The Second Lost Tale of Mercia: Ethelred the King



  The Second Lost Tale of Mercia:

  Ethelred the King

  Jayden Woods

  Copyright 2010 Jayden Woods

  Edited by Malcolm Pierce

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  Read the Lost Tales in any order you’d like, whether before or after reading the novel Eadric the Grasper, or completely alone as quick glimpses into an ancient world. For more news and updates on the Sons of Mercia series, visit www.jaydenwoods.com.

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  “[Ethelred] was perhaps the only thoroughly bad King among all the Kings of the English of the West-Saxon line; he seems to have been weak, cowardly, cruel, and bad altogether. He was always doing things at wrong times and leaving undone what he should have done, so that he is called Ethelred the Unready, that is the man without rede or counsel.”

  —Freeman, Edward. Old English History for Children pg. 190

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  CORFE-GATE, DORSET

  978 A.D.

  Ethelred watched longingly as his half-brother strode with his men to the exit of the stronghold. They looked so handsome, regal, and powerful. Their spurs chimed over the cobbles as they walked, their soft tunics rippled in the breeze, and their cheeks glowed with the pleasure of fellowship. King Edward, walking in the middle, was in fact the smallest of the men, and yet he was the center of their attention and devotion. The sixteen-year-old king had grown to fit his beautifully embroidered boots, and the crown seemed to glitter more brightly on his auburn-haired head than it ever had on their father’s.

  The king stopped suddenly and turned to look at Ethelred, as if he had sensed his younger brother’s stare. Ethelred stepped back a little, hiding in the shadow of a stone column, and gulped.

  “Ethelred?”

  Ethelred could see the smiles gathering on the faces of Edward’s soldiers. They wanted to laugh at him, and they were only holding it in because he would have been king, if Edward was not. Remembering this made him straighten up a little and lean into the sunshine.“Yes, what is it?”

  Edward strolled closer, hands on his hips. Ethelred noticed for the first time that the king was getting a nice, cherry brown beard on his chin. Ethelred touched his own chin self-consciously; at barely eleven years of age, he was far from being able to grow his own.

  “Ethelred, I think you should come hunting with us!”

  Ethelred blinked at his half-brother in shock. Could he really mean it? Or was he mocking him somehow? Ethelred glanced nervously at Edward’s companions. Were they all playing some sort of big joke?

  “Well?” Edward leaned down, planting a thickly-gloved hand on Ethelred’s shoulder.“Don’t you want to?”

  “What, uh …” Ethelred shifted on his feet, suddenly conscious of how far Edward had to lean down to look him in the eye.“What sort of game will you hunt?”

  “Game?” Edward straightened up, letting him go and shrugging.“Whatever game the hawk finds for us!”

  “Hawk?” Ethelred’s eyes glittered with jealousy. He had always wanted to hunt with a hawk.

  “That’s right. We don’t have a plan, little brother. That’s the fun of it.”

  Ethelred gulped. The notion was exciting, but it also made him nervous.“Mother says a servant should be sent out first, to find the game and—”

  “Damn that.” Edward curled his lip and spat to the side.“And damn your mother.”

  Ethelred flushed despite himself. Edward had never gotten along with his step-mother very well, but normally he remained polite about it. Ethelred didn’t want to argue with Edward, but could he let an insult like that slide? He glanced nervously about, uncertain of what to do once more.

  “Come now, Ethelred, do you want to come or not?”

  “Yes.” He felt his heart swelling within him.“Yes. Yes, I will!”

  “There’s a good boy.” Edward knocked his fist against the younger boy’s shoulder.

  Ethelred’s limbs tingled with excitement as he joined Edward and the tall, proud soldiers on their walk outside. A warming breeze kissed his cheeks and he took a deep, happy breath. He saw the horses already saddled and pulled from the stables, waiting for their noble mounts to ride them into the forest. He looked out at the sharply rolling hills and chalky cliffs surrounding the Corfe-Gate stronghold and felt almost like a king surveying his kingdom. He would join Edward and his men on the hunt!

  “Ethelred? Ethelred! What is going on?”

  Ethelred’s heart sank quickly. The voice belonged to his mother, Alfryth. She stormed from the stronghold, her silken veil and black robes billowing in a gust of wind. Her scraggly brown hair blew against her face, splitting her scowl like so many cracks.

  King Edward turned to face her, his men now behind him. He hooked his thumb on his swordbelt, as if resting it there, but Ethelred could not ignore how close his hand came to the hilt of his sword. He said nothing, only glared at her through his cherry lashes.

  Desperately, Alfryth turned her fierce gaze on Ethelred.“Son, where are you going?”

  “I’m going hunting, mother.” Ethelred stuck up his chin.“Hunting for whatever game we may come across.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Ethelred stiffened. He looked to Edward for help, but the young king had only eyes for Alfryth, and those eyes were full of hatred.

  “You have matters to attend to,” Alfryth insisted to Ethelred.“Matters for Ealdorman Alfhere.”

  Butterflies fluttered in Ethelred’s stomach, and he saw Edward’s hands curl into fists. When their father, Edgar, died a few years ago, various nobles and clergymen had disagreed on which of Edgar’s sons should become king. Ealdorman Alfhere had supported Ethelred’s right to the throne, as the son of Edgar’s latest wife, but Ethelred had been only seven years old. Naturally, most men had supported Edward instead. Though the wise men had come to a peaceful decision, no doubt it was hard for Edward to forget Alfhere’s opposition to him.

  Alfryth smiled sweetly, seeing the fear and doubt in her son’s eyes.“As you know, these matters are important, my son. Much more important than a young boy’s fancy to fill his days with hunting.”

  “Young boy’s fancy!” cried King Edward. He took a step forward, and Ethelred tensed with nervousness. Edward was generally a nice fellow, best demonstrated by how kindly he treated Ethelred, a boy that most would consider his rival. When he got mad, however, he got very mad; and usually he got the maddest about issues concerning his step-mother, Alfryth.“Hunting is man’s work, a man’s way of practicing for battle. A woman like you wouldn’t understand, of course. Right, Ethelred?”

  Ethelred stood frozen, afraid to look at either of them.

  He did, however, glimpse his mother’s smile, remaining firmly on her face as if everything was going according to plan.“I suppose I would not understand. And in any case, I wasn’t trying to discourage you from engaging in such ...‘practice,’ my lord. Some men must practice for engaging in battle. Others must practice for leading men to battle. My son, Ethelred, will be doing the latter, and so he does not need to go riding about in the forest.” She held out her hand to Ethelred.“Come on, then, son.”

  But Ethelred ignored her completely. He could not tear his eyes away from Edward, who wore such a vicious scowl on his face that it brought to mind the horrific depictions of bears on some of the stronghold’s tapestries.“Why ... you ... filth-ridden ... BITCH!”

  And then he lunged forward, and Ethelred cowered, as if expecting to be stricken by whatever tremendous blow Edward seemed about to deliver. But after a moment, he found he was only stricken by a fierce silence, and looked up to see that Edward had stopped himself. He stood with one arm lifted, panting fo
r breath, his fingers inches from Alfryth’s throat and curled as if already gripping it. But he restrained himself, and stared blazing into her eyes. Though she stood unflinching, the fear in Alfryth’s own gaze was horribly apparent.

  At last Edward lowered his arm. He took a deep breath and straightened his tunic. He looked around at his wary soldiers and his cowering half-brother Ethelred, and a dramatic change came over him. He forced a lilted smile on his still-reddened face.“What a waste of time. We have game to catch.”

  His soldiers relaxed visibly and continued on to their horses. Alfryth remained standing at the door of the stronghold, chin lifted in triumph, her dark wimple fluttering in the salty breeze. Edward cast Ethelred one last glance before departing.

  “Maybe next time, brother,” he said. But his voice was sullen, and Ethelred did not think he expected a next time, in truth.

  Not until that moment did Ethelred comprehend the true extent of his loss. He realized that Edward had sincerely wanted to hunt with him. Until now, Ethelred had still been afraid that it was all some sort of prank—or at least a way to make Ethelred humiliate himself. He had been so desperate to join the king and his men that he had agreed despite these instincts. But as Edward trudged away, he actually seemed disappointed—disappointed that Ethelred wasn’t coming along!

  Despite himself, he felt tears prick his eyes.

  “Ethelred, what is wrong with you? Come inside.”

  “But Mother, I want to—”

  “You don’t get to do what you want. If you’re to be king then you’ll have to do a great many things you’d rather not do.”

  “I don’t want to be—!”

  “Silence! I don’t care!” She grabbed his wrist fiercely, then pulled him inside.

  He was even more surprised when she led him to his room and told him to stay there.“But I’m supposed to speak with Ealdorman Alfhere!” he cried. Then, when she scowled at him, his face scrunched up helplessly.“Aren’t I?”

  Her expression tore between pity and disgust.“I’ll handle him myself, son. You stay here and practice your reading.” Then, as an afterthought,“Also, consider why your father’s wise men chose Edward to be King over you, even though he was not my son. Think on it long and hard.”

  She slammed the door behind her, and though the chill of winter had supposedly lifted from Engla-lond, he shivered.

  As his mother had suggested, he stayed in his room and read. He also pondered over the matter of the witenagemot’s decision to choose Edward over himself. He thought it made practical sense for anyone to choose the older of the two boys, considering how young they had been at the time, and the fact that no one else of royal blood had been available. On top of that, Edgar himself had said before his death that he wished Edward to succeed him. But on the other hand, Ethelred was the son of Alfryth, the present queen: he really should have been next in line. He wondered whether the wise men’s choice to put Edward on the throne had been any fault of his own. Then, filling with shame, he remembered the story of his own baptism.

  When the Archbishop Dunstan had held him underwater and offered the holy sacrament, baby Ethelred had defecated in the water. Dunstan had pulled him out and handed him away, crying out with disgust.“By God,” declared the bishop,“this will be a miserable man!” Ethelred’s ears burned with embarrassment whenever he heard that story retold, but he also felt anger. He had been a baby at the time. He had no control of such things.

  As he stayed in his room according to his mother’s wishes and read the Holy Gospels, he tried to gather encouragement from them. He wondered whether everything that happened on earth was truly God’s will. If so, what power did he or anyone else have to change it? He thought that perhaps he was still too young to understand; adults never seemed to question this paradox, so surely he must be missing something. In any case, he found it comforting to believe that his father’s witenagemot had chosen Edward by God’s ordinance. If God orchestrated everything, that meant the matters were no fault of his own, at all—especially not the fault of a helpless baby.

  Ethelred’s scholarly pondering helped the time to pass, at first. But after the sun peaked and fell westward, thrusting its last orange beams through his window, he found himself growing restless. He looked out at the sharp hills of Dorset, their slopes undulating with varying hues of green, brown, and gray. He wondered what a thrill Edward must now feel, riding with his soldiers while a hawk flew overhead and the wild pigs and deer fled in fear. How great it must feel to be a king!

  He shook his head of these thoughts, remembering Alfryth. Sometimes, Ethelred’s own mother frightened him, and he preferred Edward’s temper tantrums to her mysterious ways. Why had she insisted that Ethelred stay home today? Did she simply not want the two boys to feel like brothers? Or did she place so little faith in Ethelred she assumed he would humiliate himself?

  Or was something else going on altogether?

  He felt a strong sense of foreboding like cold water in his belly; but at the same time, he felt hunger. Had the time not already passed for the night meal? He realized with surprise that the light was waning outside, and yet no one had summoned him to the dining hall. What was going on?

  He donned a soft fur-trimmed cloak, which always made him feel regal. He walked to the door and took a deep breath. Perhaps it went against his mother’s wishes to leave now, but so what? As Edward had said, what did a woman like her understand? Feeling emboldened, he pulled open the door and strode into the halls.

  Something strange seemed to be amiss in the Corfe-Gate stronghold, something he could not fully describe. The servants dared to meet his eyes, then looked away with darting glances. They shuffled about on their feet and did not gossip to each other as usual. Something else was strange, as well. Normally the stronghold was surrounded with royal soldiers, reeves, and hearth companions of all the noblemen and women. But he noticed that many familiar faces, especially those of his mother’s retainers, were missing from their usual posts.

  Briefly he wandered out to the stables, curious whether Edward and his men had returned yet from the hunt, for the sun was sinking behind the hills. Edward and his men had not yet returned, he found; but even more surprisingly, a great many more horses were gone than Edward had taken with him. A large number of soldiers had gone somewhere. But where?

  Puzzled and distraught, Ethelred remembered the ache in his belly, and decided this needed fixing first of all. He headed for the dining hall, hoping to find some manner of food there. A cloud of smoke wafting through the hall doors assured him that he must have the right idea. But to his astonishment, his mother and several lords sat at the table, huddled closely in heated conversation, and not a single plate of food could be found amongst them. The smoke came only from a blazing hearth-fire.

  Alfryth spotted him from afar, and motioned to the men to cease speaking.“Ethelred,” she hissed.“I told you to stay in your room!”

  He tried to think of something clever and bold to say, but as he stared at the intimidating faces of the war-leaders and clergymen sitting at the table, he found his words lacking.“But I am hungry!”

  Alfryth put on a smile, though it was so forced and fake that in a way it was worse than a scowl.“That’s true, my boy, a growing man certainly needs his food.”

  It amazed Ethelred how differently his mother treated him when in the company of other people than when he and she were alone together. He realized that this had always been the case, but it was more noticeable today than ever. He wondered whether something had changed, or whether he was simply growing more perceptive.

  Soon his mother was upon him, her sharp nails digging into his arm as she led him outside. The wind battered against them, cool with the coming night.“Ethelred, you are such a little child!” She hissed this to him as soon as they were out of the noblemen’s hearing range.

  He felt as if he was on the verge of understanding something now that he never had before, and this feeling gave him confidence. He stared back at his mo
ther with all the defiance he could muster.“If you want me to act like more than a child, then you should tell me what’s going on!”

  She leaned back, the knots of her face untwisting as her eyebrows lifted with surprise. She was silent a moment. Then, exasperated, she declared,“Not today, Ethelred; of all days, not today! You will be plenty involved soon enough, of that I promise you.”

  “What do you mean, soon enough?”

  “For God’s sake, Ethelred, not now! Go away, fill your little belly in the kitchens if you must!”

  She hurried back inside, and when she was gone, Ethelred remained standing awhile, huffing with anger. He could not comprehend all the emotions roiling through him. Suddenly he felt as if he hated his mother, though he didn’t know why, and he silently prayed to God for forgiveness.

  Then, having stood still long enough with his eyes pointed to the horizon, he discerned a shape approaching. It was a lone rider, charging through the gap in the hills at full speed; and as he rounded a certain slope, Ethelred was astonished to glimpse the gleam of a crown on his head.

  “Edward!” he cried.

  He ran down the slope to meet his brother, little fists bobbing at his sides, heart pounding in his chest. He did not even know why he ran with such urgency and yelled Edward’s name so loudly.

  Perhaps, if he had not, things would have happened differently.

  It had frustrated Ethelred that so many events of the day had developed beyond his comprehension, and that he felt some great significance hanging in the air, but he could not even guess what it was. It filled him with pride that now, he was at the forefront of this new event. Several dozen soldiers peeked from the stronghold to see what all the fuss was about, but Ethelred was far ahead of them. He was the first to reach the king, who slouched strangely in his saddle, and whose brow twinkled with sweat in the fading sunlight.

  “Hail, Ethelred,” said King Edward cheerfully, though his voice rasped. Spittle dripped from his stallion’s mouth, the hooves of which stomped dangerously close to Ethelred’s feet.“Have you anything to drink?”

  “I ...” Ethelred patted his tunic uselessly. He had nothing. He had not even eaten his own night meal, after all.“I am sorry, Edward, I don’t.” He glanced back to the stronghold, the sharp stones of which cast angry lines against the sky from this direction, and watched as a few men marched out of it. Someone else would provide water, surely, so he hurried to more important concerns while he could.“What happened to your hearth companions?”

  “I’m … not sure.” Edward wiped his brow, though it continued to drip.“I don’t know what disbanded us. Something must have frightened them, for they disappeared suddenly … but I would have noticed the tracks of a bear, or wolf. It’s, ridiculous, isn’t it? A king searching for his own hearth companions!” He laughed, but no humor was in his voice.

  Ethelred considered this.“We can get my mother’s men to find them!” He thought he was being helpful, but Edward frowned. Then Ethelred remembered that most of his mother’s men had been missing, anyway. He frowned as well.

  “I think not, little brother.” Ethelred began to understand his discomfort when a few soldiers from the stronghold reached the king’s horse and surrounded it. Edward surprised everyone by kicking a man solidly in the face who dared seize the horse’s reins. The servant fell back with a cry, clutching a bleeding nose.“Away, you filthy churls. Who has some ale? That’s all I need.”

  “We’ll fetch it for you,” said a man, and Ethelred recognized him as one of his mother’s retainers named Osrid, large and strapping. He looked the part of a soldier though he wore none of the usual fittings, except perhaps for the unusually large dirk strapped to his belt. Ethelred was glad to see him go.

  “Away!” Edward was continuing to kick at the men lingering around him. At last they all backed off, but Edward drew his sword nonetheless, a dangerous look in his eyes. His horse pranced about uneasily, churning the rocky earth under its hooves, twisting its neck and snorting. Ethelred found the situation very strange and confusing. Everyone was silent as they waited, hearing little but Edward’s snorting horse, and the hollow sound of the wind through the hills. Ethelred thought he could even hear the soft crashing of the waves upon the distant shore.

  Everyone but Ethelred seemed to be expecting something. Expecting what?

  With some relief, he recognized Alfryth’s shape coming down the hillside. She held a large goblet in her slender, ringed fingers. Edward watched her approach with a scowl, though the look on Alfryth’s face beneath the fluttering veil was unusually sweet. She actually seemed happy to provide the king with this refreshment. Ethelred wished she would walk faster, for it seemed as if a great deal of time passed before she reached them, at which point the air seemed to thrum tangibly with tension.

  “Has the game eluded you?” said the queen mother, pausing with the goblet outstretched. Meanwhile, her servant Osrid kept walking, moving around the horse.

  Edward did not answer at first, only flashed his teeth as he put away his sword. Then he leaned over to grab the goblet.“The hunt is still on, Lady, and it will not stop until I—AAAGH!”

  The sound that came from the king’s mouth was so terrible, it would ring in Ethelred’s ears for decades to come. Edward drew back, limbs flailing, clutching his side near his back. The goblet fell to the earth, clinking against the stones and splashing water on the horse’s hooves. The horse reared, twisting about, and revealed a shape darting quickly from behind it.

  The shape was Osrid’s, and he held a bloody dagger.

  “EDWARD!”

  Arms fell upon Ethelred as if from the darkness, for night had fallen quickly and the world seemed full of shadows, reaching and grasping at him.“Edward!” he cried again. Hands pulled him back as he struggled, yet he could still hear his half-brother’s moans, and he saw the horse’s thrashing shape, another black mass against the dim red world. It neighed, hooves slicing the sky, and wheeled about. Ethelred gave another great heave to push himself above his captors, looking for Edward as the horse ran away. The king drooped in the saddle, still clinging there whether by determination or some fated mechanism, his auburn hair streaming behind him like the blood pouring from his stab-wound.

  Then Ethelred’s eyes were blinded by his own tears, and a roar like thunder from his own pulse deafened him as he was dragged away. His sorrow and rage filled him up, and he was conscious of nothing else.