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Subject: {ASSM} The Lady of Mercia (M/F, F/F First.)
Date: Fri, 18 Oct 2002 03:10:03 -0400
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The third part of The Anglo Saxon Chronicles. Comments/criticism always
welcome.

The Anglo Saxon Chronicles Part III


I am an old man now, with an old man's failings. It is nine years since my
liege and, dare I venture, my friend Ælfred, King of Wessex and Rex
Anglorum, passed to greater glory. I fear I shall not be long behind him for
winter chills my bones and I sleep more and more by the brazier in the
Scriptorium. My hands have grown too stiff for fine work these many years
but I may still wield my pen to good effect.

Presently, I dwell on secular matters. I trust that those who follow me will
forgive an old man's foibles. I spent my youth and my prime in the service
of God and one man, a King, it is true, but a man for all that. Ælfred had
his faults, which of us does not? There was true greatness in him, never
more clearly seen than in the service of his Land and its people. However,
he served his family less well, as I shall tell in these pages.

Perhaps it is the fate of great men to excel in those things which men judge
to be the most important. Also, perhaps, it is the fate of those who stand
most closely in the shadow of such greatness to find themselves eclipsed,
adumbrated. For it is certain sure that such a doom belonged to Ælfred's
kin.

It was never the king's intent that his family should suffer by neglect; but
only evil men truly intend evil. Nonetheless, it was his doing, or the lack
of such, that caused a great evil, the true consequences of which were only
narrowly avoided, as I shall now recount.


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



Author's Note

Æthelflaed, the Lady of Mercia, was born about 868 AD. She was the first
child of Alfred the Great and was married at the age of sixteen to Æthelred
II of Mercia. This was almost certainly a political alliance. Alfred's
eldest son, Edward, took the throne upon his father's death in 899.There is
some evidence to suggest that Alfred intended Edward's son, Athelstan to be
his successor. Athelstan eventually became King in 924.

Æthelflaed came to real prominence in 911, following her husband's death and
after the events in this story. The wars that eventually led to the
re-conquest of Scandinavian England commenced in AD 909. Again, there is
evidence to suggest that Æthelred was incapacitated for some time before his
death and that Æthelflaed was the de facto ruler of Mercia from about 905.
What is beyond dispute is Æthelflaed's military genius.

She had a keen eye for ground, was the mistress of strategy and appears to
have been enormously popular. Some of her greatest victories were bloodless.
Just before her death in 918 AD, the entire Danish Kingdom of Northumbria
was negotiating to place itself under her rule. Unfortunately, she died at
Tamworth in June of that year and the chance was lost. No similar offer was
ever made to Edward. After his sister's death, he seized the Kingdom of
Mercia, which never again enjoyed an independent existence.

Edward was certainly a successful Ruler. By the time of his death in 924,
all of England south of the Humber River had been annexed to Wessex and
Mercia disappears from History as an independent kingdom. However, we see
little in the way of improvement to the social, cultural or political life
of his kingdom. The renaissance in learning, begun under Alfred, was in
abeyance until Athelstan succeeded Edward.

Ælfred, Æthelred of Mercia, Edward, Athelstan and Æthelflaed are all
historical characters. The Danes did cease Chester and were expelled in the
manner I have described. Æthelwold did dispute Edward's accession to the
throne with Danish help. The rest, and this entire story, are my own
imaginings.


The Lady of Mercia, AD 884-906


"You are so lucky, Hereward."

"My Lady?"

 "You married Elfgirda for love. I'm to be married to smelly old Æthelred
because Father says it's important to the Kingdom."

"Well, My Lady, we all have our duty in these times. And can it be so bad to
be married to the King of Mercia?"

"But he's old, Hereward; older than you, even. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean
that you're old. But his teeth are rotten and his breath stinks!"

The Princess Æthelflaed was walking in the gardens of the Abbey at Wiltun
with Hereward of Middletun. Hereward was one of the inner circle of King's
Men and a respected voice on the Witan - the Council - despite his
relatively young age of thirty. He was fond of the young Princess. He had a
deal of sympathy for the girl. Æthelred of Mercia was a dull man with few
redeeming features. King Ælfred was using the marriage to cement relations
between the two surviving Saxon Kingdoms. Even Mercia was only half a
Kingdom. Guthrun and the Danes had seized the eastern portion of that
unhappy land from Æthelred's predecessor, Ceolwulf. Æthelred had inherited a
country that was beaten and cowed and in fear of being finally crushed
between the hammer of the Danes and the anvil of a resurgent Wessex.

Hereward now looked down at her. She wasn't the beautiful princess of the
sagas, that was for sure. Her dark hair spoke of her Frankish ancestry, for
her grandmother had been sister to Charles, King of the Franks. Her build
was on the square side. She was not fat, far from it, but she had wide
shoulders and hips and the effect was exaggerated by her shortness of
stature. She had a pleasant face with lively green eyes and a ready smile.
Hereward enjoyed her company. He sensed a deep-rooted strength in her. It
was no less than he would expect from the first-born child of his King.

He knew all about the impending marriage. Ælfred could be impetuous.
Æthelred of Mercia had suggested closer ties between their Kingdoms.
Hereward wasn't sure that the Mercian entertained any hopes of marriage to
the King's daughter but it fell out thus. Hereward was rarely surprised by
the King these days, having been an almost constant companion since the dark
days on Athelingaig, but he was taken aback by the speed of Ælfred's
promise. "Of course," he had said to Æthelred, "You are quite right. You
shall marry my daughter, Æthelflaed." And the matter was decided.

Ælfred was quite unprepared for his daughter's reaction. She had gone very
pale and still on being told the news. Then she had said, "How little you
must think of me, Father," and walked away, back straight and head held
high. Ælfred had tried to explain, to justify his decision but Æthelflaed
refused to be drawn. All she would say was "It shall be as you command, My
Lord." It was to Ælfred's great sadness that she never called him 'Father'
thereafter. Now, the day had come when she must leave Wessex and travel to
Tamoworthig in Mercia to be married. Hereward had begged the King for
command of her escort. He felt she might need a friend's company on such a
journey.

It was early summer and the weather stayed fair as they travelled
northwards. Æthelflaed was withdrawn and reserved for the most part.
Hereward had imagined that she would be nervous, unsure of what to expect.
She was, after all, only just sixteen. But Æthelflaed showed no outward
signs of nerves. What Hereward could not see was the anger blazing deep
within her soul. He tried to make light conversation, riding beside the
wagon in which she rode, but she answered him with monosyllables, refusing
further dialogue.

They made slow progress, stopping each night in a town or larger village and
lodging with the local nobles. Æthelflaed was always gracious and polite to
her hosts but always made some excuse to withdraw early, leaving Hereward to
explain her absences as due to the fatigue of travel. So it was they came to
the King's camp at Tamoworthig and it was with something like relief that
Hereward was able to turn his charge over to Æthelred's household.

He tried once more to talk to her before he left but she rebuffed him
gently. "My father sent me here to be his pawn," she said. "This, I shall
never be. I was a Princess of Wessex, now I shall be a Queen of Mercia.
Hereward, you have always been a good friend but you are my father's man,
for good or ill. Tell him, then, that I shall do my duty." Hereward bowed
and made his farewells. It was a sadly puzzled man that rode away.


*******************************************

Æthelflaed had been raised in the Court of a King at war. For as long as she
could remember, her father and his House Ceorls had been on the move,
fighting or planning for the next fight. In the absence of the men, she had
enjoyed, perhaps, a greater freedom than that which was normally afforded to
a Saxon noble's daughter. Her mother was devout and spent much time closeted
with her priest. Æthelflaed had been left to her own devices and she had
taken the opportunity to acquire an education normally the preserve of male
offspring. She had insinuated herself into the Abbey schoolroom and proved
an apt pupil.

King Ælfred had attracted men of learning from all over Christian Europe
and, while at first they may have found her a curiosity, they came to
recognise that she was the possessor of a fine inquiring mind. She took full
advantage of what was on offer. She soon mastered both Latin and Greek and
read every precious book she laid hands on. Attempts to confine her to
religious tracts were countered with a fierce determination. The
teacher-monks soon realised that here was spirit as dauntless as that of
Ælfred himself.

It could be said that the young Æthelflaed became too used to having her own
way. Had she been of a different character, she may have well have become an
unbearable little prig. As it was, that fate was reserved for her brother
Edward, the King's heir. Edward was barely more than a year her junior and
ever conscious of his position. Æthelflaed was by far his intellectual
superior and he constantly found cause for personal affront when she bested
him in any task set by their tutors. It was only in the matter of physical
challenges that Edward could crow his superiority; but even here, Æthelflaed
contrived to beat him.

The pair had been set the problem of raising a number of stone blocks set in
the Abbey cloister. The object was to lift the lumps of masonry from the
ground to the level of the parapet on the curtain wall. Edward, of course,
tried by main force to lift the heavy stones. Strong as he was for a lad of
only twelve summers, the weight proved too much. Æthelflaed recognised
instantly that she would fare no better. Instead, she constructed a kind of
crude seesaw. She attached a stone block to one arm and a large leather
bucket to the other. Mounting a ladder, she proceeded to fill the bucket
with water. After several trips, the weight of the water in the bucket was
greater than the stone block and it swung upwards to the desired location.

The monks were delighted and heaped praise on her ingenuity; this damned
Edward by comparison. Having been mastered in the one area where he felt
himself to be his sister's, the young Prince flew into a rage and struck his
sister, knocking her to the ground. Punishment was swift and harsh and ever
after, relations between the two royal siblings were scarcely cordial.

Now Æthelflaed found herself facing a challenge for which she felt totally
unprepared. It is true that she expected marriage but had always imagined it
would be to a younger man than Æthelred of Mercia. She somehow envisaged
herself marrying for love, having the time to indulge her passion for
learning and, at some point, having children on whom she could dote.
Instead, she was in a strange land surrounded by an embittered people who
saw her native Wessex as almost as great a threat as the hated Danes. Her
husband-to-be was dull, unimaginative and, by her lights, crude.

This was unfair to Æthelred. True, he lacked any great spark of personality
but he was a brave warrior and was utterly committed to the cause of his
land and people. There were few in England who could stand close comparison
with Ælfred, the scholar-King. Æthelflaed's horror was complete when she
discovered there were only three books in the whole of Æthelred's
establishment and that the monks of the Abbey at Tamoworthig were ill
educated, aside from matters religious. There was no formal schooling and
many of the Household could neither read nor write. Had she been more
disposed towards the King of Mercia, she would have admitted that such was
the situation in Wessex scarcely a generation before. The difference, of
course, was Ælfred.



*******************************************


They were married on the First day of July; the Bishop of Liccidfeld
conducted the nuptials and if the rejoicing was somewhat muted, there were
many who viewed the marriage as a shrewd move by Æthelred to strengthen his
ties with Wessex. For Æthelflaed, the reluctant bride, the wedding ceremony
was like the slamming of a gaol door, leaving her imprisoned; her hopes and
aspirations stranded on the other side of the bars.

The wedding feast and subsequent bedding - where the newly married couple
were escorted to the bedchamber, accompanied by much bawdy advice and
exhortation - proved an even greater trial. Æthelred had consumed a great
quantity of old ale and he hid his own nervousness in a brusque and clumsy
mounting that put Æthelflaed in mind of a rutting boar. She watched him in
silence as he heaved and sweated above her. The pain was bearable; the
humiliation was not. She felt only relief when he stiffened, grunted and
collapsed beside her to start snoring almost immediately.

This set a pattern for their married life. It seemed that Æthelred could not
come to her sober. She would lie unmoving, enduring. His visits became less
and less frequent as the months went by and Æthelflaed found no cause for
regret in this. At first, she hoped that pregnancy would give her the excuse
to curtail their trysts. In the event, she remained singularly barren and
Æthelred seemed to lose all but the most passing interest in her. Æthelflaed
decided she could tolerate his intrusions. A bigger enemy by far was her own
boredom.

She could not spend her days happily in spinning or weaving. She did not
have her mother's devout nature to pass her time in the company of priests
in contemplation of the Almighty. After six or so months of enforced
idleness, she determined to take matters into her own hands. Æthelflaed
decided to start a school. First, she wrote to Asser, her father's friend
and adviser, to beg the services of an educated monk to help with the
endeavour. Next, she approached her husband, Æthelred.

"My Lord, I wish to found a school for the education of the children of your
Household. I cannot spend another day in dreary idleness."

"You take no pleasure in the company of the ladies?"

"Sadly, no, My Lord. I was not raised to enjoy those pursuits that are
deemed suitable for a lady."

"So what would you do?"

"First, I will have a school. The children will need more than skill at
arms."

"The shield wall is school enough. That's where I got my education."

"And do you suppose, My Lord, that you are the first warrior to fight a
battle? Men have been fighting for thousands of years. The Romans conquered
half the world and Great Alexander the other half. Could you not learn from
them?"

"Did your father?"

"Indeed he did, My Lord. The moving shield wall is a Roman tactic, as is the
founding of the Burghs. The Romans, too, built fortified places as the
anchors for their armies."

"Men rot when locked behind walls. Victory can only be had in true battle."

"And you think so? It was not victory in battle that sees your kingdom now
divided. I understand your thinking Lord, but things must change if we are
to win back Mercia."

"We, Lady? And which 'we' do you mean? We, the Mercians or the 'we' of
Wessex?"

"My Lord, we seem to have begun badly. Now I give you my most solemn oath, I
am Queen of Mercia, no longer Ælfred's daughter. And if I would not have
chosen to be your wife, that is what I am. I don't yet know how to be a
Queen but I shall learn."

"It is my regret, Lady, that I don't yet know how to be a husband. Perhaps
we could teach each other?"

And over the next few years they tried to do so.
The first eight years of Æthelflaed's marriage to Æthelred of Mercia were
relatively peaceful for the surviving Saxon Kingdoms. Relations with the
Danelaw had settled into wary co-existence and a fledgling trade had begun
between the Saxon Kingdoms and the Danes. In Wessex, Ælfred had used the
time to further establish his Burghs - fortified towns that could act as
centres of operations - and to build a fleet of ships to meet marauders at
sea. Æthelflaed urged similar preparations in Mercia but her husband was
stubborn. He clung to the view that victory could only be won in the open
field. Unable to change her husband's mind, she threw herself into the
education of her new subjects - an enthusiasm that was not universally
shared. Little by little she won them over and one school became four and
then eight. If Æthelflaed did not find happiness, she found a kind of
contentment. Still and all, something nagged at her; something was missing,
unfulfilled.

Now it happened that in the Year of our Lord 892, a vast new horde descended
on England. Ælfred Obtained agreement that the Danelaw would remain neutral,
but it was not to be. The fighting was bitter that year but no victory could
be gained and winter saw the invaders camped in the land of the East Saxons.
With the spring, the Danish army broke out and took the Saxons by surprise.
They marched day and night and occupied the ancient city of Legaceaster,
Chester of the Legions, once a great Roman camp. It was from here that they
planned to invade Mercia; unprepared Mercia whose King was sorely sick and
could not take the field.

In Tamoworthig, Æthelred wandered in and out of consciousness, barely
clinging to life. The King was unaware of the danger that threatened and the
Court seemed paralysed, powerless to act in his absence. Æthelflaed called
the Thegns of Mercia to her. She knew what must be done but was unsure if
the army would follow a woman.

"My Lord, the King is too sick to lead us but he has given me his orders,"
she lied. Gather your House Ceorls and summon the Fyrd. We march on
Legaceaster."

"Who will command, Lady?"

"Yes, My Lady, who will lead us?"

"I will command. I have my husband's orders and his writ." She brandished a
parchment, knowing full well that none there before her could read it. To
her surprise, there was no dissent. The King had commanded and their oaths
demanded obedience. If she felt any sense of nervousness at the prospect of
commanding an army at war, it did not show in her demeanour. She stood
proudly, simply dressed in a woollen robe of russet brown, unadorned by any
jewels or fripperies. Yet she looked every inch a Queen. There was a fire in
those green eyes that could not be quenched and a steely determination in
the jut of her jaw and the straightness of her back. The Thegns saw and
noted all; and were pleased by what they saw. Here was a Queen indeed.

As she told her husband long afterwards, she had no plan when the army
marched from Tamoworthig. She simply knew that such a host could not be
allowed to stand on Mercia's northern border. The land thereabouts was rich
and good for farming. Abundant water made for thick, green grass and fat
cattle. Left alone, the Danes could sustain themselves in plenty, raiding
into Mercia at their will.

Æthelflaed knew that the old Roman enclosure was easily fortified. Also,
there was in her an abhorrence for the slaughter of the shield wall. She had
read widely and included many military tracts amongst her readings. She was
particularly fond of Xenephon, the Greek farmer-strategist, and it was to
his teachings that she turned now. She called the Thegns to her.

"My Lord believes that we are in for a long, hard campaign against these new
invaders. It is therefore his wish that we husband our forces. Send out
parties to drive off all the cattle and burn all the crops for twenty miles
around. We cannot deny them water as they sit astride the river, but we can
deny them food."  Æthelflaed looked about her, judging the effect of her
words. She saw some frown but also some solemn nods from the older men who
saw the wisdom in her strategy. There was a general rumble of assent and her
orders were soon put into action. The Mercian army then sat down and began
the long business of the siege.

Æthelflaed had to work hard over the ensuing weeks to keep discipline among
her frustrated soldiers. They were not used to such protracted campaigning.
The clash and madness of battle, they thought, was preferable to sitting
outside the fortified camp. There were fights and general bad temper but
matters came to a head when two House Ceorls were accused of rape.
Æthelflaed acted swiftly and decisively, imposing a fine equal to a twice a
peasant's wergild and insisting that the guilty men were dismissed from
their lord's service - declared ni-things. Short of putting them to death,
there was no harsher punishment for Saxons do not put free men in chains or
prisons.

Word of Æthelflaed's justice spread throughout the army and was generally
approved. The soldiers had long referred to her as the 'Princess' but now a
new name came into currency. She was referred to simply as 'The Lady', a
subtle change, perhaps, but a significant one. The 'Princess' referred to
her origins in Wessex, 'The Lady' called to mind only her standing in
Mercia. As the army saw her going about the place daily, giving orders,
dispensing justice, making a hundred and more decisions upon which their
well-being and safety depended, the ingrained respect due to her position
gradually changed. Respect became admiration and, eventually, admiration
turned to love.

After a time, the Danes, denied sustenance, attempted to resolve matters by
a pitched battle. Æthelflaed would have none of it and drew them out into
the devastated countryside. She eschewed a major engagement and, by means of
a forced night march, slipped her army behind them to seize the lightly-held
encampment. The invaders were faced with a stark choice, raid further into
Mercia with an army at their rear or withdraw. They chose the latter course
and slipped away to ravage the Welsh, where they remained for over a year.

The Lady returned to Tamoworthig in triumph. She had seen off a Danish army,
suffered few casualties and had captured the baggage and booty left in the
camp in Legaceaster. Æthelred was there to greet his wife on her return.

"You have done well, My Lady."

"It was done in your name, My Lord."

"This, too, I have heard. You will have to remind me how I appointed you to
command. It would appear that I was granted a wisdom not usually given to
those in a fever!"

"As you say, My Lord."

"My health is not good, Lady. Can you command a while longer?"

"If my husband wishes."

And thus it was that Æthelflaed came to be the commander of all the forces
of Mercia.


*******************************************

The following year, an event occurred in Wessex that was to have a profound
influence on the rest of Æthelflaed's life. A child was born to a Mercian
woman. The father was Edward, Æthelflaed's brother and heir to the throne of
Ælfred. Now some say that the child was the result of a rape and others that
the mother was Edward's mistress. If it were rape then it was well concealed
and reconciled. If the woman were Edward's mistress, she did not long
survive the birth to enjoy her position. The boy was named Athelstan, which
means 'Noble Gem' in the Saxon tongue, and such he promises to be.

As Athelstan grew, he became a constant delight to his grandfather, the
King. The boy, for his part, sought out Ælfred's company and he grew to be a
serious, dutiful, well-mannered little lad. He shared Ælfred's joy of
learning. Some say Ælfred named Athelstan his one true heir and if it is so,
it is small wonder that this angered Edward and his wife, who now had sons
of their own.

Thus it was that the Year of Our Lord Eight hundred and Ninety Nine saw
great changes in the lands of Wessex and Mercia. First, an attempt was made
to blind the five year old Athelstan. The perpetrators of this horror were
caught and killed but would reveal nothing of their purpose. Ælfred was
ailing but still the undisputed Lord of his Land. He summoned the young boy
and presented him with a jewelled belt and Seax, the Saxon Sword from which
the people derived their name. He then commanded that Prince Athelstan was
to be sent to Mercia, to the care of Æthelflaed and Æthelred. As it was
said, so it was done.

In Mercia, Æthelflaed had conceived at last and gave birth to a daughter
whom she named Ælfwynn. The child was frail and, for a while, was not
thought likely to live. Thus it as that the young Athelstan arrived at his
Aunt's Court in sombre circumstances. Matters turned darker yet when Ælfred
died in October of that year. Æthelflaed had never been reconciled with her
father and now she was consumed by guilt as well as anxiety for her own
child. It says much for the character of the boy Athelstan that his presence
was not instantly resented. On the contrary, he formed an almost instant and
lasting bond with the Lady of Mercia.


Slowly, the infant Ælfwynn grew stronger and Æthelflaed was able to relax.
She now devoted her time between the care of her baby daughter and the
education of Athelstan, her Ward and nephew. Athelstan had never experienced
that tender love that a mother offers a child so he did not notice this lack
in Æthelflaed. The Lady was not given to great displays of affection towards
anyone. It was as if her early experiences of intimacy had burned such
passions from her. Still and all, she was not a cold person and her lively
intelligence engaged the young Prince in the same manner and degree as he
had enjoyed with his grandfather, Ælfred.

Æthelflaed now made it her personal duty to ensure that Athelstan was
educated in such a manner as would fit him to be a King. It was she who
taught him the martial skills that she had so assiduously developed, she who
oversaw his training at arms and she who set the pattern of his studies in
the Abbey school at Tamoworthig.

In Wessex, Æthelflaed's brother Edward had succeeded to the throne but his
succession did not go unchallenged. Another prince of the House of Wessex,
one Æthelwold, rose in rebellion and sought the help of the Danes in
furthering his cause. Æthelflaed rallied to her brother's cause and the Men
of Mercia joined with those of Wessex to oppose the usurper. The revolt
failed and Æthelwold was killed in battle but there was to be a strange
consequence. In the peacemaking that followed, the Danes gave hostages to
both Edward and Æthelflaed and among these hostages was Jorilde, the
daughter of a Danish Jarl.

Jorilde was the physical opposite of Æthelflaed and possessed a grace and
beauty that Æthelflaed did not.
She was tall where the Lady was short, fair to Æthelflaed's dark and arrow
slim where the Saxon Princess, now aged thirty eight, was inclined to be
stocky. She was also some twenty years Æthelflaed's junior so it is perhaps
surprising that the two women came to be such intimate friends.

Æthelflaed was horrified at first to find that Jorilde had been given no
education beyond those pursuits deemed suitable for a woman. She could spin,
weave and embroider. She could sing and dance - pastimes that had eluded
Æthelflaed. She could neither read nor write and expressed no interest in
learning either. Inevitably, Jorilde attracted much admiration from the
young men at the Mercian Court but she turned aside their attentions with a
gentle smile, or a waspish tongue if they proved too persistent. After a
while, Æthelflaed gave up on her attempts to interest the younger woman in
bookish learning. Jorilde dismissed such matters as being the preserve of
'half-men' as she dubbed the priests.

Their relationship grew around their shared love of the young Prince
Athelstan, who, for his part, was fascinated by his first encounter with
'the enemy'. Athelstan insisted that Jorilde spoke only Danish in his
company and he rapidly improved his mastery of that tongue. He would have
Jorilde tell him stories from the heroic sagas and he was full of questions
about the customs and beliefs of the Danes. If she were not busy with her
other duties, Æthelflaed would sit with the pair as they discussed the finer
points of some story or explored the nature of the Danish pagan Gods.

One summer evening when Athelstan was about ten years old, he asked Jorilde
why she had not married.

"Because I never found a man like you, My Prince!" She laughed as she said
it but Æthelflaed noticed a strange look in Jorilde's eyes as she spoke.
After Athelstan had retired, Æthelflaed returned to the subject.

"So, Jorilde, why is that you haven't taken a husband? It's clear you could
have your pick."

"So I could, Lady. Perhaps that is the problem."

"How so?"

"I cannot bear all the fawning. These declarations of love are nothing more
than lust. They see only my face and body."

"They are men."

Jorilde snorted. "You too, Lady?"

Æthelflaed shrugged. She was not entirely comfortable discussing such
matters but deep down, she felt the need to unburden herself of feelings she
had buried deep.

"Æthelred, my husband, is a good man. We have learned to respect each other
over the years but I don't love him. My father, King Ælfred, ordered our
marriage. It was not of my choosing."

"Such is the lot of women, Lady, be they Saxon or Dane. But I'll have none
of it."

"What choice do you have, Jorilde? Your father will no doubt order your
marriage when you return to your people."

"That is true, Lady, should I return. I think I'd rather stay with you in
Mercia that give myself to some sot who fights well and has stolen his
fortune."

Æthelflaed smiled. She had grown fond of the younger woman and felt some
empathy, based on her own experiences. Spontaneously, she stretched out her
arm and gently touched Jorilde's cheek. To Æthelflaed's surprise, Jorilde
seized her hand and began to kiss it with a passion. Æthelflaed sat
completely still, too taken aback to react. Jorilde flung herself at
Æthelflaed's feet, resting her golden head in the Lady's lap and hugging her
close. Still Æthelflaed could not move. Jorilde took the Lady's inactivity
as encouragement and eased upwards until she could kiss Æthelflaed's face,
stroking her hair as she did so and whispering half-heard endearments.
Suddenly, she took Æthelflaed's face between her hands and kissed her on the
mouth, first tenderly but then with an increasing passion.

Æthelflaed's initial surprise was receding. Something else was stealthily
taking its place. She had known little tenderness in her life, either as
child or woman. Jorilde's hands were now busy: stroking, kneading and
arousing little ripples of pleasure. The Lady's mind was full of frantic
confusion but her body played her the traitor. It seemed as if she watched
from a distance as her arms lifted to embrace the Danish woman. She felt
herself drawn up by Jorilde's hands and she rose, like a sleepwalker, to
follow her to the couch.

Æthelflaed found herself held by Jorilde's eyes. It seemed she was drowning
in their blue depths. Her mind was racing on the edge of panic but her body
responded languorously to the younger woman's subtle touch. She was unaware
of the loosening of her robe but felt a sudden shocking thrill as Jorilde's
mouth captured her breast, teasing the large brown nipple into hardness. It
was the like the moment when a stream, swollen by winter rains, first bursts
it bank to flood the watermeadows. The confusion and panic seemed to ebb
away and a pure calm replaced them.

Jorilde was making a low throaty noise as she moved, trailing kisses, slowly
downwards. Æthelflaed stiffened with renewed shock as she felt a hand gently
part her thighs and insinuate itself into the tangle of her maidenhair. She
was aware of Jorilde's eyes upon her and looked down once again into the
seemingly bottomless depths. She sensed a wave of love emanating from
Jorilde whose face seemed filled with the deepest joy that Æthelflaed had
ever seen. Jorilde held Æthelflaed's gaze as she leaned forward to trail
kisses across the Lady's thighs.

Æthelflaed gasped out loud as Jorilde's tongue sought out the sweetness at
her core. Then all was rising madness and passion as Æthelflaed twisted and
moaned in the grip of sensations that she had never dreamed possible and had
certainly never experienced. She felt herself lifted out of her body,
spiralling and soaring on successive waves of ecstasy until she thought her
heart would burst and she could stand no more. The climax hit her like a
thunderbolt and she screamed aloud. Her consciousness fled and she
collapsed, limp as a rag, beneath her triumphant lover.

For the next few months Æthelflaed's mind was a whirl of conflicting
emotions. Her body knew a bliss she had never imagined but her thoughts also
turned to sin. Although she did not share her mother's piety - the latter
had founded the convent at Wintanceaster on Ælfred's death and immured
herself therein - she had still absorbed the Church's teachings on the
frailty of women. While Æthelflaed's heart could not believe that pleasure
born of love was sinful, her upbringing told her otherwise and she found
herself increasingly riven by doubts. She had learned with Jorilde to give
as well as receive and their lovemaking took her to places whose existence
were entirely unknown to Æthelred or, she suspected, any other man. Yet
still she felt uneasy in her soul.

Matters came to a head around the time of her daughter's sixth birthday.
Jorilde, who had always pretended an ignorance of any form of reading or
writing, was discovered with communications from her father, the Jarl. More
damning yet was the half finished letter in another hand, detailing the
dispositions of the Mercian army and the state of relations between Mercia
and Wessex. There could be only one conclusion. Jorilde was a spy. It just
so happened that Æthelred was once more on his sick bed and thus the matter
of justice fell, naturally, to the lady of Mercia.

Æthelflaed was distraught. Caught between her duty and her heart, she could
only plead for time to decide when pressed for a savage retribution by the
Thegns. All knew the penalty was death and that the dying would be hard.
Jorilde was brought before the Moot; her face and body displayed the signs
of her questioning. But the daughter of a Jarl is proud and she stood in
injured dignity, her head held high. Æthelflaed presided in her husband's
stead. One of the elder Thegns spoke the prosecution. The evidence was
clear, the outcome certain. It remained only for the Lady to pronounce the
sentence. It was the boy, Athelstan, who saved Jorilde. Against all protocol
save only he was a prince, Athelstan addressed his assembled elders.

"And what are we become that we make war on women?" His clear, high voice
echoed in the silence of the Great Hall. "Have we fallen so far? My
Grandfather, Ælfred, did not fight for all his life to see good Saxons stoop
so low. Jorilde is a Dane. She is true to her blood and her kinfolk. Such
faith in a Saxon would be held worthy of praise not punishment. Do you
believe the Danes to be less than our equals in honour? Are we so afraid of
the enemy that we would kill her now for telling what she could say freely
on her return to her father's hall next year? Yes, she has broken faith with
us. But she is a hostage, not a guest. Let us shave her head to show her
shame and send her back to her people rather than slough ourselves in
ignominy."

All the while Jorilde's eyes had not left those of Æthelflaed. The Lady
tried hard to read what she saw there but could not. Had the love she had
seen before been just a sham? Had she been seduced so easily from her duty
to her people and her husband? The blue stare told her nothing. Jorilde's
face retained its haughty composure even when the Moot accepted Athelstan's
proposals with the customary bellow of assent. There was no smile, no sign
of relief from a death averted. She was taken from the Great Hall.
Æthelflaed never spoke to her again.

Later that night, sitting alone in her chambers, Æthelflaed wept. She wept
for lost love: Love that had come late into her life and from an unexpected
source but love nonetheless. She became aware of another presence in the
room. It was Athelstan. He gently stroked her hand. She looked into his
serious grey eyes and saw only understanding with no trace of pity. At
length he smiled.

"It was not your fault. You haven't seen much kindness in your life. I think
Jorilde truly loved you but she had her duty too, as we have ours. Love
leads us but Duty drives; I pray to Christ the King that I shall be as
steadfast when my time comes."

Æthelflaed regarded her nephew in silence. How could a ten-year-old boy have
garnered so much wisdom? And then she knew. Athelstan, like her, had been
reared always to do his duty, whatever the personal cost. He had seen little
enough love in his young life. She resolved then and there to remedy the
lack.


The End

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