped. “How have you lost the king? Have you missed him in the mist?” His drunkenness exaggerated the quality of his joke and he folded over, hands on his thighs, laughing in a way that was less a sound, more an undulation rippling up and down his body.

Alvar took a step forward. “Siferth, is Edward here?”

Siferth shook his head as if to swill away the ale. “Why would you think that the king is here? He would no more come to the queen’s house than…”

A mounted figure moved away from the enclosure fence, out of the shadows and into the light of the brazier. “I would come if I thought my king-helm was loose on my head.”

Siferth bowed low and his cup clattered onto the ground. “My lord King, I… That is to say, the queen…”

Edward leaned from the saddle. “Stop gabbling. I will see her now. Bring her to me.”

“My lord… I do not think that you should…”

Alvar reached up to put a hand on Edward’s arm, and kept his eyes wide against the pain. He said, “My lord, I am glad to see that you are calmer than when you left Calne.” He lowered his arm and nursed his hand behind his back. “We know how upset you were to lose so many good men.”

“Not you, though. Shame.” Edward spat on the ground by Alvar’s feet. “No, my lord, I am not calm. Here you see a man who has gone far beyond wrath and can look coldly through the red mist clouding the eye.”

Alvar glanced at the hall, where the door was shut but unguarded. He scanned the yard. Godric, whom Siferth had dispatched to fetch a horse-thegn, was now on his way back from the stables with a groom. The guard at the gate looked on; he was leaning against the gatehouse wall, relaxed with one foot over the other, but his spear was in reach and his thumbs were tucked into his knife-belt, close enough to reach the handle in a hurry. Soft giggles betrayed a couple enjoying the privacy of the darkness, and the fire still glowed in the smithy. It was not a fyrd, but there were enough witnesses to make Edward think twice before he acted rashly. Alvar clicked his fingers and his own thegns, Brihtmær and Ingulf, walked over to stand beside the king’s stallion. Alvar turned to the groom. “Here, take my horse. You, Godric, is it? Come and help Siferth and the others to see to Lord Edward’s steed.”

As Alvar walked away, Edward called out. “Lord Alvar, I do not need all these men around me. Why have you put them in a ring here?” His voice became a bark. “And whither do you go that makes you show your back to your king? Do not think to hinder me.”

Alvar stepped back to them. He nodded at his own men, and to Ulf and Godric he said quietly, “Hold him.” He raised his voice. “My lord Edward, I am merely on my way to make sure that the welcome in the hall befits you, and to tell the queen that she must come to greet you.”

Alvar smiled, bowed low, and walked to the hall door. He was breathing in shallow gasps. He must not run; the hounds only gave chase when the prey bolted and he must keep space between Edward and the queen. He groaned and held his breath when Edward shouted out anew.

“You shits! I know what you are trying to do. Let me through or I will ride over you. I will see the queen, so move your arses or be knocked to the ground.”

Godric said, “Is the Devil within him?”

The horse whinnied and Ulf stumbled as they all tried to hold and soothe the nervous beast.

“No,” said Siferth, “But he uses his fists when he is wroth.”

“I will see the bitch. Now.”

Alvar backed towards the hall and reached behind him to bang on the door.

Siferth said, “My lord King, I know that it is the drink speaking through you. The queen is not a…”

Edward lowered his face to Siferth’s and said, “I am not drunk and she is a whore. She stole my mother’s foot-hold in my father’s house and she wants my kingdom for her by-blow son.”

Siferth said, “No, I will not let you speak so. She is a true and good woman and I would lay down my life for her.”

“You might have to.”