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Message-ID: <38052asstr$1030673404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "smilodon" <smilodon@postmaster.co.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 29 Aug 2002 19:39:53 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Anglo Saxon Chronicles - Part Two (Historical, M/ F, Rom.)
Date: Thu, 29 Aug 2002 22:10:04 -0400
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This one is for Denny, for his amazing editing and helpful suggestions.
Power to your elbow, sir!

smilodon




The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles Part II



In the second week of the New Year of Our Lord, Eight Hundred and Seventy
Eight, The Danes broke out from their winter camp at Gleawanceaster and once
more assailed the Kingdom of Ælfred. The King was at Cippanhamm for Yuletide
when the Danes descended out of the snow on the small Saxon host. Ælfred and
his companions were taken utterly by surprise. They tried to stand at the
river but were overwhelmed. The fighting was fierce and bloody and the
waters of that unhappy stream ran red with the bright heart's blood of
Wessex. Ælfred was defeated and driven back beyond Selwood. The King,
together with such remnants of his band as remained, took refuge amid the
masterless men of the marshes on the isle of Athelingaig.

Among those who accompanied the King was one Edric, House Ceorl to the
Ealdorman of Dornwaraceaster. Much of what follows is his story but it would
make no sense without reference to the actions of the King at this time of
his greatest trials.


Fr Asser of St Davids
Wiltun
In the Year of Our Lord, 908.



Author's Note

Following the death of Ivar in 871, the wars continued intermittently until
874. Halfdan took the majority of the Danish forces north away from Wessex,
where resistance was strongest, and established a Kingdom centred on York -
Jorvik to the invaders. At some point in 876, Halfdan departed England and
the Danish army split into two. The southern faction was led by Guthrun,
sometimes called Gudrun, who established himself in Eastern and Southern
Mercia, forcing peace on the Mercian King, Ceolwulf.

This state of affairs was tantamount to a partition of the Mercian Kingdom
and gave Guthrun a base at Gloucester, the Anglo-Saxon Gleawanceaster, from
which he could again harass Wessex.

The principal place names I have used in this story are: Athelingaig - The
Island of Athelney; Bradanforda is Bradford on Avon, where one can find one
of the few extant Saxon Churches; Cippanhamm - Chippenham, Dornwaraceaster
is Dorchester.  Glestingaburg - Glastonbury and Ceoddor, modern-day Cheddar.
The physical geography of Somerset in those days was very different from
today. It is hard to see Athelney as an island these days and the area now
known as the Levels was then alternately forest and swamp.

The main forest of Selwood divided the Kingdom of Wessex into two parts.
Wessex proper ran from Kent through Sussex, Hampshire and Wiltshire and
included eastern Dorset. Selwood ran almost north-south, from just above
Dorchester to Calne, in Wiltshire. Wessex-beyond-Selwood was a wilder place.
The towns were smaller and further apart and the landscape less hospitable.
The land ran from the marshes of Somerset to the granite moors of Devon and
the wild, wooded hills and valleys of West Dorset.

This distinction remains to this day. West of Selwood, one is aware of the
space. The congruence of Somerset, Dorset and Devon is one of the most
beautiful and unspoilt parts of England. I am happy to say it is where we
now make our home.

Ælfred, Ætholnoth and Guthrun are, of course, historical characters. The
rest, and this entire story, are my own imaginings.




An Interlude on Athelney, AD 878


"Edric! Edric! Come on, man, where the Devil are you?" Edric of
Dornwaraceaster rose slowly from his sleeping- pallet and pushed aside the
hides that covered the doorway. He emerged, blinking, into the wan daylight.
As usual on this cursed isle it was raining, a fine drifting rain that
covered everything, the sort of rain that a man does not heed until he is
soaked to the skin.

Ælfred had arrived on Athelingaig with the remnants of his force the day
before Easter. In the fortnight since, others had come straggling in,
bringing both reinforcement and news. It seemed the Kingdom was lost. All of
Wessex proper was subjugated by the Danes. Many had fled across the sea to
the land of the Franks. Only here, beyond Selwood, were men still free.
Edric wiped his eyes and looked about him.

He was a tall man, well above the average, with a long face and prominent
ears. His bare arms showed countless old whitened scars, little legacies of
a life of conflict. A livid purple line was slashed across his brow,
evidence of another and more recent wound received in the service of his
King and the Land of Wessex.

Of all the marks he bore, this was the one he hated, for it had taken his
honour. That day at Cippanhamm -- he felt heart-sick in its remembrance. He
had served his Ealdorman for nigh on fifteen years, had taken wounds in his
defence. At Cippanhamm his Lord had fallen. Edric had been powerless to save
him, rendered insensible by a blow from a Danish sword to the head. His
helmet had saved his life but that was as nothing to the loss of his
reputation. The code of the House Ceorl was a harsh one. A man should not
survive his sworn Lord, his Ring-Giver. His companions had all fallen at
their Lord's side, defending the tattered banner of Dornwaraceaster. Edric
should have died among them. Thus he lived, a ni-thing, a man without a
master. Such thoughts consumed his every waking hour and troubled his
dreams, also.

"There you are, you ugly bastard. The King has sent for you. Look sharp,
now!"

It was Hereward of Middletun, made Ealdorman at the young age of seventeen
and standing high in the King's favour. Edric liked Hereward, most people
did. He was a cheerful young man, even now barely three and twenty. Edric
may have felt a twinge of jealousy at Hereward's renown but could not find
in his heart to resent the younger man.

"What does Ælfred want of me?"

"His horse has died and he wants you to carry him!"

"A task I'm fit enough for."

"Oh, don't take on, man. No one blames you for your Lord's misfortune. The
King has need of you now, so look lively!"

Edric smoothed his clothes as best he could. Hereward could hardly suppress
a grin, as the big warrior pulled stray bits of straw from his tunic and
beard. They walked together to the King's hut. Edric moved ponderously. His
shoulders seemed too wide, even for his height, and they rolled as he
walked. By contrast, Hereward was light and graceful, seeming to glide along
beside the larger man.

The King was seated outside the hut at a rough wooden table. Moisture
sparkled in his hair and beard but he did not heed the rain. Several of his
Thegns and House Ceorls stood or sat nearby. He looked up as Edric and
Hereward approached; gave a nod to Hereward, who moved to one side.

"Edric of Dornwaraceaster, thank you for coming so early. I have need of
your services."

"Are you sure it's me you need, My Lord?"

A flash of irritation crossed the King's face and then he smiled.

"Edric, I understand your pain. You feel you have lost all honour. We, who
fought that day at Cippanhamm and saw your master fall, know different. You
fought as a man should for as long as you were able. Your Lord is dead now,
and we pray, with the saints. Now I have need of you. Will you refuse me?"

"Never, Lord. You have only to command me."

"Good! Now, if you can accomplish that which I now desire, you shall become
Ælfred's man. Seventeen House Ceorls I lost at Cippenhamm. There is a place
at my table for you, if you will but take it."

Ælfred knew his man. To simply give Edric a new position would have failed.
The man was too proud. But to earn a place among the King's Ceorls - that
was a challenge he would respond to. His sense of duty to the King would let
him make the attempt. His honour would be satisfied only by success. Ælfred
knew Edric would not return if he failed. He would succeed or literally die
trying.

"How may I serve you?"

"The Abbess of Glestingaburg has sent word. She has provided succour to
several of our wounded. She has also given shelter to a number of women and
children who fled the pagans. I am taking a force to escort them here. I
need you to draw away the Danes. I want you to take a small band and harry
them. Hit and run. Can you do this for me?"

Edric brightened visibly. Here was a chance for him to avenge his master and
recover his pride. "That I will, My Lord!" Ælfred smiled. The King had an
infectious smile that lightened the hearts of those about him. He was not
yet thirty years old and had been King for seven years. He had never
expected to sit on the throne of Wessex, being the youngest son of King
Æthelwulf.

"There is one other charge I must give you."

"You have but to ask, My Lord."

"Today we had great news! The pagans sent an army out of Cymru, to attack
our lands in the West. They came to battle at Cynuit Hill and were
destroyed."

"Great news indeed, My Lord."

"I want you to spread the word of this victory and tell all you meet that
the Fyrd is summoned by Ælfred to come to Egbert's Stone at Whitsuntide,
five weeks from today. This time we will not fail or Wessex will be no
more."

"It shall be as you command."


Edric spent the rest of the day in preparation. He chose local men to ride
with him, men of the King's Royal Estate at Ceoddor. The following day he
rode out with forty well-mounted warriors at his back, heading north,
towards Gleawanceaster. They had ridden but half a day when they came upon a
small host, heading for Athelingaig. At its head rode Ætholnoth, Thegn of
Sumurtun, and the chief of the King's men in those parts. Edric exchanged
news with the grizzled old veteran and Ætholnoth gave him twenty more
warriors to supplement the band.

"The King will be glad of you and your men," Edric told the Thegn. "He rides
this day to Glestingaburg to bring the wounded and the women in."

"First I ride to the west, for we have news of a raiding party towards
Tantun. I mean to warm their arses before I go to Athelingaig. There's sport
for you to the east as well. The Danes forage far and wide out of
Cippanhamm. They seem to believe they own the place!"

"Then we must teach them different!"

And with this, they parted, Ætholnoth to Tantun and Edric to the northeast.
At each village and holding, he sent messengers to gather news and pass the
word of the mustering at Egbert's Stone. Whenever they saw large bodies of
Danish troops, they would linger long enough to be seen, and for the pursuit
to start, before drawing away, ever eastwards. Thus it was that Ælfred was
able to bring the folk from Glestingaburg unmolested. It was on their return
leg, as they approached the great sweep of Selwood from the East, they had
their first true encounter with the enemy.

Five days of running from a fight had made the band restive and now, as they
saw a small party of pagans driving off cattle, they saw their opportunity
at last. Edric led his men round a hill capped with a ring of trees: the
sort men said were groves of the Druids in ancient times. Saxons fight on
foot, so they dismounted in the tree line, leaving half a dozen as
horse-holders. The fighting men ran lightly over the tussocky ground to a
ford they knew the raiders would have to cross. Here, Edric divided his men,
sending twenty into the woods on the far side with the rest ordered into the
river, to crouch from sight beneath the riverbank.

The Danes came on, unawares. Edric waited until they were almost at the
river. He gave a great yell "God Almighty!!!" and led the charge. An echoing
shout came from the woods behind and the Danes found themselves caught
between hammer and anvil. It was not battle - it was slaughter. Eighteen
invaders died in the blink of an eye. Blood turned the approaches to the
ford to sanguineous mud. The axe-blades drank their fill. Edric roared to
his men "You see they can be beaten! They die like any other vermin. Now,
round up the cattle and we'll take them home!"

The villagers were stunned. The Danes had arrived at dawn, stolen their
cattle and taken what few precious things they could find. They had murdered
the headman and the hedge-priest and fired the Great Barn. The women and
children had fled to the woods at the raiders' approach. They were only now
emerging as the Saxons rode in with the rescued cattle.

"God be praised!" A woman's voice rose from the crowd. She broke the spell,
for suddenly they were surrounded by excited faces, clamouring for news and
demanding an account of the battle. Edric was a taciturn man and lacked
facility with words. He had never been easy other than in the company of
warriors. He envied those at court who could jest and recount stories. He
looked around the crowd and reddened. He lifted his voice. "We caught them
by yonder ford and killed them." The villagers looked on expectantly, for
Saxons love a good tale. There was an awkward silence. "I'm no bard," Edric
said at length. "Let some other tell it." And with this he moved a little
way off, hearing as he did so, the voices of his men, competing to tell the
story.

He dismounted and began to rub down his horse with a handful of dry grass.
He cursed himself inwardly for his inability to speak to his fellows, other
than to give orders or discuss tactics. He felt at home only among others of
his kind: warriors. He was thirty-one years old and had never married; had
never known a woman other than the drabs that followed the armies. He could
count his friends on one hand. It was little to show for a life of service.

"I see that, for you, the glory's in the doing, not the telling." The
woman's voice was low and well modulated, without strong accent. Edric
nodded and turned to face the speaker. "I am Godgifu, daughter of Oswulf of
Bradanforda." She was unmarried, then, for she had not named herself as any
man's wife. She was tall and full-breasted. Her fair hair was braided and
coiled and about her head. She wore a simple dress of fine green wool,
belted about a slim waist. He guessed her age to be not too many years above
twenty.  She could not have been called handsome, for her features were
large and bore the scars of some childhood ailment. Yet there was something
about her that called to Edric. There was an aura about her. It spoke to the
warrior of calm self-assurance. Her eyes, he saw, were beautiful, brilliant
blue and kind, somehow. It was as if she could look inside him and see the
pain. He was dumbstruck.

"And are you always so frugal with words, My Lord?"

"I'm no Lord. I'm ni-thing."

"That, I cannot credit. How so?"

"House Ceorl to the late Ealdorman of Dornwaraceaster. He died, I lived."

"At Cippanhamm on Twelfth Night?"

"Aye."

"What happened?"

"I took this," he indicated his scarred brow, "Lost my senses for a while.
When I came to myself again, the day was lost, my lord with it."

"But none can blame you, surely. You took a wound, and not the first, by
your scars. What of the new Lord?"

"I failed his sire, what need has he of such as me?"

"Then he's a puppy and fool, to boot. I see you for a valiant man."

"Then you see more than most."

"More than most, or just more than you?"

Edric shrugged. He grew uncomfortable under the woman's gaze. He knew, deep
down, that she had the right of it. He knew he was no coward. Yet the new
Ealdorman, his lord's son, had spurned him. He was a puppy, she was right.
He hadn't been at Cippanhamm when the Danes had surprised the Saxons,
attacking, out of common custom, in the dead of winter. The lad's refusal
had cut Edric to the quick. He had been weak from his wound, barely able to
stand when he had offered the heir his service. "By God," the boy had
drawled, "I think not. See what your service brought my father!" Edric had
slunk away liked a whipped cur, to lick his wounds on Athelingaig.

"Cat got your tongue? Or is it that that blow took your wits and you can't
remember your own name?"

"I am Edric, once of Dornwaraceaster and now of Athelingaig. But what of
you? You name yourself a Thegn's a daughter yet here you are in this
midden."

"I was on my way to Scireburnan, to the sisters there, to take the veil."

"A nun?"

"Not yet, and not of my choosing. My father said I was too old to remain
unwed in his household. For me, at least, the Danes are a blessing, for they
keep me in the world and out of the cloister!"

"What will you do now?"

"I'll ride with you to Athelingaig. I would have gone before, when we heard
the King lived, but the men my father charged to convey me fled and the ones
hereabout are little better than thralls. Will you take me?"

"I how somehow feel that that decision isn't mine!"  Edric smiled for the
first time in many weeks and she saw a different man emerge, if only
fleetingly. The smile transformed his long, lugubrious countenance. It
brought an answering smile to her face and for a moment they stood, enjoying
a precious spark of happiness amid the dark days.

Edric despatched runners from the village to the surrounding area, telling
of the muster at Egbert's Stone. When he was satisfied that this part of the
country was awake to their King's needs, he ordered his band to mount up
once more. This time, Godgifu rode by his side. Sometimes they talked
quietly as they rode but most often travelled in companionable silence.
Godgifu proved herself to be a hardy traveller and made no complaint as to
the pace or length of the day's journey. They camped that night in Selwood.
No fire was lit to alert the Danes to their presence and they had a frugal
meal of dried beef, oatcakes and apples from the previous autumn with skins
wrinkled like an old woman's but still sweet.

The wood was silent but for the occasional stamping of a horse. Edric and
Godgifu sat against an ancient beech and talked in low voices. Their
conversation ranged far and wide but the more they talked, the more they
found shared experiences. Both had found it hard to make friends. Both had
grown up knowing that others were more comely. Edric found himself speaking
of things he had never shared with another soul. It was easy to tell
Godgifu, she understood him. She didn't see him as a big warrior with
over-wide shoulders and prominent ears, a figure to be mocked when his back
was turned. She didn't think him slow-witted because he found it hard to put
things into words.

For her part, Godgifu found Edric an ideal companion. He did not try to
impress her with exaggerated tales of his own deeds. He didn't act as if she
wasn't there, like so many young men of her father's court. He answered her
questions honestly. Sometimes he struggled to find the exact word he wanted
to express a particular feeling or describe something that he had seen but
she quickly realised this was because there was only word that would do. He
spoke sparingly, precisely; there was no room for ambiguity anywhere in his
life.  She found herself warming to this taciturn man. When he smiled, he
was a different person. She saw within him all the honesty and gentleness
that one person could wish for in another. He was serious, reflective, but
not without humour. And he gave weight to everything she said, neither
rejecting her opinions because she was a woman nor accepting everything she
said simply to please her. She thought, for one horrified moment, that he
was treating her like a man, that he would be different, somehow, if she
were beautiful. Then she realised that he could not be other than he was,
plain-spoken, carefully considerate. They talked late into the night in
hushed voices. It was only when the guard changed for the third time that
they reluctantly withdrew to sleep.

The following morning they were on the move before the sun had cleared the
tops of the trees behind them. Edric was anxious to push on now, to return
to Athelingaig. He found himself thinking that if he were one of Ælfred's
House Ceorls he could approach Godgifu's father and he started at the
thought. 'Great God, man! You barely know her and yet you think of
marriage!' How could this be? Godgifu saw the confusion on his face and
wondered at its cause. She had been watching him surreptitiously. 'Now
here's a man I could spend some time with,' she mused, but dismissed the
thought as silly. She had given up hope of marriage years before when not
even the most impoverished of her father's men had asked for her, despite
the sizeable dowry Oswulf had offered in desperation.

They rode on through the long spring evening and it was almost full dark
when they came to Athelingaig. Edric answered the challenge of the watch and
it was with relief that the tired band came to the camp. It was much changed
during their absence. Ætholnoth's men had joined with the King's host so
there were now upwards of eight hundred warriors gathered in the fort.
Ælfred himself came out to meet them together with Ætholnoth and a half
dozen others of the King's Thegns.

"Edric, you're back! And I hear from my spies that the Danes believe there
are bands of three-score Saxons ranging all over Wessex! And whom do we have
here?"

"Allow me to present the Lady Godgifu, daughter of Oswulf of Bradanforda, My
Lord. The Lady's escort deserted her so she accompanied us here."

Ælfred handed her down from her horse and gave a bow.

"Lady, welcome to Athelingaig. Your father joined us not two days since. He
will be pleased to see you safe for he feared you might be taken."

"My safety is entirely due to Edric, My Lord."

"Well, now I have need of him. Doubtless you will wish to see you father.
Ceolwulf here will take you to him. Come, Edric, for we have much to
discuss."

With that the King strode off. Edric turned to Godgifu and the look that
passed between spoke more than words. "Later, " was all he said and she
nodded. He made his report to the King and his War Council in a few terse
sentences. "And so, My Lord, we got as far east as Wiltun before turning
back. I sent word also into Hamtunshire and I believe such of their men who
have not fled will join with us at Egbert's Stone. I am sure of the men of
Wiltunshire."

"You have done well, Edric," the King replied. "I had not thought you would
get so far. Now Wessex knows I am neither dead nor fled! Whitsun will bring
a reckoning. Now, will you swear to me and be my man?"

So it was that Edric the ni-thing became Ceorl to Ælfred of Wessex. In the
days that followed he saw little of Godgifu. The King kept him busy with
constant forays against the Danes. Ælfred's men would strike out of the
forests or in the darkness, keeping the enemy off balance. He was wounded
once, in a sharp fight near Ceoddor. And then there were the drills.

Ælfred had visited Rome twice as a young man and was much impressed with
both the city and its history. He now taught the Saxons to fight in a moving
Shield Wall, like the Roman 'tortoise'. He divided his army into two parts
and four hundred men locked arms in each square. Those on the outside held
shields and axes, the inner ranks thrust with spears between the wall of
shields. No Saxon had seen the like. They had always fought in the Shield
Wall but chose their ground and stood under the banners. Now they could
manoeuvre in fighting formation. The warriors hated the drills but were
itching to put them into practice.

As May rolled on, messengers began to arrive at the camp with more
frequency. The men of Wessex were responding to their King's call. Simple
reckoning said that there would be five thousand to meet the King at
Egbert's Stone. One evening, Ælfred summoned the leaders of his host and
told them to prepare. They would march from Athelingaig for the last time in
just two more days.

Those two days passed in a mad blur for Edric and his companions. The King's
preparations were meticulous and no detail must be overlooked, however
small. He had barely been able to snatch a few words with Godgifu but there
was now an understanding between them. If Edric survived the coming battle,
he would speak to Oswulf. As always with him, his duty came first and he put
such thoughts far from his mind as he went about his tasks.

Thus it was, on that last night before the army's departure, that Godgifu
slipped quietly into his hut. Edric sat upon his pallet in surprise.
"Godgifu, what are you doing here? It is not seemly..." She placed a finger
to his lips. "Hush, my man, and listen," she said. "Do you suppose I am some
green girl? I am twenty three years old and I have thought this over.  My
mind's made up. I will not go to my grave a virgin. If you should fall I
will take the veil but at least I will know love before I do so!"

She took a flint and steel and lit a rush light, filling the hut with a
warm, soft light. Turning back to him, she stripped off her dress and stood
before him. He thought his heart would burst its bounds and choke him. He
had no voice. Her body was bathed in a golden glow. Her breasts were large
and swung outwards from her chest. He felt his pulse race as it did when he
stood in the Shield Wall. His eyes were drawn to the round flare of her
hips, down her slightly domed stomach to the crown of curls at its base. He
felt himself grow hard as he stripped off his trews and tunic and drew her
down to the pallet beside him.

She ran her fingers lightly over his body, touching the hard muscles and the
scarred flesh. Only his back was unmarked. His eyes were wide in wonder and
his breath came quickly. She felt completely in control, trusting his
inherent gentleness. She inclined her head and kissed him, feeling his beard
on her cheek as she did so. It was softer than she expected. Passion rose in
her and she kissed him again, harder this time, thrusting her tongue into
his mouth. She took his lower lip between her teeth and bit down softly. He
uttered a low groan but she knew it was not pain.

His hands moved to her breasts and he felt their soft weight. She inhaled
sharply as he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked at her lightly. He
teased at it with his tongue and teeth and it was now she who moaned aloud.
His hands stroked the rounded swelling of her buttocks and she felt his
strength as he lifted her easily to lie on top of him. She could feel his
hardness pressing against her and she thrust towards it with her hips.
"Slowly, my love," he whispered and she relaxed a little, luxuriating in the
new sensations invading her body in waves as he stroked the moistened curls
and slipped a finger gently into her cleft. She gasped as his questing
finger found its target and he gently rubbed the little knot. She could wait
no longer. She rose above him and grasping him with one hand, thrust down
suddenly. A flash of pain shot through her but he was through the barrier.
She scarcely had time to feel it.

His hips thrust up to meet her and he seized her buttocks, pulling her
forwards and downwards until their bodies met. She almost screamed at the
sudden shock but already he was lifting her away and she found herself
falling easily into the rhythm. It was like riding a wild horse, she
thought, or better yet, a dragon.

He bent forward and captured a gently swaying breast with his mouth. The
sensation flashed like lightning through her body, as if there was a direct
connection between her nipple and her loins. All conscious thought had left
her now; she was only aware of the demands of her body and the rising tide
of feeling deep within her. She felt his teeth graze her nipple and it
pushed her over the brink. She screamed aloud as the climax hit her. She
looked down at his face and saw it contorted with passion as he followed her
to fulfilment.

Thus it was that her father found them, summoned by the sounds of her
passion. The old Thegn's face purpled with rage. " A rape!" He bellowed, " A
rape!" This brought others running and before they knew it, Edric had been
seized and dragged naked from the hut. Oswulf would have killed him out of
hand but Hereward of Middletun stepped between the maddened Thegn and his
intended victim.

"Come now, Oswulf, you know that is not the King's law."

"Law or not, I'll have this bastard's life! She was to take the veil! He has
despoiled the Holy Church!"

"Take the veil, indeed!" Godgifu appeared then from the hut. She stood,
naked and proud, before the assembled company." And if there was rape, well,
it was I that did it! I went to Edric willingly and would do so again."

Edric raised his head. His initial sense of shame was passing. "I meant no
insult to you. Lord Oswulf. I had planned to speak to you. Godgifu and I are
not children. We would wed. Will you have me for a good-son?"

Oswulf spat. " I'd sooner have you as carrion!"

Ælfred's voice then cut across the hubbub. "Oswulf, it is my wish that Edric
lives a while longer yet." He took off his cloak, worn against the evening
chill and draped it about Godgifu with a smile. "It seems to me, Lord
Oswulf, that all would be best served by a marriage. I can see no rape here
and know it is not Edric's way. What say you?"

Oswulf still bridled and fulminated but gave a grudging nod. "Let him have
the sow." Edric stepped forward and grabbed the Thegn by his tunic. He
lifted the older man bodily until their eyes were level. "You are worse than
a fool," he said. "You've had a treasure under your nose for years and have
been blind to her. You think beauty exists only at the level of the skin.
How can you have lived so long yet learned so little? You are unfit to be
father to such a Lady. Hear me now. If you ever speak of your daughter
without respect again, I will punch you. This is something to be feared.
Ask any man in Dornwaraceaster and they will tell you I can fell an ox with
one blow. I trust I make myself plain?" Godgifu had never heard him so
eloquent.

Oswulf blustered. " Did you see that? He manhandled me! He threatened me!"
Hereward stepped forward and put an arm around the Thegn. " Oswulf, " he
said with a smile, " Consider yourself lucky to be alive. If that big ugly
bastard had been naked and close enough to kiss me, I'd have died of
fright!" There was a moment's silence before the assembled crowd dissolved
into gales of laughter. Edric looked furious a little while longer but found
it impossible not to smile. His grin stretched until he, too, was consumed
by mirth.


"Enough," said the King. We have serious work ahead of us on the morrow.
"Edric, say your farewells to your betrothed. There will be time for love
when peace is won." Edric bowed his head in agreement. Ælfred turned to
Godgifu. "My Lady, you shall have a dowry of your King and I promise you, it
will be more fitting than any that old curmudgeon would provide." She, too,
bowed her head; but not before she saw Hereward's broad wink.

The Saxons gathered at Egbert's Stone on Whitsunday. Ælfred led them forward
to a place called Ethandun. They attacked the Danes as the first rays of
sunlight touched the broad downs. The moving Shield Walls took the foe by
surprise but still they outnumbered Ælfred's men. The fighting lasted most
of the day. The King was everywhere, inspiring his warriors, leading
counterattacks, wherever the fighting was fiercest. And ever at his side was
Edric. The big warrior was magnificent that day. He seemed tireless and
when, as the day grew late, the Danish host finally broke, it was Edric who
led the pursuit.

Guthrun and his army withdrew to a fortified camp at Cippanhamm. Cippanhamm
was where it started and where it finished. After a bitter siege lasting a
fortnight, Guthrun asked for terms. He gave himself up to the King's Peace
and was baptised a Christian. After swearing deep oaths and giving hostages,
the Danes withdrew to the east. In his wisdom, Ælfred granted them
settlement rights in Danelaw. So the year of grace eight hundred and seventy
eight ended with Wessex free and Danish power humbled for the nonce. It
would not remain so.

Edric and Godgifu were married at Lammas. The bulge in her belly was noticed
by all but mentioned by none: certainly not by her father!

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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