The Lost Tales of Mercia (3 page)

She hoped she had given the right advice,
but she feared she had not as Eadric scowled fiercely and stormed
off to his cot. He kicked off his boots, but nothing else, before
plopping down on the hard surface and turning away from her.

Her heart was heavy as she joined Hunwald in
silence at the table. Together, they tried to clean up the mess
Alfric had left behind.

At last they all laid down in the dark and
were blanketed by a heavy silence. She wished they could all go to
sleep that night and wake up to a morning like any other, but she
already knew they would not. She listened to the sound of her own
fast breathing, unable to go to sleep no matter how desperately she
wished to.

She looked over at Hunwald’s form, turned
away in the darkness, and wondered if he truly slept. She wondered
whether he saw her presence here as a burden, or whether he had
enjoyed the company, despite its limitations. She wondered if he
considered himself a happy man, or merely content, or if he ever
paused to question his lot in life at all.

Then she looked at her son, his pale curls
strewn in the moonlight. She watched his small shape rise and fall,
and realized that when it came to Eadric, she did not have to
wonder. She knew suddenly, without a doubt, that Eadric would never
be as content as Hunwald living a simple life among pigs. He was
too smart, proud, and ambitious. He would always want more for
himself, she suspected, and part of that was her own fault. She
believed, herself, that people were not given a set lot in life:
they forged their own paths, whether they realized it or not.
Perhaps she had been wrong to cut him off so sharply when he spoke
of living a life like Alfric’s. The notion that Eadric might ever
be in a position similar to Alfric’s simply terrified her.

She got up and crawled to Eadric’s side. She
lay a gentle hand on his head, though he did not stir. Whether he
heard her or not, she didn’t know; and even if he had been awake,
she spoke so softly that her words might not have been audible.

“Eadric,” she whispered, “I want you to know
something. I think you can achieve anything in this life that you
set your mind to, no matter how impossible it may seem. I believe
you can eventually have all those things you dream of, if you truly
want them. Most of those things are simply not worth the trouble.
All of this fighting and bloodshed … what is it for? It is
foolishness.” She sighed, thinking that she was beginning to sound
like a fool, herself. “I suppose all I am trying to say is: be
careful what you wish for. Pick your battles wisely. Enjoy what you
have and take what you can reach ... and all will be well.”

She thought that her words made very little
sense, especially to a sleeping seven-year-old boy, but she knew
she said them more for her own sake than his. Feeling a little
better, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. After that, she
finally slept.

But she woke up much too late. The cock had
already crowed. Now the farm was too quiet. Alfric and his men were
gone.

And so was Eadric.

*

The pigs had scattered over the hills. She
found Hunwald in the barn, the dog whining at his side. He was
bleeding from the stomach.

She yelled with dismay as she lifted him up
and cradled him in her arms. She rocked him gently, but her mind
seemed to spin in circles. “Hunwald? Hunwald!” As she settled him
in her lap, more blood spilled from the stab-wound in his stomach.
Her eyes widened with horror, too shocked to blink even as tears
flooded her vision and nearly blinded her. “Hunwald!”

She practically screamed this time, and at
last he stirred. His eyes were even grayer than usual, devoid of
life and energy. They seemed unable to focus as he stared into her
face.

“I’m so sorry, Hunwald.” Her voice shook
with sobs. “Who did this to you?”

“One of ... Lord Alfric’s men.” Golde could
not believe Hunwald would bother to call Alfric “lord” after what
had been done to him. But such was Hunwald’s nature. “Eadric ... he
did not see it happen. Don’t worry.”

She clutched him tighter against her. “Where
is Eadric?”

“He went ... with them. He wanted to go, but
I tried to stop him ... anyway. That’s why they …” He glanced down
at his wound and groaned.

“Oh, Hunwald ... you never deserved any of
this. I am so sorry.”

“Please, look after ... look after the
pigs.”

It was silly for a dying request, she
thought. But she could not smile. “After I find Eadric, I ... I’ll
try.”

It was a promise she was not sure she could
keep, but hoped she would, anyway. Her arms shook as she considered
abandoning him. She had to go after Eadric. But she could not leave
Hunwald to die here, slowly and painfully, while elvish sprites
festered his wounds and he writhed in lonely agony until his death.
Then his dead body would be fodder for the first hungry animal to
come along. No, she could not let that happen.

She braced her legs, and heaved up with a
great groan of effort. He sagged against her with a trembling grip.
“What ... are you ...?”

“Save your breath,” she growled through her
teeth. “I’m taking you to a church.”

Hunwald did not own a horse, but she found a
cart capable of holding his weight. She strapped on good boots and
took some of his coins. She left the rest behind, hiding them under
a firm floorboard, hoping this would give her the motivation to
return and fulfill her foolish promise.

Then she left Hunwald’s farm, sadly certain
that she would never return. She took Hunwald to the nearest
monastery and left him with the monks. She leaned over him and
brushed her lips against his, so lightly that afterwards she
wondered whether they had ever touched at all. In any case, it was
much too late for such sentiments. Her life with him was over, and
so too was the hope of any true relationship they could have had
together. She had lived in a dream, she realized: a dream in which
she was not a whore, and Eadric was not a bastard, and one of his
possible fathers was not the most treacherous Saxon in
Engla-lond.

She resolved that if she found Eadric—and
she told herself she would—their lives would change for the better.
She did not yet know how.

But she would think of something.

**

2

The
Second Lost Tale of Mercia:

ETHELRED THE KING

(Or go back to
TABLE OF
CONTENTS
)

“
[Ethelred] was perhaps the only thoroughly bad
King among all the Kings of the English of the West-Saxon line; he
seems to have been weak, cowardly, cruel, and bad altogether. He
was always doing things at wrong times and leaving undone what he
should have done, so that he is called Ethelred the Unready, that
is the man without rede or counsel.”

—Freeman, Edward. Old English History for Children
pg. 190

*

CORGE-GATE, DORSET

978 A.D.

Ethelred watched longingly as his
half-brother strode with his men to the exit of the stronghold.
They looked so handsome, regal, and powerful. Their spurs chimed
over the cobbles as they walked, their soft tunics rippled in the
breeze, and their cheeks glowed with the pleasure of fellowship.
King Edward, walking in the middle, was in fact the smallest of the
men, and yet he was the center of their attention and devotion. The
sixteen-year-old king had grown to fit his beautifully embroidered
boots, and the crown seemed to glitter more brightly on his
auburn-haired head than it ever had on their father’s.

The king stopped suddenly and turned to look
at Ethelred, as if he had sensed his younger brother’s stare.
Ethelred stepped back a little, hiding in the shadow of a stone
column, and gulped.

“Ethelred?”

Ethelred could see the smiles gathering on
the faces of Edward’s soldiers. They wanted to laugh at him, and
they were only holding it in because he would have been king, if
Edward was not. Remembering this made him straighten up a little
and lean into the sunshine.“Yes, what is it?”

Edward strolled closer, hands on his hips.
Ethelred noticed for the first time that the king was getting a
nice, cherry brown beard on his chin. Ethelred touched his own chin
self-consciously; at barely eleven years of age, he was far from
being able to grow his own.

“Ethelred, I think you should come hunting
with us!”

Ethelred blinked at his half-brother in
shock. Could he really mean it? Or was he mocking him somehow?
Ethelred glanced nervously at Edward’s companions. Were they all
playing some sort of big joke?

“Well?” Edward leaned down, planting a
thickly-gloved hand on Ethelred’s shoulder.“Don’t you want to?”

“What, uh …” Ethelred shifted on his feet,
suddenly conscious of how far Edward had to lean down to look him
in the eye.“What sort of game will you hunt?”

“Game?” Edward straightened up, letting him
go and shrugging.“Whatever game the hawk finds for us!”

“Hawk?” Ethelred’s eyes glittered with
jealousy. He had always wanted to hunt with a hawk.

“That’s right. We don’t have a plan, little
brother. That’s the fun of it.”

Ethelred gulped. The notion was exciting,
but it also made him nervous.“Mother says a servant should be sent
out first, to find the game and—”

“Damn that.” Edward curled his lip and spat
to the side.“And damn your mother.”

Ethelred flushed despite himself. Edward had
never gotten along with his step-mother very well, but normally he
remained polite about it. Ethelred didn’t want to argue with
Edward, but could he let an insult like that slide? He glanced
nervously about, uncertain of what to do once more.

“Come now, Ethelred, do you want to come or
not?”

“Yes.” He felt his heart swelling within
him.“Yes. Yes, I will!”

“There’s a good boy.” Edward knocked his
fist against the younger boy’s shoulder.

Ethelred’s limbs tingled with excitement as
he joined Edward and the tall, proud soldiers on their walk
outside. A warming breeze kissed his cheeks and he took a deep,
happy breath. He saw the horses already saddled and pulled from the
stables, waiting for their noble mounts to ride them into the
forest. He looked out at the sharply rolling hills and chalky
cliffs surrounding the Corfe-Gate stronghold and felt almost like a
king surveying his kingdom. He would join Edward and his men on the
hunt!

“Ethelred? Ethelred! What is going on?”

Ethelred’s heart sank quickly. The voice
belonged to his mother, Alfryth. She stormed from the stronghold,
her silken veil and black robes billowing in a gust of wind. Her
scraggly brown hair blew against her face, splitting her scowl like
so many cracks.

King Edward turned to face her, his men now
behind him. He hooked his thumb on his swordbelt, as if resting it
there, but Ethelred could not ignore how close his hand came to the
hilt of his sword. He said nothing, only glared at her through his
cherry lashes.

Desperately, Alfryth turned her fierce gaze
on Ethelred.“Son, where are you going?”

“I’m going hunting, mother.” Ethelred stuck
up his chin.“Hunting for whatever game we may come across.”

“No, you’re not.”

Ethelred stiffened. He looked to Edward for
help, but the young king had only eyes for Alfryth, and those eyes
were full of hatred.

“You have matters to attend to,” Alfryth
insisted to Ethelred.“Matters for Ealdorman Alfhere.”

Butterflies fluttered in Ethelred’s stomach,
and he saw Edward’s hands curl into fists. When their father,
Edgar, died a few years ago, various nobles and clergymen had
disagreed on which of Edgar’s sons should become king. Ealdorman
Alfhere had supported Ethelred’s right to the throne, as the son of
Edgar’s latest wife, but Ethelred had been only seven years old.
Naturally, most men had supported Edward instead. Though the wise
men had come to a peaceful decision, no doubt it was hard for
Edward to forget Alfhere’s opposition to him.

Alfryth smiled sweetly, seeing the fear and
doubt in her son’s eyes.“As you know, these matters are important,
my son. Much more important than a young boy’s fancy to fill his
days with hunting.”

“Young boy’s fancy!” cried King Edward. He
took a step forward, and Ethelred tensed with nervousness. Edward
was generally a nice fellow, best demonstrated by how kindly he
treated Ethelred, a boy that most would consider his rival. When he
got mad, however, he got very mad; and usually he got the maddest
about issues concerning his step-mother, Alfryth.“Hunting is man’s
work, a man’s way of practicing for battle. A woman like you
wouldn’t understand, of course. Right, Ethelred?”

Ethelred stood frozen, afraid to look at
either of them.

He did, however, glimpse his mother’s smile,
remaining firmly on her face as if everything was going according
to plan.“I suppose I would not understand. And in any case, I
wasn’t trying to discourage you from engaging in such
...‘practice,’ my lord. Some men must practice for engaging in
battle. Others must practice for
leading
men to battle. My
son, Ethelred, will be doing the latter, and so he does not need to
go riding about in the forest.” She held out her hand to
Ethelred.“Come on, then, son.”

But Ethelred ignored her completely. He
could not tear his eyes away from Edward, who wore such a vicious
scowl on his face that it brought to mind the horrific depictions
of bears on some of the stronghold’s tapestries.“Why ... you ...
filth-ridden ... BITCH!”

And then he lunged forward, and Ethelred
cowered, as if expecting to be stricken by whatever tremendous blow
Edward seemed about to deliver. But after a moment, he found he was
only stricken by a fierce silence, and looked up to see that Edward
had stopped himself. He stood with one arm lifted, panting for
breath, his fingers inches from Alfryth’s throat and curled as if
already gripping it. But he restrained himself, and stared blazing
into her eyes. Though she stood unflinching, the fear in Alfryth’s
own gaze was horribly apparent.