Bilwitne monn ne forsioh þu; oft stille wæter staðu breceð.

Don't scorn a gentle person; often still water breaks at the shore, Disticha Catonis


From a young age, Ceolbert of Mercia listened carefully to the words of the adults in his life.

Be kind, as Christ commands, his mother had told him, and so Ceolbert remained courteous and charitable to a fault.

Be just, as it is asked of a thegn of Mercia, his father had taught him, and so Ceolbert endeavoured to be fair.

Show mercy, be open-handed, dedicate your life in the service of others. These were the lessons that Ceolbert took to heart, the ones given by the holy men in charge of his education. Seek to learn, remain content with less, value self-discipline most of all. Those were the words of wise scholars now centuries dead, written in precious old texts gathered over the years by Ceolbert's father.

He strived to live up to these lofty ideals. Did everything in his power to make his father proud, to be the perfect heir that King Ceolwulf deserved. The path ahead should have been clear; the world should have stayed ever so simple.

So how, Ceolbert thought, shivering and bleeding to his death in this cold, dark cave, had it come to this?


"Is that him?" King Burgred had asked Ceolbert's father, one day he had made the journey north to Repton. "Is this your heir?"

If Ceolbert had been older, he would have heard something other than a simple question within these words. He would have wondered why his father's hands had tightened at his side, he would have noticed the nasty upturn of the king's mouth.

But Ceolbert had only seen six winters. Instead, he grasped at his mother's skirts, a strange and unpleasant feeling swooping low in his stomach.

"Go on, then, dearest," Mother said, nudging Ceolbert forward. "Introduce yourself."

At this gentle demand, Ceolbert looked away, inadvertently meeting his sister Sunngifu's eye. There was a strange tightness to her expression. Why, he wondered? She usually had a bright and sunny disposition, much like her name suggested. She had spent the morning calming him; with the king's party, there had been so many strangers bustling about his father's hall that Ceolbert had wanted nothing but to hide all day under the furs on his cot. Sunni had told him that one was bravest when standing tall in the face of their fears. And so Ceolbert had agreed to meet their royal guest, if only to make her proud.

With timid steps, Ceolbert came to face the king, bowing to the man just as his mother had instructed. Then, he opened his mouth to speak. Still, the moment he met King Burgred's eyes, the words caught in his throat. The way the king was looking at him made him feel… small. Like a stupid boy who didn't deserve to speak up.

"I'm… my name is…" was all Ceolbert could say. Why were the sounds all tumbling in his mouth like rocks coming down from a waterfall? "M-My name, it's…"

"What's wrong with him?" said the king. "Is he…" He made a vague hand gesture, mouth still curled upward. Sunngifu's scowl grew even more pronounced.

"He's a little shy, that's all," Mother said, pulling Ceolbert back and stroking his hair. Hot tears burned at his eyes as he buried his face into the fabric of her skirts.

The king looked around. "Your other boys were more lively, weren't they? A rowdy bunch, if I remember right. Couldn't hear ourselves think, heh!"

Ceolbert's mother gasped softly. Father looked as if he'd been struck.

"Ah…" he said, after a slight silence. "Well…"

The king was now scrutinizing Sunngifu, who looked away with a furious blush. "You had another daughter as well, didn't you? Close in age with my son?"

"Einilda was two winters older than Ceolbert," Father croaked.

Ceolbert remembered her more than Ceolhelm and Ceolweard, who had died when he'd been little. She had often teased him for being so small, but she had also defended from other boys when they had been too rough with him. Ceolbert also recalled the hectic days of her passing all too well. Einilda had grown very sick last winter, and Mother had cried herself to sleep every night at her bedside. That had been scary; Ceolbert had never seen his mother cry before.

"Your Einilda could have been married to my heir Beorhtweald," the king continued. "This one is much too old. She'll have her own gaggle of children by the time my son comes of age."

Father licked his lips. "We were… we were thinking of a match for her. This summer, perhaps…"

Sunngifu's expression was now openly belligerent. Ceolbert looked up at his mother; she'd gone very pale and stiff.

The king appeared supremely uninterested in Father's plans for Sunngifu's future; he had the same bored expression she wore whenever the sermons in church stretched for too long. "Yes, of course. You wouldn't want to wait for too long. No man wants an old bride for their sons."

Ceolbert wished he could hug his sister; she was red-faced from shame. Finally, Father said, with a hoarse voice, "Come sit, my lord. We should eat while everything is still warm."

The next morning, Ceolbert woke up to find his sister's cot empty. In complete silence, he dressed himself, sneaking out of the chambers he shared with Sunngifu. The meadhall was still filled with guests, all of them snoring loudly as the servants bustled about. The men he had seen accompanying the king were big and scary, with swords at their hip and faces hidden by frightful-looking helms; Ceolbert did not want to wake them up. He passed through the hall on tiptoes, unseen by his father's servants. Ceolbert was good at passing unnoticed.

As expected, no one paid him any mind, and Ceolbert slipped outside. The rising sun was low on the horizon, bathing the waking city of Repton in its diffuse glow. The misty morning air was not yet filled by the sounds of town life, and so Ceolbert could hear some grunts coming from behind the longhouse and the blunt noise of wood hitting wood. He followed the sounds, finally seeing his sister; dressed in a simple tunic like a boy, she was swatting a tree with a wooden sword.

"I thought Father was displeased when you practised swordplay?" Ceolbert asked, frowning.

With a yelp, Sunngifu whirled around, swinging her wooden blade toward Ceolbert's face. He gave a little scream, shielding himself with his hands. To his great horror, his eyes stung with tears.

"Jesus, little brother! Sunngifu exclaimed as she lowered her weapon. "Didn't I tell you to stop sneaking up on me?"

"I-I'm sorry," Ceolbert sputtered, "I woke up and y-you weren't there, a-and—"

"Oh, you silly!" Sunngifu gathered him into her arms, then peppered his face with kisses until he wriggled himself free from her grasp, making a face of disgust. Sunngifu laughed in response.

"So," she said, hands on her hips, "here for a fencing lesson, are you?" At his expression of dismay, Sunngifu laughed again. "Of course not! So predictable!"

Her red-gold hair was dishevelled, her usually neat braids coming all apart. Ceolbert recalled how loudly the cracks of her sword against the tree back had resounded in the cold morning air, and how silent and sullen she had been at the feast last night. He frowned.

"Are you all right, Sunni?" Ceolbert asked, sitting on a nearby log.

Her smile dissipated, replaced by a scowl. "It's that man, that king. What a piece of scum!" Sunngifu turned to face the tree again, raising her sword. "Didn't you see how he and his men just ate and ate last night? Like pigs they were! And Father just let him treat us that way! Why didn't he say anything?"

"He's the king," Ceolbert pointed out. "We have to respect his authority."

"So we are supposed to bow our heads and be grateful for any abuse he sends our way? Is that what you mean?"

Ceolbert's brows furrowed. "I… I don't know…"

"Mother says Father is bidding his time, but it seems to me that he is. Just. Sitting. On his arse!" Sunngifu punctuated each word with a fierce sweep of her wooden sword. If her blade had been metal, then nothing would have been left of the bark but wooden scraps. "And you know what that means?"

Ceolbert didn't really want to know. Still, he nodded, waiting for her answer.

"It means Father's weak," Sunngifu snarled, striking the tree again. "That means he won't fight for his own dignity—he won't fight for us."

Ceolbert's frown deepened. Father always told him that men were supposed to be strong—and yet Sunngifu was saying that he was acting weak in deference to the king. Why would he behave that way? It just didn't make sense.

"Men have to be strong," Ceolbert voiced their father's lesson out loud. "Father wouldn't act weak. He couldn't."

Sunngifu rolled her eyes, wiping the sweat at her brow with her sleeve. "Oh, listen to you, parroting those words like the good little boy you are. The men who are obsessed with strength aren't strong, they're the most cowardly of all. Like that king. He'd be the first to flee with his tail between his legs at the first sign of trouble."

Ceolbert hugged his knees, suddenly feeling very small. "Being a man sounds hard," he muttered. He remembered the way the king had looked at him, and he was suddenly struck with a realization, one that would plague him for the rest of his short life. Again, he felt small and insignificant.

"And being a woman isn't?" Sunngifu spat back. "Oh, I hate them! Men should be this, and women should be that! Men should drink and belch and grope wenches, oh, they should enjoy killing and hunting!"

Ceolbert hung down his head, unable to stifle a grimace. Father had promised they would go hunting soon, this very summer even. It scared him a little. Ceolbert loved watching the beasts, big and little, that prowled the village and the surrounding woods, delighting in a squirrel's tufty red tail, in the waddling of the duck, in the quivering of the hare's small triangle nose. He had a particular fondness for deer, so grand and majestic, their antlers looking like a king's crown. Last time Father had brought a buck from his hunt, Ceolbert had to force back his tears at the sight of it; the animal's dead and empty gaze had struck him hard, sure as the arrow that had taken its life.

"And to think of what these louts say of women!" Sunngifu continued her rant, unaware of Ceolbert's uneasiness. "A gaggle of children! Do I look like I want to become a waddling whale on land?"

Ceolbert didn't understand what she meant, not really, yet he laughed a little. Sunngifu turned to grin at him.

"Oh, you find this funny, do you?" she said, that familiar twinkle coming back to her brown eyes. Before he could react, she had thrown her sword aside, capturing him into a tight embrace. Sunngifu giggled as she ticked him mercilessly. Ceolbert grumbled in response, but he made no move to free himself; he did not like being touched by other people, but Sunngifu was one of the rare exceptions.

"Oh, you!" she said. "You're a right bit of sunshine in human form, you are!"

Mercifully, she stopped tickling him. Ceolbert sat in her lap, absent-mindedly grabbing one of her braids. Sunngifu did not mind when he played with her hair. She understood he found it soothing to make and unmake her braids.

She rested her chin on the top of his head. Soon, the whole of her hair was loose. "Oh, little brother," Sunngifu sighed. "What am I going to do with you…?"

He looked up at her in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

She kissed his head, clamping her arms tighter around him—a bit too tightly, even.

"Sunni!" Ceolbert exclaimed, scrunching up his nose. "Let me go!"

She only laughed, ruffling his hair. "Never! You'll be my prisoner… forever and ever!"

Her threats were empty, in the end. The following summer, their father made good on his promise, and he had her married to a young reeve in the service of the king in Tamworth. Not a year later, and Sunngifu was gone, along with the child she'd died to bring into the world.

Ceolbert mourned her, in the confused manner of a frightened child kept in the dark by overprotective parents. His memories of her misted over with time, softening the blunt edges of grief.

And he forgot the lesson she had shared with him that day.


Ceolbert had seen twelve winters when he saw the king again.

The rumours and threats of war that had been brewing through his childhood had erupted into all-out conflict in the four kingdoms of England. Stories of the Danes' cruelty swept through Repton like fire through dry grass. Of course, Ceolwulf tried to keep these bloodcurdling tales away from the ears of his only surviving child, but Ceolbert heard them all the same from the refugees fleeing to the safety of the city walls. The heathens desecrated churches, enslaved good Christian people, burned villages and fields alike. The attacks had only stopped when the king had agreed to pay Danegeld to keep the pagans away from Mercian lands.

Still, the king and Ceolbert's father wanted to be ready for another round of hellish raids. Two out of the four kingdoms of the Isle of Britannia had fallen to the invaders. Northumbria was now ruled by King Ecgberht, a puppet of the Danes. And, of course, the whole of England was aware of the dreadful fate that had befallen Edmund of East Anglia; they say the man had been tortured and beheaded when he had refused to renounce the Christian faith.

Ceolbert could scarcely believe that such cruelty was possible. The demons capable of these monstrous deeds belonged in fables and legends, not a world filled with the wisdom of the ancients and the light of Christ's teachings. It simply made no sense.

From the king's agitated state, it was evident that he disagreed with Ceolbert's assertion. "Animals, the lot of them!" he exclaimed, alternating between stuffing his mouth with roasted pork and ranting about the enemy. Ceolwulf had prepared a feast of kingly proportion to host the man and his company, but they were going through this lavish fare at an alarming rate. Ceolbert's mother—his heart pinched a little at the thought of her—would have been appalled by the king's table manners. "These Danes don't have a shred of humanity inside them!"

"I agree," Ceolwulf said. "It's why we must—"

Burgred slammed his fist on the table. Ceolbert fought hard to keep himself from flinching. "And to think of these Dane-loving cowards and traitors! These puppets should follow their heathen masters to Hell!"

Ceolwulf remained silent in the face of the king's anger. When they had heard what had happened in Northumbria and East Anglia, Ceolbert had asked his father why good Saxon men would side with the pagan invaders. Ceolwulf had replied, "People do strange things when they are scared for their lives, my son. And stranger things still in defence of the people they love."

"But in doing so they act dishonourably," Ceolbert had said, frowning. That ran opposite of all he had been taught.

Ceolwulf had sighed. "Honour is an easy concept to defend when it is a word put to parchment. In practice… well, with God's grace you will have to find out yourself. Don't lose sleep over it, my boy."

And yet Ceolbert had lain awake that night, thinking of his father's words, wondering why the man held compassion for traitors who had sold their honour and kingdom for a crown. Surely they were as evil as the pagan beasts that commanded them?

For the first time over half a decade, he'd remembered his sister's words. Father's weak. He won't fight for his own dignity.

Would he fight for his own honour, then?

Ceolbert picked at the food on his plate, unsettled by these thoughts. The king gnawed on a particularly tough piece of meat, tearing at it with his teeth.

"If only they hadn't taken Snotingham!" Burgred exclaimed. "We've been losing the war ever since!"

"We couldn't have predicted the sickness that got through the men during the siege," Ceolwulf said, calmly. "Appeasing the pagans with Danegeld ensured we lived to see another day, my lord."

His father's words sparked a realization in Ceolbert's mind. "'In war, important events often result from trivial causes,'" he mused out loud.

He hung down his head and blushed when the king turned to stare at him. "What was that, boy?"

If Ceolbert could have hidden under the table, he would have. "A quote of Caesar's," he mumbled, eventually. "You cannot be prepared for every eventuality, but one has to be ready regardless."

Burgred laughed out loud. "A little scholar! Like my wife's youngest brother. Always with his nose in a text, that one. When he's not spending his time in the shitter, that is!"

A muscle jumped by the corner of Ceolwulf's mouth. "Lord, this is your own brother-in-law you are talking about. The brother of the king who fought the Danes with us."

"Oh, if you'd met the man, you would say the same," Burgred replied. "Dour, he is, always prattling about his scriptures and his ancient texts. And with his illness, there's not much hope to make much use out of him." He waved his knife at Ceolbert. "Young Ceolbald, do make sure you don't grow up to be like my goodbrother Aelfred, hmm?"

Ceolbert broke eye contact, looking at his plate instead. "Ceolbert. My name's Ceolbert."

"What's that?" the king said. "Speak up, boy!"

Ceolbert didn't answer. His cheeks were growing hot with shame.

Burgred burst out in laughter. "My! You'll have your hands full with this one's education, my friend! Ceolwulf, you must teach your son that a man has to be bold! He won't lead men into battle by mumbling and muttering, will he?"

"Of course, lord," Ceolwulf answered. Ceolbert noted how tightly he was holding his knife. "Of course."

He won't fight for his own dignity.

Ceolbert looked away from his father, feeling like a speck of dust.

He won't fight for us.


In the autumn of Ceolbert's fifteenth year, Mercia prepared for war.

The king's riches were not sufficient anymore to appease their violent neighbours. The leader of the Dane horde—the one they called Halfdan Ragnarsson—wanted to subjugate Mercia, much as he had done with Northumbria and East Anglia. Of course, the devious pagans had made sure to bleed the kingdom dry before breaking their oath of peace.

Now laughter and song had gone from the hall of Ceolbert's father; the warriors who once feasted around the hearth fire were grim-faced, and only curses and prayers left their mouths. People whispered that the Danes would lay siege to the city before winter; the city's walls were strengthened, weapons and supplies were gathered, strategies were made.

And the whole of Repton began to hold its breath.

The king had sent one of his war thegns to help with the preparations. Leofrith was tall, dark and handsome, appearing like a hero of old who'd just stepped out of Mercia's glorious golden age. The man had been greeted as a saviour by the people of Repton, who had gathered and cheered when he had ridden into town, some women even throwing flowers at the feet of his steed.

In the morning following his arrival, Leofrith had asked Ceolbert to go with him to the training grounds. Ceolbert felt half a foolish boy again as he dogged the man's steps, sensing the scrutiny of the other soldiers on him. He could read the tenor of their thoughts all too easily, especially while he stood before Leofrith's tall form, hands shaking as he raised his sword and shield aloft.

Be bold, he could almost them say, with paternalism that bordered on the disdainful, speak louder, laugh harder, shout to drown out the voices of those surrounding you. A man should not be quiet, a man should not be meek, a man should not be uncertain.

Ceolbert parried one of Leofrith's attacks—just a little too late. His feet slipped in the mud and he fell on his rear, prompting some chuckles from the other men. Immediately, Ceolbert stood up, brushing his clothes without a word. He was used to their grins by now.

Ceolbert grit his teeth, and he spurred himself forward. Men had to be strong. Men had to be honourable. And Leofrith was a shining example of both virtues. Mercia needed people such as him.

Not foolish boys such as—

With a powerful swing, Leofrith sent Ceolbert's shield flying out of his hand. Another stroke of the sword, and the edge of the blade was at his neck. Ceolbert's cheeks flushed with shame at the snickers flaring around him.

"All of you, shut it!" Leofrith commanded, and they fell silent. "Are you fighting men of Mercia or giggling children? Will the Danes be amused by your antics, I wonder?"

The men, now chastised, returned to their exercises. Ceolbert pointedly continued to look at his feet, unable to meet Leofrith's intense gaze.

"Your mind was elsewhere, lad," the man said, handing Ceolbert his shield. "You need to stay focused on the fight. The Danes won't be as merciful as I am if you are distracted in battle."

"O-Of course, lord. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You have the making of a good fighter in you. You only need experience and discipline. One you will earn in battle. The other, however, I will gladly teach you."

God, Ceolbert's face had surely grown crimson by now, and his heart thumped in his ears. He was rarely given such compliments. "Thank you, lord," he said, giving the man a rare, genuine smile. "I will make sure not to disappoint!"

"Good. You've a kind spirit, lad, and that makes you understand something that many men fail—or refuse—to grasp. You must fight… but you must take no joy in battle."

"Of course, lord," Ceolbert replied, standing straight as an arrow. "Honour can only be found in war through restraint."

"Well said," said Leofrith. "At least we can take pride in it. We will be defending our king, our homeland. These pagan brutes will stop at nothing. They'll burn our churches, sell our children as slaves, rape our women." A shadow passed over his face, and Ceolbert knew Leofrith was thinking of his sister Maethild, who was his only remaining family. "We cannot let them take Mercia, do you hear?"

"Yes, lord."

"Lad!" a voice called in the distance. "There you are!"

Ceolwulf was heading toward the training grounds, no doubt to inspect the soldiers in their morning exercises. The man was frowning—no, scowling would be a better term. Ceolbert wondered why; his father was not one to show emotion easily.

"Father," he said, bowing down his head.

Ceolwulf looked him up and down. He seemed agitated. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked Leofrith. "Why have you brought the lad here?"

"I thought it best to have him trained beside the other soldiers," Leofrith answered. "It won't be long before your son has to join us on the field of battle, I believe."

"Of course he won't," Ceolwulf snapped. Ceolbert could not contain his surprise at such vehemence. The man never raised his voice, never. "I won't send a child in battle. That's preposterous!"

"You've seen your fifteenth year, haven't you, lad?" Leofrith asked Ceolbert. The latter made a thin line with his mouth, finally managing a nod. "Then he isn't a child anymore. Especially in a world where the Danes exist."

"This entire conflict is ludicrous," Ceolwulf hissed. "If the king had not stopped supplying them with Danegeld, then—"

"The king is no longer giving them tribute?" Ceolbert said, frowning. "I thought it was the heathens who refused our proposal of Danegeld. They're the ones who broke the peace, didn't they?"

Ceolwulf's expression was strange. Ceolbert thought he spied a hint of fear in those tired brown eyes. Leofrith's face was twisted in disdain.

"They made sure peace was never an option the moment they landed on our shores," the war thegn said. "And King Burgred knows it. We won't fund their war efforts with our own riches. We'll defeat them in battle—or die protecting Mercian soil and souls."

"Burgred values your lives less than his own coffers," Ceolwulf said, voice rising in pitch. Now, even his own men could surely hear him. Ceolbert could see them throwing uneasy looks toward his father. "Can't you see, man? He'll have the whole of Mercia mowed down to protect his own sorry hide—"

"Not another word," Leofrith said, in a voice so cold it raised the hair on the back of Ceolbert's neck. "That is your king you are talking about."

The men were whispering among themselves. Ceolbert glanced toward them; wan, wary faces looked back at him.

He won't fight for his dignity! He won't fight for us!

"Come, Ceolbert," his father said, tugging at his arm. "Our soldiers are preparing for war. We mustn't get in their way."

Ceolwulf led him away—away from the warriors standing tall and proud in their fine arms and armours, away from the imposing, majestic figure of Leofrith. Ceolbert turned to look at them for a moment, hit by a sudden sense of—yearning? Envy? He wasn't sure. But there were two things that he did know.

I am not like them, Ceolbert thought, with a pang. And then, one heartbeat after, oh God, let me be like them.

Still, he was never given that chance.

Leofrith left the next day.


A moon later, and the heathens' army was encircling Repton.

Ceolbert's father had ordered him to stay in the church, where women and children, infirm and elderly, hid from the battle. He spent his time comforting the weary and the worried—a worthy task to be sure, but…

He isn't a child anymore. Especially in a world where the Danes exist.

I should be fighting as well, Ceolbert thought. He could read the same thought in the eyes of the people huddling in fear inside the church. Many of them had sent their own sons to fight for Ceolbert's father—so why was the thegn's child be given the luxury of shelter during the battle?

His father's people loved their lord, Ceolbert knew they did, but still…

As the hours passed, long as days, Ceolbert kept his ear out; how was the siege going, he wondered? He could hear no telltale noise of battle—no loud cries of pain, no clash of metal against metal, nothing.

Somehow, that only made his heart pound even harder.

Eventually, a man rushed inside the church, startling a group of praying women who screamed in response. Two babies starting crying, and soon the vaulted space was filled with shouts and sobs. Ceolbert attempted to still his heart as he headed toward the man. Dozens of people wailed and wept around him, yet he could only hear a loud, rhythmic loud thump, thump in his ears.

"The battle is over?" he said. "The siege is lifted already?"

"No," the man said with horror, "Thegn Ceolwulf opened the city gates to the pagans. The Danes have captured Repton."