Eagle of mercia, p.1
Eagle of Mercia, page 1
EAGLE OF MERCIA
BOOK 4 THE EAGLE OF MERCIA CHRONICLES
MJ PORTER
For my Dad, MC. Thank you for the maps.
CONTENTS
Map
Cast of Characters
The Story So Far
The Mercian Register
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Historical Notes
Acknowledgments
More from MJ Porter
About the Author
About Boldwood Books
Designed by Flintlock Covers
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Icel, orphaned youth living in Tamworth, his mother was Ceolburh
Brute, Icel’s horse
Edwin, Icel’s childhood friend, although they have been separated
Cenfrith, Icel’s uncle, brother of Ceolburh and one of the Mercian king’s warriors, who dies in Son of Mercia
Wine, Cenfrith’s horse, now Icel’s alongside Brute
Wynflæd, an old herbwoman at the Mercian king’s court at Tamworth
The Kings of Mercia
Coelwulf, king of Mercia r.821–825 (deposed)
Beornwulf, king of Mercia r.825–826 (killed)
Lady Cynehild, Beornwulf’s wife
Wiglaf, king of Mercia r.827–829 (deposed) r.830–
Queen Cynethryth, Wiglaf’s wife
Wigmund, Wiglaf’s son
Ecgberht, king of Wessex r.802 onwards, r.829 in Mercia
The Ealdormen/Bishops of Mercia
Ælfstan, one of King Wiglaf’s supporters, an ally to Icel
Beornoth, one of King Wiglaf’s ealdormen
Muca, one of King Wiglaf’s ealdormen
Oswine, an ealdorman who died fighting the East Anglian king
Sigered, a long-standing ealdorman, who’s survived the troubled years of the 820s
Sigegar, Sigered’s grandson
Tidwulf, an old ally of King Wiglaf
Wynfrith, an ealdorman who died fighting the East Anglian king
Coenwulf, the son of King Coelwulf
Ælflæd, Coenwulf’s sister
Æthelweald, bishop of Lichfield
Ceolbeorht, bishop of Londonia
Rulers of other kingdoms
Athelstan, king of the East Angles
Ecgberht, king of Wessex
Lord Æthelwulf – Ecgberht’s son, designated king of Kent by his father after the battle of Ellendun
The Ealdormen of the East Angles
Herefrith
Godwulf, East Anglian warrior
Mercians
Ælfred, ally of Lord Wigmund
Æthelmod, Mercian warrior
Ælfthryth, servant in Tamworth
Berhthelm, Mercian warrior
Cenred, Mercian warrior
Cynath, was the commander of King Beornwulf’s warriors
Cuthred, inhabitant of Tamworth
Eadgifu, a woman of Budworth
Eahric, commander of the king’s household warriors
Egbert, Mercian warrior allied to Ealdorman Sigered
Eomer, the reeve of Budworth, Icel’s inherited estate
Frithwine, young Mercian warrior
Garwulf, young Mercian warrior, now dead
Gaya, previously a slave woman with a talent for healing, now freed
Go∂eman, Mercian warrior
Heahstan, one of Lord Coenwulf’s men
Hunberht, an ally of Lord Wigmund
Kyre, Mercian warrior
Landwine, Mercian warrior
Lyfing, Mercian offering shelter to Lady Ælflæd and Icel
Maneca, Mercian warrior
Ordlaf, Mercian warrior
Osmod, Mercian warrior
Oswald, at Kingsholm
Oswy, one of Wiglaf’s warriors
Theodore, previously a slave man with a talent for healing, now freed
Uor, Mercian warrior
Waldhere, Mercian warrior
Wicga, ally of Lord Wigmund
Wulfgar, Mercian warrior
Wulfheard, a Mercian warrior, Ealdorman Ælfstan’s oath-sworn man
Bada, Wulfheard’s horse
Places mentioned
Bardney, a Mercian royal site
Icknield Way, running from Thetford in the kingdom of the East Angles to Londonia
Kingsholm, associated with the ruling family of King Coelwulf, close to Gloucester, home to Lord Coenwulf
Isle of Sheppey, off the coast of Kent
Lichfield, close to Tamworth and one of the holy sites in Mercia
Londonia, combining the ruins of Roman Londinium and Saxon Lundenwic
Peterborough, the site of a monastery in Mercia
Tamworth, the capital of the Mercian kingdom
Kingdom of the East Angles, part of Mercia at the end of the 700s but reclaimed its
freedom under King Athelstan of the East Angles, the king-slayer
Kingdom of Wessex, the area south of the River Thames, including Kent at this time, but not Dumnonia (Cornwall and Devon)
THE STORY SO FAR
The kingdoms of the East Angles and Mercia have forged an uneasy alliance to fight the Viking raiders harassing the waterways that run through that of the East Angles and into Mercia. In the meantime, the Wessex king is licking his wounds following the defeat outside Londonia. But troubled times are coming, and Icel, still unaware of his heritage, has been found by Godwulf, an East Anglian warrior who knew his uncle. Godwulf is determined that Icel should pursue his birthright, no matter the obstacles it will cause Icel with the Mercian ruling family and the men of King Wiglaf’s household warriors. Icel is an acknowledged member of Lord Ælfstan’s warrior band and is eager to remain there.
THE MERCIAN REGISTER
AD831
In this year, King Wiglaf and King Athelstan forged an alliance against the Viking raiders ravaging the kingdom of the East Angles and swore with oaths to always be allies. King Ecgberht of Wessex took to his own kingdom.
1
AD831
Budworth, the kingdom of Mercia
‘I don’t understand.’ I feel my forehead furrow while Godwulf holds my eyes with his. I shiver. It’s cold, the wind blowing more fiercely as darkness coats the land.
‘Your uncle was foster brother to a king of Mercia. You then, my boy, are as entitled to claim kinship with the king as though it were a blood bond.’
I shake my head, even as Godwulf’s voice thrums with conviction. I’m not happy that the East Anglian warrior has followed me all the way to my home in the heart of Mercia. Yes, he was once a Mercian, but he’s long called himself East Anglian.
‘King Beornwulf’s long dead, Godwulf. His name’s barely mentioned any more, and if it is, no one has a good thing to say about him.’ As I speak, I appreciate that I think the same. Beornwulf was responsible for many of Mercia’s problems in the last decade. My childhood fascination with him is long gone. Why he was kind to me, I’ll never know, and sometimes I wish he hadn’t been.
‘It doesn’t matter what they say of Beornwulf. It’s how it relates to you that’s important.’
But again, I shake my head. I don’t know why he tells me this. I don’t know why he’s followed me here, and I want nothing more than to speak to Lady Ælflæd of matters now, not events that happened in the past. I look to where she’s disappeared along the roadway, but can’t see her. She’s the sister of Lord Coenwulf, and she’ll know how Lady Cynehild and her pregnancy fares. I’d much sooner be conversing with her than with Godwulf. I want to know Lady Ælflæd much better than I currently do. I want to thank her for ensuring her brother apologised to me having accused me of killing their father’s horse.
I shiver again, and Wine lets out a soft whinny. She wants a warm stable as well.
‘Come. It’s cold. We’ll go to the reeve’s house,’ I say, but Godwulf’s face shadows, the smile leaving his face.
‘No, we should return to Tamworth now. Lay this knowledge before King Wiglaf. There are clearly many who’ve forgotten your uncle’s position or who think to keep this from you. They mean to prevent you from claiming your rightful place. But the king loves you. Your name drips from the lips of everyone. Even King Athelstan of the East Angles knows of you.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’ I try and smirk, shrugging my shoulders, my thoughts turning once more to the king’s son, Wigmund, and the king’s wife, Queen Cynethryth, and what either of them would say to me announcing that I wished to become the commander of the king’s household warriors.
‘He does, young Icel. Your name is becoming as well known as your uncle’s.’
I shudder once more, and not just with the chill. I don’t want to know this. I really don’t. I’ve fought as I was commanded to do for Mercia’s protection. I can’t deny that I’m becoming a good warrior, acknowledged by the king, and gifted wealthy items, but to think that other kings of other domains might know my
I try again. ‘We should eat.’
‘No, we should return to Tamworth,’ Godwulf urges. I look along the darkening roadway. I have no intention of going back to Tamworth tonight. I must show my face and speak with my reeve and generally reassure the people who look to me as their lord that I’ll not be as faceless as my uncle was. That I never knew of this place during my life shows just how often my uncle was absent from here.
‘No, I’ll eat. And Lady Ælflæd is here. I’d speak to her of how Lady Cynehild fares.’
I turn to head back towards Wine, but Godwulf arrests me, a hand on my shoulder.
I swivel my head and meet his eyes uneasily. They burn with the heat of the sun.
‘Don’t shy away from what you are,’ he urges me, his voice thrumming with intensity.
‘I don’t, but I’ll take no hasty action. Now, come, I invite you to my hall, or you can depart for Tamworth.’ His lips form a hard line beneath the thickness of his beard and moustache, and then he shrugs, a tight smile on a chiselled face.
‘As you will. I’d gladly eat and see what your uncle built here. He was an astute man. He knew to keep his holdings in good order and those who owed him their oath in good humour. Reeve Eomer, I know, is a firm and fair man. He and your uncle were friends for many years before his injury.’
Godwulf’s words rumble over my muddled thoughts. I only half listen, but then I furrow my forehead, stumbling as I walk in the semi-darkness.
‘Eomer was once a warrior?’
‘Aye, lad, he was. A firm supporter of King Coelwulf until his injury. Surely, you’re aware of the wound he carries?’
But I realise I’m not. I’ve only met the man twice, both of them brief encounters. I saw nothing on him to show he wasn’t hale. I’d assumed he’d always aspired to be a reeve. But now, it seems not.
‘He has only two toes on his right foot. It unbalances him. He lost them in a battle. Wynflæd, the healer at Tamworth, did what she could for him, but they became infected, and so they were sliced clean off. He struggled too much with his balance to continue fighting for the king.’
I reach for Wine and begin to lead her towards the reeve’s hall. Well, I suppose it’s really mine, but I can’t think of it like that. Soft sounds reach me in the gathering dusk, the smell of pottage heavy in the air, the bite of the coming winter, conjuring images of a land locked in ice in my mind. Last winter, I was restless inside Tamworth. I imagine the same will happen this year. Unless, of course, I ask to return to my uncle’s holding for the duration of the dark times.
The smell of burning wood mingles with that of cooking food, and my stomach gurgles once more. I decide I’m hungry rather than anything else.
Godwulf is quiet at my side, his horse walking head lowered. He’s ridden the animal hard, and I don’t approve. Neither do I know what all the fuss was about. Surely, Godwulf didn’t truly expect me to demand Commander Eahric’s position from the king just because he informed me that my uncle once held that status for King Beornwulf? I’m only just acknowledged by Ealdorman Ælfstan’s men as one of their numbers. There are many Mercian warriors, for instance, Horsa, who would refuse to heed my words. Neither, I consider, do I wish to be accountable to the king for his fighting men and for ensuring Mercia’s protection from her enemies.
A square of light creeps over the courtyard, and a youth rushes to me.
‘My lord, I’ll take the horse,’ he offers brightly, only for his eyes to alight on Godwulf. ‘Horses,’ he quickly corrects, reaching out with both hands. Eagerly, I hand him Wine’s reins, sliding my hand along her nose and shoulder in thanks, and hurry into the welcoming warmth.
I hear murmurs from behind me, but my eyes are keen to seek out Lady Ælflæd, which they do quickly. She’s seated close to the central hearth, a bowl in her hand for the boards have long since been removed as the day’s eating is done. I make to stride towards her, removing my cloak, and hoping I don’t stink too much of horse, only for Reeve Eomer to walk towards me. I don’t know him well, but his face is twisted, and I consider what I’ve done wrong. I look down at my boots but see only the usual touches of mud. Certainly, they’re clear from the horseshit that so often follows me everywhere I go. I realise then how tall he is, taller even than me.
‘My lord.’ His tone’s respectful, but his eyes dart towards Lady Ælflæd, and he bends close to me. ‘The lady seems content with the pottage, but I had nothing more to offer her and the men who accompanied her.’
I realise then that all of them are huddled tightly together and that another woman has joined the group. I don’t recognise her, and my eyes narrow.
‘I asked Eadgifu to attend upon the lady. She is, as you know, a woman of standing in our settlement, and I thought it imperative to ensure nothing unfortunate befell the young woman. Eadgifu will act as her maid and sleep across the doorway to ensure no one enters the room while she sleeps.’ Eomer’s words are breathless, but my eyes stray to his boots, looking for a telltale sign of his injury. But, to my mind, he walks well enough. Whatever problem he once had with staying upright, he’s long since mastered it.
‘My lord, did I do the correct thing?’ Eomer further presses me. For a moment, I’m confused, unsure of why he’s so concerned. ‘She’s to marry the king’s son. All know of it. I can’t allow anything to happen to her here.’
‘Yes, yes, my thanks, you’ve acted most honourably.’ Eomer visibly relaxes when I offer the words, even though they strike at me. All know of her marriage to the king’s son, and yet she’s here, in my hall. Once more, I make to walk towards her, only for Eadgifu, an older woman I don’t believe I’ve ever met before, to stand at a command from Lady Ælflæd, who joins her. The men who escorted her here stay sitting, eating quietly, and drinking ale.
I want to shout a greeting to Lady Ælflæd, but her eyes are downcast. I’d almost think she was purposefully ignoring me. She must have heard us enter the hall. The door certainly complained with a loud screech. As Eadgifu leads the way, I appreciate that the pair are leaving the main room of the hall for the night. I watch their passage. Lady Ælflæd, nimble-footed and swift; Eadgifu, somewhat slower but still brisk. Eadgifu walks with all the confidence of a woman used to being obeyed and respected. I don’t believe she’s the reeve’s wife, but she’s still well respected, as he said.
I swallow my disappointment that I won’t have the chance to speak to Ælflæd this evening, as my belly rumbles again. I blame Godwulf for keeping me outside too long. I wish the man hadn’t tracked me to Budworth.
‘Come, my lord. Sit and eat. And your guest?’ Eomer looks towards Godwulf, who’s still removing his cloak.
‘This is Godwulf. I assumed you knew one another,’ I murmur absent-mindedly. I can’t deny being disappointed that Lady Ælflæd has left. I should have liked to glean more information about Lady Cynehild, as well as just spend time with her. Somewhat sulkily, I seat myself before the hearth, exchanging glances with those who escorted Ælflæd to Budworth.
I recognise the men from Kingsholm and almost speak with them, only to have my attention caught by Godwulf and Eomer. Close to the door Eomer stands, his back towards me at an angle so that I can hardly see Godwulf at all. Neither man seems happy, even as one of the servants brings me a bowl of rich-smelling pottage with a curtsey.
‘My thanks,’ I offer, uncomfortable with the curtsey. I’ve done little to deserve such respect. Eomer and Lady Cynehild may speak to me as lord of Budworth, but I’m no lord, not really. Yes, I own the lands, thanks to my uncle, but I don’t truly believe that makes me a lord. Budworth is not a huge place. It’s well endowed with grain stores, a small river, and a blacksmith plying his trade to the north of the settlement, but it’s nothing compared to the vastness of Tamworth.
