The Lost Tales of Mercia Read Free

churning. “Eat up before it gets cold,” she
commanded them, even though she had lost her own appetite. Then she
hurried off to fetch the bread.
    When at last they were all seated and
eating, a terrible silence fell over them. Eadric began kicking his
legs under the table. The temporary glimmer of light in Alfric’s
eyes faded once more. His mouth drooped with a frown and his jaws
bulged as he chewed angrily at his stale bread.
    “Eadric, be still!” hissed Golde.
    Alfric looked at Eadric again, and this time
a strange look fell over his face.
    “I think I might stay here awhile,” he
declared.
    The maid nearly choked on her first bite of
bread. “What?” She lifted her own cup of ale and drank desperately.
“You’re joking, right?”
    “Absolutely not. I’ll stay here with you,
and little Eadric—” he tossed the boy a wink—“along with ...” He
frowned at Hunwald. “Whatever your name is.”
    “Alfric—that’s ridiculous! I don’t
understand. You have manors to live in, and a fyrd to command, and
reeves and stewards to supervise ...” Her mouth went on flapping a
moment before her thoughts could catch up. “You … you do still have all those things, don’t you?”
    He picked up his bowl, though there was
still a decent amount of pottage left, and flung it against the
wall. Everyone stared in horror as the broth dripped down the
planks. Even Alfric gazed at his own mess as if it saddened him,
his rage spent in his meaningless tantrum.
    Golde stood up, chest heaving with anger.
“Step outside, Alfric.”
    He lifted an eyebrow at her. “What was
that?”
    “You’re not an ealdorman anymore, are you?
You didn’t just ‘escape’ from the Danes, did you? Whatever you did
was far worse than that. Wasn’t it?” He looked away from her, face
burning. “Get out of this house, Alfric, or God help me I will get
on my horse, ride to the king, and tell him your whereabouts
myself.” This was a bluff, of course, for she did not even have a
horse to ride upon. But she did not think Alfric would realize
this.
    Her suspicions must have been correct, for
Alfric rose so suddenly that his stool flew out from under him. He
was frightened now—it did not take much to frighten him. His eyes
flicked to Eadric, who simply watched this spectacle with
unassuming awe.
    “You think King Ethelred will protect you
from the Vikings?” Alfric’s voice trembled with passion as he
looked from one of them to the next. “He won’t. He can’t. I helped
the Danes because they will rule eventually, anyway; and I’d rather
it not be over my own dead body!”
    Golde could hardly contain her horror. So,
he had not only run away; he had “helped” the Danes! Had he given
them Ethelred’s plans? Had he supported them with his own fleet?
She was not sure she wanted to know. In truth, she hardly even
cared about the war; what she cared about was the safety of her own
home, and Alfric standing here now as traitor to the Anglo-Saxons
poised too great a danger. If he stayed here much longer he would
bring the king’s rage upon them all. She stormed around the table
and grabbed Alfric’s tunic. “ Out! ”
    He stumbled as she dragged him through the
doorway, then cried out and sputtered as the rain splashed his
face. She slammed the door behind them and blocked it with her
small but sturdy frame.
    He looked miserable, rivers of rain running
down his face as he stared at her. Nevertheless, mischief flared
momentarily from behind his golden lashes, and his expression
reminded her of one Eadric often wore. “Ethelred will forgive me
eventually, Golde dearest. I’ll talk some sense into him
again.”
    She shook her head in disbelief. “How could
he forgive you? You helped the enemy.”
    She could not see his tears through the
rain, but she sensed they were there. He stared up at the veiled
moon. “I did. I gave them Ethelred’s plans. I told them
everything.”
    “Stop, Alfric I don’t want to know—!”
    “I took my