The Tenth Lost Tale of Mercia: Edmund the Aetheling Read online



  The Tenth Lost Tale of Mercia:

  Edmund the Aetheling

  Jayden Woods

  Copyright 2010 Jayden Woods

  Edited by Malcolm Pierce

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  “... it was told the king, that [the Danes] would beshrew him of his life, and afterwards all his council, and then have his kingdom without any resistance.”

  —The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, Entry for Year 1002

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  LUNDENBURG

  1002 A.D.

  Edmund put his hand over his mouth to trap his own breath, but his lungs continued heaving like a blacksmith’s bellows. His gloved fingers clutched the sword at his belt, a heavy thing that normally seemed presumptuous for a boy thirteen years of age, but now seemed the only thing capable of saving his life. Its primary flaw was that pulling it from its sheath would cause noise—noise he could not afford to make.

  The boots around the corner shuffled against the stone, steel trinkets clinked, a cloak whooshed … and then all sounds faded as the source retreated.

  A groan of dismay ripped from Edmund’s throat as he removed his hand from his lips. He clutched his chest as if his heart might escape. He could not believe what he had just overheard. It would take him a long while to make sense of it—time he was not sure he had.

  He stumbled as he made his way back into the palace, his feet like blocks of wood on his legs. He went over the words in his memory over and over again, trying to unroll the plot they contained. But the more he unraveled the strings, the more easily they seemed to tangle in his mind.

  As he walked by the king’s hall, a great stone chamber surrounded by the old Roman structure, his stomach growled. He could smell honey-glazed meats and spices. Even the rustic scent of ale hanging over everything added to his hunger. He could not explain why he had skipped tonight’s dinner, nor many other nights lately, at least not aloud. But he knew he hated listening to the noblemen’s driveling. All his father wanted to discuss was how to raise money for the next Danegald so that he could pay off the Vikings rather than fighting them. Then he would go on about food and women—topics that seemed trivial at a time of war. Edmund preferred to stop by the kitchens and pick out his victuals than to sit through such nonsense.

  At last he reached his father’s bedroom. It was surrounded, as usual, by retainers and hearth companions. Many of them slumped from the weight of their drinking; others laughed with each other, sometimes putting their ears to the door of Ethelred’s chamber, then laughing some more. They stank of grease and unwashed clothes. Edmund remembered how when his mother had been alive, she made all the royal retainers take better care of themselves.

  They frowned uncertainly as Edmund approached, noting how his face was long and blanched, his boots muddy and his cloak falling askance. “I need to speak to Father,” the young aetheling gasped. “Now.”

  “Then go on in.” The man who spoke wore a smirk on his face. Chuckles spread through the group.

  “I will, thank you.” Refusing to be daunted, Edmund stormed to the door and grabbed the handle. Immediately, a sound from within stopped him cold.

  “Oh yes, right there.”

  The voice belonged to a woman. But then he heard a grunt, which he suspected came from his father.

  “Oh yes—yes!”

  Edmund flushed and jumped from the door as if from a physical blow. The men roared with laughter, and yet even over their chortling he could still hear his father and the maiden squealing like pigs. Their joyous cries seemed to follow him down the hall as he raced away, his fists clenching even more violently than before. King Ethelred had only recently married Queen Emma of Normandy, but Edmund knew with certainty that those were not her moans carrying down the stone walls. She was only twelve years old.

  He neared his own bedroom, but he could not bring himself to go inside. Instead he paced in front of the doorway, left and right and left again. He felt as if he might go into some sort of frenzy. He had such important information in his head, information that needed to come out, needed to be made sense of. And yet he could not think of what to do with it. His father’s behavior infuriated him, though it came as little surprise. And as for the men of his father’s court, he trusted none of them—especially after what he had heard today.

  He snapped his fingers with a sudden revelation. “Aethelstan,” he said aloud. Yes, his older brother would at least listen without betraying him, and that was certainly something. He rushed down the hallway again, his cloak dragging heavily behind him.

  On his way down the hall, however, he passed several of his own retainers. He glowered at them, for they had not been there to protect him when he needed them most. No doubt they were also angry at him, however, for wandering off so often, and not dining in the great hall like the rest of his family.

  Then he saw Aydith. She stood staring out of an aperture at the moon, sadness making her pale face even whiter than usual. His heart stirred with sympathy for his younger sister, and he almost stopped to say hello. But his purpose demanded that he continue, so he passed her by.

  “Edmund? Edmund!”

  With an angry huff, he stopped and turned to see Aydith hurrying towards him.

  “Edmund, what’s the matter? Where have you been?”

  “I ... I ... I have to speak to Aethelstan.”

  “What happened?”

  He couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Lord Egil of Nottingham. I think he’s plotting to ... to do something to Father.”

  Aydith turned a notch paler, but did not yet panic. “Do what?”

  “I’m ... not sure. Something bad. I heard him talking about it, and worse, he addressed the man he spoke to as Lord Alfric.”

  “That bastard!” Aydith blushed a little and crossed herself. “We’ll need proof. What specifically did you hear?”

  It irritated Edmund that Aydith required some sort of proof and didn’t immediately believe him. “I should be talking to Aethelstan,” he grumbled.

  “Very well then,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

  Together, they completed the weary procession to Aetheling Aethelstan’s room. For whatever reason, Edmund wished his sister would go away. As dearly as he cared for her, she always made matters so complicated, and tended to get even more frustrated than he did when plans went awry. Nevertheless, he could not refuse her help.

  Aethelstan had already gone to bed, which nearly set Edmund off again. But Aydith promptly entered the room anyway, shushing away his bower-thegn, then shook their older brother awake.

  He blinked sleepily through his pale lashes, already crusted from deep sleep. “What? What’s the matter?” He sat up and rubbed at his face. Aydith walked around the room lighting candles.

  Aydith opened her mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it, and turned to Edmund.

  “I think Father’s in danger,” he said as the light flared around them.

  “Oh no! In danger of what?”

  “Assassination,” Edmund hissed, though at Aydith’s prompt gasp, he regretted saying so. He only suspected that an assassination attempt was afoot based on what he had heard. But he could not be certain.

  “Oh my God.” Aethelstan scratched his pale hair again, and seemed to be at a loss.

  Aydith fixed Edmund with her fierce brown eyes, eyes she’d inherited from their mother. “Tell us everything you saw and heard,” she said. “Starting from the beginning.”

  “Wait,” said Aethelstan. “Shouldn’t we be talking to Father about this?”

  “He’s ... he’s busy.” With a sigh that was a half growl, Edmund returned his concentration to the origin of the night’s events. “Here’s what happened. I was taking a walk around the palace around dusk. I ventured away from the walls into Lunden town—”

  “Without your companions?” Aethelstan reproached him. “You know Father doesn’t like that!”

  Edmund ignored this and forged on. “I saw men I recognized outside a tavern, though at first I couldn’t place their names. But they were Danish nobles, and they’ve been contributing to the witenagemot for the last few days—that much I knew. One of them I never learned the name of, but I heard him call the other man Egil, and then I realized he was Lord Egil of Nottingham. Anyway, I heard them talking about Father. They called him weak, and stupid, and incompetent.” The very words made him tremble with rage, even though he was not quite sure what the last one meant. “They said they needed to do something about him.”

  He let this sink into his siblings’ ears, both of them growing paler as it did. After a short while Aydith said, “Weren’t there any specifics?”

  “They lowered their voices after that,” said Edmund. “Which means it must have been bad! So I tried to get closer, and hid myself around the corner of the tavern.”

  “What else did you hear?” said Aethelstan, his voice heavy with desperation.

  “Only bits and pieces. They talked about Saint Brice’s Day coming up. They spoke of the food that would be served. Oh—and then a third person joined in! But I didn’t see his face.”

  “Alfric!” breathed Aydith.

  Edmund nodded grimly. “I did hear them call him Alfric.”

  “There are lots of Alfrics,” said Aethelstan grumpily.

  Aydith came to Edmund’s rescue. “There aren’t many Alfrics who would be plotting something with two Danish nobles,” she hissed. “He has had trouble ge
tting Father to forgive him for his last offense, and I am sure he is eager to avenge the death of his son.”

  “Yes,” said Edmund, grateful now that Aydith had come along, after all. “That’s exactly what I thought!”

  Aethelstan now wore a deeply-set frown. “What else did they say about the food?”

  “They said, ‘Think of how many people will be eating it.’ As if the more people they poisoned, the better.”

  Aydith held up her hand and shook her head firmly. “Wait. Did you ever hear them say ‘poison’?”

  “Well ... no.”

  She grunted. “Then this is all speculation.”

  “Who the hell cares?” cried Edmund. “They’re obviously up to something!”

  They scowled and looked to Aethelstan for help, whose frown only deepened. He heaved a sigh, then at last said, “We must go to Father. We’ll speak to him tomorrow during breakfast.”

  Aydith turned a deep shade of red. “But we need more information before we go to Father. Otherwise—”

  “Hush, Aydith.” Edmund was not very pleased with Aethelstan’s solution, either, but it was a plan, voiced by someone of authority, and at least now Edmund knew he could go to bed without tossing and turning all night. The burden no longer lay completely on his own shoulders. “Aethelstan’s right. We’ll talk to Father tomorrow.”

  Aydith scowled so fiercely that Edmund actually moved back a step. But she saw that her brothers had made up their minds, and wisely pinched her lips together to avoid arguing anymore. “Very well,” she said at last. “Good luck with that!”

  She turned and stormed out.

  The brothers exchanged weary looks, then retired gladly to their own beds.