Alvar the Kingmaker (45 page)

She squealed and ran for the bed, but he caught her arm. She tugged at her robes and he said, “Let me help you.”

She giggled as he tried to pull her kirtle and under-dress over her head at the same time. She stood naked before him and the laughter stopped.

Reaching up, she embraced him, her fingertip tickling his skin as she traced the lines and scars on his back. He smiled when the movement slowed down; she had found the most recent, the shoulder wound that she had healed.

“It will do,” she said. She stepped closer. “I have craved this for so long. So many years, so many wishes.”

He caught hold of the hand and drew it to his chest. “No more. This time is ours, and no-one can take it from us.

She began to speak, as if to express a doubt, but he put a finger to her lips. He said, “Lady, I am not going anywhere.”

“I know. But only if I hold you can I believe that you are really here.”

He said, “I am here. And I wish to know what it is to kiss you.”

“You have kissed me two times, my lord. You must not be greedy.”

“No, I will not steal any more kisses like a thief in the night.” He moved his mouth nearer hers. “I would have my fill after a long fast.” He put his arm round her waist and drew her to him. “I will have them to own, open-mouthed.” He shut his eyes.

She put a hand up to his face. “Look at me,” she said, her gaze fixed on his. “I will not turn away. I can look at you whenever I wish to, and I will not look away. Give me your eyes.”

Shrewsbury   

Alvar found Alfreda calmer but not relaxed. Her tone was at once resentful and belligerent.

“I never thought to say it,” she said, “But I stand with Dunstan on this. A swift king-making was called for. It could have been done at Eastertide, and I would hear from your own mouth why you would not let it be done.”

“My lady, I…” He held up his hands when he realised she had not finished.

“For I will not have my son done out of a kingship a second time, my lord.”

She drew her lips into a pout, and feathery lines puckered her mouth. He could not recall a time when he had seen her so cross. She was still beautiful but there was no denying that she was getting older. He smiled; they were none of them young any more, for all he had spent the last few days behaving like a lustful youth. He stretched out, put his hands behind his head, and thought of the day before.

He had told Káta that he felt like one of her cats, stretching out in the sun, with no purpose than to rest. Two weeks of her company and of lying in her bed had brought him to a hitherto unknown state of tranquillity.

Alfreda leaned forward. “My lord, do you heed me?”

He smiled. He had ignored his yearning for Káta for so long that all he wanted to do, now that he had the taste, was to drink from the cup forever. But yesterday he had taken his leave of her. The witan was gathering and reluctantly he informed her that he must ride to meet them. Yet she had merely smiled, acknowledged the fact that he was needed, and told him that she would settle for what she now had, and would make the best of it. He was to go, with her blessing and love.

Alfreda tapped her foot. “My lord, why are you grinning like a simpleton?”

“Forgive me, my lady, I was thinking about better times.” He shook his head and sat forward. “Lady, let me spare you all but the truth. If your son is made king now, everyone will say that murder was in our minds all along. Time is our friend, not our foe. There is no other atheling, and therefore no threat to Æthelred’s claim.”

“But a land without a king is weak,” she said.

He took her hand. “Can you truly not see, Lady? Your son is but ten years old. He will need grown men to rule in his name, the same men who hold the kingdom for him now. Putting a king-helm on his head will not change that, but it will allow us to put everything to rights for him before he becomes an anointed king. Let the mistakes be ours, not his.”

“You are all like wolves, bent on tearing one another’s throats.”

“No more.”

“Truthfully?”

“Yes.”

The other witan members filed into the chamber and he grinned and sat up straight. Two weeks in bed had also restored to him something that he thought had fallen away with the timbers at Calne. A familiar excitement jumped in his belly.

The queen said, “I would have a little more from you than that before I sleep unworried in my bed.”

Alvar said, “All land disputes will be settled, but only for those who have already come forward. No new cases will be heard. I have agreed that I will put up with Oswald as long as he shows me all his gifts of land before he grants them.” The archbishop of York hobbled by and they exchanged a nod. “I have even said that I will do my best not to be unkind to Brandon, but it is not easy.” Alvar grinned. “Sometimes I itch even now to set fire to his breeches to see if the man can leap without being told to.”

Brandon sat down and looked at his lap. “My lord of Mercia wishes to play with fire, because he knows he is on his way to hell and needs to get used to the heat.”

Alvar chuckled and Brandon raised his head, surprised at the reaction. He looked bemused, like a failed hunter who had finally and unexpectedly made a kill.

Dunstan settled himself into his chair. “I know that I speak for all here when I say that we are gladdened to see an end to the fighting. We c-can all look forward to the days of another strong kingship such as Edgar’s, he who ruled over a peaceful land, and died in his bed and not with a sword in his hand.”

Æthelred had perched himself on the king-stool, where his legs dangled, too short to reach the floor.

Alvar thought back to the days of the boy’s father. At the age of ten, Edgar’s character was already formed. Where he had been a well-risen loaf, Æthelred was but the lump of soft dough. God grant them the years needed to guide and shape him. The thought wearied him that his work was still not done, his duty to the royal house not yet fulfilled.

The archbishop of Canterbury twirled his cup round in his hands. “There is one thing I would say to you though, my lord Alvar. You have worked hard to keep the blood off the queen’s hands and away from our young king. But what of the danger of your own name being besmeared? I know it was a risk that you were willing to take but…”

Bishop Athelwold sat forward. “My lord Archbishop, you do not believe that the lord of Mercia was, in any way, guilty of…”

Dunstan set down his cup. “No, I do not. As I told the earl, I have in these last weeks begun to see a little of what Edgar saw, that behind the foul words and the loud roar, there is a sharp-witted wisdom and a willing ability when things need to be done.”

“My lord, you must stop. My cheeks are reddening.”

The queen raised her eyebrows. The pursed lips had released into a smile. “They look as bold as ever to me, my lord.”

Alvar grinned. “Well, my lady, if I must have only one sin, then let it be pride.”

Dunstan coughed and said, “Be all that as it may, I ask again how the lord Alvar will banish any suspicions that he was behind the king’s death all along. For if he were now to make an unwise match…”

The queen sat forward as if his answer was important to her. Did she think…?

Alvar sat forward too and rubbed his hands together. “My lord Archbishop, I am flattered beyond reckoning by your praise, but you need not worry about any fingers pointing at me. I will not be here. Iago of Gwynedd wishes to steal back the lands of Hywel ab Ieuaf, and Hywel has asked for my help once more.” He grinned at the archbishop.

Dunstan rolled his eyes heavenward. “I was too swift with my kind words. You still like nothing more than to ride off with your sword in your hand.”

A low chuckle echoed around the room. Only Alfreda sat like Lot’s wife, her expression frozen into one that suggested the final thwarting of her plans.

Gwynedd, North Wales

The Mercian army came through the pass of Bwlch Mawr, and Alvar and Wulfgar dismounted. Alvar let his horse find what grazing it could and he scrambled down the hillside by the waterfall that tumbled down Gyrn Goch Mountain to the sea. He sat down with his legs stretched out in front of him and leaned back on his elbows. Below him, the monastery at Clynnog Fawr nestled on a small stretch of flat land between the hills and the sea. A pretty little pebble beach gave way to bright, blue water, and away to the northeast lay the island that the Welsh called Ynys Môn. He closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face.

Wulfgar scrambled down the slope to crouch beside his lord. “Hywel’s men are on their way back from Aber, my lord. I saw them on the road.”

“Good. We need do naught before he gets here. The hare we caught; is it on the fire yet?”

“I told them to fetch it to you when it is done. So, now, tell me why I am on my arse on a Welsh hillside, soon to be upsetting some old Welsh monks?”

Alvar brushed his hair from his eyes. He must ask Káta to cut it for him when he returned home. “You must ask Hywel about that one. I have no answer.”

Wulfgar frowned. “What is wrong, my lord?”

Alvar sighed. “Iago has gathered men to him from Dublin, ready to sail to help him. That is why we made ourselves seen at Aberdaron, to frighten them off by waving at them from across the water and showing them that Hywel is not alone.” He glanced at Wulfgar’s knotted brow and smiled. “But I do not know whether I want to be a part of what happens next. The monastery down there has strong ties with the House of Gwynedd. To harry this place would be as big a blow to Iago as the harrying of York or Canterbury would have been to Edgar. And I am in danger of becoming the thing that men like Oswald hated me for.” He laughed. “I can see you have no pity for the Welsh though.”

“Not after they cursed me with ringworm, warts and wens.” Wulfgar eased from his squat to sit down. He rubbed his knees. “Do you think we have grown too old for this?”

Alvar put all his weight on one elbow as he scratched his chin. “Truth be told, I knew I was, even before I came. But I am lord of Mercia, so it behoves me to oversee any fighting that goes on anywhere near the border. I thought I had enough fighting years left in me,” he sat up and shook his arms, “But my bones have begun to tell me otherwise.” Come, let us go and find Hywel and shake the ache from our arses.”

“Mildrith told me that I would have more than a sore arse if I did not come home whole, and she did not understand why I laughed.”

“I was told something like that.” Alvar put his hand up to his hair again to push it out of his eyes. “I never gave it much thought before. For years, whenever you spoke of Mildrith, or any other man spoke of his wife, I had naught to say back. But now…”

“What do you mean?”

Alvar said, “It is a new feeling and it makes me smile. After all these years, I have someone to go home to.”

He ran down the hill to greet Hywel. “It is a wondrous sight, this land of yours, Welshman.”

Hywel nodded. “Why do you think we are always fighting over it?”

Alvar laughed. “All that bloodshed over a lovely view? I think not. You Welsh make our English fights look like children’s play. I am glad I am not wearing your uncle’s shoes this day.”

“My uncle Iago thought he was safe from me. He believed that when Edgar swore at Chester to be a friend to Gwynedd, it meant that every English king thereafter would uphold that oath. His unlawful hold on these lands died with Edgar.”

“Many things died with Edgar.”

“I do not think that the ships from Dublin will unload now that they know you are here. You and I have fought well together. I hope that I can ask for your help another time.”

Alvar looked out through his long fringe, first to the sea in front of him, then to the mountains behind him and then to the ground, where the road ended underneath his feet. “Ha! Do you hear him, Wulfgar? Youngling, I am too old for this. And I am no murderer of monks. It is bad enough that many at home already think it of me. So I will stay while you see off the sailors from Dublin and then I will go home. Besides, you will not need my help again.”

Cheshire 

“I told him that if I sought to bind him to me with my bodily strength, then it was but a forlorn hope. This kingdom will always have a stronger grip on his heart. Even so, a fyrd should be home before the first winter shower falls.”

From the top of Elfshill Káta looked at the Welsh hills in the distance, where the snow lay in the gullies and made the rocks beside them seem darker and sharper. The air was clear and there were no clouds in the sky. She put out a hand. “They look so near that I feel that I could reach them with my fingers.”

Gytha shouted up from below. “Lady, does he come?”

Káta shook her head and made her way back down to the halfway point.

Gytha leaned against a tree and panted. “He might bide in Wales until the thaw. He might be with Thegn Aswy in Shrewsbury. You should not worry yet.”

Káta blew on her fingers. “Come, we must see if the road to Chester is hard enough. I need to speak with the bone-carver before Siferth’s wedding. I want him to make a bride-gift for Eadyth. Should we buy wine as well as mead for the wedding, or the Welsh-ale, do you think? Oh, do not let me forget that I said I would send Wulfric some garlic. And old Leofwaru needs some more hemlock, for she says she cannot sleep. Shellfish… Do you think shellfish would do to go with the bride-ale?”