Shadow of the Raven: Sons of Kings: Book One (24 page)

Thirty

Canterbury, Kent: early January 858

‘Why did Mother have to die, Aethelswith?’ Alfred sobbed into his pillow. ‘What shall I do without her?’

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. ‘Be at peace, young lord. Your mother has been with her Maker for three years now. And she would not wish her youngest son to be still grieving.’

Alfred woke from his dream, sweat-soaked and fraught with distress, and rolled to face the woman seated on the edge of his bed. Daylight writhed through the shutters and sounds coming from the hall told him it was morning. A cold, January morn, filled with sadness.

‘Judith?’ he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he watched the blue-robed figure of his stepmother rise to open the shutters. He pushed himself up on his elbows, shivering as the cold air hit him. ‘I think I was dreaming. I thought that mother–’

‘I know, Alfred. Disturbing dreams can come at the worst of times. It is most likely that your father’s illness has brought that harrowing time back into your mind.’

Judith picked up the heavy book lying on the fur cover of Alfred’s bed and turned the gold-edged pages. ‘A most exquisite thing,’ she remarked. ‘Given to you by your mother, I think you said?’

‘Yes,’ Alfred acknowledged, ‘but only because I was the only one who could be bothered to read it all the way through. None of my brothers was interested enough, but I knew as soon as I saw it that I wanted it. It’s just so beautiful. I couldn’t read at the time,’ he admitted, frowning, ‘so Father Felix helped me to learn it off by heart, and just recite it. So I suppose you would say I cheated.’

Judith lifted his chin between her thumb and forefinger, her blue gaze holding his. ‘No, I would not call it cheating,’ she said, her face thoughtful. ‘It was very enterprising of you. I think that Lady Osburh would have known full well of your illiterate state, and valued your efforts all the more. So that is why she gave her precious book to you.’

Alfred smiled at her. He was very fond of Judith. Herself barely fifteen, she was always ready to talk and offer advice, especially since his father had been too ill to do so. And, unlike many others, Judith did not treat him like a young child.

‘Then, reading your book and thinking of your mother before you slept explains your distressing dream,’ Judith reasoned, twisting round her finger a strand of dark hair peeking out from under her head veil. ‘During your slumbers such thoughts would have mingled with your fears for your father’s failing health. Your dream-mind merely confused the details.’

Alfred blinked back the tears. ‘Will God take Father from us soon?’

Judith was silent for some moments, seeming to battle her own emotions before replying. ‘His passing will be soon, Alfred, so we must be very brave. I have kept vigil over him through the long night, and he is very weak. I have left the physician with him for now, though I dare not stay away too long.’ Her shoulders slumped and in the brightening light, Alfred could see how tired she looked.

‘Aethelbald should arrive in the next day or two, though I fear that Aethelswith and her husband may be too late,’ she continued with a weary sigh. Tamworth is far away, and your fickle Saxon weather can so easily prevent travel at this time of year.’

Alfred scowled at the mention of his sister’s husband. Although he’d not set eyes on Burgred for some years, his dislike of the man continued to fester, greatly fuelled by the fact that he had not yet permitted Aethelswith to visit her family in Kent.

Well aware of his feelings about Burgred, Judith did not comment on his reaction. ‘Father Felix has ensured the terms of your father’s will are clearly laid out,’ she said. ‘But Aethelwulf so hoped to see all his children, one last time . . .’

Alfred took her hand as her voice faltered and she gave him a sad smile. ‘Aethelberht and Aethelred are about to attend the chapel,’ she said softly. ‘Perhaps you could accompany them, young lord.’

At that moment, Alfred could think of nothing more appropriate to do than pray.

* * *

Late the following afternoon Aethelbald arrived from Southampton with his large entourage. Notified of his arrival, Aethelwulf summoned his four sons to his bedside where, in the presence of Father Felix, his physician and his young wife, he struggled to explain the main issues of the document he’d recently had drawn up.

Alfred stared at the stone-grey hair, splayed lank against the pillows that propped his father up, and listened to the crackling whisper of the once forceful voice. Memories of his mother’s final hours resurfaced and he strove to control his crushing grief. This was surely another such prelude.

In his will, Aethelwulf stipulated that the kingdom should remain divided. Aethelbald would continue his rule of the West Saxon shires, whilst Aethelberht would resume his earlier kingship of the East. Aethelred and Alfred were to be endowed with properties in the West, where, as king, Aethelbald would be custodian over them all.

Both Aethelbald and Aethelberht were compliant to these specifications – until Aethelwulf’s final demand. ‘I am adamant that my two youngest sons shall rule the West Saxon shires in their turn after Aethelbald,’ the dying king rasped. ‘I have worked to this end throughout my life, and will not abandon my most fervent desires now.’ A wheezing breath rattled through his chest and he coughed violently, struggling to catch the breath to continue.

Aethelbald’s dark good looks barely concealed his smouldering rage, though his voice remained calm and controlled. ‘Father, this plan would be foolproof if I were not to produce heirs. But what if I were to tell you that I’m considering marriage within the next few months? Must any sons of mine have to stand down in deference to their uncles? Surely that is not how the laws of inheritance work.’

The red hue of Aethelbald’s skin was deepening, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. Alfred cringed: his brother’s temper was on the boil.

‘The Danish threat escalates yearly,’ Aethelwulf laboured on, fixing his eldest son with a cold stare and ignoring the imminent outburst. ‘Our kingdom needs strong and firm rulers: we cannot wait for babes to grow or allow lesser men to–’

Another fit of coughing ended whatever the king had been about to say and the physician ordered him to rest and regain his strength.

Aethelbald stormed from the bedchamber, leaving Aethelberht and Alfred staring after him, whilst Aethelred’s amiable features crinkled into a wide grin. Then together they followed their eldest brother into the hall.

* * *

‘It is simply not right that we should accept such terms,’ Aethelbald fumed, his dark eyes moving from one brother to another in search of accord. Servants fussed round the table, clearing the last of the evening’s meal, and Aethelwulf’s sons had moved around the hearth to continue their discussion. Alfred watched, hoping that Aethelbald’s rage would not be unleashed physically. ‘Why should a dying man dictate to his heirs how the kingdom should be governed in future years? Surely the rules of inheritance stand for something!’

‘But we’ve always known of our father’s desires for the ruling of Wessex, brother,’ Aethelberht reasoned, his pale eyes on his older sibling. ‘And I believe he’s shown wisdom in retaining this stipulation. Wessex can’t afford to show a modicum of weakness, or the Danes would tear her apart. I’ll certainly be vigilant where defence of the East is concerned and–’

‘Oh, it’s all right for you, Aethelberht. Any sons of yours will rule in the East when you’re gone! But as soon as I die, my sons will simply be ignored, unable to benefit from all the improvements I intend to make in fortifications and armed forces.’

Aethelberht bristled. ‘It’s unlikely our brothers will “ignore” their nephews, Aethelbald. They’d still hold a fair degree of sway in the West. But until such time, remember that
you
rule a far superior kingdom in both power and wealth than I do. ‘And,’ he stressed, ‘Kent is far more likely to suffer Danish raids than your shires. Think of the times the pagans have overwintered on Thanet, or Sheppey, and how Canterbury suffered.’ He picked up his mug and quaffed a mouthful of ale. ‘So your griping won’t wash with me, Aethelbald.’

His fists tightly clenched, his face thunderous, Aethelbald heaved himself to his feet. Alfred held his breath, waiting for a hefty blow to strike Aethelberht’s head. But at that point Aethelred decided to add his grain of wisdom.

‘You both seem to have overlooked the role of the Witan,’ he stated, pausing to allow his words to take effect. ‘If our Councillors deemed any of us – or any future “heirs” – to be unsuitable, we’d be tossed aside without a further blink. So where does that leave your laws of inheritance, Aethelbald?’

Just as Aethelbald began to give Aethelred a piece of his mind, Judith entered the hall. ‘How can you think of your selfish quarrels at a time like this?’ she admonished, her tired gaze moving between the solidly built Aethelbald towering over them all and the more slender Aethelberht. ‘Surely you should show your respect in the home of a dying man – your own father!’

Tears coursed down Judith’s cheeks. Alfred moved toward her to offer comfort, but Aethelbald beat him to it, putting his arm around her shoulders and gazing with surprising tenderness into her eyes. ‘You are overwrought, Judith,’ he said, ‘and overtired. I know you didn’t sleep at all last night. And we all owe you so much for the kindness you’ve shown us these past two years.’

‘Thank you, Aethelbald.’ Judith sniffed. ‘I have much on my mind.’

Aethelberht put down his mug and stood to address his stepmother. ‘You are naturally heartbroken at the thought of losing your husband, my lady. And thoughts of organising a funeral must be causing concern. But, we are all here to help, and no doubt Aethelswith will soon arrive. She will be of comfort to you.’

Judith sank to the bench beside Alfred. ‘You are right about all of those things,’ she admitted. ‘I shall feel my lord’s loss deeply, but I am also in great dread of returning to Francia. I shall be married off to some pompous lord and I may not have the same, er,
privileges
I have had here with your dear father.’ She pulled a small handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. ‘I will miss you all so much.’

Alfred inanely patted her back for want of something more appropriate to do. He’d miss Judith but knew that, as a young widow, her future would be dictated by the will of her powerful father, Charles the Bald.

* * *

‘Just what did you find so funny today?’ Alfred asked his fair-headed brother as they headed for their bedchambers a little later. ‘Don’t you find Aethelbald’s outbursts just a little alarming?’

‘Of course I don’t! He’s just a big bag of wind. All puff and no punch.’

‘How do you know that?’

Aethelred shrugged. ‘He’s always been the same: likes the sound of his own voice. But I’ve never seen him actually hit anyone.’ Alfred looked thoughtfully at his brother. Nine years older than himself, Aethelred knew so much more about the other siblings than Alfred did. ‘But, what I really found funny,’ Aethelred went on, ‘was the way Aethelbald kept eyeing up Judith!’

‘I noticed that too. You don’t think . . .’

‘That he’ll marry her after Father dies?’ Aethelred’s smile faded and he turned sorrowful grey eyes on Alfred. ‘I can’t imagine life without Father. Just speaking of his death turns my stomach to water.’

Alfred nodded, tears welling afresh. ‘Father’s always been there for us. Even after Mother died, we still had him
.
’

Aethelred wrapped his arms around Alfred’s shoulders. ‘Come with me to the chapel and we’ll pray together.’

As they headed for the little church, Alfred repeated his earlier question, ‘
Do
you think Aethelbald will marry Judith?’

‘I do,’ Aethelred said, after a moment’s thought. ‘And I think it will cause quite a commotion in Wessex. But Aethelbald has powerful friends, as we well know from when you and Father returned from Rome. They’ll back Aethelbald, no matter what unconventional things he wants. And we all heard Judith say she didn’t want to return to Francia. I can’t see her refusing Aethelbald if he offers her marriage. At least she
knows
him – and he’s not bad looking, in a dark, hairy sort of way. At least he’s not some fat old Frankish lord!’

‘No,he’s not,’ Alfred agreed. ‘And as we’ll be living at the West Saxon court, at least we’d have Judith for company.’

* * *

A short while before noon the following day, Alfred was summoned to his father’s bedchamber, watching with heightened anxiety as Aethelwulf insisted that even Father Felix and the physician should leave the room.

‘Come close,’ his father urged as the door clicked shut. ‘I cannot raise my voice more than a whisper and I want you to hear clearly what I say. That’s better,’ he said, taking Alfred’s hand as he came to stand by the big bed.

Alfred focused on the gaunt frame of his father, noting how the deathly pallor of his skin almost matched the leaden tones of his hair. He bit his bottom lip hard, still battling the welling tears.

‘Do not weep for me, Alfred,’ Aethelwulf said gently. ‘I am ready to meet my Maker and will soon be reunited with your mother. But before I leave this world, I must speak to you about the future of our kingdom.’

Though puzzled as to why he’d been singled out for this talk, Alfred nodded anyway.

‘I believe you were sent to your mother and me late in life for a purpose, Alfred. ‘Do you know what that purpose will be?’

‘I know I shall be king of Wessex one day, Father. I believe what Pope Leo said. I think I shall be needed to defend the land.’

Aethelwulf smiled at that answer. ‘I believe that too, so remember that you must prepare for that time. You and Aethelred must continue your courtly training when you reside with Aethelbald. Keep up your arms practice, and hone your riding and hunting skills. Become proficient in the use of spear and bow as well as sword, and enjoy your falcons. A king must prove superior in all these things. And continue to read and write the hymns you love so much. And one day you must marry and produce heirs.’

Aethelwulf slumped lower on his pillow, his eyelids drooping. ‘I need to sleep now,’ he whispered, his voice rasping from overuse. He reached out and took Alfred’s hand. ‘Be strong, Alfred. Never show your enemies your weaknesses, or they will leap on them and tear you to shreds. Promise me that, on my deathbed.’