Alvar the Kingmaker (46 page)

Gytha laid a hand on her arm. “Lady, he will come. You must not worry.”

Káta turned a full circle on the path and sighed. “I know that in life we must take all, the thread and the thrum, but sometimes I wonder if it was real. Now he is mine and I can be his, yet never has he felt so far away.”

Chapter Twenty AD979

Kingston 

The archbishop of Canterbury strolled past with a beatific expression on his face. He said, “Folk have spoken to me today of yet more wondrous things.”

Alvar smiled at Dunstan’s conspiratorial nod. He whispered to Káta, “Do you hear how he speaks to me as if we were childhood friends?” Dunstan, erstwhile enemy, now embraced Alvar as a member of a government which had been validated by miracles associated with Edward’s shrine. He had been pleased with Alvar’s idea to move Edward’s remains a year after his death, reburying the murdered king with all due ceremony. Sightings of saintly apparitions and stories of miraculous healing suggested celestial approval for the new reign. Raising his voice to answer the archbishop, Alvar said, “I heard many such tales along the road to the reburial at Shaftesbury, my lord. The tales will only grow in the telling.”

“It is the hand of God which drives the folk to this shrine, His wonders to witness.” Dunstan smiled again and lifted his nose. “Ah, spitted hog. I find that it is hungry work, overseeing a king-making. I will t-take my leave, my lord.” He glided off towards the dais, where a gold embroidered tablecloth was fluttering in the breeze.

“He stands upright for an old man,” Káta said.

“He has lost none of his stern ways though, as those folk over there are about to find out.” Alvar pointed at the estate workers whose tools and carts were littering the way and impeding progress.

Kingston was a royal manor expanded once more, as new buildings sprang up around the hall and next to the chapel of St Mary. Many remained unfinished, so that even after the new king’s crowning that morning, builders were still labouring with their T-blade axes to dress the new timbers. Joiners were turning alder-wood bowls on their pole-lathes even as the hogs roasted on the spits. Servants rushed to lay the trestle tables and dragged yet more chairs from the hall, while the builders yelled at them.

“Watch out for that spade.”

“Look out yourself; this food is for the king. And he will not want to eat it to the din of your hammering.”

“A new king brings a new household, needs new bowers. Where would you be without us? Throw me a loaf, you lovely thing… Oh, beg forgiveness your Holiness.”

They all fell to their knees as Dunstan walked by. He paused briefly to cast a withering gaze at the detritus.

Káta laughed and walked with Alvar towards the tables. “What are these wondrous things of which Dunstan spoke?”

“Oh, folk healed from sickness, walking again after years of being bed-bound…”

It was the usual list of miracles associated with hallowed burial places, and Alvar tested her to see if she was listening. “Leaving gifts for trees, bathing in a well…”

She tapped his arm. “Do not tease me. So the folk of Wessex are as silly as I once was. Now that Edward is reburied, the tales will find a home, as you say. I wish I had been there with you.”

Alvar guided her to the shelter of an oak tree. He placed his hands on her elbows and said, “I could not have found time for you, my love. I rode at the head of the fyrd; I oversaw the burial and was busy all the day.”

A Wiltshire thegn wandered by. “Good day to you, my lord Alvar. The sun shines for our new king.”

“Yes, it does. Good day to you, Goding.”

Káta wriggled from his grip. “You are mine, but I do not have you.”

“What? I am sorry, I did not hear…”

She clamped her teeth onto the corner of her bottom lip and looked down at her feet.

He said, “You spoke in a whisper…” And it brought echoes from the past, of a young wife, newly wed and tongue-tied. But this was not that woman. She wore a gown of blue which matched the colour of her eyes. Her fur-trimmed sleeveless coat was fastened, against the mode, with the Celtic-copper brooch that he had given her. Not weak, recycled Roman metal mixture, but only the best for his woman. “How fair you look; a truly great lady.” He held out his arms.

She walked into his embrace and he kissed the top of her head. He said, “My love, forgive me. You have me now. Edward is buried, this time with all care owed to him, Æthelred is made king this morning, and what a lovely morning it is.”

The clear spring sunshine was warm but in the shade, a breeze blew reminders of the winter and Alvar was glad of his cloak. He looked down at Káta and dropped an arm around her shoulders. “You are shaking. Is it merely from the cold? You must know that you have naught to fear?”

She lifted her chin. “Do not worry about me. I will sit with Wulfgar’s Mildrith while you are about your business.” She squeezed his hand.

He gazed into her eyes. “Lady, I am ever filled with wonder, not only at your loveliness but at your strength.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and held them there as she began to walk away, so that her arm was outstretched before he released her. He called after her.

“Have I not truly learned now how to woo a lady?”

She did not turn, but put out a hand behind her, waving it to and fro.

“Is that all? You think I have come so far and no more?”

This time she turned and smiled. She hailed Mildrith, linked arms with her, and they walked away. He tucked his thumbs into his belt and whistled as he made his way to the row of seats nearest the dais.

The tables for the nobles were laid with linen tablecloths held down only by the weight of the gold plates and cups. The ground was strewn with fresh cut flowers, banners danced in the breeze, and under the shade of an ash tree the harper plucked his strings while the pipers blew and children ran about at their feet.

Alvar turned to greet Wulfgar as he fell into step beside him. “Is it not a great day?”

A giggling child ran from behind the tree and Wulfgar hop-skipped to avoid her. “It will be for you, my lord. Other men might not like it.”

“What, do you think Lord Brandon will not wish me well?”

Wulfgar made a play of scratching his chin. “Hmm, let me think…”

Alvar knew the answer. He was about to be called forth, recognised as Æthelred’s foremost advisor, and handed control of a long-disputed area in Buckinghamshire. If he were Brandon, he would be peeved, to say the least. He said, “I should not wallow in it, for pride is a sin. But to have a real, legal hold now over Buckinghamshire… Good God, man, you are louder than those beams they are hammering. What are you laughing at?”

“I cannot believe it; can you think of nothing else that makes this day so sweet?  Is that not your lady, come to watch you being named most doughty earl of Æthelred’s kingship? She must think a lot of you to ride all this way. I have never seen her in Wessex before.”

“Christ. I had not thought.” On the very day he had met her, so many years ago, he had been struck by her lack of affectation, her reluctance to preen like the ladies of the court. Alvar stood still. Wasn’t that why he had always loved her? She had stayed away and she had remained free of the taint of politics, she had never learned to hate, or to dissemble. She had changed, yes, but only to become a stronger version of herself, capable, stoic, compassionate, sensible. Selfless.

Wulfgar turned round and walked back three paces. “My lord, you are grinning as though your wits have flown away.”

“She has come to be with me.” And for no other reason.

Wulfgar laid a hand on his arm. “Yes, lord, she is your lady. Come now; stir yourself. Right now you look less like a leading earl than an addle-brained child.”

They took their seats before the dais and Alvar said, “And the king looks as if the Devil himself is about to ride in.”

The young king was seated on the king-stool. He was still dressed in his full-length coronation robe. His hand was at his temple, and he twisted a tiny piece of hair round and round his fingers. His mother the queen sat beside him, wearing a gown of deep red silk. Today her hair was contained within its headdress and her smile was serene. The royal couple was flanked by the two archbishops. One smiled, one did not.

A thegn stood behind King Æthelred and beckoned Alvar to come forward. Wulfgar touched him on the back and Alvar stood up, stepped nearer the dais and sank down on one knee, head bowed.

When the murmurs subsided, Æthelred cleared his throat. “Lord Alvar, you come…” He coughed. “My lord you come before… Before…” The boy looked across at his mother.

She rested a hand on her son’s shoulder and said, “My lord, you come to stand before us that we might give to you a gift of land, the first of our kingship, for we would show you, and all who are here this day, that we owe you a great deal.” Alfreda paused and looked at her son, but Æthelred stared straight ahead so she continued. “We know you to be a stalwart lord to your folk. We know you to be a true man to your king. We know you to be a wise teacher to the king. We would have it that all men here this day know of these things, and know that they are the truth.”

Alfreda nodded to the scribe, who read out the boundaries of the gift of land at Olney in Buckinghamshire. Alvar remained on one knee, but looked up and held out his hands.

The young king handed him a twig. “I give you this token from the aforesaid land, that all may see your ownership of it.”

Alvar smiled, hoping to soothe the boy’s nerves, but Æthelred clamped his mouth shut and his bottom lip trembled.

Alvar stood up and walked back to his seat. He looked at Brandon and opened his mouth to speak, but pushed out the air with a half-sigh, half-smile. He put his tongue to his lower lip and sat down. Brock would have been proud, not only that his little brother had been so honoured, but that he had let go of an opportunity to goad Brandon. He sat back to watch the rest of the gift-giving.

But Dunstan stood up and cleared his throat.

Alvar said, “I do not have the strength for one of his sermons. I will wander about before I fill my belly.”

He stood up and walked over to the feasting tables. He hailed a tall man standing by the roasting-spits. “Thored, it is good to see you. I was sorry beyond belief to hear of your father’s death. Earl Beorn was a good man and I loved him well.”

“It was hard for him to bear being sent from these shores, to be away from all those whom he loved. I think he welcomed the illness when it came. He spoke highly of you, my lord, you above all others. He said it was you to whom he owed his life.”

Alvar clapped the younger man on the back. “It is good to see you here, and all the sins of the fathers forgotten. Edward’s men are here alongside Æthelred’s, and old wounds are healed. It is a good beginning for a kingship.”

Thored nodded and turned away to take his seat. Edwin of Kent and a companion came from the seating area.

Alvar said, “I see you are still lame. The leg is not healing well?” Not all things were forgotten, for there were many reminders of the tragedy at Calne.

Edwin shook his head. “The stiffness will not go. But I can ride a horse, so there is hope yet. And I have learned to keep away from stairs.” He nodded to the young man beside him and grabbed his elbow to bring him forward. “You know Ethelmær?”

Alvar squinted. “You look as if I know you…” He dredged his memory until the name made sense to him. This was the nephew of the Fairchild’s young bride. God, how many years had it been since their annulment was engineered to allow Edgar to strengthen his claim to the throne? “God’s bones; seeing you here as a man grown, it makes me think of all the years that have gone by since the Fairchild’s time.”

A gentle touch on his shoulder made him turn. Alfreda was standing behind him.

He took a step back, turned fully, and bowed low before her. “My lady. It is a great day for us all.”

She inclined her head. “It is. Although I must say I do feel every one of my years when I think that I have been queen in the lifetime of three kings now.”

“Lady, you are as young to me as on the day we first met.”

“You are a liar, but I thank you for your kind words.” Her smile faded. “In truth, I have to thank you for so many kindnesses. What I owe you goes beyond reckoning.”

He held a finger to her lips. “Lady, whatever I have done for you, I did with gladness and always willingly.”

She placed a hand on her mouth and traced the path his finger had taken. She smiled and laid her hand on his forearm. “We would have made a good match, you and I, do you not think?”

Everyone had expected that they would eventually wed. He wondered whether if, at times, he had assumed the same thing. He might even have believed that he was in love with her, except that he had never in fact stopped to ponder it. Yes, she was beautiful, but the more her beauty became her salvation, the more something withered within. Besides, his heart had always belonged to Káta, even before he was aware of it. He had always found it easy to flirt, but then it was easy enough to tell a beautiful woman the truth, to compliment her. It was with Káta that he was so tongue-tied, because it mattered.

Alfreda was waiting for an answer. He raised an eyebrow. “My lady, I could never have hoped to reach so high. And the witan would never have said yes to such a match.”