Among the Outcast (Chapters 1-2)

Chapter 1: The Storm

Edwin drew his hood further down over his head and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. “Come on, Willow, come on! It can’t be much farther now.”

Willow made a feeble attempt to break into a trot, but slowed to a walk again after a few paces.

Edwin glanced up at the mass of greenish-purple cloud that towered above them. It was growing darker and more menacing with every passing second. Thunder echoed across the lonely hills, reminding Edwin of the voice of a wandering priest who had once visited his father’s Hall.

At the time, Edwin had thought the strange old priest was half-crazy. But now, as he rode alone through the deepening gloom with a heavy burden on his heart, the words of warning held new meaning.

They had reached the crest of a hill and were making their way over open ground. Like a huge phantom horse running ahead of a vast phantom chariot, a gust of icy wind hurtled across the hilltop, lashing tears from Edwin’s eyes.

Thunder boomed again, closer this time. “Judgement my lord!” the priest had boomed. “Judgement is coming!”

Willow halted abruptly.

“Come on, boy, come on!” Edwin shouted above the wind, kicking the horse hard. Willow flicked his ears back and forth and thrust his head forward, trying to wrench the reins from Edwin’s hands. He took a few more steps and stopped again, facing the storm and testing the wind with flaring nostrils.

“Please, boy,” Edwin groaned as the first raindrops stung his face. Through the gloom, he could just make out a shadowy mass at the bottom of the hill. “We’ll be more sheltered in those woods,” he said. “Come on, Willow!”

He succeeded in coaxing the exhausted animal into a reluctant plod, but there was no escaping the storm now.

With a sound like a thousand tramping soldiers, the rain cascaded down upon boy and horse.

Edwin caught a flash of lightning somewhere to his right. Willow snorted in fear. Edwin could feel every one of the horse’s muscles tense. Willow was poising himself for flight.

“Steady boy, steady!” His words were drowned out by another clap of thunder.

Thinking that he might be able to sooth Willow more easily if he was by his head, Edwin slipped his feet out of the stirrups and was about to dismount when there was a blinding flash.

A deafening roar that seemed to split the air in two exploded above them as lightning struck the ground right in front of Willow. With a wild scream, Willow reared, threw his master from the saddle, and galloped off into the darkness.

Edwin crashed to the ground and rolled onto his face, clasping the back of his head with his hands. He had the vague impression that he had hit his head on something, but terror kept him from registering pain. He lay prone in the grass, trembling. It’s coming, judgement is coming! He shut his eyes and held his breath, bracing himself for his last moment, unable to do anything but wait for that white finger to come down again and destroy him.

The rain continued to pour down relentlessly, but gradually, the claps of thunder grew more distant. Still shaking, Edwin got to his knees.

There was no sign of Willow anywhere but Edwin was too shaken to really care. All he wanted at that moment was some sort of shelter. He needed to escape the driving rain, and more than that, to hide from the angry eyes that he felt sure were watching him from the clouds, waiting for a chance to destroy him.

He remembered the wood he had seen and, shivering with cold and fear, he staggered to his feet and stumbled down the hill towards it. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the trees.

As he had hoped, the twisting branches, laden with new leaves, sheltered him a little from the rain and wind. He sank down on the gnarled root of an ancient oak. His head was throbbing now. Water dripped down his face and neck from his drenched hair. His sodden cloak offered him no warmth. He wondered whether Willow was still alive and, what was more to the point, how on earth he would continue his journey without a horse.

After about an hour, the rain abated and the distant rumbles of thunder ceased. The quiet calmed him a little, but it was now night and the world was pitch black. He decided that all he could do was wait for morning and try not to think about wolves. He leaned his pounding head back against the tree trunk, exhausted.

That was a very long night. The cold numbed Edwin’s brain as he sat huddled beneath the tree, staring into the darkness for hours. The pain in his head wouldn’t let him sleep. He must have eventually dozed off, for he was awakened by a gentle warmth on his face. A sunbeam had broken through the lush green canopy above him.

His limbs were horribly cramped, and he rose to his feet with difficulty. All around him, the forest was alive with the early morning bustle of the creatures that lived there. Birds hopped from branch to branch or flitted between the trees, sunlight catching their wings as they flew. The air hummed with their many different songs and somewhere not far away, a brook babbled. A rabbit scuttled into the bracken as Edwin rose. He wondered vaguely if it had a warren nearby.

His stomach growled. Breakfast. He needed food. And a horse. He had no idea where he was either. His head felt strangely light.

He thought perhaps a drink would help, so he got up and followed the sound of the brook. His back and right hip ached terribly. His elbow was stinging and, upon rolling up his sleeve, he discovered a large graze. The sight gave him some comfort, as it would probably leave an impressive scar. Father would be proud of it. Father? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He had no father.

He found the stream and, using his hands as a cup, drank. As he stood up, his head reeled. It took a moment for him to steady himself. Now what do I do? He had to do something.

He decided to see if he could find his horse. Surely Willow could not have gone too far. He stumbled through the trees and out onto the open ground. He climbed the hill and after a bit of searching, found the place where he thought he had fallen. He tried to visualise which direction Willow had gone in. It must have been down the hill towards the west. He looked at the sun. No, that direction was east because the sun always rose in the west. He shook his head. That didn’t seem right either. What was wrong with him?

He staggered down the hill towards the rising sun. His stomach growled. The deer he was looking for couldn’t be much further away. Was it a deer he was looking for? Oh well, he would just keep walking.

Edwin never knew afterwards how long he trudged on aimlessly in this way.

At some point, he heard a whinny and, following the direction of the sound, found Willow. His reins had caught on the branch of a fallen tree and he was trying desperately to wrench himself free. With difficulty, Edwin untangled him and hauled himself onto his back. “Come boy,” he said, “let’s go home.”

Somehow, the thought of home made him feel sad. But he couldn’t quite remember why. He felt dizzier and dizzier and a wave of nausea almost overcame him. He supposed it must be the motion of the horse.

“Don’t rock so much, Willow,” he murmured. “Come on, try a canter.” But cantering made him feel so much worse he was afraid he would fall off, so he slowed Willow to a walk again.

On they plodded until, sometime in the afternoon, Edwin found himself gazing up at solid wooden walls. “Hello!” he shouted. “Is anyone there?” A man came out of the building and approached him. Edwin’s head throbbed but he felt somehow that he should get down and greet the man. He slid down from the saddle, and stood, half-leaning against Willow.

“Hello! What can I do for you son?” the man asked.

His voice seemed muffled and Edwin struggled to make his eyes focus on the stranger’s face. “Hello, I’m Ed -” The ground rose up to meet him and darkness and pain engulfed him.

 

 

Chapter 2: The Christening

Peace! Freedom! Joy! It had been three weeks since the Battle of Edington and the very air seemed to vibrate with these tones. King Alfred’s victory at Edington had dealt the Danes a heavy blow, and the people of Wessex felt secure in the knowledge that the great army would not be troubling them again for some time. As the days grew longer and warmer, the very air seemed to pulse with promise.

Edith, daughter of the illustrious Edhelm the Bold, stood under the spreading pear tree that grew in a vegetable garden behind the Hall she called home. The blossoms had fallen and Edith was trying to count the little green fruits that clustered on the branches. We will have a good crop this year, she thought, happily. Then she sighed. Her brother Edwin had always loved pears. I wonder where he is right now?

She stooped to examine some baby lettuces that had just come up a few days before but paused at the sound of approaching hooves. Leaving the vegetable garden, she hurried round to the courtyard which was formed by a semicircle of various buildings, including the Hall and the stables, and was fenced across the front.

Cedric, the blacksmith’s son, was just riding in through the open gates. “Good morning, m’lady,” he said, swinging down from the saddle and bowing.

“Good morning, Cedric! You look as though you have good news!”

Cedric frank face was alight with a warm smile. “I have, m’lady. News from the king! King Guthrum has consented to become a Christian!”

“A Christian?”

“Yes, and he is to be baptised in the church in Aller!”

Edith stared. “In Aller! Then that means – ”

“Yes, my lady. The king himself is coming here, with his court, and with King Guthrum himself! Is your grandmother home? I must tell her the news at once!”

***

“Aller!” Lady Mildred was even more astonished than Edith had been. “But the church is so small and Aller is only a tiny village. Why would the king choose such an out-of-the-way place? Surely it would be far better to have him baptised – if that heathen really is to be baptised – in Somerton or even Langport.”

“I must confess I was surprised myself, my lady,” Cedric smiled. “But perhaps the king wishes to bring Guthrum to the place where he was a fugitive only a few months ago.”

Lady Mildred frowned. “Perhaps. But I do not trust this about Guthrum becoming a Christian. That wily Dane will do anything just to get King Alfred off his guard. You mark my words: in six months’ time, he will be back in Wessex with ten thousand men at his heels.”

Cedric shrugged. “Time will tell, my lady.”

As unconcerned as Cedric seemed, Edith could not help feeling the same doubt her grandmother had expressed. She followed Cedric out into the courtyard and stood by as he mounted his horse. “Cedric, do you think there is any possibility that Guthrum will return? He has broken his treaties so many times. Do you not think that the king has been too gentle with him, after all the evil he has done?”

“I cannot say whether Guthrum will keep his word, or whether his faith is genuine, m’lady, but I can say that King Alfred is a just and gracious man. My father says it is wise and Christian of him not to repay evil for evil. And somehow, my lady, I don’t think Guthrum will trouble us again.” With a smile and a wave, he turned his horse and set off down the hill towards Aller.

***

The weeks that followed were filled with bustle and excitement.  Lady Mildred was disappointed to hear that King Alfred would not stay at the Hall, or in Aller, but would ride straight on from Aller to Wedmore where he intended to entertain Guthrum for a week. Word was that the king had given Guthrum permission to retain his lands in Mercia, provided that he converted to Christianity and stayed away from Wessex.

One afternoon, Swayn the stableboy rushed into the Hall with more news. “My lady! They say King Alfred himself is to be King Guthrum’s godfather!”

“It is all very strange,” Lady Mildred said. “In my opinion, too much mercy on the part of a king is a sign of weakness.”

***

At last, the momentous day arrived. Crowds lined the streets of Aller, awaiting the arrival of the kings and their courtiers. People from Langport and other surrounding towns, as well as the people from Aller, had flocked to participate in the grand occasion.

As members of the thegn’s family, Edith and her grandmother had been given the front pews inside the little church, along with the other thegns and ealdormen and their families.  As Lady Mildred had said, there was nothing particularly special about the little church. It was made entirely of wood, and since the Danish raids had begun, the priest had hidden some of its more costly and decorative furnishing.

Today, however, the treasures had been brought out and Edith looked in wonder at the two golden candelabras, with their intricate design, that stood on either side of the alter. The font, a basin which held the water with which the Dane was to be baptised, was made of gold, set on an intricately carved oak stand. The church twinkled with the light of many candles. High above the alter, dappled sunlight shone through the single, stained-glass window.

They sat waiting in the church for what felt like hours. The straight wooden back of the pew pressed against Edith’s spine. It made her want to squirm, but she forced herself to sit still and erect, as was expected of a young lady of her rank. Once, however, she did venture to twist around in her seat and caught the eye of her friend, Aisly, the blacksmith’s daughter. As the blacksmith and his family had been secretly aiding the king during his time of hiding, they too had been given a seat in the church.

Aisly’s eyes met Edith’s and she smiled. She was also sitting unnaturally straight, but the glow in her face showed that she was as excited as Edith.

There was a shout outside, and the blast of a trumpet, followed by the clopping of the many hooves of carefully controlled horses, parading up the street. Everyone was twisting around in their seats now, straining to be the first to catch sight of the royal company.

At last, they entered. First, several retainers of King Alfred and King Guthrum. These were followed by the kings themselves.

King Alfred, a fair-haired man of about thirty, strode forward with an easy confidence and grace that showed strength and poise. His face was thin and pale, etched with the lines that long months of care and suffering had engraved there. He wore a simple gold crown and his blue eyes shone with a deep, quiet joy.

Guthrum was several years Alfred’s senior, with thick limbs and broad shoulders and eyes full of fire. Yet, though Edith could easily picture this warrior rushing into battle at the head of ten thousand men, there was a strange peace in his face as he walked beside his conqueror. No anger burned in his fiery eyes or pulsed in his sinewy veins. He was calm, resolute, and, Edith thought, content.

Her heart swelled with emotion as she thought of all that must have passed between the two kings. Looking at them now, walking side by side, one would never have guessed that they had once been mortal enemies.

Behind the two kings came many other grand people, including thirty of King Guthrum’s courtiers.

The faces of most of these men were sullen and resigned, but there was one face that particularly stood out to Edith.

It was the face of a tall, princely man. Edith thought he couldn’t be more than three years older than Edwin. His features were lean and pointed and his lip had a haughty curve to it.  He kept his eyes cast down, as though in deep submission or reverence, but Edith could tell from his quick step and the way he kept raising his left hand to his belt, as if he was missing a dagger or sword that usually hung there, that he was agitated, perhaps even angry. As the young man walked close behind Guthrum and stood near him for most of the service, Edith guessed that he must be someone of high rank.

A deep hush fell over the people as the service began, but Edith couldn’t help noticing the way the young Dane kept fidgeting with his belt.

The voice of the priest rose to the high carved beams of the church’s roof. He spoke in Latin, so Edith understood very little of what he said. She wondered if Guthrum or any of his men could understand. That was unlikely, for over the past few centuries, the ancient Roman language had ceased to be spoken by the general populace and was only used by scholars and clergy. But Edith knew that, according to the custom of the Church, King Guthrum must have been prepared for this day by weeks of careful teaching.

King Alfred stood by, solemn and stern, but with a light shining in his thoughtful eyes.

Edith cast another glance at the young Dane and looked down again quickly with a blush. He was staring straight at her with a look she did not like.

Trying to ignore his gaze, she fixed her attention on the priest and the kings.

The most important part of the ceremony had arrived. The Danish king was baptised in the name of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. Then he was robed in white and given a new name: Aethelstan.

As Guthrum, now Aethelstan, stood with bowed head before the congregation, light from the stained-glass window fell on his wet hair and glowed above his head like an ethereal crown.

King Alfred, now officially Aethelstan’s godfather, stepped forward and embraced the man who had been his arch-enemy. As Aethelstan’s godfather, King Alfred had pledged himself to be Aethelstan’s spiritual mentor, adopting Aethelstan as a spiritual son.

With the coloured light from the window falling on them, glinting on Alfred’s crown and dappling Aethelstan’s white robe, it seemed to Edith that heaven itself had opened and was shining down upon them.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She sat, the uncomfortable pew forgotten and all her worries temporarily banished, her heart captivated by the beauty of the moment.

The service came to an end. The kings and their courtiers paraded out of the church. In her wonder and delight, Edith had momentarily forgotten the young Dane. But as he passed close to where she sat, she felt his eyes on her again.  She kept her gaze downcast until the company had left the church and it was time for the congregation to follow.

As they made their way towards the door, Edith felt a light touch on her arm. Turning, she found that Aisly was by her side.

“That was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Aisly whispered.

“Yes, it was!” Edith glanced towards the entry. “Aisly, did you notice that young Dane, the tall, proud looking one?”

“They’re all tall!” Aisly replied. “But I think I know which one you mean.”

“I don’t like the look of him.”

Aisly grinned, “Well, he certainly seems to like the look of you.”

“Oh Aisly, don’t!” Edith said.

They emerged from the church, blinking in the bright sunlight. Aisly laid a hand on Edith’s arm. “Edith, look at Mother Hilda!”

Edith followed Aisly’s gaze. A small, bent woman with perfectly white hair stood at the edge of the crowd on the opposite side of the street. Her sunken eyes gazed towards the men as she strained to catch a glimpse of her king. Though Mother Hilda stood firm and strong, her wrinkled face was deathly pale. The people around her were too focused on the king and the Danes to notice her.

Edith had never spoken to Mother Hilda before, but she knew her name well because that winter, Aisly had asked her to embroider a shawl for her.

“I don’t think it’s doing her any good to be standing in the sun like this,” Aisly said.

Edith glanced at her grandmother to see if she had noticed, but Lady Mildred was talking to an important looking person that Edith didn’t know.

“Someone who knows her should be with her!” Edith said.

“Aisly!” a voice called.

“Oh, that’s mother calling,” Aisly said. “I have to go!” She disappeared into the crowd.

Edith looked at Mother Hilda again. She had bent her head and was leaning heavily on her stick. “She’s going to faint!” she cried, darting across the street.

As Edith reached her, one of the Danes broke away from his group and caught the woman as she fell. Edith threw herself down on her knees beside Mother Hilda.

“Has anyone got a flask of water or ale? Do you have any?” she asked, looking at the Dane who half knelt, supporting the woman’s head with his arm. It was the same Dane who had watched her through the service.

His smile was handsome but oily. “I fear not. Ho, water!” he cried. “We need water! Or wine!” His strong voice caught the attention of the people standing nearby. Until that moment, none of them seemed to have noticed, or cared, what happened to Mother Hilda.

Someone passed them a leather bottle of water and within moments, colour began to return to the woman’s withered cheeks. One of the village women offered to help her home.

“I can manage very well by myself, thank you,” Mother Hilda said. “It was just a little turn that’s all.” They helped her to her feet. She squeezed Edith’s hand tightly. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, I had better go before I attract any more attention to myself!”

With that, she turned and hobbled down the street, leaning heavily on her cane.

By this time, the kings and their men had moved on up the road, but the young Dane didn’t seem to have noticed. He bowed to Edith and was about to speak when Lady Mildred approached them.

“There you are Edith! What are you doing? Who is this?”

The young man bowed. “I am Torvald, a prince from Denmark. I presume you are the lady of the village?”

Lady Mildred sniffed. “My lands do include this village as well as Langport and the surrounding woods.”

The Dane seemed unabashed by his mistake. “A grand estate. I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting the thegn. Is he –”

Lady Mildred stiffened visibly. “The thegn is not present. I –”

At that moment, another Dane approached them. He said something to Torvald in Danish, his tone low and urgent.

Torvald’s smooth brow clouded. “My lord is asking for me. Excuse me.” With a bow and one more glance at Edith, he turned and stalked away.

Edith turned to her grandmother. “As much as I would have liked King Alfred and his company to sup at the Hall, I am glad now that they are going straight on to Wedmore. I do not like the look of that Dane!” She shuddered.

Lady Mildred laid a hand on her shoulder, “Do not worry, child. If he ever sets foot within our borders again, he will be the worse for it!”