The Edge of Light (50 page)

“Wessex has its pride as well,” came Alfred’s cold reply. They were meeting in the West Saxon camp, within the king’s tent, and they were alone. Erlend was completely disarmed; Alfred wore a small dagger thrust through his belt beneath his cloak. The day was heavy with fog and it was cold.

“You have paid Danegeld before,” Erlend said.

“This time the Danes are under more compulsion than are we.” Alfred’s breath hung white in the chill air. “I will agree to let you go because it will be easier thus for my men, but if you insist upon a geld, then I will fight.”

Erlend had prepared himself for this meeting, had armored himself with all the ancient grudges he bore against Alfred, had determined to be as objective and unemotional in his dealings with Alfred as the king was in his dealings with him. So now he looked Alfred in the face steadily and assessed what he saw there.

Alfred had changed in these last five years, he thought. Or perhaps not changed … perhaps just grown more completely into what he had always been. All the delicacy of boyhood was gone from that clean-shaven face, had been hammered into a fine-drawn, purely masculine beauty. Well, Alfred was … twenty-seven, it must be. Five years older than Erlend himself. Fifteen years younger than Guthrum.

“And I want hostages,” Alfred said.

Erlend let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. “Why?” he asked.

Alfred smiled. It was not a smile of amusement. “I realize that Guthrum’s word is as reliable as is the sky in spring,” he said. “Nor does he appear to care overmuch about the men he gives away as hostages. But I must have some guarantee that it will cost him to break his word. I will take fifty hostages this time, Erlend. And I want one of them to be a jarl.”

Guthrum had been furious when Erlend returned to Exeter with Alfred’s demands. It had taken Erlend nearly an hour to calm his uncle enough to enable them to speak sensibly.

“He is right, my lord,” Erlend said. “We are under more constraint than are they. If you were in Alfred’s position, you would not pay a geld either.”

Guthrum ignored this insulting observation. Danes took gelds, they did not pay them, Instead, “How many men do you think he has in his camp?” Guthrum was pacing up and down the room, as he had been for the last hour. “Did you get a good look around?”

“I tried, but they took me to the king’s tent immediately. The point is, however, that even if he has not our equal number in camp just now, he has his ships still in the estuary. If they are filled with fighting men, then could they come in on our rear and catch us between.”

Guthrum cursed.

“Nor are our men in the best of heart,” Erlend continued remorselessly. “We have been besieged for too many months, first in Wareham and now here. It is not a way of life to the liking of a Dane.”

Guthrum cursed again.

“About these hostages …” Erlend said.

Guthrum sat down. “I cannot send him a jarl.”

“No.”

“Name of the Raven, I cannot send him anyone of rank!”

“Not after what happened to the last hostages,” Erlend agreed smoothly.

“I will keep to my word this time. Now Guthrum was sounding aggrieved. “I have every intention of removing into Mercia. If he will agree to return the hostages when once I have left Wessex, then perhaps—”

“I do not think that is what Alfred had in mind.”

Guthrum gave Erlend a piercing blue look. “What is it that
you
have in mind, Nephew?” he asked. “I can see from your face that you have something to say.”

“I think I might have a solution,” Erlend admitted.

“Tell me,” Guthrum said.

It took the better part of the night to convince the Danish leader to accede to the proposal Erlend put forth. On the following morning, Erlend rode once more into the West Saxon camp.

Alfred’s answer to Erlend’s first question was simple, “I shall keep the hostages,” he said, “as guarantees that Guthrum stays out of Wessex. The moment a Danish army sets its foot over my borders again, I shall kill them all.”

“Fifty is a large number, my lord,” Erlend countered. “To have to feed and house and guard fifty men for an indefinite period of time will be a burden to you. Wessex is not a prison, nor are your thanes or reeves prison guards.”

Alfred’s face did not change, but Erlend could see from the way the king lowered his lashes to screen his eyes that this thought was not new to him. But, “I must have a guarantee,” Alfred repeated.

They were meeting once more in Alfred’s tent, but this morning the sun was shining and the flap door was open to let in the light. “Guthrum will send you the hostages you require, plus one man of high rank,” Erlend said. “If you swear to return the fifty when once the Danish army has passed over your borders, you may keep the man of rank indefinitely as guarantee of Guthrum’s word.”

Alfred raised his eyes and looked once again at the Dane. Now that Erlend had reached his full growth, there was but an inch between the two of them. “Who is this man of rank whom Guthrum can so dispense with?” Alfred asked.

“Me.”

There was a surprised silence. After it had gone on for too long, Erlend added, “Nor would you have to keep me under close guard, Alfred of Wessex. I will give you my word not to try to escape. Unlike Guthrum’s” —and here spots of color flamed in his usually pale cheeks—“my word is good.”

Alfred’s face remained unreadable. He said, “From what Athulf has told me, there is little love between you and your uncle. Athulf says in fact that Guthrum has some reason to wish you dead. If this is so, you are no good to me as hostage for Guthrum’s word, Erlend.”

The king’s voice was its most clipped. The spots of color faded from Erlend’s face and he replied in equally crisp tones, “It is true that Guthrum has no great love for me. If I were dead, then would my uncle be the proper heir to Nasgaard, and Nasgaard is a great prize indeed. But if Guthrum truly covets Nasgaard, my lord, he cannot betray me to my death. There is no Dane would follow him if he bore bloodguilt for a nephew upon his hands.” Erlend raised his eyebrows in Alfred’s own gesture. “I am in fact the safest hostage you could hold. It would please Guthrum to see me fall in battle, but he will not cause my death himself,”

“Was it Guthrum’s idea to propose you as hostage?” Alfred asked.

“No.” Erlend met those unreadable eyes and held them. “The idea was mine. Guthrum did not like it. It took me near half the night to convince him that this was the best way.” Erlend smiled wryly. “It would prove a little difficult to find a jarl to send in my stead, you see.”

“I can imagine that is so.” Alfred’s voice was bleak.

“My uncle did not think you would have the stomach to kill our hostages in cold blood,” Erlend said candidly. “He knows differently now, and so does our army.”

A shadow seemed to cross Alfred’s face, a bruising under the eyes which had not been there before. “Yes,” he said. “Now you know.”

“Let us go safely into Mercia, my lord,” Erlend said. “It will be best for all.”

With a quick, lithe movement, Alfred suddenly stepped forward so that he was but a hairbreadth away from Erlend. In an abrupt, harsh voice, he asked, “What does Guthrum plan to do in Mercia?”

Erlend looked into the narrowed golden eyes. He had never before been so close to Alfred of Wessex. All his detached calm fled and his heart began to slam within his chest.

What is the matter with me? he thought frantically. He wet his lips with his tongue and answered, “He will parcel out the country to those of his men who desire land, my lord. There are those among us who are weary of war, who would settle down to the farm and the plow. It is the reason many Danes came to England, to find the land they could not get at home.”

“And what of the Mercian king?” Alfred demanded. “What of Ceolwulf?”

Erlend was so close to Alfred that he could feel the heat from the king’s body, see the golden stubble of beard under the skin of his face. Erlend said, in a voice that was not as steady as he wished, “Ceolwulf will have his share, a part of the kingdom to keep for himself and his people. The rest will Guthrum take for the Danes.”

There was a silence. Alfred’s body did not move, but Alfred himself seemed to withdraw. It was a trick of the king’s Erlend had seen before, this withdrawal of his spirit deep within while he made a decision.

Then, after nearly a full minute had passed, “So be it,” Alfred said. “If the Mercians object, then must they join with Ethelred. My charge is Wessex.”

Erlend said nothing, was incapable of saying anything, just stood there before the king and waited. He feared that Alfred must be able to hear the hammering of his heart, it beat so loudly in his own ears. Alfred said, “You may tell Guthrum that I accept his offer. I will return his hostages once he is over the Mercian border. But you, Erlend Olafson, you I will keep.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Erlend. He began to step back, away from Alfred, but the king put a hand upon his upper arm to hold him.

“You will give me your solemn word not to escape?”

“Yes,” said Erlend. “I will.”

Hawk eyes searched his face. Then, slowly: “Your word I will take.”

“Why?” It was suddenly the most important thing in the world to know why Alfred would trust him.

“For the same reason I let you stay five years ago,” Alfred answered.

“And what is that, my lord?”

Alfred smiled. “Elswyth likes you,” he said, “and I have never known her to be wrong about a man yet.”

Erlend stared into the face that was so close to his. Alfred was not jesting, he thought incredulously. He truly was basing his trust upon the judgment of a woman.

Alfred finally released his arm, but Erlend did not immediately step away. The king said grimly, “Your uncle, on the other hand, I would not trust beyond the range of my sight. I will take those fifty hostages, Erlend, and Guthrum will not get them back until he is well into Mercia and away from my borders.”

Erlend took one step back. “I will deliver your message,” he answered, “and tomorrow I will come with fifty other hostages to your camp.”

Two pairs of eyes, almost on a level, met and held. Alfred nodded, turned away, and went to call for Erlend’s escort.

Alfred took no chances this time, but gathered all the men still left to him and followed the Danish army as it went up the Fosse Way and into Mercia. Only when Guthrum was reported safely in Repton did Alfred release his hostages and send them in the wake of their retreating army. Then he himself, along with his companion thanes, returned to Chippenham, where his family awaited him, Erlend Olafson rode to Chippenham in Alfred’s train.

Erlend knew Chippenham from his previous sojourn in the West Saxon royal household. Chippenham had ever been a favorite manor of Alfred’s for hunting; the forests in the area were very fine. It was a good time of year for hunting too, Erlend thought as the high stockade fence of Chippenham rose up under the ever-changing March sky. He thought the chances were good he would be allowed to join the royal hunting parties; Alfred’s companion thanes seemed disposed to treat him more as guest than as enemy hostage. They would not be behaving thus if they had not had their directions from the king.

The king’s party had been sighted and the great gate of Chippenham was swinging open. Then the royal guard was riding into the courtyard, one hundred strong, with Erlend riding directly behind the king, Edgar on one side of him, Brand on the other.

The courtyard filled with running groomsmen, ready to take the horses. Erlend looked toward the great hall and saw two children standing on the step, jumping up and down in their excitement. Erlend could hear the high childish voices even over the jangle of stirrup and bridle and the deeper rumble of male chatter in the yard. “Papa! Papa!”

Erlend swung himself to the ground like those around him and stared in astonishment as Alfred went forward to be enveloped in a rush of arms and legs. “Name of the Raven,” he said. “That can’t be Flavia and Edward!”

Brand had come to stand beside him, and now the West Saxon grinned. “No one else,” he said.

“But they have grown so big.”

“Children will do that.” Brand looked down at the Dane. “I do not know if they will remember you,” he said, “but I am quite certain the Lady Elswyth will.”

Erlend looked up into the green eyes that were so oddly similar to his own. “What think you she will do to me?” he asked Alfred’s thane with mock apprehension.

“God knows,” said Brand. “But you had better come along and see for yourself.” He put a big hand upon Erlend’s shoulder, and Erlend recognized that its touch was for comfort rather than compulsion. Brand had guessed that the apprehension was not entirely pretense after all.

It was dark inside after the brightness of the day. Even for a royal manor, the great hall at Chippenham was extremely large, with a double hearth in its center to give the warmth of two fires to those who clustered within. A trestle table was standing before the hearth this day, with a tapestry laid out upon it. The women who had been working there had gone, however, and only Elswyth remained in the room, with her husband, her children, and four deliriously happy dogs. The men were beginning to come in to claim their sleeping spaces on the benches along the wall. Alfred was holding a very young child in his arms, and all the royal family, with the exception of the baby in her father’s arms, turned to watch Erlend as he slowly crossed the floor toward them. The dogs ran up to sniff at him, then raced back to crowd around Alfred’s legs once more, their tails creating a breeze, they wagged so hard.

Then Erlend was before them. He stopped.

“Elswyth,” Alfred said, and Erlend could distinctly hear the amusement in his voice, “here is Erlend Olafson, hostage for the good word of the Danish leader.”

“My lady,” Erlend said, stood there in his twisted bracelets and his golden collar, and looked at her with wary eyes.

Dark blue eyes looked back, looked him up and looked him down. He had almost forgotten how beautiful Elswyth was. Erlend added with absolute sincerity, “It is good to see you again.”

“I should be furious with you,” Elswyth said, and her husky drawling voice was suddenly welcome to his ears. “We treated you with kindness and you spied on us.”