The Edge of Light (42 page)

A young man Erlend did not recognize was waiting on the steps of the great hall to greet Alfred.

“Great God,” said Edgar, who was sitting his horse beside Erlend. “What has happened now?”

“Who is that?” Erlend asked.

“Ceolwulf. Elswyth’s brother.” Edgar swung down from his saddle, his blue eyes worried. “He must have ridden down the Fosse Way from Tamworth. I doubt that he bears good news.”

Astonishingly, however, Ceolwulf’s news from Mercia was good. The Northumbrians had risen in revolt against the puppet king the Danes had installed in York and driven him forth from the kingdom. King Egbert, along with Wulfhere, Archbishop of York, had taken refuge in Mercia with Burgred.

“And Burgred is sheltering them?” Elswyth asked her brother incredulously as they talked before the fire in the hall amidst the bustle of arrival.

“Did you expect him to turn away the archbishop?” Ceolwulf replied in a like tone of voice.

“Perhaps not the archbishop,” she replied, “but certainly that traitor Egbert.”

“I would not call him a traitor,” Ceolwulf said. The cleft in his chin, his only resemblance to his sister, dented deeper as he set his jaw. “He did what he thought best to bring peace to his country, Elswyth. Did not Christ say, ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’?”

Elswyth opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, Alfred said impatiently, “Enough quarreling, you two. Ceolwulf, do you know who is leading the rebellion in Northumbria?”

“A thane by the name of Ricsige. Apparently he has managed to unite the Northumbrians fairly effectively. They drove Egbert out of York with little trouble. Wulfhere was one of Egbert’s supporters and did not feel safe in remaining, so he accompanied the king to Mercia.”

“What of the Danes?” Alfred asked.

Ceolwulf shrugged. “We can hardly expect that they will be pleased.”

“No,” Alfred replied slowly. “We cannot.”

The Danes, in fact, were so displeased by the rebellion in Northumbria that in June they withdrew from the comforts of London and marched north to York. Erlend, who had no means of reaching his own people, learned this when Alfred did, and not before.

Summer came and the royal household returned to Wantage. It was July when Judith’s messenger finally reached Alfred bearing the books he had requested her to obtain for him. Along with the Xenophon for Elswyth there were quarto copies of Boethius’
Consolation of Philosophy
and Saint Gregory’s
Pastoral Care.

The summer weather was glorious but Alfred disappeared into his room with his books for two uninterrupted weeks. Erlend was amazed. He had known the king could read, had known the king even liked to read, hut this … fanaticism was almost beyond belief.

“He is trying to translate the Xenophon into Anglo-Saxon, you see,” Elswyth explained to Erlend one day as they went together toward Copper’s pasture, where Elswyth was planning to ride. Erlend was bearing her bridle and saddle for her. “He says it would be too difficult for him to try to translate out loud as he reads. His Latin is not that good. So you see, that is what is taking him so long.” She cast a rueful look in Erlend’s direction. “I must confess, I am almost sorry I asked him to send for the wretched book. New books always make Alfred so glum.”

“Glum?” Erlend echoed. “If they do not make him happy, then why does he spend so much time … ?”

Elswyth shrugged slim shoulders. “It is a little complicated, Erlend. You see, there is a part of Alfred that would be perfectly happy sitting in a monastery all day reading books. That part of him is very frustrated by the lack of learning in the country at large. It infuriates him even to think of all the libraries, ‘those precious repositories of learning and culture’—here she comically imitated her husband’s distinctive pronunciation, and Erlend laughed—”that the Danes have burned.” She sighed and became perfectly sober. “He hates the thought that he is the king of a people who have lost their claim to be considered truly civilized. And in truth, learning in Wessex has been more devastated than learning in Mercia. I cannot read myself, but I can understand how important it is to pass the collected wisdom of mankind down from one generation to the next.” She looked at him, faintly raising her brows. “How else can this be done save by books?”

This was not a line of thought that Erlend had ever heard expressed before, and he did not know how to reply to it. He said instead, “I find it difficult to imagine the king as a monk.”

At that Elswyth grinned. “I said that was only a part of him. But every time Judith sends him a new book, it begins again. He works himself into a h … he makes himself ill,” she corrected herself smoothly, “trying to read the wretched thing, then he frets about the ignorance of the country. He cannot help it. It is just the way he is.”

Erlend did not reply, and they walked for a while in silence, enjoying the feel of the warm sun beating down on their heads. Erlend thought about the information Elswyth had almost let slip from her briefly unguarded tongue.

“He works himself into ah…” What was the word she had almost used?

Erlend knew Alfred was occasionally ill. It had happened twice since the harper joined the king’s court. Both times Alfred had kept his room for a day, seeing no one except his wife and Brand and Edgar. The rest of the household had been subdued but not overly concerned. It happened every few months or so, Edgar had told Erlend. The king took sick. He would be better the following day. And, both times, Alfred had in fact appeared the next day, a little pale perhaps, but otherwise perfectly normal.

No one would ever tell Erlend what the illness was. He thought that most of the thanes probably did not know. Brand certainly knew, however, and Edgar, but they would never say. Erlend had guessed it to be a stomach complaint; certainly Alfred’s careful diet would lead one to suspect that the king’s digestion was not overstrong. But Elswyth’s words would seem to suggest otherwise, would suggest that it was a nervous illness he worked himself into… . Erlend walked on in silence, his brow furrowed in thought.

They were approaching the mare’s pasture now and Elswyth whistled. From over the little rise of ground there came an answering whinny, then the sound of drumming hooves as Copper Queen came galloping to the sound of a beloved call.

Erlend leaned against the wattle fence and watched as Elswyth greeted her horse. The chestnut mare, he thought once again, was surely the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. The perfection of her native conformation had only been enhanced by the kind of work that Elswyth was doing with her, and the muscles in her rump rippled under the gleaming golden chestnut hide. She was highly bred and highly strung, but to watch her go under saddle was to watch pride and power and intelligence transformed into such smooth and elegant grace that it could actually bring tears to the eyes.

For a long time now, whenever Erlend had watched Copper Queen, he had been reminded of something, or someone, but he could never quite manage to pin the resemblance down. As soon as he focused his mind on the problem, the elusive memory would flee. It was irritating, but there seemed nothing he could do to force his reluctant mind to bring forth the image he sought.

It was growing hot by the time Elswyth had finished with the mare, and Erlend shouldered her saddle and looked at her pink face with a flicker of concern. She looked too flushed, he thought. “Would you like to sit under that tree for a few minutes, my lady?” he asked. “You look a little warm.”

She surprised him by agreeing. They took shelter from the sun under the full summer canopy of an ancient oak and Elswyth leaned back on her saddle and closed her eyes.

Erlend scanned her face worriedly. He was genuinely fond of Elswyth. If ever he had a sister, he often thought, he would like her to be like Elswyth: brave and fiery and loyal. He frowned as he studied her relaxed face. The hollows below the high cheekbones seemed deeper than usual, he thought. “Are you well, my lady?” he asked hesitantly.

Midnight-blue eyes opened and looked at him with a glint of amusement. “I am with child,” she said. “I shall be all right directly, Erlend, I assure you.”

He felt his own eyes stretch wide. She was with child! Name of the Raven, what was Alfred thinking of to let her go on riding? She might miscarry. He spoke before he thought, “You should not be riding if you are with child, my lady. I am surprised that the king allows it.”

The amusement in her eyes died. “I am perfectly healthy, Harper. I have several months yet before I must curtail my riding.”

Several months! “The king should not let you ride, my lady,” he repeated. “Suppose Copper should come down with you?”

Elswyth’s eyes were like blue ice and Erlend suddenly realized that he had made a grave mistake. It was all right to criticize Elswyth, but she would never tolerate anyone but herself criticizing Alfred. She got to her feet and looked down her haughty nose. “Bring my saddle,” she said, her voice as cold as her eyes, and walked off briskly across the fields.

Alfred’s intense scholarship was interrupted in early August by a minor crisis in Surrey. A delegation of men from one of the folk moots near to Dorking arrived at Wantage complaining to the king that the chief nobles in their area were fighting among each other and trampling the peasants’ cornfields underfoot in the process. Ulfric, the ealdorman whose charge it was to keep the nobles of his shire from breaking the peace, was doing nothing to stop the feud. The following day Alfred took a contingent of his own thanes and rode for Surrey. Erlend and Athelwold, as ever, went along.

They were gone for three weeks. Not only did Alfred settle the feud and assess the necessary wergilds from all parties, but he dismissed Ulfric from his position and settled another in his stead. They remained in Surrey long enough to ascertain that Eadred, the new ealdorman, would have sufficient power to carry out his charge. It was late mid-August by the time they returned to Berkshire, and by then the household had removed to Lambourn.

Erlend’s first thought when he saw Elswyth was that she looked well. Her cheeks were the creamy peach color which was the darkest her fair skin ever turned. The children had turned as deep a golden brown as Alfred, even Edward, whose pale hair would seem to indicate a skin more likely to burn than tan. Alfred disappeared with his family in the direction of the private king’s hall and Erlend and the rest of the thanes took their gear into the main hall and found their usual benches.

The following day Alfred and Elswyth went riding together. Erlend could not understand it. In Denmark, when a woman was expecting a child she retired to the house and did not show herself beyond. Peasants were different, of course. Peasant women worked up to the very end, gave birth, then went back to work again. But peasants were strong as horses. Noblewomen were something different.

Erlend was scandalized by Elswyth’s behavior, true, but his deepest feeling was not disapproval but genuine fear. He simply could not understand Alfred at all. True, the king was fond of his wife, and inclined to give her her way. But it could not be that Alfred was incapable of ruling her. Erlend had seen the efficient way he had dealt with the unruly nobles in Surrey. The king’s justice had been both swift and effective. When Alfred had left Surrey there had been none in doubt as to what would happen to them should they stir up the old feuds again.

All Erlend could think was that Alfred did not understand the danger in which he was placing his wife by allowing her to continue to ride horses.

The weather turned rainy and the men took advantage of the cooler temperatures to hunt. Erlend began to fret for news of his own people, but there was little he could do. He knew his best chance of learning something was to remain where he was.

In September the royal household always removed to Winchester. Erlend was appalled when he learned that Elswyth was planning to ride the entire way. He was so horrified, in fact, that when a chance arose for him to speak to Alfred privately, he took it.

It was late afternoon, the servants were setting up the trestle tables for supper, and for a brief moment Erlend saw that Alfred was alone. He approached the king’s high seat, and Alfred, who had been staring rather abstractedly at the smoldering fire on the hearth, looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“My lord,” Erlend said hurriedly, before he had a chance to reconsider the wisdom of his words, “I am concerned for the Lady Elswyth. I do not think it is a good idea for her to ride to Winchester. Surely it would be wiser for her to take a litter.”

He gritted his teeth. He had been impertinent and importunate. He knew it. But still, he was glad he had spoken. He stared at Elswyth’s husband defiantly and waited.

The golden eyes looked surprised at first; then they turned not angry but thoughtful. “You are worried about her health?” Alfred inquired. His voice was quiet, pitched for Erlend’s ears alone.

“Yes.” Erlend drew a deep breath. He was only five years younger than Alfred, but the king always made him feel like a child. “My lord, when women miscarry, they can die.” Alfred’s expression did not change. Erlend said, “I know. That is how I lost my foster mother.” He clenched his teeth to try to control the emotion that had so unexpectedly flared in his raw voice.

There was a stupefying silence while Erlend waited for the king to order him to leave. He did not. Alfred said instead, slowly and soberly, “Erlend, if it were my choice alone, I would wrap her in cloth of gold and tuck her away someplace safe until it was all over and she was safe. But Elswyth would hate that, would be like a caught wild creature in a cage. Surely you know her well enough to see that.”

“But it would be for her own good!” Erlend said. Then, as Alfred merely smiled a little crookedly: “You are her husband. She must listen to you.”

“I am her husband,” Alfred said, “not her jailer.” He looked for a considering minute into Erlend’s confused face, and then, patiently, he tried to explain. “If you want someone’s love, Erlend, you must allow that person the freedom to love. The surest way to kill love is to constrain it.”