The day was clear and unusually bright. Sun dappled the water and reflected its rays back into Alfred's eyes.
"The Greater Abbot of Rochester awaits you," Aethelbert told him. "And Wihtred will attend you there, as well as Wulfheard and two others whom I have chosen as your servants. I will continue to the estuary, and there meet with the King of East Anglia. The king has begged my attendance, so I will not linger long in Rochester."
"Yes, brother."
Alfred pondered what it meant to be away from his brother, and his mind floated back to his time in West Francia. He rode in silence until the forest opened into a clearing and they could see the Hall of Rochester.
The road quickly filled with peasants and merchants who moved to the edges of the road to be out of the way of the parade. Alfred could hear compliments to their horses, the fabric of their tunics, and the sparkling jewels that adorned them. Wildflowers were thrown at the feet of their horses, and children held out apples and other treats for the people. Alfred ignored them as much as he could, following the line of horses into the courtyard of the house, where the average people were not allowed.
Alfred dismounted and stayed behind Aethelbert as much as he could. Bishop Wihtred and Ser Wulfheard got off their horses and stood behind him, which was both a way to bolster his confidence, and a way to block him from jumping back on his horse and running away. Alfred had never run away before, but he often thought about it. The idea of absolute freedom was enticing, but the thought of it terrified him with paralyzing fear.
He looked around the courtyard filled with the people of the Rochester House, from the lords to the servants. He straightened his back, lifted his chin, and assumed his part in the pageantry as the Lord of Rochester greeted the king.
"Your highness!" the fat lord grinned and embraced the king. "Bless God for bringing you to us! And my lord," he turned to Alfred. "You have grown into a man!"
Alfred replied with a crooked, self-conscious smile. He was pleased to have his adult status recognized, but also certain he did not deserve it. The Lord of Rochester was the same age as the king, and the two had known each other almost since birth. They went right to drinking and feasting and reveling in any stories that anyhone in attendance could remember concerning the two of them. But the reunion was a short one, and in only two days, Alfred stood in front of the hall and watched the king's banners trail behind him until the soldiers were out of sight. It was the first time Alfred had found himself out of the company of his brothers in over two years, and he was relieved as well as afraid, and perpetually grateful for Wihtred's constant presence.
"My lord," the Lord of Rochester turned his kind face toward Alfred. "Will you be eager to get to the monastery, or may we entertain you here for some time?"
"No." Alfred looked to Wihtred and Wulfheard. "We will go immediately."
The horses were prepared in minutes, and Alfred was back in his saddle, this time leading the procession with Lord Rochester at his left, and Wulfheard on his right-hand side. Wihtred trailed behind with the aspiring squires that Aethelbert had assigned to him, and several servants of the Rochester household, who traveled with their master even though the monastery was less than an hour's ride from the hall.
The Rochester monastery was a squat, angry looking building made of magnificently large gray bricks. There were no windows, and the walls were as thick as Alfred was tall, but the quiet peacefulness of the interior was welcoming, and candlelight filled the main room, where men with shaved heads were bent over, either reading, copying, or binding books. The smell of leather, vellum, and ink mingled with the smells of straw, peat, and people, and the pungent aroma was thick and familiar.
The men were modestly attired in un-dyed fabrics, and Bishop Wihtred, who always wore a simple monk's habit, blended with the brothers instantly. One among them was dressed finer than the rest, and wore a rosary with a large, jewel-encrusted crucifix hanging around his neck. He came to the door to meet them.
"My lord," he bowed to Alfred. "I am Abbot Faelbric. It is a great pleasure to have you here. I think you will like our library. We have over fifty books and scrolls, and all is at your disposal. If you need anything, I am personally available to you."
Alfred had hoped for anonymity while he studied and prayed, but his fine jewels sparkled in the light of the burning wicks, and he still wore his leather armor, though all swords had been removed and sat leaning against the exterior wall of the building. Perhaps it will be different, he thought to himself, after I take my vows and shave my head.
"Over here are the refectory and the sleeping quarters." Abbot Faelbric showed them the rest of the interior space. "Of course, my lord shall have use of the abbot's cottage while we are blessed with your company."
The sleeping quarters were comprised of piles of straw and neatly hung blankets, and the refectory was a room with a large cooking pit surrounded by pots, a small table for food preparation, barrels of ale and several containters, one over-filled with milled flour. Alfred inspected everything with interest, his hands politely clasped behind his back as he looked over the supplies.
"The former abbot kept many servants," Faelbric told them. "But as you can see, we only have five now. The brothers make up the work and it is good for their souls, and their bodies as well."
"I approve of every man doing work," Alfred said. "I, too, would beg to have a responsibility while I am here, if a suitable one can be found."
"There is always enough to keep a young man busy," the abbot assured him. "If you can hold a light for several hours, you may attend me as I read in the evening. Often, I get correspondences from the king and the lords, and you may want to be aware of events."
"No," Alfred admitted. "I would not like that."
"Counting, then, in the kitchen. Brother Halfric can show you."
"Very well," Alfred agreed. "If something important arises, if my brother writes to me, of course …"
"You will be kept informed," promised the abbot.
A scuffle broke out behind him, and Alfred turned to see his new squires punching one another. Wulfheard grabbed both by the back of their tunics and pulled them apart. Alfred set his jaw and sighed, then turned back to the abbot and attempted an apologetic grimace.
They were shown to the abbot's quarters, a private building a few steps from the monastery. It contained a large bed pallet, an altar, and a few amenities. They were given time to refresh and Alfred waited until the door was closed before he turned angrily toward his two squires.
"Why are you two fighting within the walls of a monastery?" Alfred demanded to know.
"I am sorry, my lord." The younger one hung his head.
The elder glared at the other for a moment, them humbled himself as well.
Alfred did not press the issue, instead he washed his face and hands and then led his group back to the refectory for the last meal of the day. The supper was accompanied by a reading of a Biblical passage. The rest of the evening was dedicated to prayer and reflection.
Alfred prayed for his brothers, and for his kingdom, but also for himself, for his soul and for an answer to the feelings that unsettled him from within. Several times his meditation was interrupted by his squires quietly bickering. The following day they were at it again before the sun rose.
"Efrog, it is my turn to oil the leather. It is your turn to groom the horses."
"No, Uther! I groomed the horses yesterday, and you know that I already oiled the armor!"
"You just woke up!"
"I did it last night, while YOU were sleeping!"
Alfred sat up from his bed pallet and glared, quieting them instantly, but they still jerked things out of one another's hands and one elbowed the other in the ribs at breakfast.
"We need some exercise," Wulfheard told Alfred. "There is too much energy here."
"Yes, well." Alfred looked across the room where the two were fighting over a hunk of bread. "They are squires. They can have no better instruction than what you might offer them, Wulfheard."
"I have no interest in training squires," Wulfheard said.
Alfred sighed. "Must I? Again?"
"How would it look if your servants were better swordsmen than yourself, my lord?"
Alfred relented and went with Wulfheard to the outskirts of the monastery where they could draw swords without offending God. Wihtred accompanied them and sat still, watching while Wulfheard instructed the three boys together.
Uther, the elder boy, had wild blonde hair and inquisitive blue eyes. He also had a natural talent for the weapon. Efrog, who had dark hair and green eyes, had a pure determination even though he was not as good with the sword at first. Aflred envied them both. He knew that Wulfheard would have been pleased if Alfred could manage to emulate either of those qualities. They worked until Alfred was tired, then Wulfheard kept the other two at it until they could no longer lift their arms. Still, they were bickering again as soon as they turned to walk back to the monastery.
"What is the matter with the two of you?" Alfred asked. "All you ever do is fight!"
"Beg your pardon, my lord." Uther looked shamed. "He is my younger brother, and my father told me to look after him."
Efrog shook his head and his mussed, sweaty black forelock shook back and forth. "That is not what he said!"
"Enough!" Alfred growled at them. "I will hear no more of it. If you must fight with one another, you will do it far away from me."
"Yes, my lord." Uther and Efrog spoke in unison, and they kept their peace for most of the day.
In the evening, Abbot Faelbric found Alfred in the library corner of the main room.
"I am sorry to disturb you, my lord." The abbot bowed. "But we have a problem with your squires."
Alfred closed his eyes. "What could it possibly be?"
"A fight. A quarrel that damaged some property near the stable."
Alfred stood up from his place on the floor. "I will see them."
"Your man is holding them outside, my lord."
Alfred went to the courtyard, and Withred hurried after him.
Wulfheard had them by the collars of their tunics, and they both hung their head when Alfred walked up to them.
"Why?" Alfred's face flushed red. He was more frustrated than he could remember ever being. "Why?" He shook, gripping his hands into fists. "What on Earth is wrong with the two of you? I do not understand why you can not sit quietly and read!"
"We cannot read, my lord," Efrog said.
"Have not learned, is what you mean," Alfred corrected. "Then you will both learn to read. You will have lessons daily, and I will find one of the monks to teach you. Why did my brother assign you to me?" Alfred wondered out loud. "Why did he think that you would be suited for MY service?"
"Begging your pardon, my lord," said Uther. "I pleaded with him to make it so."
"WHY?"
"You were kind to me once, several years ago. It was when you first came to Southwark from the continent, you gave me a trencher of food."
"Our mother was sick," Efrog interupted. "She died the next day, but the food that Uther brought home to her … it was a great comfort."
"We are indebted to you, Lord Alfred. If you command us to learn how to read, then that is what we will do," Uther promised. "But please, do not banish us from your service."
Alfred stared at Uther but could not remember his face, nor an incident of giving him a trencher of food, but they both seemed certain.
"The fighting must stop," Alfred told them. "You must find a way. There can be no more disruption to the peaceful life of the monastery. Do you understand? We are guests here, and you represent the king."
"Yes, my lord."