The royal family donned dark clothes, and the women covered their faces with ash. Even the snow refused to sparkle, and only sat gray on the ground, and the old men grumbled that the winter held on longer than the previous year. Meanwhile, King Aethelbert moved stiffly and spoke formally as he led his brothers from one vill to another, hearing the problems of his kingdom and enforcing his laws. Snow turned to spring rain as they made a complete tour of the interior downs and the banks of the River Thames. As much as he wanted to avoid it, Aethelbert brought them back to the Hall of Canterbury in the summer.
Alfred's horse sloshed into the vill, head down, sodden and sullen in line behind Aethelred, who followed Aethelbert, who rode with Theobald always at his side. Many horses, squires, and banners were visible from the road and people crowded the doorway of Canterbury Church, where they waited in the mud and drizzling rain to catch a glimpse of the king and his fabulous entourage. Huddled faces peered from the doorways and windows of the peasant's hovels as the royal procession approached under the call of the king's trumpeter. Aethelbert pulled his horse to a halt and looked away from the waiting tangle of business.
"Where, your highness?" Theobald's tone was soft and patient.
Aethelbert turned his horse's head and clucked to the beast, which whinnied in return. The young king led them to the grave mounds behind the church, where he dismounted. His horse lowered its head, as if in reverence of the sacred place.
"Aethelred, Alfred." Aethelbert motioned to his younger brothers.
The boys dismounted and sloshed through the puddles to stand next to their brother, who was still, with one hand upon the large boulder that sealed the tomb.
"Our mother and father are here," Aethelred whispered to Alfred.
The entire army stood quiet before the giant mounds of earth, which looked like round, natural hills with grass, flowers, and a few trees growing over them. Belied only by their geometric perfection, the man-made hills held the bodies of the most important Saxon people. Aethelbert wept for his departed wife. Alfred prayed, and was relieved when the king finally led them away from the mounds, and they walked their horses past the church and into the great hall.
The main hearth fire roared and crackled its invitation, and Alfred was grateful to stand in front of it and thaw his toes. A servant brought clean clothes for the royals first, then for Theobald, Gwald, and Wulfheard, and then for all the men further away from the king in the order of their importance. Wihtred disappeared from Alfred's sight for only a moment while the young lord removed his sopping tunic. No privacy was afforded in the large, one room hall, and Alfred undressed in front of all the people, as did his brothers. Alfred looked down to unfold his fresh tunic and noticed three hairs on his chest. He blushed crimson and quickly covered himself with a clean shirt. He knew that all men had hair on their chests and that it stood to reason that he, too, would grow it, but somehow, he had never really considered the fact that he was going to be any different.
The hall was filled with distractions, and Aethelred moved away from the bustle of the crowd as soon as he was changed. Alfred, too, found that a smaller fire would provide more comfort than a roaring one, which was crowded with roaring men trying to gain the king's ear. Withred came to him at the smaller fire and Alfred smiled to see his friend. As they had learned to pray in crowded halls, they crossed themselves right there at the cooking fire and began their prayers.
As he prayed, Alfred's mind drifted and he meditated deeply, listening for the words of God instead of filling the prayer time with his own thoughts. He was acutely aware of his own breathing, and of the warmth of the fire on his face. He could feel the comforting presence of Wihtred, even though he kept his eyes closed. The sounds of animals, people, and wooden spoons clunking against the side of metal pots, all came to him, and Alfred breathed the pungent smells of the house, of the many people and animals that called the hall their home. All the halls belonged to the king, but none of them were home to the king, or to his brothers.
The air of the room swirled around him, and Alfred retreated deeper into his own mind. He felt weightless, almost as if he could rise out of his own body along with the heat of the fire, and drift above the din of the room. He felt that he was above them, looking down at his own breathing body, lit softly by the cooking fire, his hair wavering in the fire's wind.
His mind's eye did not see all the people around him, and he reasoned that the peat smoke was thick. He sensed the king at the main fire, discussing farming and battling. He did not have to see the men to know that Theobald was sitting at the king's right hand. Gwald and Wulfheard, too, sat close to the king while they listened intently to his words. Alfred mentally searched the room for Aethelred, who was not among the council. Instead, he was entertaining himself with a servant girl, and the well-born young ladies of the court were discussing him at the next fire over. "He might be the heir-apparent, but he sullied himself with all the peasants." "What wife would want to be married to that?" "And he is to marry in less than a year. I hope for her sake that he acts like a prince by then." Alfred knew the young women's names but had never spoken to any of them. Their fathers were nearby, if not at the king's hearth, and they were all watching to make sure that no one spoke to their treasured female children, who could be valuable under the right conditions. The servants created a buzz around the important people as they moved from place to place, and the dogs followed close at their heels. The dogs were most loyal to the house servants, Alfred noted, and the servants made sure that the dogs were fed.
A woman walked outside where the spring rain had turned into fat snowflakes, and two dogs followed her while she grabbed an armload of firewood and turned back quickly. "Let's get back, boys." She spoke to the dogs. "It's cold again."
Alfred did not feel the cold. The woman and her canine companions went back into the warm glow of the hall, but Alfred turned to look up at the never-ending blanket of sky above him, and he sense his proximity to God. He felt for a moment that he could will himself to fly upward, further and further, until he reached heaven itself among the stars, but then he saw that the stars were infinite, and no matter how far he flew, he was still among them.
A loud crash jolted Alfred awake, even though he had not been sleeping. He opened his eyes slowly and focused on the frantic cook, who had dropped an entire pot of soup, and the dogs were madly trying to clean up hot bits of meat as broth soaked into the rushed that covered the floor. He looked near tears as he picked up the pot and saw that there was nothing of the meat to save. He shook with fear, and Alfred felt every bit of his emotion.
"Steady," Alfred whispered.
The head cook came from across the hall to inspect the commotion, and Alfred could see that he was mad. Alfred stood up, feeling weightless after the strange meditation, and more serene than he could remember ever being.
"Steady," Alfred repeated, looking up at the cook who bore down angrily on the scene. "I spilled the pot."
Silence fell over everyone in the corner of the hall, and the absence of noise was noted by the others around them, who stopped their conversations to watch the spilled soup incident. Even the dogs had finished snapping up their unexpected treats and had become silenet.
"But, my lord," the guilty servant shook his head, still holding the pot as evidence of his own misdoing. "I spilled it, I tripped here, and nearly fell."
"No." Alfred looked from the servant the head cook. "I spilled the soup. I apologize."
The cook knew that he was lying, but he had not authority to say so. "It matters not, my lord, as long as your person has not been burned or harmed in any way."
"No one is hurt," Alfred assured him.
Then the cook looked back at his subordinate, who trembled. "We shall serve the bread first."
The servant nodded and back away, and the crowd of people hid him as others gathered around to view the incident. "What happened?" asked several new spectators.
Alfred watched the servants move away in different directions, going about their own tasks. Alfred looked at Wihtred, who had silently observed. Around them, in hushed voices, people started telling the tale of what had happened to any late comer who wanted to listen. They were quiet, but Alfred could hear them.
"Saved him a good beating." "Like a saint, he was." "The clumsy oaf spilled the soup. Again."
The chatter was broken with the sound of a trumpet call, which announced a rider.
"What could it be?" King Aethelbert looked first to Theobald, because he was as close as usual to the king's face. Theobald nodded to one of his own servants, who darted outside to gather the news. The servant jumped onto a horse and rode out of the wide doors as quickly as the sleepy animal could carry him. Everyone in the hall watched and waited.
"Here they come!" shouted a boy near the door.
Theobald's servant came dashing back into the hall. "A letter for his highness!" the servant announced. And two strides behind him rode the letter-carrier himself.
The rider was a Mercian soldier, gleaming in well-polished steel. He leapt from his horse and pulled off his helm, reavealing golden hair. With the helm in one hand, and a rolled parchment scroll in the other, the Mercian strode into the hall. "I am to put this in the hand of the King of Wessex," the soldier announced.
Aethelbert got up from his seat beside the fire and took the letter, which he then handed over to Bishop Aethelheard. The old bishop took the scroll with trembling hands and broke the seal with effort. He unrolled the parchment and squinted at the words. He held the parchment close to his eyes, then moved it far away from his face, but he could not see well enough to read the scroll, and he shook his head sadly.
"Bishop Wihtred can read it," Alfred suggested.
Aethelbert nodded his permission and Wihtred got up to retrieve the scroll. There was not a whisper among any of the people, high-born or low, within the walls of the hall. Everyone had turned to watch the rider, and the scroll that he carried as it was passed from one hand to another. Wihtred took the paper and looked over the words, then a smile spread across his face.
"The Lady Aethelswith of Mercia has brought a son into the world," Wihtred announced. "The boy has dark hair and a hearty cry."
Goosebumps ran up Alfred's arms. He closed his eyes to thank God that his sister survived childbirth.
"How is she?" Aethelbert edged closer to Wihtred, looking at the marks on the paper that he could not understand. "Does the letter say if she is well?"
"Both mother and son are well," Wihtred assured, his smile so broad that his face appeared ready to crack.
"We must go and see her," Aethelbert said to Theobald, who prompltly turned away to make the king's travel plans.
"A grandson of the old lion," approved the Ealdorman of Canterbury.
"So," Theobald turned back from his servants, who scurried away to carry out his orders. "Your highness's own children, with God's grace one day, will have an elder cousin to show them the ways of life." Theobald wrapped an arm around Aethelbert's shoulders and squeezed him. "There is a lord in East Anglia with a very pretty daughter. Perhaps your highness would like to …"
Aethelbert glared at him, then looked back at the flames of the hearth.
"Your highness," interjected the Ealdorman of Canterbury. "It is time for you to start thinking …"
"It is too soon," Aethelbert shook his head.
"You must produce an heir," the ealdorman pointed out.
"Aethelred will marry before I do again," Aethelbert told them, shaken to his core with grief. "His marriage contract has already been signed."
Alfred glanced at Aethelred, who seemed little affected by the news, and Alfred could surmise that he already knew about the contract.
"Your highness," sighed the ealdorman, "she has been dead for near six months. You lay a great burden on your younger brothers if they grow to adulthood before you have an heir. There could be contentions about the line of succession if you have no sons. Your highness see reason! For the sake of your kingdom, of Wessex, and of the longevity of the House of Cerdic!"
"What the ealdorman means to say," Theobald interjected, his tone hostile and reprimanding as he looked down at the older, but shorter, lord. "Is that if you do not have a son and name him your heir before Aethelred becomes a man, then your own brother might kill your issue when you finally do have one, and perhaps yourself as well when he sees his inheritance threatened. Is that right, Ealdorman?" Theobald sneered. "You do not seem to realize that this is a dynasty of brothers, a family of true blood. No such threat shall ever exist. The king has already done his duty to this kingdom when he married the Lady Giselda, may her soul rest in peace."
Alfred crossed himself, as did every man around the king's fire.
"Now he mourns her, and we should give the king a year for mourning. Is that acceptable, your highness?"
"I killed her," Aethelbert said.
"My lord," Theobald clucked. "No."
"I killed her when I put the child in her," Aethelbert told them, tears streaming down his face. "She was too young, or too small. She could not handle it. And it is my fault, I tell you! I will never marry again. I will never have an heir. Aethelred is the future king."
The mood of the evening became weighted, and the conversations took on a lower pitch. The drinking was subdued, and the few pockets of laughter that rose up were quickly quelled. Alfred was able to steal away to the altar at the back of the hall, and Wihtred and Wulfheard joined him for several quiet hours. Alfred mentally recited his Latin liturgy, and as he finished, he started thinking again about that floating feeling that he had during prayers earlier, and he wondered how a dream could occur even though he was awake, for he had been able to look down at his own resting body, and he could see the pink flush of his cheeks, the muss in the back of his hair that he could not otherwise see, and all with perfect clarity of detail. It was no dream; he knew that he had been outside of his own body.
If he had continued floating high above the island, he might have seen the destruction going on in the north, where fires blazed and the conquering Northerners subdued their Saxon subjects, and returned their slaves to chains, sending the previously brave Aelle the Second into hiding, and firming their grip on the northern kingdom of the Saxon island.