Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (28 page)

Aethelred took the defeat as an ill-omen of things to come. His worries about the future of his kingdom became a constant shadow from which he could not escape; his concerns regarding who should succeed him to the throne loomed the darkest shadow of all.

News of the birth of Alfred’s son reached him two days after their return to Winchester. The child had been born on the day of the battle at Basing; not a day that Alfred would easily forget. The Lady Ealhswith was in good health, the messengers informed, and the babe had an excellent pair of lungs. Alfred gave thanks to God for the safe delivery of both his wife and child. The boy would be called Edward, as Alfred and Ealhswith had decided some time ago. Had the child been another daughter, she would have been called Aethelgifu. The name would simply be stored away for another time . . .

Alfred’s joy at his good fortune in his marriage was overwhelming, and only the present situation in Wessex dampened his complete euphoria. It could be weeks, perhaps months, before he managed to see them again.

*****

For almost two weeks Alfred led groups of his thegns and retainers to counter sporadic attacks on villages in the Basing area. He had a degree of success in this, although the occasions on which he arrived too late left him seething. Then, in the second week of February, Halfdan led his army back to their base at Reading and raids in southern Berkshire ceased. Within a week, West Saxon scouts were reporting to Winchester that enemy raids in the Reading region were stripping monastic and noble estates bare. Nor were simple villages being spared. To counter these attacks, thegns in the area had mustered all men of the local fyrd with available mounts. But few ceorls could afford the luxury of horses and retaliating bands were piteously small. Danes outnumbered Saxons at every turn, and the Berkshire thegns were forced to acknowledge that little more could be done by way of resistance.

The news had been no less than Alfred had anticipated and his advice was already prepared. ‘We need to move closer to Reading,’ he said to Aethelred as they rode toward the Minster for Sunday morning worship. ‘We’ve over fifty thegns and retainers here at Winchester, simply waiting for spring, when forty miles to the north our countrymen are being bled dry.’ He flashed Aethelred an encouraging smile. ‘If we could add our numbers to the thegns and ceorls around Reading, I think we could give a few Danish raiding parties a hiding.’

Aethelred smiled back. ‘I know,’ he replied.

This time they made their base at the village of Wokingham, eight miles to the south-east of Reading. The local thegns again rallied what they could of the mounted fyrd and, since Alfred was so keen to do so, Aethelred gave him full control of their manoeuvres. For the next four weeks he led numerous forays against the raiders, each time implementing the hit-and-run tactics he’d learned from the Danes with greater success. And with each success, his reputation as a warrior grew. The elite of Wessex were beginning to see Alfred not only as the king's brother but as his truly worthy secundus.

As the days passed uncertainty regarding the future of Wessex became a heavy burden to both Alfred and Aethelred. With the onset of spring the major battles would recommence. No one could doubt the possibility of death on the battlefield, and should either of them succumb, statutes needed to be in place that left no doubt regarding the future of the Wessex throne. Similarly, as husbands and fathers, they were both determined that the inheritance of their personal lands and properties should be clearly laid out. To add to their worries, both Alfred and Aethelred lived with the knowledge that either of them could be struck at any time by the same illness that had already taken their three elder brothers.

Throughout the winter Alfred had suffered only one short attack of his own mysterious illness. Within an hour of his return to Wokingham after confronting a band of Danish foragers, the familiar, griping pains had rendered him recumbent on his bed. On this occasion even Ealhswith would have found difficulty in assigning blame to strong liquor or overly rich food. The opportunity to enjoy such luxuries had simply not arisen during the gruelling months of conflict. The men did not question Alfred’s retiring to his room; the shoulder he had badly wrenched during the afternoon skirmish provided adequate excuse.

The issues of the future of Wessex had been raised between Alfred and Aethelred on numerous occasions, and now it was time to voice them further afield. In the first week of March, King Aethelred called a meeting of the Witenagemot.

*****

Inside the royal hall at Swinbeorg, a few miles to the north of the ancient town of Marlborough with its beautiful abbey, some of the elite of Wessex had gathered for the impromptu meeting of the Witan called by their king. Seated behind a long table across the dais, Alfred waited solemnly at Aethelred’s right. Both he and his brother had taken great care to wear their finest apparel for the meeting; a meeting at which they intended to convince the councillors of the prudence of Aethelred’s decision.

To the king’s left, the new Archbishop of Canterbury sat with bowed head, his clasped hands resting on the table before him. Like the king, he bore the name of Aethelred. At the archbishop’s side was the ageing Bealdric, Ealdorman of Surrey and Aethelred’s father-by-marriage.

To Alfred’s right, Bishop Heahmund of Sherborne sat erect on his chair, his tall, muscular physique a testament to his daily practice with sword and bow. Much younger than his predecessor, Bishop Ealhstan, Heahmund had yet seen little of actual combat, though his ambition to make his stand against the Danes had become common knowledge. Radulf, the ealdorman of Hampshire since the death of the brothers’ beloved uncle Osric, sat at Heahmund’s right, completing the notables on the dais.

Alfred recalled the times he’d sat beside his father at such gatherings, watching and learning just how things were done. It seemed such a short while ago, yet it was thirteen years since King Aethelwulf’s death. Osric had always been present at those meetings, too; a wise statesman to the very end. Four years ago this very month . . .

How those great leaders would grieve to see their kingdom so assailed.

Alfred’s thoughts returned to the purpose of the meeting, and he wondered how the council members would receive the decision already made by himself and King Aethelred. He scanned the body of men seated around the smouldering firepit below the dais. Despite the Great Army’s presence in the kingdom, or perhaps because of it, nobles from throughout Wessex had done their utmost to travel here. Amongst them were one or two ealdormen and many thegns who had attended the courts of Alfred’s father and, subsequently, his older brothers, since he was a boy. Their mood was sombre as they waited and murmurings were muted. A kingdom besieged allowed little room for levity. Alfred, too, was overcome by the gravity of the occasion.

Aethelred rose to his feet, first bowing his head in acknowledgement of the men beside him on the dais before facing those gathered. His gaze was steady and Alfred was pleased to note the determination on his face. Aethelred’s resolve was firm regarding this issue, and it would take a number of extremely valid arguments from persuasive councillors to make him falter in his decision. Alfred trusted his belief that the nobles of Wessex would put the urgent needs of their kingdom before any personal preferences in this matter.

‘My lords,’ the king began, ‘I know I need not apprise a single one of you as to the perilous state of our kingdom at this time, or of the uncertainty of all our tomorrows. The Danes have grown strong these past weeks, ensconced in our town and beleaguering our people. They are well fed and just waiting for the spring . . .’ He paused, just long enough to allow them to contemplate the fact that beyond the Swinbeorg hall, the land was already greening. ‘From today, our ealdormen and thegns will begin to assemble our forces.’ Aethelred nodded at Radulf and Bealdric at his sides then sought out other ealdormen seated below him: Brihtnoth of Wiltshire, Unwine of Sussex and Paega, the ealdorman of Berkshire since Ealdorman Aethelwulf’s recent death. Of late middling years, Paega had long been a loyal thegn and had served at the Wessex court on many occasions.

‘With every new day I anticipate news of more Danish ships approaching Reading. I don’t doubt for one moment they will arrive by the dozen over the next few weeks. This past two weeks, winter has released her icy grip, and I feel to my very core that we will be drawn into battle soon. And we must be ready!’

Alfred watched his brother struggling to contain his rising anger; control the pain he felt for his people and kingdom. ‘It is regarding the uncertainty of our kingdom’s future that I have convened this meeting. You are my wisest councillors,’ Aethelred averred, his arm sweeping the assembled. ‘Most of you have served Wessex faithfully for many years, and I know you would not abandon her in her hour of greatest need.’

‘My lord, you know that every man here would rather die than abandon this kingdom . . .’ Brihtnoth’s voice was momentarily drowned by the clamour of agreement around him, before he managed to finish what he had to say. ‘I know you cannot doubt our loyalty, or that we would baulk at the idea of battle, so I feel there is something else on your mind. Am I right, my lord?’

‘You are, Brihtnoth,’ Aethelred replied, ‘and it is very close to my heart, for it concerns the succession of the Wessex crown. None of us can have any doubt that the coming weeks will be perilous in the extreme. Many of us will not live to see another year, perhaps not even the coming summer. It is with this in mind that Lord Alfred and I have constantly discussed this issue. As your king, I
will not
go into battle, knowing that if I die in the field my kingdom would be thrown into even further upheaval before a suitable successor can be found.’

Again Aethelred paused and Alfred watched his chest rise and fall with each deep and steadying breath. Then he continued, ‘In my own mind, I am certain beyond doubt as to who that successor should be. But my views will remain unspoken until you have all had the opportunity to voice your opinions in the matter.’

In the sudden silence Alfred felt the gaze of thirty pairs of eyes fix upon him. He could imagine the workings of the minds behind the stares: considering, comparing and appraising his every talent, his every fault. The nobility of Wessex was assessing his very worth. Not, he decided, that they wouldn’t have already done so on innumerable occasions before.

An ageing Hampshire thegn with greying dark hair raised his hand to speak. His overly red face suggested embarrassment at the sudden attention his lofted hand had induced. At his side Eglaf, the Berkshire thegn from Windsor, patted his arm by way of offering his support.

‘Lord Hereic, feel free to share your opinion,’ Aethelred said by way of acknowledgement.

‘Well, my lord, regarding the succession, wouldn’t your own eldest son expect to become the next King of Wessex? I know he’s but a lad right now, and would need a regent for some years – which in our present situation would not be a wise move. But, what I’m saying is that I can foresee trouble in future years when Aethelhelm realises the throne has been denied him–’

‘I’m sure that most of us here can recall King Aethelwulf’s stipulation that the kingship should pass from one of his sons to the next.’ This was Paega, the usually quiet, fair-headed Berkshire ealdorman, springing to his feet and uncharacteristically cutting in. He halted, as though expecting some form of response from the king, but Aethelred merely nodded for him to continue. ‘Of course, most of us agree with King Aethelwulf’s reasoning. His stipulation was made in view of the likelihood of increasing Danish attacks over the years – let alone the crisis in which we now find ourselves. Besieged and outnumbered as we are by a ruthless foe, we cannot wait for the king’s children to grow. Wessex needs a proven leader, now: a shrewd man who can out-think the enemy. For, believe me, the only way we will ever defeat these pagans is by stealth.’

Alfred smiled to himself, realising that the way Paega’s thoughts appeared to be heading could well be to his and Aethelred’s benefit.

Having now found his stride, Paega careered on. ‘I don’t doubt we’re equally matched on the battlefield, man to man. It’s not the Danes’ battle skills that worry me – although they’re devious bastards, I’ll grant you. It’s as King Aethelred said, their numbers: numbers set to increase as the weeks pass.’ He shook his head at the thought. ‘No, my lords, we need a clever leader who is also a proven warrior. A man our armies will gladly follow.’

The Berkshire ealdorman glanced round the hall, as though suddenly appalled at his own audacity to speak with such vehemence, and lowered himself slowly to his seat. The hall was momentarily silent, and Aethelred pulled himself to his feet. Alfred’s insides churned. His brother would put forward his proposal now, since Paega had laid the perfect foundation for his words to be built upon.

‘So, my lords, we all appreciate the magnitude of events ahead of us. Wessex has never before faced assault on such a scale, and if she is to emerge from it with her dignity intact, every Saxon must pull his weight. Every man must fight for what he holds dear – the life and freedom of his family.’ Aethelred’s emotions were taking hold of him again, and Alfred willed him to get to the point. ‘And I know how well you all realise that many of us will lose our lives in the process – including myself and my brother, Lord Alfred: my secundus, my advisor, my confidant and now my proven warrior. Who can doubt his battle skills after Ashdown, or his mastery of hit-and-run tactics in recent weeks against the bands of marauding Danes?’

Again, all eyes focused on Alfred, as the king motioned for him to stand. ‘Alfred has been my rock since long before my crowning. He was always wise beyond his years, always able to see and understand things in a way that left his elders baffled. As a child, Alfred seemed to have the head of a wise old man perched upon his young body. Even our father, the astute King Aethelwulf, marvelled at his comprehension and reasoning.’

Alfred felt himself redden at such profuse praise and lowered his eyes from the intensely piercing stares. Then Aethelred said, ‘Our kingdom
needs
Alfred’s leadership. No other can compare with his knowledge of state affairs, or the “stealth” that Ealdorman Paega mentioned.’ He suddenly grinned. ‘I
know
how my brother’s mind works, and I tell you, with all honesty, that I’ve been in awe of him since he was three years old, and I already a strapping lad of eight!’