The Edge of Light (4 page)

“Of course you’re not going to die!” Judith was the one to answer. She spoke in Saxon and she sounded appalled. Alfred’s heavy, pain-filled eyes turned to Ethelred.

“No, Alfred,” he said, and strove to make his voice matter-of-fact and calm. “You are not going to die.”

“But when is it going to stop?”

“I don’t know. Soon.” God, it had to stop soon. “Here,” Ethelred said, taking a cold cloth from Judith and holding it to Alfred’s forehead. “This will help.”

The headache lifted, almost miraculously, an hour later. One minute Alfred was suffering and the next he looked at Ethelred out of dazed and wondering eyes and said, “It is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. No more hammering. It’s … gone.”

“Thanks be to God,” Ethelred said fervently,

“Yes,” said Alfred again. He lifted his head from the pillow as if to test that it no longer hurt, then placed it carefully back. His golden hair spread behind him like a halo.

The door opened and Judith came in, carrying more cloths.

“I’m better, Judith,” Alfred said immediately. “The headache is gone.”

“Thanks be to God,” said Judith, in unconscious echo of Ethelred.

Alfred looked from his father’s wife to his brother. “But … what caused it? I have never had a pain like that before.”

Ethelred reached over and put a large hand on Alfred’s small one where it rested on the yellow wool rug that covered the bed. “It is not easy,” he said, “being made an orphan.” He added very gently, “I will take care of you, little brother. Never fear.”

The child’s long, gold-tipped lashes fluttered, for a moment, hiding his eyes.

“Are you tired?” Ethelred asked. “Could you sleep for a little?”

Alfred nodded. Ethelred thought he looked very young and very fragile, and he bent over and kissed his little brother’s forehead gently, as if his head were as tender as a newborn babe’s. Alfred’s lashes lifted and he smiled.

“Go to sleep, my dear,” Judith said from behind Ethelred, and the lashes lowered once again. Ethelred and Judith looked at each other, then walked together softly out of the room.

Alfred listened to the familiar Latin of the Mass and bent his head so that his hair would swing forward to screen his face. He was standing between Judith and Ethelred, and he did not want them to see that he was crying.

It was wrong of him to be so sad, he thought, desperately trying to stifle the tears. His father was with God. His father was happy. It was selfish of him to be so unhappy. It showed a lack of proper faith.

He bent his head a little further forward. All he could see of Judith beside him was her hand resting on the kneeler before her. On the far side of Judith, unseen at the moment, was Ethelbald.

Ethelbald had been kind to him about his headache. He had even given Alfred one of his own headbands to wear—”to ward off the evil,” he had said with a laugh.

Ethelbald was the true king now. A warrior-king, in the great tradition of their house.

But Ethelwulf had had his own kind of greatness, Alfred thought loyally. He would always remember his father’s words upon resigning his kingdom to his importunate son: “A
true king is one who ever sets the good of the kingdom above his own personal ambition.”

The tears threatened again. Never, Alfred thought desolately, never had he felt so alone. Not even when he had been sent to Rome for the first time, at the age of three, a standin to fulfill his father’s pledge to go on pilgrimage.

Then Ethelred was putting an arm around his shoulder and drawing him nearer.
Do not worry,
his brother’s touch seemed to say.
I
am here.

For a moment Alfred leaned gratefully against the hard warmth of Ethelred, and then, resolutely, he straightened away. Ethelred gave him an approving look before both turned once more to the altar where Bishop Swithun was celebrating the funeral mass for their father.

Two days after the funeral, Ethelwulf’s will was read before the witan. The witenagemot went on for quite a long time. Alfred sat with Judith in her sleeping chamber, trying to concentrate on a Latin poem and ignore the rumble of male voices from the hall.

Judith was nervous. Alfred could tell from the way she prowled the room; she, who was never restless, today could not seem to remain still.

“What is it, Judith?” he asked finally, when she crossed behind him for the dozenth time in as many minutes.

She halted by the brazier, and he turned to look at her. Her back was to him and her voice was muffled as it came over her shoulder, “I suppose it’s just that I am beginning to realize that I must return to France.”

“I have been thinking about that,” he said, his small face very earnest. “My father has bestowed several manors upon you.” Alfred knew this because he had heard a number of West Saxon thanes complaining about the alienation of West Saxon royal property to the Franks. He leaned forward a little. “You can live on your own property here in Wessex, Judith, and I will come and live with you!”

She turned to look at him. “I will have to spend some time with Ethelred, too,” he added conscientiously. “He would miss me if I did not.”

Tears glinted in Judith’s great brown eyes. “Oh, Alfred, I wish we could do that.”

“But why could we not do that, Judith? You are a grown-up. You can do as you wish.”

Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears. “I am not just any grown-up, my dear. I am a princess of France, and my father will never allow me to remain a widow.” She looked down at her slender hands, then linked them together at her waist. “A daughter is a valuable pawn when you are a king.” She raised her eyes to Alfred once more. “Look at your own sister, Alfred. Ethelswith is twenty years younger than Burgred of Mercia. Do you think, left to herself, she would have chosen to marry him?”

He stared at her and did not answer.

“God knows whom my father will choose for me next,” Judith said bitterly.

Alfred was upset. “I do not think it is fair that girls should have so little say in the matter of whom they are to marry.”

Her reply was drowned out by the sudden burst of noise in the hall. The witenagemot apparently was over. Alfred began to gather up his books. He would seek out Ethelred to discover what had happened. Then a knock came at Judith’s door.

“Alfred …” Judith’s face was very pale. “Will you open the door, please?”

He cast her a puzzled look, but went obediently to do as she wished. Outside the door was his brother Ethelbald.

“I have come to see the queen, youngster,” Ethelbald said to Alfred in his deep voice.

Alfred turned to Judith. “It is the king, my lady.”

“Come in, my lord,” Judith replied. Alfred stared at her. She sounded strange.

Ethelbald walked in and the room suddenly shrank. Alfred stared with envy at his brother’s wide shoulders. He realized that Ethelbald and Judith were staring at each other, and said, a little uncertainly, “Shall I leave, Judith? Or do you want me to stay?” The glitter in his brother’s eyes as he looked at Judith was making Alfred feel apprehensive.

Ethelbald raised an eyebrow at Judith, and she said, “You may go and find Ethelred, Alfred. I know that is what you want to do.” She smiled at him and looked a little more like her usual self. He smiled back, picked up his book, and went out the door, leaving Judith alone with Ethelbald.

The January afternoon was cold and clear, and when Alfred finally found Ethelred, his elder brother suggested a ride along the Itchen. Alfred was agreeable, and, as he rode alongside Ethelred, his fat short-legged pony jogging to keep up with his brother’s bigger horse, he was content to hold back his questions, content simply to enjoy the thin winter sunshine and his brother’s companionship, and let Ethelred choose the time to say whatever it was he wanted Alfred to hear.

Ethelred waited until the walls of Winchester were well behind them. Then he said, “Ethelbald is going to marry Judith.”

The shock of his brother’s words rocked Alfred as forcefully as if the blow had been physical.

“What?”

“I said that Ethelbald is going to marry Judith,” Ethelred repeated. “That is what we were discussing at the witenagemot all the morning.”

Alfred stared at his brother in stunned surprise. “Ethelbald can’t marry Judith,” he said. “Judith was married to Father.”

“In the normal way of things, you are right,” Ethelred said. “The church will not allow a man to marry his stepmother. But the situation here is … unusual.”

The surprise was beginning to wear off a little, and Alfred considered Ethelred’s words. “How is it unusual?” he asked.

“It seems, Alfred, that the marriage between Father and Judith was never consummated.”

Alfred stared at Ethelred’s profile. “What does ‘consummated’ mean?”

Ethelred sighed. “I knew you were going to ask that.”

“But what does it mean, Ethelred?”

“It means,” Ethelred replied carefully, “that Father and Judith did not live together as man and wife,”

“Yes, they did,” Alfred said, still puzzled.

Ethelred said, even more carefully than before, “They did not sleep together, Alfred. They did not have babies together. They were not like Ethelbert and Ebbe.”

There was a little silence. “Oh,” Alfred said at last.

“You see, little brother,” Ethelred went on, “the church has a rule that if a marriage is not consummated then that marriage is not valid. Or at least, so Archbishop Hincmar of Reims, Judith’s own metropolitan and an acknowledged authority on canon law, has stated recently. And if Judith was not truly married to Father, then there is nothing to stop her from marrying Ethelbald.”

“But does Judith want to marry Ethelbald? Has anyone asked her?”

“That is what Ethelbald was going to do when he went to see her this morning.”

“She will have to agree,” Alfred said a little belligerently. “I will not allow anyone to make her do what she does not want to do.”

Ethelred smiled into Alfred’s determined eyes, “Nor will I.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clicking of their horses’ hooves on the frozen dirt of the road. Then Alfred said, “If the thanes were not pleased when Father married Judith, why are they willing to see her wedded to Ethelbald?”

“A good question, little brother,” Ethelred said approvingly. “It has to do with wanting to keep Judith’s bride portion in the hands of the West Saxons. If Judith weds Ethelbald, then the manors left to her by Father will go to her children. If Judith goes back to her father in France, Charles the Bald will doubtless sell the manors to increase his own coffers. No one wants to see either the manors, or West Saxon geld, fall into the hands of the Franks.”

Silence fell once again, a longer one than before, Then Alfred said, “Ethelbald is splendid-looking. And he is young. Perhaps Judith will want to marry him.”

“I will be very surprised if she does not, Alfred,” Ethelred replied. “Ethelbald is not the sort of man women refuse.”

Even at eight years of age, Alfred could understand that.

“It would be nice for Judith to stay in Wessex,” he said then. “I would miss her if she went back to France.”

“There will be an outcry in her own country,” Ethelred said. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Alfred. “She will be marrying without the permission of her father, and Charles the Bald will not be pleased. But we do not think Charles will have the French bishops protest the union. He will not want to alienate Wessex, Or Ethelbald, who, to give him his due, has an excellent record of fighting the Danes.”

Alfred did not reply, just looked at his brother and tried to understand what Ethelred was saying.

“To tell the truth, we were all shocked and horrified when Ethelbald proposed the match this morning to the witan,” Ethelred said. “It smacks of incest. But when the truth came out about Father’s marriage … well, it just makes sense, Alfred. The girl is here, she is a royal princess, she has already been crowned and anointed as Wessex’ queen, and we will keep the property and money in the country. Ethelbald could not make a better match.”

“But,” Alfred said in a small voice, “doesn’t Ethelbald want Judith for herself?”

Ethelred looked at him. “I am sure he does, Alfred.” He smiled. “Judith is very beautiful. How could any man not want her for herself?”

For some reason, Ethelred’s answer did not allay Alfred’s doubts, but he did not know how to express his feelings. Then Ethelred said, “Let’s canter,” and Alfred let himself be distracted.

It was when the brothers were returning once more to Winchester that the first pains began in Alfred’s head. The late afternoon sun was bright, and as their horses slowed to a walk Alfred felt as if the flashes of light glinting off the river were like spears piercing into his eyes.

“Ethelred,” he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice, “I think that pain is starting again in my head.”

“Where in your head does it hurt?” Ethelred asked sharply.

“My eyes. And my forehead.”

“Give me your reins,” Ethelred said. “I’ll lead the pony. You just close your eyes and sit quietly. We are almost home.”

Alfred gave up his reins and did as he was bidden. But even behind his closed lids, the pain in his eyes was like fire. Soon the shock of his horse’s hooves hitting the ground at a simple walk was hurting his head.

“Ethelred,” he said desperately as the walls of Winchester loomed on the horizon, “I think I am going to be sick.”

“I’ll get you off,” he heard his brother say, and then Ethelred was standing beside his pony. He felt his brother’s big hands on his waist, lifting him effortlessly out of the saddle. As soon as Alfred’s feet were on the ground he doubled up and was sick. Ethelred’s arm came around him in support.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered when he had finally stopped retching.

“Don’t be foolish,” Ethelred said. He sounded almost angry, but Alfred understood that it was anger born of fear. Alfred was afraid too. He did not think he could bear that pain again.

There was a firestorm going on in his head.

He did not make the hall but was sick again in the courtyard. Then Ethelred lifted him into his arms and carried him into the princes’ hall, into the room they both were sharing. Ethelred laid him on the bed and sent for cold cloths.