Chapter Text
The humid night air was cooling from the heat of the day, and a thin fog had started to rise from the damp earth. The pale waning moon hung high in the clear sky, casting its cool light over the fields where King Alfred and Lord Aethelred were leading the West Saxon and Mercian armies in haste to intercept Lord Odda and the Devonshire Fyrd. They had ridden hard through the entire day and night to the fortress of Beomfleot, where Odda and his men were certainly stationed, in the hope of preventing war. As the armies crested the hill near the outskirts of the fortress, the Devonshire fyrd came into full view in the valley below.
The West Saxon and Mercian armies were ordered to a sudden halt, and stood at attention at the top of the hill, their vast numbers intimidating to the smaller fyrd below. The two kings and their captains disbanded from their armies, and rode down to meet the Devonshire men. Lord Odda showed no sign of surprise or humiliation at being caught by King Alfred; just the opposite, he was smiling broadly and stood proudly in front of his men. He greeted the king with honor, dignity, and humility. He did not want King Alfred to take out any hostilities on the Devonshire men, who were there on what they thought were King Alfred’s orders.
Alfred was not to be swayed. Lord Odda was a traitor, even though he knew he was acting in the best interests of both countries. He was about to order Steapa to arrest Lord Odda, when he was interrupted by Lord Aldhelm, who demanded his attention, pointing to the west. King Alfred’s eyes widened when he saw what had captured Aldhelm’s gaze. The horizon glowed a bright orange-yellow, looking for all the world like a sunrise, save for the flames that danced high into the night sky from the top of the fortress. The sound of shouting and screaming could be heard in the distance as the smell of wood smoke and burning flesh permeated the valley. Emerging from the flames was a small group of what they presumed were Danes, their forms silhouetted against the orange glow from behind them.
There was no more time for further discussions or worrying about traitors; the war was coming to them. Lord Aldhelm shouted for the Mercian guard to prepare for battle, and Steapa did the same for the West Saxon army. They both joined the Devonshire fyrd and readied for fighting as the group approached them, but to their surprise they were not Danes, but Uhtred with his men and Aethelflaed. Steapa ran to her and whisked her away to safety while Uhtred warned King Alfred that the Danes were not far behind. And sure enough, a large group of Danes materialized in front of the horizon of the burning fortress, and were rapidly approaching them.
The Saxons and Mercians formed shield walls and braced for impact. The Danes hesitated for a moment when they realized they were vastly outnumbered, but their leader, Sigefrid, was enraged beyond reason, wanting to kill Uhtred for destroying his plans. In his fury he charged, and the rest of the Danes followed his lead as he crashed into the Saxon shield wall. It was chaotic and hard to see; the battle being at night was already adding enough difficulty. But the smoke from the burning wood mixed with the fog that had settled in the valley, which was alight by the moonlight reflected in the fine misty particles that hung in the air, making the battleground treacherous. Many warriors on both sides fell, and the ground became slick with blood and mud in the damp earth.
In the confusion and chaos, Aethelflaed lost her guardian, and was alone in the midst of the battle, unarmed and unarmored. Sigefrid saw his chance to take her once and for all, and charged, but was waylaid by Aethelred, who stood in his way. Sigefrid easily overtook Aethelred, knocking him down to the ground like a ragdoll. As he raised his arm to make a killing blow, Uhtred appeared out of nowhere and intercepted Sigefrid, saving Aethelred’s life. Aethelflaed was able to escape while the two warriors were distracted, but she could not bear to leave knowing the fate Uhtred would face at Sigefrid’s enraged hands. Suddenly gaining unearthly courage, she picked up a sword from a fallen Saxon soldier and drove it through the back of Sigefrid’s chest while he was distracted with Uhtred, piercing his heart and killing him. As he fell, the sword slid out of his back, remaining in Aethelflaed’s grip as she stood in the field.
Uhtred stepped forward to take Aethelflaed to safety, but a Dane at his back drew his attention, and he had to continue fighting. Aethelflaed continued to hold the sword tightly, trembling with adrenaline and fatigue, while the battle continued to rage all around her as if she wasn’t there. Aldhelm was nearby, tending to Aethelred, and saw her standing in the field, alone, unguarded. He had witnessed the entire exchange, which seemed to have played before his eyes in slow motion, everything around him moving as if it was stuck in molasses. Without hesitation, he left his Lord’s side and went to her aid. He was well aware that she was frightened, and did not want to startle her. As she stood frozen with shock, Aldhelm cautiously and quietly approached her from the side, and in blind terror she swung the sword at him. He gently yet firmly caught her sword arm with one hand before she could make contact, and disarmed her by grabbing the sword with his free hand and tossing it aside. He calmly told her she was safe and it was over, but she was still terrified and inconsolable. Aldhelm scanned the field, looking for a safe place to take her, and spotted a camp in the distance, presumably from the Devonshire fyrd. While still holding her firmly, he urged her into the direction of the camp to get her to safety and off the battlefield. As he managed to get her to slowly start walking, he caught the eye of Aethelred, who just nodded at him and continued fighting.
He held his firm grip on her while he escorted her away from the battleground back to the campground, which was a good distance away from the battle. Fortunately, the Danes had been mostly killed by then, and the remainder were preoccupied so none followed them. There was still a campfire burning, although it was nearly down to cinders. He motioned for her to sit down on the makeshift seat next to the fire, and he sat next to her, still holding firmly onto her arms. Her eyes were wide and pupils dilated with fear, and the trembling had not subsided.
Aldhelm released his grip on one of her arms, removed his canteen from his belt, and handed it to her. She refused to take it, her eyes fixed in a distant stare and refused to acknowledge Aldhelm. He held the canteen to his mouth and pulled the plug off the top, then held it directly underneath her face. “Lady, please drink,” he pleaded gently. With her free hand she struck out, swiftly knocking the canteen out of his hand and onto the ground. Aldhelm calmly reached down to pick up the canteen, which had lost much of its contents into the ground. As he sat up his eyes met hers, which were scorching with hatred and anger, seemingly directed at him.
“Let me go,” she demanded in a low tone dripping with warning.
“I cannot do so, Lady,” Aldhelm told her. “I must keep you safe until the battle is over.”
“You, keep me safe?” she snapped. “By holding me hostage!?”
“Lady, I know this has been very traumatic for you,” he said sincerely. “But it is over now, and we can finally return to Mercia.”
“You dare act like this is what is best for me!” she spit venomously. “You should have let me go! You think you rescued me from hostile men, when you are instead going to drag me back home to one! You are even more cruel than I ever thought, Lord!”
“I do not understand,” Aldhelm prodded, undeterred by her rudeness. He knew he had not exactly been a paragon of warmth and generosity in his interactions with her, but all the same, he had treated her with respect, courtesy, and decency in the short time they had known each other. She had no reason to direct her anger at him, and was thoroughly confused.
“Do not feign innocence with me, Lord,” she continued. “You two are very close, you must know very well what kind of a man he is!”
He thought over the course of several years that he had known Aethelred. He had a mercurial temperament, but while he was not what he would consider a kind man, he had not really shown any cruelty either. At least as far as he knew. Maybe he did not know him as well as he thought.
Aldhelm sighed. “I know Lord Aethelred is not really what you were expecting, perhaps. While he can be quite charismatic, he is not always pleasant, and can be rather distant and cold at times. I think with time, he may mature and …” Aldhelm did not get to finish his sentence and was cut off.
“Unpleasant? Distant?” she exclaimed. “You really are no better than he is! Of course you would make excuses for his cruelty!”
He was taken aback by her statement that he was in any way like Aethelred. He knew better. “Lady, I do not quite understand what you are hinting at.”
“I was safer with the Danes than I am with that man!” she jabbed. “For all the horrors that the Danes put me through, Aethelred has put me through even worse!” She wrenched her way out of his grip, and lifted up her hair, exposing the nape of her neck. “This was not done by the Danes.”
There were faint bruises and cuts along the side of her neck, trailing into her scalp, many of which were indeed old and healing. She dropped the hair, and looked at him to see his reaction, and was met with a wide-eyed blank stare. She looked down at the ground, unable to look at him, and ran her fingers absent mindedly though her hair to soothe herself and take her mind off her growing apprehension.
“Lady, I swear to you, I did not know,” he said softly. He thought back to the morning after the wedding, when Aethelred asked Aldhelm to retrieve her from her room so she could see her parents off. He thought it was an odd request; that she would still be sequestered to her room and not in the great hall with her new husband was very unsettling. When he went to her chambers to tell her to come to the great hall, he found her on the floor next to the bed, still in her nightclothes, shaking and sobbing. He bent down to tell her that her presence was expected in the great hall, but she would not look up at him. He told her he would have a handmaiden come to her room to help her clean up and get her ready for their departure, and left. At the time, he thought she was just upset at the prospect of leaving her home. He now knew that something far worse must have happened to her on that night, and it sickened him. It sickened him more that he had been blind to it for so long, and had failed to see that this was the only possible outcome. There had been signs all along, but he ignored them, maintaining optimism, trying to justify the sunken costs of supporting Aethelred as the Lord of Mercia. He should have known.
Aethelflaed glanced back up at him and saw that his face was sallow and his eyes registered a mix of anger and fear. She believed him. She did not know why, but she did. He was not pretending. Something in his eyes told her that he was being honest with her, and he really had no idea about the horrible things Aethelred had done to her behind closed doors. He had been Aethelred’s right-hand man for many, many years, she knew, and Ceolwulf’s advisor even before that. She was there when Ceolwulf passed, and knew that Aldhelm had been inherited as Aethelred’s advisor, which was not something commonly done. She knew there was something between the two of them, some hidden agenda. She had never trusted Aldhelm; his presence had always unsettled her, and she felt uneasy around him. He was scheming and manipulative, and seemed very callous and arrogant. She had no reason to trust him now. But she had no choice otherwise.
She took the canteen from his hands, and drank heartily. She was far thirstier than she realized; she had not been given any food or drink since she had been put in the cage. She had run a long distance on foot, through blazing fire, into the night. She was still trembling from panic, but she was also shivering from the cold. The mist clung to her bare skin and drew the heat from her body, and the cold of the night air amplified that effect.
Aldhelm picked up on her discomfort, and thought the least he could do was to give her his cloak. His hand reached for his brooch to unclasp it, but to his surprise he discovered it was missing, and so was his cloak. He realized that he must have lost them during the fight. But it was dark, and muddy, and far too late to go back and look for them now. But he had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, so he filed that away in the back of his mind to deal with later.
She returned the canteen to him and he went to take a drink from it, but it was completely empty. So now he had multiple issues immediately to deal with. He needed to refill his canteen and get a cloak or a blanket for the both of them since it was starting to get cold, but he was worried about leaving her alone. He feared that she would dart off in the night, and they would be right back where they started.
Aldhelm stood and scanned the horizon. The battle was still raging in the distance, although it seemed to have calmed down quite a bit. It would be a while before anyone would arrive at the campsite. The entirety of the Devonshire fyrd had all gone to fight, so there was no one left in the camp to assist them, not even a camp follower or woman. The Mercians and Saxons had travelled light, only carrying minimal provisions with them, and almost no camping gear, since they were trying to intercept the Devonshire men as quickly as possible. He was running out of options.
He looked down at Aethelflaed, who glared at him with suspicion and simmering anger, and decided he would have no choice but to take her with him on his excursion. He extended a hand to her, and waited. She stared at his hand with disgust, and then fixed her glare back on his face once more.
“Lady, I need to replenish the water, and find more wood for the fire so we do not freeze out here. And try to find something to eat in this camp, hopefully. You must come with me. I cannot leave you here alone, it is not safe.” He spoke gently and calmly to her, hoping to avoid another outburst.
She gingerly reached out and placed her hand in his, while still scowling at him, and stood with his assistance. Without hesitation he grabbed her wrist in his hand, and she reacted to the sudden restraint by trying to twist out of his grasp. But he held her firm, and would not relent, standing stock still and waiting for her to calm down on her own. He turned and started walking, pulling her along behind her as she reluctantly followed him. The campground was sparse, but Aldhelm discovered a packhorse carrying some supplies, and opened a pack to find some food, mostly dried fruit, hard bread and some cheese. It was enough for the both of them for that night, at least. He also took two blankets that were rolled up on top of the saddle. He refilled his canteen in a small stream that ran not too far from the campsite, and collected some branches for the fire. It was slow and awkward collecting and carrying everything, as he continued to hold her wrist and lead her around the entire time, but they managed to get what they needed and returned to their previous spot.
Aethelflaed sat next to Aldhelm in silence on a blanket by the campfire, eating the meager rations they had found. The adrenaline had worn off, and fatigue started to set in as she fought hard to stay awake. She did not feel comfortable sleeping in his presence, but the siren song of sleep won, and she could not stay awake any longer. The gentle crackling of the fire lulled her into a shallow slumber as she slumped against the log. Aldhelm took the remaining blanket and draped it over her still form, and observed her for a few moments, making sure she was sound asleep before quietly leaving to get another blanket from the pack horse for himself.
Aldhelm wrapped the threadbare blanket around himself, watching Aethelflaed as she slept soundly on the ground in front of the campfire, and was left alone with his thoughts. There was quiet from the battlefield, and Aldhelm assumed that the fighting was finally over. It was an unexpected turn of events, and they were fortunate that it worked out in their favor. Both Mercia and Wessex were spared from devastating loss of gold and silver, and their future demise as that very gold and silver would be used to buy more ships, weapons, and armies to invade and dominate the two remaining Christian countries. Lord Odda’s betrayal had been the key to spurring the change of tide that allowed Aethelflaed to be recovered with minimal losses. Aldhelm agreed with his tactics, and also agreed with the old lord about how dangerous it was to negotiate with the Danes, and pay such an exorbitant ransom. He regretted his rude remarks to him on their last meeting with King Alfred; he accused Odda of being a drunkard old fool. While that may be partially true, he could not deny his bravery, knowing full well it would result in his death, either on the battlefield or at the hand of King Alfred himself for treachery. Aldhelm felt a small twinge of remorse for Lord Odda, and wondered if he would see him before Alfred had him executed. He owed him an apology.
Odda was not the only thing he felt remorse over. He realized he had made a huge mistake in supporting Aethelred; his heart sank at the thought of Mercia’s future. Aethelred had proven himself to be a delinquent, irrational, and reckless man. He had of course known what kind of man he was from the beginning, but Aldhelm thought he could mold that man into a king, channel that aimless unbridled energy into a purpose. He saw great potential in him, and was a supporter of Aethelred when the witan was deciding who to choose as the successor to Ceolwulf II. They had an agreement, that if he made Aethelred king, then he would promote Aldhelm to a very high rank and give him power. He had been friends with Aethelred for years, and thought that all he needed was some years to mature. But time and time again, Aldhelm had been disappointed. Aethelred had proven to be ungovernable, would not listen to reason, and did to suit himself. He was hot headed and prone to tantrums, drank entirely way too much, and was addicted to whores. Additionally, he was very lackadaisical about actually performing his duties as a ruler, and many of those tasks had fallen to Aldhelm to execute, because otherwise nothing would get done.
However, the last few months were the breaking point, with bad decision following bad decision. His insistence on taking Aethelflaed to Lunden, where she was put into harm’s way showed his lack of reasoning. Aldhelm had warned him that it was a bad idea, but Aethelred refused to listen to reason. He wanted to control Aethelflaed and keep her under supervision at all times, worried she would slip away and have an affair. The second blow was when they went to negotiate with the Thurgilson brothers, and Aethelred made a fool of himself and was incapacitated, leaving the negotiations to Aldhelm and Uhtred. It was not kingly behavior, and it made Mercia look weak and foolish. Aldhelm knew at that point that he was not the king he hoped he would become.
And the final blow was just now, when he learned of Aethelred’s abuse towards Aethelflaed. Aldhelm never really cared too much for Aethelflaed personally; he thought of her as insipid and vacuous, and she was a means to an end. A way to forge the alliance between the two countries which would hopefully lead to them becoming united under Mercian control when Alfred passed. But even so, it would never occur to him to hurt her. And that also did not grant Aethelred the right to treat her with such disrespect and abuse. It went against the core of Aldhelm’s nature to bring harm upon anyone, but especially those who were weaker or helpless. Thinking about how men raped and mutilated women both on the battlefield and as an everyday common occurrence made his blood boil. Aldhelm had done some things that he was not proud of in the name of running the country, but he drew the line at that kind of behavior. Despite whatever he thought about her, she did not deserve that kind of treatment.
He knew that when they returned to Mercia, there needed to be change, but he had no clue on how to accomplish it. He could not allow Aethelred to continue on the current path. But at the same time, Aethelred refused to listen to reason, and continued to act on a whim and leave a path of destruction in his wake. It would fall on Aldhelm, as it had in the past, to actually rule the country. But he knew it was not enough. In between ruling duties, being the commander of the guard, and babysitting Aethelred, Aldhelm was spread thin as it was. He was not sure how long he would be able to continue before things started falling completely to pieces. It was hopeless.