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The ride back to Mercia was grim. The procession was silent, save for the rhythmic sounds of the hoofbeats of tired horses, and the grinding noise from the wheels of the cart which carried King Ceowulf’s body along the half-frozen ground. The grey, overcast skies mirrored the sentiment from the ealdormen, whose faces were downcast and their eyes set in a hard, distant stare at the road ahead. It was not the death of their king which prompted the solemn mood, although that was part of it. Rather it was what had followed immediately afterward in the court of King Alfred which had decimated their spirits.
Lord Aethelred was in an especially foul mood, and the ealdormen had sensed it and thought it wise to remain silent. His mercurial temperament was well-known among all the lords and thegns, and few were willing to face his wrath. He glanced at Lord Aldhelm, who rode beside him at the front of the procession, briefly catching the eye of the former king’s advisor before returning his angry gaze to the back of his horse’s head. Aldhelm knew exactly what Aethelred was about to say, but chose to remain quiet and let the other man speak first.
He did not have to wait long. “Who the hell does he think he is?” Aethelred started.
“He is King Alfred, Lord,” Aldhelm replied, half-sarcastically.
“Yes, I know that!” Aethelred spat. “He has some audacity, brazenly declaring that Mercia is now his. And we are expected to bend over and take it willingly! As if betrothal to his daughter and gaining Lunden are acceptable trade-offs for making Mercia a vassal state of Wessex.”
Aldhelm did not reply to Aethelred’s outburst, and kept his eye on the road ahead.
“How are you so calm over this, Aldhelm? With all your ranting over the years about Mercian supremacy, and our great and powerful country, you seem to not care about our loss of sovereignty!”
“Everything is proceeding as planned,” Aldhelm said calmly.
“What plan?” shouted Aethelred. “I am now only a glorified ealdorman! You promised I would be king!”
“You are still king in all but name,” Aldhelm continued in a soft-spoken tone. “You will still rule Mercia. Nothing has changed.”
“That sneaky bastard wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation. King Ceolwulf was not even cold before Alfred pounced.”
“He is ruthless,” Aldhelm stated, almost admiringly. “I did forewarn you that this would likely happen. If not at this meeting, then at some point in the very near future. This is not the setback it appears to be. We got what we came here for. You are to marry his daughter, and we have free use of his guard. With his strength allied to ours, we should be able to recover Mercia.”
“That could take years!” Aethelred snapped impatiently. “And during that time, I am to report directly to him. I cannot eat, breathe, or shit without notifying him first! He requires that I ask his permission before making any incursions into Danelaw. And demanding that we supply our army to help him fight his battles.”
“It is an alliance, Lord,” Aldhelm said patiently. “It is to be expected. He did, after all, provide us with several guards to supplement our own. It stands to reason, then, that we are to be called upon to help Wessex in their time of need like they have helped us.”
“Helped us? You mean Alfred negotiating with that so-called King Guthrum in the east, and split Mercia in half? Is that his way of helping Mercia? It does not seem like he has our best interests at heart. I would think you of all people would agree.” Aethelred’s pale face started to get blotchy with anger.
“Yes, and he will pay for what he has done,” Aldhelm said chillingly. He leaned in toward Aethelred as far as he comfortably could while on horseback, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “You know as well as I do that Alfred is rumored to be in poor health. His son, the Aetheling Edward, is still a young child. The tables will turn one day, and we will be there to pounce, just as he had. Then Mercia will regain supremacy, including Wessex as it once had, and you will be king of both Mercia and Wessex.”
At that Aethelred’s eyes widened, and a look of glee spread across his previously sour face.
“After all, why not?” he added.
“Aldhelm, you have ambition far beyond your station,” Aethelred told him, but it was not a chastisement.
“You need patience, Lord. The time will come. For now, play his game, and meanwhile we will be growing our armies and biding our time. And we will have his daughter, as a guarantee he will not strike against us.”
“At least I get a wife out of it. And she is quite pretty, do you agree?” The sudden change in Aethelred’s mood did not even phase Aldhelm, who took it all in stride.
“She is a lovely young lady,” Aldhelm agreed.
“Even someone like you should be able to appreciate that,” Aethelred jabbed. “Yes, she is quite young. But I can see she has the potential to grow into a beautiful woman. I am relieved; I was worried that she would be homely. That would be dreadful. And to think that King Alfred, the ‘high king of all Saxons’, just handed her to me on a silver platter without any hesitation! I was expecting lengthy negotiations and stipulations.”
“That part is still to come,” Aldhelm warned. “This is just the offer; it has yet to be finalized. That will happen when she comes of age.” He hoped Aethelred understood the implication: ‘Don’t screw this up and ruin the one chance we have of getting out of this mess.’
“Wonderful,” Aethelred sarcastically replied.
Aldhelm glanced over at Aethelred, whose gaze was firmly fixed on the road ahead. Aldhelm was the only one who managed to have a calming effect on the young lord. His presence was reassuring to Aethelred, and the two were seldom seen apart from one another. They were perhaps closer than they should have been, but none of the other lords dared speak of it. They were just grateful that someone like Aldhelm existed to temper Aethelred’s fire.
But Aldhelm knew his anger was not unfounded, and sympathized with his plight. He did, after all, know him better than anyone else, and even though the other lords and thegns were put off by Aethelred’s ill tempers, Aldhelm was not deterred. He had known him for many years, nearly half his life. They were both sons of ealdormen who served in the court of King Burgred; Aldhelm’s father was the royal advisor, and Aethelred’s father was an ealdorman from Repton and relative of the king. The other children in Tameworthig were put off by Aldhelm’s quiet reserved nature, but Aethelred seemed to gravitate to him, and they became fast friends. Aethelred’s recklessness influenced the shy and studious Aldhelm, but the reverse was unfortunately not true. They were always getting into one kind of trouble or another, with Aethelred coming up with the idea and Aldhelm the plan.
Their idyllic childhood changed when Aldhelm was twelve, and King Burgred was expelled by the Danish army following the sack of Tameworthig. His father had the foresight to send Aldhelm to Frankia and Rome to further his studies just before the attack, and he was spared the worst of it. Others were not so lucky. Aethelred’s father was killed in the battle of Repton while defending their king, and his wife and younger son were both killed in the invasion. Repton had been taken over by the Danes and was forever lost to its heir Aethelred, who was now a landless lord at only eleven years old. When Aldhelm returned to Mercia four years later, the somewhat temperamental yet cheerful boy he once knew was replaced with a bitter and mercurial young man. Aldhelm saw the opportunity to channel Aethelred’s bitterness into something more constructive, and that moment initiated a series of schemes that he had hoped would end up with Aethelred crowned King of Mercia.
* * *
The Mercians stopped for a short break at mid-day to eat a small meal with whatever provisions they had, and to feed and water the horses. Aldhelm watched from a distance as one of the guards disconnected the cart horse and tended to her hoof, while some of the other guards stood vigil over the body. His eye was drawn to Ceadda, the captain of the guard, as he checked on his men and coordinated with the borrowed guard of Wessex. He carefully studied the way he carried himself and interacted with the other men, knowing that he would be in that very position soon.
As Aldhelm stood quietly contemplating in peace, Aethelred sauntered up beside him to see what had caught his attention. He munched noisily on an apple and traced his line of sight to the cart, observing the scene casually and with boredom.
“It is going to be a long ride back to Tameworthig,” he told Aldhelm. “A very unpleasant one at that.”
Aldhelm glanced at Aethelred with a slight irritation that the other man was oblivious to.
“Fortunately, it is cold enough,” Aldhelm replied. “Otherwise, it would be far more unpleasant.”
Aethelred glanced around, and once he was sure there was no one within earshot, he continued speaking.
“How did you do it, Aldhelm?” Aethelred asked eagerly, in hushed tones. “Poison? It was poison, wasn’t it?”
Aldhelm’s only response was a slight half-smile, but remained silent.
“You are so clever! What did you use? No, wait, do not tell me. I would rather not know. Good riddance. Although it took you long enough.”
“The timing had to be right, of course,” Aldhelm said. “Too soon and it may not have worked in our favor.” He played into Aethelred’s game; it was to his advantage that Aethelred thought he poisoned the old king. But Aldhelm knew the truth of it, which was somehow even worse. He knew that Ceolwulf had a heart condition and was weakening. Aldhelm had pushed for him to go Winchester, rather than send an envoy or letter as the king had originally wanted to, knowing full well it would be hard on his health. He convinced him that he must meet Alfred man to man to make his grievances known; it was only proper, after all. But Aldhelm knew that in his current state of health, the stress of the trip combined with his temperament would be enough to push him over the edge. Poison was not necessary.
“Your scheming knows no bounds!” Aethelred said excitedly. He was eager to see how far Aldhelm would go and had not been disappointed yet. If he was willing to kill off the old king, then he knew that nothing was off the table. He knew he had chosen wisely when he had befriended him all those years ago, but had no idea at that time just how much it would work in his favor to have him by his side.
“I am to understand that you are still good on your word?” Aldhelm changed the subject abruptly.
“Yes, yes,” Aethelred waved away Aldhelm’s concerns. “As promised, you will serve me as the royal advisor. And you will get your promotion to captain of the guard after my coronation. I am assuming that will still happen.”
“I am glad we are in agreement,” Aldhelm said, but something did not sit right with him. The roles of advisor and captain were never in contention; these had been decided a very long time ago. He had not been concerned about being denied that station, and had no reason to assume Aethelred would go back on his word, not after all they had been through, and how hard Aldhelm had fought to make sure Aethelred was selected as the successor to Ceolwulf. Not to mention that Aethelred was far too impulsive to rule by himself, and he had come to rely on Aldhelm’s even temper and craftiness to the point he could not seem to make decisions without him present.
It was the third thing that was missing from his reassurances that worried him. Aethelred had promised Aldhelm that he would clear the false accusations from his father that had been smothering him for the past five years, since just before his father’s death. False accusations that very few people knew about who were still alive, but which still hung over his head like a storm cloud, following him through his life and threatening to drown him. He told Aldhelm that he would restore the rightful lordship of Legacæstir to him, with his brother’s blessing, or barring that grant him a large estate in central Mercia so that he would no longer be a landless lord. Aldhelm did not like the feeling of being untethered and relying on the charity of others, especially not his brother. He could think of no reason that Aethelred would not grant him that, and assumed it had slipped his mind, perhaps, or that he did not want to mention it where others might overhear, and pushed it from his mind. He dare not mention it now.
***
It was another two days of travel to Tameworthig, where King Ceolwulf would be laid to rest. The other ealdormen and noble lords who had remained behind were not at all surprised to see that Ceolwulf was deceased. If anyone was saddened by his passing, they did not show it. Ceolwulf was not exactly a beloved king.
Ceolwulf’s body was taken to the monastery, where it was prepared by the priests for burial. It was the first time Aldhelm had a good look at his body since he had passed in Winchester. Ceolwulf’s face was still and peaceful, with no trace of the pain and fear that marked his face upon his death.
As he looked down at the man in the casket, Aldhelm felt a twinge of guilt for having been responsible in putting him there. He had no ill-will towards the old king; the opposite in fact. Ceolwulf was very kind to Aldhelm. He gave him the position as royal advisor without any hesitation, and was always gracious and generous towards him and the other ealdormen. But the fact of the matter was, he was an ineffective king, which ended up giving too much power to the Danes, and he needed to be disposed of. There was no hope for the future of Mercia while he remained in power. During his brief reign, Mercia lost more and more territory to the Danes, with the entire eastern half swallowed into Danelaw. Ceolwulf was powerless to intervene, and was actively discouraged from doing anything, despite protests from the ealdormen. They had witnessed King Burgred being run out by the Danes, and then had to deal with a weak leader in his place. They were happy for the change.
And now Mercia had its own Lord, chosen and supported by Angles, not Danes. There would be no more deals with the Danes, no more exchanges of hostages nor ceding them territory. It would end now.
* * *
Ceolwulf was laid to rest two days later, with an elaborate funeral procession fit for a king. Ceolwulf had no wife, no living children, and no immediate family, so the only attendees were the ealdormen and Aethelred. A short service was held in the great hall, overseen by the elderly bishop who struggled to think of kind words to speak for the old king’s eulogy. Instead, he read bible verses to pass the time, until he felt it was an appropriate time to end the service. His casket was carried by six of the younger ealdormen, including Aldhelm, to the graveyard just outside the castle walls. Since it was now midwinter, the ground was frozen solid, so the sealed casket was stored underneath a pile of large stones near the graveyard until the ground warmed in the spring and a proper burial could be done.
Aethelred’s coronation was performed in haste within hours of Ceolwulf’s burial, with none of the fanfare that usually came with such an event. Aethelred wore his typical Mercian garb of teal and gold, with an oversized cloak in bright blue pinned with his Mercian boar brooch at the shoulder. The ealdormen had all gathered around the firepit in the center of the throne room, grateful to be out of the worst of the cold. Their breath hung in stagnant clouds in the air as the bishop confirmed the ascension of Aethelred to Lord of Mercia. None of this was surprising to the nobleman, as they had already unanimously agreed to naming Aethelred the successor many months ago, and this was just a formality for the chronicles.
The bishop had been at a loss as to what it should entail, since Aethelred was technically not a king, but since neither King Alfred nor any of the West Saxons were there to oversee it and pass judgement, he proceeded as they had for hundreds of years. After a short speech and more Christian verse, Aethelred’s forehead was anointed and a crown was placed upon his head. It was not the crown of his ancestors, since Burgred’s crown was unfortunately taken in the sack of Tameworthig many years prior. Ceolwulf himself did not wear a crown and had none to pass onto him either. This crown was a new one that had been made a few months ago when Aethelred’s appointment as successor to Ceolwulf had been decided. It was simple and plain, lacking the ornamentation and precious stones that were common on the crowns of the Mercian and Saxon kings. Aethelred was not deterred; he knew he would get a more fitting one soon.
Aethelred took a seat for the first time in the throne at the head of the hall, and the ealdormen all approached him one at a time to kneel before him and swear their fealty. The very last to approach the throne was Aldhelm. As the others had done, he kneeled and swore fealty to Aethelred as Lord of Mercia. But then as he rose, he stayed by his side, rather than descending to stand by the firepit again as the others had. In a voice loud enough so the others could hear, Aethelred asked of him a second vow, that Aldhelm would serve him as his oath-man and chief royal advisor, as long as he was Lord of Mercia. Aldhelm humbly accepted and confirmed his vow to him. Aldhelm turned and stood beside the throne, facing outward to the ealdormen as Aethelred stood and announced to the witan Aldhelm’s appointment as the captain of the Mercian hearth-guard. Not a single ealdorman dared to raise his voice in dissent; they all saw this coming.
Before the nobleman were released from the ceremony to attend the feast in the great hall, Aethelred held his first witan as Lord. As the ealdormen spoke, Aethelred shot sidelong glances at Aldhelm, and without even speaking each seemed to know what the other was thinking. Aldhelm smiled, and for the first time he felt confident for the future of Mercia. He knew it was in good hands, and with the two of them in charge, nothing would stand in their way of reclaiming Mercia’s supremacy and strength.
* * *