Chapter Text
“Well, where is he?”
It is a simple question. Direct. There is no possibility of further interpretation. It cannot generate the suspense and discomfort it generates in the old priest, and yet it does. Beocca shifts restlessly in place, unconsciously holding the cross to his chest with one of his hands. Alfred knows what that means. He knows that the gesture in him only appears when he has bad news.
“Sorry, my Lord.” For a few seconds he says no more, as if searching in his head for the right words.
“He was not feeling very well ... “
“Is he hurt, father Beocca? According to your own words, when Uhtred arrived in Winchester, he had not been seriously injured.”
The annoyance in Alfred's voice is noticeable. Beocca closes his eyes, imprisoned by his own speech. The discomfort increasing every minute.
“No, my lord. It is not physical injuries that afflict him. It's something different ..”.
“Father Beocca.”
He had been patient, too patient. But everything had a limit. It would not be the first time that Uhtred disobeyed a direct order. Although, in theory, he had ceased to be his oathman, the fact that he did not appear before him after he mobilized his forces to save him was interpreted as a great lack of respect. His childish behavior could not be infinitely tolerated.
“It's been a week. He should have paid his respects that same day. I can understand that being enslaved is an overwhelming experience, so I have given him time ...”
“My Lord, I assure you that this is not an act of rebellion ...” Beocca tries again, but is instantly interrupted.
“My tolerance has a limit. Uhtred needs to report himself to the palace immediately. If he has not any physical injury, then there are no more reasons that justify his childish behavior.”
Beocca seems to be having a tumultuous internal struggle. For a second, Alfred sense that he wants to speak again, but he stops at the last minute. His education and loyalty to his king, winning over his eternal need to defend the young Danish. With a short bow, he greets him before quickly leaving the place.
Alfred sighs, leaning on the throne. He was sick of being taken as a fool. Uhtred would always have that tendency. Rebellious, challenging. He didn't care how much he had put himself at risk as king by freeing a Viking leader, a valuable prisoner, to go in search of him. How many times had he asked for his well-being in his prayers, how many sleepless nights had he spent imagining the horrors of his captivity.
When he heard of his return to Winchester, Alfred could not help but have the unstoppable desire to see him. To verify with his own eyes that he was alive. To share the same physical space even if they never returned to ...
No. Those were their weaknesses. He had to fight them. The only thing that mattered now was that the Dane owed the King of Wessex a great favor. Nothing else.
*
Beocca enters the hut as he can. Dodge the clutter, the overturned chairs, the kitchen utensils, the remains of hay, furs and blankets scattered everywhere. With apprehension he notices the amber jewel, so representative of Uhtred's sword, peeking out from under a pile of straw.
The priest carefully removes the sword from the place where it has been forgotten. He shakes it a little and then rests it on one of the few platforms that are still standing. Absurdly, he finds himself apologizing with the weapon for the actions of its owner.
Ultimately, Uhtred's behavior oscillated between furious fits of anger followed by prolonged periods of lethargy in which he barely got out of bed. The food, which both he and Hild brought him, invariably piling up at the door where it was deposited.
If Uhtred continued that behavior ...
The scenario was too horrible for him just to think about it.
Beocca enters the room like a fury. This time, the period of lethargy was taking too long. Honestly, he preferred a furious Uhtred over that ghostly version of himself.
"Uhtred, boy!" He yells at the figure sheltered under the furs. "Enough of this!"
With a jerk, he takes away the makeshift shelter revealing a ghost of what used to be the skilled and confident Viking warrior. He had lost considerable weight during his captivity, and refusing to eat only accentuated his malnutrition. Messy hair, empty gaze. Beocca can't help but feel anguish press through his chest at the sight of his beloved Bebbanburg boy in that deplorable state.
“Uhtred, the king has been too patient with you. You can not continue that way. Tomorrow you will get up from there and pay your respects.”
Uhtred remains motionless in the place. He has not complained about the sudden deprivation of the fur that covered him. Stare at the ceiling. Beocca seriously doubts that his words will be heard.
“If you do not want him to come here to see what you have become.”And with this, miraculously, he sees that there is something that comes to life in Uhtred's gaze, so he continues in that plan.
“Oh yeah! Because he will! Alfred from Wessex would be perfectly capable of come here in person to make you obey.”
Beocca is not so sure about this. Alfred used to abide by protocols, although in the case of Uhtred he had already shown that he did not always do what should be done. However, he put those thoughts away. The only important thing was that Uhtred believed it real for it to work.
"So you already know, until you go to the king who has saved you, I will not come back here. If letting yourself die is what you truly want, I cannot go against your decision.”
Beocca leaves as fast as he can before Uhtred can see the tears filling his eyes. Secretly, he prayed to God that the king would be able to get him out of that personal hell.
*
Although it's a gray day, the glare blinds him. Uhtred closes his eyes in discomfort. Too many days of confinement, his eyesight needs to get used to the clarity again.
He forces himself to start the march despite the strong need to return to his refuge. The prospect of Alfred breaking into his home demanding answers had transformed into a new kind of humiliation that he no longer felt capable of tolerating. For that alone, he was fighting his demons to satisfy the king. Only for that.
The voices, the crowd of the city walking around him, the fetid smells, the hooves of the horses, close very close ..
“Hey, watch out!” The owner of a horse cart shouts at him. His steps are awkward, insecure. He feels sick, dizzy. Lack of food creating that weakness. He feels nauseous, he must stop to vomit. Is it a bad idea. The liquid burns his throat making him cough.
The desire to return where he came from, this time is much stronger. Uhtred stands on the wall of a cabin. From where he is, he is able to visualize the palace. There is not much left and yet he feels as if an abyss is opening between him and the structure.
Facing the King of Wessex suddenly becomes a titanic task. Gone are the days when he burst into the palace rooms like a storm. Today he only begged to be able to gather the strength to cross the meters that separated him from the entrance. At that thought, an irrepressible fury reaches him. Was that what he had been reduced to? Was he that fearful and insecure being?
Uhtred forces himself to put one foot in front of the other. He ignores the trembling in his hands, the weakness of his legs and the fact that the ground seems to be moving under his feet.
The guards at the entrance do not recognize him. He does not blame them. He doesn't recognize himself either. They take a while which become eternal until they manage to find someone who can verify his identity.
Father Beocca meets him with a big smile that quickly erases from his face. He does not want to give more importance to the matter. He doesn't want to hurt his pride by considering his presence in the palace as a great achievement. It is not his wish but Uhtred can see beyond his actions.
The palace is as dark and gloomy as ever. Judging by the route they take, Alfred is in the library. Beocca has been talking to him the whole way but he has not been able to listen. His heart pounding and the growing tremor in his hand, absorbing his full attention.
*
He is so focused on evaluating the length of the candles he needs for the day of remembrance, that he does not perceive their presence until Beocca announces it.
Without being able to avoid it, the vision of Uhtred, after so many months without seeing each other, produces a mixture of emotions difficult to decipher. One prevails over the others: relief. Seeing Uhtred whole, standing, walking on his own, reveals to him that he had unconsciously disbelieved Beocca's words. He discovers that he had feared that the priest was trying to hide a terrible truth and that the warrior was prostrated and somehow impeded.
However, that gives way to another emotion: Anger. Not only towards Uhtred's insolence but also towards himself when he perceived himself incapable of making the pagan stop having the importance that he had in his life.
“You've taken your time.” Alfred greets him, refocusing his attention on his candles. “I trust that you are recovered”
A few seconds pass. For a brief moment, Alfred is sure he hasn't been heard until Uhtred responds with a tense "Lord". Strangeness makes its way into the king's mind, but he does not feel capable of understanding what is out of place.
“What do you think of my candles?”
Again the silence. A silence that at first he had taken as a challenge but that little by little is becoming something more.
"They are fine." The warrior replies with a voice so unlike him that it seems to come from someone else.
There is no instant reply, sarcastic comment. This sets off an alarm on the king. Something strange happens.
Alfred watches him, really watches him. The thinness, the scruffy clothes, the dirty and frizzy hair. The tremor in his right hand is caught before Uhtred can hide it behind his back. All this ,gives him information that accumulates as a solid weight in his stomach. Unconsciously, he places his hand to his belly even though the discomfort he feels doesn't come directly from his body.
“Ragnar has proven to be a man of his word. My intention is to release him.”
Faced with this revelation, something in the Danish posture changes, the shoulders briefly relaxing.
“It is very generous, Lord.”
This time the response is instantaneous. Alfred tells himself that this leaden feeling is just an illusion. So he decides to continue.
"However, I must say that I would like you to become part of my army again. You are a great warrior and your sword would be very useful to the kingdom of Wessex.”
His words have an unusual effect. Instead of enlarging his ever-haughty ego and puffing up his pride, they do the exact opposite. It is as if he is suddenly being convicted of an abominable crime. Uhtred seems to shrink in place. The trembling in his hand being so noticeable that it moves his arm even when it is hidden behind his back.
“I can not.”
It is as if time is running out. An icy certainty is present in the king's mind. That makes him fear the worst.
"Sir!" Beocca interrupts now, unable to contain himself. He has remained listening their brief exchange without saying a word, but his nervousness has been notorious. Alfred understands his reaction.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but it is necessary that you give your opinion in relation to the passage that will be recited this afternoon.”
Alfred nods, momentarily, emerging from his stupor. His mind working like a fine gear machine. He dismisses Uhtred without further delay, summoning him for the next day.
Later, while he is witnessing the festivity, he will put the puzzle pieces in order. That will make the strangeness of the exchange with Uhtred make sense. He will notice that the first hint was given from the beginning, when he did not feel his presence in the room. A presence that used to fill each room and that interrupted with the force of a tide their meetings ... It was missing.
His excessive self-confidence, his haughtiness, his insolence were missing ...
But more fundamentally, and with this he cannot prevent his concern from transforming into a real pang of pain in his belly ...
His gaze was missing.
Since he had returned, Uhtred has not once looked at him.
To be continue...