Alvar the Kingmaker (44 page)

“All are tired of the unrest. Too many died yesterday.”

Dunstan crossed himself. “It was God’s doom on a land grown lawless.”

Alvar was quick to give assurances. “And we will answer to Him. Edgar strove always to be even-handed, but kept his lords and his churchmen ever on the wrong side of each other. With no strong king to bind us, look at what we have done.” He looked up. “All of us.”

Dunstan sighed and nodded. He took another sip of his drink. “And so?”

“And so… It is over. I will take Siferth to his mother and you will do naught while I am away. Can I have your word on that; that I will not come back to find I have missed yet another king-making?”

“I think that you and I have reached an understanding, Lord Alvar. I always wondered why Edgar leaned as much on you as he did on the holy mother Church. Your deeds this day have shown me your keen wits, and your wisdom.”

Alvar raised an eyebrow. “Did I hear you right?”

Dunstan nodded. “Yes. I see now why Edgar kept you close for all those years.”

Alvar gave a slow smile. “I will thank you, my lord, for I know that those words did not come easily.” He coughed and fiddled with his garnet ring. “Oft-times I have cursed your earthly ways, thinking that you should have stayed in your minster, and busied yourself only with holy books, but now I find it a blessing to have some of the burden lifted.” He sat back in his seat, pushed his legs out straight and crossed his ankles. “We must also speak of shifting the body so that there can be a fitting burial. I left word at Wareham for the monks to bury the body, and I left enough silver to see it done and to still their tongues.”

“Still their tongues?” Dunstan knew that in the race to find answers to problems, his mind was losing, his thoughts turning at a much slower pace than the earl’s.

Alvar explained. “It is a busy port. The ships would be better to come and go without the seamen knowing who is buried nearby. Also while I think on it, the witan must be sent home. There were more than enough woes here even before I brought back these awful tidings. Men will not wish to remain at a gathering at such a time.”

Dunstan said, “Again, you think of things that I would not. But will you speak with the witan before you leave, so that we can make sure that they are all willing to swear to Æthelred as their king?” He rose to his feet. “Meanwhile, I will have him and his mother brought here.”

“Send my men. The lady will not come otherwise.”

Dunstan opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. Alvar’s body was no longer supporting his head. Reclining in the chair since he first sat down, he had appeared to be tired beyond endurance and now his eyes had closed, taking him on the short journey to complete sleep. Dunstan stood up as silently as he could and made his way to the chapel. He had many things to ask God, a dead king’s soul to pray for, and many sins, not the least of which was pride, to atone for.

Cheshire 

They had set out from Chester in the first silver and grey light of the morning, before the sun had repainted the colours onto the earth.

“I do not understand why we could not come last night.”

Alvar patted Siferth on the back. “It is good to hear you speaking once more. I feared you were struck dumb forever. I did not want to frighten your mother by coming at nightfall. It is bad enough that I come at winter-tide.”

“Why?”

She always teased that I only ever come here in the summer…” Alvar scanned the path that ran to the woods. “No, she is not here.”

“You never told me, before we left, what will become of me.”

Alvar pulled his cloak tighter. Although the sun was rising in a clear sky, spring was in no hurry to arrive and they walked on a hard frost. “No, I am sorry, I did not.” He had been too busy sending word about Edward’s death and notifying the kin of all those who had died at Calne. But he should have found time to speak to the boy and he rested his hand on Siferth’s shoulder. “You will keep all the lands you held from the queen, otherwise we might as well shout your guilt from the bell towers and the world would think that Alfreda and her son are guilty too. But you are best kept out of the way of wagging tongues so for now, you must hide out here; there is enough room for you on your mother’s lands.” He let go of Siferth and took a last look along the path. “Come, she is not at the church or the mill this morning. We must look for her nearer home.”

Alvar turned to go across the fields to Ashleigh but Siferth touched his arm. “Uncle, will you go on ahead of me? I am not yet ready to see the look of shame in my mother’s eyes.”

Alvar smiled. He barely had to lower his head to look at Siferth, for the lad was as tall now as his father had been. His eyes were brown, but they were the same shape as his mother’s, the lashes the same shade of light brown that framed Káta’s eyes. “There will be naught in her eyes to match the fear that I see in yours now. You must believe me on this. But yes, I will go on without you.”

He set off, with the rising sun at his back. The trees cast long shadows, with his amongst them, across the length of the field. He walked down the slope towards the little gate that would take him to Káta’s hall and with every step, his shadow shortened so that it was small against that of the trees. He turned his head; Siferth was standing at the top of the hill, fiddling with his cloak pin. Alvar looked back towards the manor and saw her.

She looked up, gathered her cloak tighter around her body and continued to walk along the path at the same measured pace.

He stood, fidgeted, and strode out towards her. His steps carried him quicker than her pace though they were no greater in number. They met at the gate and he opened it for her.

“You have something bad to tell me,” she said.

She would not thank him for prevaricating. “The lord Edward is dead. Siferth wielded the blade.”

She said nothing, but stepped forward and put her head against his chest. He put his arms around her and held her. They stood together, while overhead the rooks screeched out their early morning cacophony. His thoughts turned from his task to the warmth of her body, and he breathed in to rob her of her scent before she moved away. She broke free, but kept hold of his hand. She took a few steps away from him before she released him and her fingertips brushed the very ends of his before she finally let go. She did not look back, but said, “Tell him to come to me. He looks cold, standing up there by himself.”

Inside, she sat with her hands in her lap, while Siferth related all the details of the evening in Corfe. She stood up, walked to him and held his head against her belly.

She said, “You acted to spare the life of one who was dear to you. This was not murder. Make your settlement with God if you must, but I have no fears for your soul.” She walked back to her seat.

Alvar caught her arm. “God is one thing, but I think it is your forgiveness which means more to him.”

She smiled and sat back down. She beckoned Gytha, who walked forward and bent her head towards Káta’s. Káta whispered a few words to her, and the Norsewoman nodded and left the hall.

“I told Gytha that she and the others will have to do without me today. I wish to spend the day with my son and with my…” She arranged her sleeves. “What tidings have you brought that are not so sad?”

She listened for hours as Siferth told her of his life at court, her lips drawn into a line that was a poor imitation of a smile and faltered with every mention of Alfreda.

Alvar patted her arm and whispered his assurance. “Her hair is greyer than yours.”

He was rewarded with a full smile but it faded again when he told her about the disaster at Calne.

“Who was wounded? Wulfgar, Brihtmær, Aswy of Shropshire? I would know of all Mercian thegns and lords.”

He repeated the list by rote; the names of the wounded and those who were unharmed. “And Aswy came away with a slit over his eye, Wulfgar with no more than a sore arse. I think that God may, after all, be a Mercian.”

“Did you ever doubt it?” She smiled and beckoned to a little slave-boy to clear the tables. When the lad had finished, she nodded her thanks.

Outside, the short March day was all but over, spilling low red light through only the west window. Alvar slid down in his seat, legs straight. Káta’s fire was warm and lively. “Hearth and home, there is naught better,” he said. He closed his eyes.

Káta nudged his foot and he opened one eye. She pointed to Siferth, who had lain down on the bench next to the wall. The boy was fast asleep, curled up like a child.

“I told him that he had naught to fear from telling you. You were always one to take whatever life throws your way. He will truly rest now.” Alvar slouched down in his chair again and wiggled his toes in the warmth of the heat from the flames. Káta’s folk had fed them well and now the hall was quiet. There was nothing left to tell or do and his eyelids dropped down again. He snapped them open, though he knew it was the beginning of a fight he would lose.

Káta smiled at him. Her words came like an echo caught in the air from so many years ago. “And will you be spending the night with us, my lord?”

He had no flippant answer for her this time. “I do not think I could shift from this seat if it set on fire, my lady.”

“That is a shame. It seems you have forgotten how warm and soft you once found my bed.”

He lifted his heavy lids to look at her, to read her face, and be sure that he had not misunderstood.

There was no mistake, for Káta was on her feet. She placed a cloak over her sleeping son by way of a blanket, held out her hand, and led Alvar to her bedchamber.

“Will you have a drink, my lord?” She stood at the table and clutched the jug with white-knuckled fingers.

“No, I think not. Is it too cold in here? Shall I fetch more furs?”

“You are cold? I will pull the shutters.”

He moved to the door as she moved to the window, and the whole space of the room was between them. He smiled at her and she looked down at the floor.

“This will not do,” he said.

“You are right. How can we do this?”

“You could begin by putting the ale down.”

She stared at the jug as if she had forgotten it was there and she rushed to set it back down on the table. He stood behind her, took hold of her elbows, and turned her round to face him.

She laid her hand on his chest, flat against it with her fingers spread; he closed his fingers round hers and held them there. With her other hand, she stroked his face. “I know how you look. I have looked upon you for a lifetime, but…” Her fingertips moved along his chin, across his eyebrows, the curve of his smile, the outline of his ear.

He lifted a coil of her hair and felt its silkiness before he brought it to his nose to smell again the delicate fragrance of lavender. He reached out to explore her face, but she clasped his hand and turned it palm up. “These wounds have not healed well. Did you put on any salve or bindings?”

He looked up at the ceiling. “How black and white is a woman’s world… I have been a little busy these last few days.”

“Then it is as well that I am here to kiss them better.”

She took up both his hands. She touched her soft lips against the palms and each of his fingers, one by one. He felt no pain, but a warmth that spread along his arms down his body to his belly and beyond.

He lowered his head and nuzzled her face until she lifted it to his. “Your mouth is sweet, lady, but it is not where it should be.” He leaned his head to one side and dipped forward, but she moved her head the same way. He tried again and placed the lightest of kisses on her mouth.

He straightened up and laid his hands on her shoulders. He slid them down the length of her arms, caressed her fingertips and then let them go. She put her hands on his chest, palms flat, and swept them across his front and around his upper arms.

He nodded towards the bed.

“Is it time?”

“Oh, yes.” It was a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat.

She said, “I could stand here all night. To be able to feel, to…” She reached up on tiptoe, put her nose to the indent between his jaw and earlobe and breathed in deeply. “After all this time.”

“Lady, I fear that if I do not lie down, I will fall down. But we do have all night and I am in no mood, nor young enough, to be too swift.”

She took a step back and the smile faded. “I had not thought.”

“What is it?”

“I, too, am not as young as once I was. I have borne a child.” She lowered her head. “You might not like what you see.”

“Lady, we have let enough time go by. I crave only to know you, now, before I sleep and wake to find it was not real after all.” He laughed.

“My lord?”

“Forgive me. I am so tired it feels like I am in my cups. I have loved you half my life and you are standing before me, welcoming and willing. God must love me, after all.”

She took another step back as he flung off his clothes and stood naked before her, his tunic, breeches, belt and leg-bindings scattered across her chamber. She looked down at the floor but he lifted her chin and said, “Lady, I saw you looking at what I have for you. I would have a kindness now from you.”