The Edge on the Sword (16 page)

“Where is your brother?” the queen called out to Flæd. “Surely he is coming to see the race.”

“I’m here, Mother,” came Edward’s voice. Wearing his own hooded cloak he rode up to them, perched high on Apple’s withers. The grey horse had neither saddle nor bridle. Wulf trotted up behind, following them out of the murk.

“You will see more of the race from that tall seat,” Alfred said to his son.

“I will see as much of it as I can,” Edward replied. “I’m going to ride in it.”

“Edward, these are all grown men,” Ealhswith said anxiously, pointing to the riders grouped a little way off. “Many of them have ridden in battle, and their horses are used to the crowds of a charge. Your colt hasn’t even a bridle to stop him if he runs away with you.”

“He won’t run away,” Edward told her, patting his horse’s dappled neck. “Red’s been teaching him.” Alfred motioned to Flæd’s warder, and Flæd and Red came closer.

“Can my son ride in this race?” the king wanted to know.

“Your son has some skill,” Red replied. “He sits the horse well.” Beside him, Flæd twisted her hands more tightly in the wool of her cloak. Alfred looked at Edward and Apple with concern. The soft beat of approaching hooves made him turn in time to see Ethelred ease his tall red horse to a halt near them.

“The West Saxon royal family!” Ethelred shouted down with a smiling flash of his teeth. “Come to see a race on this fine summer morning!” He looked at Edward and his mount. “Your son rides in your stead,” he asked Alfred, “on an unbridled horse?”

Alfred smiled. “You knew I would not ride against you again today,” he said to his old friend, “but even I did not know until this morning that my son wished to ride for Wessex.”

“It is good to see him in the race,” Ethelred said heartily. His horse took several dancing steps toward Edward. “No saddle, either, boy? Mind your seat at the start,” the aldor-man advised him. He spoke to the king
again. “I will not be able to watch for the safety of your child when we begin our run,” he apologized, “but I will look for him after I have won the race.” Ethelred gave Alfred and the queen another broad grin as he drew his reins across his horse’s proud neck, turning the animal toward Flæd. “And I hope you will wait for me at the finish of the race, Lady,” he said, leaning down toward her and speaking more softly, “for when I win, I will claim a kiss from my betrothed.” With this, Ethelred brought his horse around and trotted back to the starting point.

“Yes, I will be waiting for you at the end of the race,” Flæd said in a whisper, watching Ethelred’s broad back disappear into the crowd. Briefly she met Edward’s eyes, the two of them peering out at each other from beneath their sheltering hoods. Then Flæd slapped Apple’s rump and sent Edward off toward the gathering of men and horses.

Ealhswith had hooked her fingers around Wulf’s collar, and now the big dog was whining and pulling in the direction his master had gone. “We must follow them,” the queen said to Alfred, “so you can give the sign to start, and so Wulf,” she added breathlessly as the dog lunged again, “does not pull my arm from my body.”

“Red and I would like to watch from there,” Flæd told them, pointing to the place where the racecourse curved toward the river and a little clump of trees. The little herd of horses which had summered in the pasture was grouped in this place today. Flæd could see them grazing in the foggy air of the pasture, among them a lighter shape which she knew was Oat.

“You would rather watch from that far point?” her father asked, perplexed.

“To see the race midway,” Red explained, his face impassive, “and to cheer Edward as he passes.”

“Then we can hurry across the meadow to see the finish,” Flæd added. Her father gave her a long look.

“As you wish,” he said at last. “Join us as soon as you can.” They separated. Edward’s dog pulled Ealhswith along in jerks until Alfred took hold of the dog’s collar instead. When they reached the crowded starting point, the king and queen found Bishop Asser and Father John among the group of retainers and royal guardsmen who had come to the field to watch.

“I have seen Edward mounted among the men,” Asser said, “but where is Lady Æthelflæd?” Alfred told his advisor where Flæd and her warder had gone, and then passed the restless Wulf over to Father John, who tried to soothe him.

With one of his guards escorting him, Alfred walked briskly to the pole which had been pounded into the earth at the side of the racecourse to show the starting point. When the riders saw the king, they began to urge their horses forward into a series of lines, waiting for the king’s signal. Near the front of the mass, Edward’s grey mount and Ethelred’s red warhorse jostled for position next to each other. The king raised his arm and the human voices silenced, leaving only the sound of horses’ hooves and breath, and the jingle of their decorations. Then Alfred dropped his hand, the watching crowd shouted, and the riders surged forward.

Like the long curve of a scythe, the stream of horses cut through the mist and rounded the first bend of the racecourse, heading toward the river. Behind them loped a smaller grey shape, ears drawn flat and belly stretched out almost to the ground with each long stride. Wulf had escaped Father John’s grasp.

It grew more difficult to see the racers as they passed close to the river and its thicker fog. Onlookers back at the starting point exclaimed and began to point as the herd of loose horses began to run with the others, riderless. For a moment the whole running pack passed behind a group of trees. When they emerged, closer now to the watching crowd, the free horses had dropped away, and Ethelred’s red warhorse ran strongly in the lead.

All at once a dappled grey horse shot from the throng of riders and approached the front. It drew past Ethelred easily, and ran toward the excited voices of the people at the finish. Smoothly, the grey horse ran further and further ahead of the other riders, its own grey-hooded rider pressed flat along its neck. As it crossed the finish first, loud cheers rose up from the West Saxon viewers, and some who had noticed the king’s son before the race shouted, “Edward! Edward!”

As the other riders pounded to the race’s end, people on foot crowded around the grey-cloaked rider, who had moved a little way out into the pasture. There were exclamations over the absence of saddle or bridle on the horse. The pale horse stood patiently as many hands reached out to touch its flanks and to pat its rider’s leather-shod foot. The mount seemed barely winded, while even Ethelred’s big stallion hung his head, blowing hard just beyond the finish.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Ethelred met the king and queen as they made their way toward the winner. “King Alfred,” Ethelred said with a friendly cuff on his friend’s shoulder, “I am very glad to see your boy well. I thought I saw his horse running without a rider as we passed the river.” He fell into step with them. “One of my men already swears the race was bewitched—he says he saw a perfect twin of your son’s mount
running up to pass the grey horse, and then claims that a ghostly rider suddenly appeared on its back. The mist and too many cups of beer have dazed him this morning, I think.”

“Or perhaps he is merely astonished that a boy could best these men, could best even you,” Ealhswith said with a baffled look on her face. “I do not understand it myself.”

“I wonder if I am beginning to understand,” said Alfred, who had been looking across the meadow as they walked. Now he pointed to two human figures coming toward them through the hazy air. A third grey shadow skulked along at their heels.

“Ethelred’s envoy, and Flæd, and Wulf!” Ealhswith said, squinting as the three shapes drew nearer. “Father John could not hold the dog when the horses began to run,” she explained to Ethelred, “and the silly animal chased after his master.”

“And found him, it seems,” Alfred said strangely. He stopped, puting out a hand to halt the queen and the Mercian aldorman. “Let us meet these three before we go to see the winner.”

“Lady,” Ethelred called out as the little group approached them, “you promised to greet me at the finish of the race!”

“Surely she was there before you,” Alfred said softly as the cloaked figure pushed back the hood. Edward stood before them, a sheepish expression on his face. For a frozen moment Ethelred stared at the boy. Then the Mercian whirled, shouldering his way quickly into the crowd around the person on the grey horse. When he stood beside the rider, he shouted to be heard above the milling well-wishers.

“Lady,” Ethelred blared, “show your face!” Atop the horse, the rider shook back the grey hood of the cloak. A long brown braid escaped the fabric. Flæd blinked down at the Mercian aldorman.

“I told you I would be waiting at the race’s end,” she said to him. A sudden hush took the crowd, and Flæd gripped the mane of her horse with bloodless fingers. Then Ethelred’s laugh rang out over the gathered people. He held up his arms to her and lifted her to the ground as others in the crowd began to laugh with him, and some to cheer. Leading Flæd by the hand, he made his way back to the place where Alfred and his queen stood with Red and Edward.

“Trusted thane,” Ethelred said to Red, “I have found your ward without her guardian. How is it that she left your protection?”

“She left me to ride with you,” Red replied, with an almost imperceptible upturn of his lips. “That met our terms, I thought.”

“But how was this done?” Ealhswith demanded. In response, Flæd put two fingers to her mouth and whistled out into the meadow. After a pause
the sound of hoofbeats came to them through the foggy air, and Apple cantered up. He neighed to Oat, who was still surrounded by people, and his brother tossed his head and neighed back.

“Apple was Edward’s mount,” Flæd told them shyly. “He and Oat are a matched pair. I have a way of riding so no one can see me,” she explained.

“But how did the two of you—how did Edward come to be with …” the queen broke off, spreading her hands helplessly.

“Oat and I started the herd running,” Flæd explained, “and I hung down on his side so we would look like just another loose horse. When the racers came around, Edward made Apple slow down” (“It wasn’t easy,” Edward mumbled) “and Oat and I rode on to take his place.” Ethelred looked at Red.

“You have been teaching the king’s daughter battle exercises?” the aldorman asked.

“I have, but she taught herself this, er, trick, and then showed me,” Red replied. Ethelred was laughing again as he dropped to one knee in front of Flæd.

“Lady, I have misjudged my opponent—I am not usually so foolish.” Flæd turned her face aside in embarrassment.

“I cheated in the race,” she reminded him. “I am not often so deceptive.” Saying this, she caught Red’s eye, and blushed at certain memories.

“Indeed, you cannot be named the winner if you did not run the whole race,” Ethelred said thoughtfully as he got to his feet. “In that case, I claim my winner’s kiss,” he said, and did.

When Ethelred and his men left late that morning, Flæd stood with her warder on the burgh wall and watched them go. The aldorman noticed me, Flæd thought, I made him notice me. And the kiss, she remembered, that quick, hard pressure of his mouth on hers. Flæd knew little of such things, but she did not think that had been the sort of kiss a lover would give. Ethelred had laughed in surprise and pleasure at her trick. He had intended to tease her with the kiss, but instead it had become a salute from an opponent to the victor.

Did she like him? I don’t know yet, Flæd decided warily. Perhaps now, at least, Ethelred had learned to think of her as something more than his king’s quiet daughter. Standing on the wall, Flæd tried to pick out Ethelred’s dwindling shape among the Mercian party. She thought of the length of Ethelred’s arms reaching up to take her down from her horse. She recalled the width of his chest and the measure of his leg as he reclined comfortably in his chair at the feast. She remembered the height
of his shoulder—just above her line of sight. As the band of retainers and their lord splashed into the river at the ford, she turned away and hurried down the stairs, heading for the forge. There was just enough time for the smith to fit a fine suit of ring mail to Ethelred’s size before she left to join him in Mercia.

E
THELRED
RAN
A
HAND
ALONG
HIS
HORSE’S
LEGS
,
LIFTING
EACH
foot in turn to check the hooves. It had been unwise to ride the animal so hard just before they began the journey home, but Alfred always made him act like a boy. Ethelred had led his party more slowly coming back, and now at twilight they were halfway home. No lame horses yet, he thought, patting his mount’s shoulder. The big red horse had been a good battle companion in past years. Ethelred didn’t want a foolish race to ruin him now.

“Press on, or make camp?” he turned to ask his second in command, who was attending to his own horse.

“She could go farther”—the thane rubbed his mare’s bony face—“but what about the others?” Ethelred looked around at his company. It had been extravagant to bring twenty men on this peaceful visit, but he had wanted to show that Mercia was strong and prosperous—a worthy home for the daughter of Alfred the Great. And he was glad now that he had done it. Alfred had been pleased to see him riding in strength, he thought. And Æthelflæd…well, the girl had been more interesting than he had expected.

Prudence was best, Ethelred decided. Why not arrive in Lunden a bit later the next day, after a full night’s sleep for men and horses? There was no obvious need to return sooner.

“Tell them we’ll stay here for the night,” he instructed his retainer. The men began unsaddling their horses, unpacking food and blankets. Someone started a fire.

There was no warning before the attack. The raiders had come up around them so close that five men went down before Ethelred had time to reach for his sword. The next moments were desperate—cries and clangs, the crashing bulk of loose and terrified horses. A skirmish moved through the fire, and coals scattered into the dry grass, which blazed up here and there at the edges of the battle. Ethelred was slashed across his shield arm, but his retainers closed in beside him and fought body against body.