#northmen

THE LAND OF WINCHESTER WAS SHROUDED IN GREY AS SNOW FELL FROM THE HEAVENS AND COVERED EVERYTHING IN FROST. A welcoming fire crackled in the nearby hearth as a joyful melody floated in the feasting hall, the lute player absorbed in his art nearly as much as Alfred was absorbed in his concentration on the foreign board-game atop the table. A goblet of wine sat beside him, and in his quest to figure his next move he took a sip, savoring the rich flavor. It was foreign wine, grapevines grown and harvested in a land he had only heard of in tales and song.

"Come now, Lord King, surely you can make your move by now." your mother's voice mock-scolded Alfred, her eyes alight with humor. She shifted in her seat, the silks and expensive fabrics of her clothing catching the candlelight. Her neck and wrists were heavy with golden jewelry, some inset with precious stones and jewels. The lilt of her accented English made Alfred's head swim in delight, and it almost always made him ask for lessons in her mother tongue. He much preferred learning her language than hearing his own, especially from one as beautiful as she.

"I am not the King just yet." he mused. He could not help the smile that etched itself onto his lips. His dark eyes narrowed on the game before him, the unfamiliar knobs and colored pieces seemingly taunting him. It was not the first time your mother invited him to play this game, and by God, he sure hoped it would not be the last.

"If the game grows too challenging, my Lord, perhaps we may switch our attentions elsewhere?"

Alfred's eyes left the board and sauntered on your mothers from. A lazy smile crossed her features.

"Leave us," Alfred's hand rose in a dismissive wave and the lute player and guards at the door promptly made themselves scarce. The only sound that could be heard was the roaring fire and faraway cry of howling wind.

It had been nearly ten months since your mother and the procession that followed her arrived in Winchester. She was the princess of a wealthy and powerful empire in the east, sent by her father to secure an amicable relationship to the growing power of Wessex. She was intelligent and headstrong, so unlike the Saxon women he had grown accustomed to. The moment he set eyes on her, he prayed to God for strength. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, powerful in her own right. The soldiers in her company admired and respected her, the ladies in waiting revered the ground she walked on. She treated Lady Aelswith with the utmost kindness and respect, bestowing upon the future queen lavish jewels and silks from her homeland. While Aelswith was not oblivious to the shift in her betrothed's demeanor, she welcomed your mother with open arms, as was the godly thing to do.

With each passing day it grew harder and harder for Alfred to deny the pull of your mother's energy. The shared looks at break-fast, the way you honored his relationship with God and accompanied him to daily prayer. The way her voice was a balm upon his soul when she sang the folksongs of her people, the way her body moved while she bestowed upon the future king and queen the gift of her peoples' traditional dance. Though your mother feigned ignorance of his attention, she was anything but.

He warred with himself, as God was his witness. He cared for Aelswith dearly and would do anything to uphold her honor as a woman of God, as his future bride. He spent his frustrations upon the serving girls, shuddering his release within them, desperately trying to rid your mother from his mind. He'd repent to God, cursing himself and his weakness, because God, was he weak. But your mother knew, without a shadow of a doubt, how weak men and their impulses could be tamed.

And so, his eyes lingered on your mother and she stood from her chair, jewelry jingling as she pushed the board-game aside with ease. The pieces fell to the floor with a clatter, and she took another sip of her wine.

"My Lord, I see the way you look at me," she peeled the first layer of garments from her body, "it fills me with great pleasure."

Alfred's cheeks went warm as he struggled to breathe. "I-"

"Do not be ashamed, my Lord." she giggled, stripping another layer off her full frame. The silky fabric fell to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a sheer slip. "I do not feel ashamed. I do not feel ashamed that I plan on giving myself to you, upon this table, knowing your future wife is dreaming of you in her chambers. You are going to be crowned King, my Lord. Do you not feel you deserve everything you desire?"

He could not breathe, could not think. "I am the future King, yes."

Your mother's lips pulled into a knowing smile. Carefully she sat atop the table, positioned in a way he would have to stand and walk to her, to seal his fate on his own. The candlelight illuminated her skin, the crystals and jewels of her necklaces and bracelets glittered. Alfred could feel his resolve dissolving into nothing as he took one last sip of wine. Slowly he stood, grazing your mother's thighs with light fingers when he got close. She looked at him with dark eyes before allowing her legs to part further.

"Grant me strength, Lord in heaven," the words fell from his lips as he studied her, the foreign and precious jewel upon his table.

"It is just us now, my Lord. Come to me."

And so he did.

~

"She is with child?" Odda the Elder sipped from his goblet of wine, watching his lord pace the expanse of the feast hall. Alfred had woken his trusted advisor in the dead of night, palms wet with nerves, face pale with dread.

"Yes." Alfred nodded once, his voice void of his roiling emotions.

"How do you wish to proceed, Lord? It would be detrimental to your cause if you were found out. It could jeopardize your standing with Merica, your betrothal to Lady Aelwsith."

"I do not need reminding of the obvious, Odda." Alfred seethed. "I came to you for advice, not so you could spew nonsense."

"It is unsafe for the princess to travel as winter has settled," Odda thought aloud.

"Yes," Alfred muttered, "I thought as much."

"Have you thought about other...solutions...my Lord?"

The future king reeled on the ealderman, a deep frown etched on his lips. "Surely you are not suggesting she purge the child from her womb?"

Odda nodded solemnly. "If you do not wish to claim the child, Lord, I do not see another way forward."

"There must be another way," Alfred rubbed his face, "a more godly way?"

"There may be," Odda considered, "allow her to stay in Winchester until the child is born, under lock and guard. We can claim the princess has fallen ill, permit only those you trust the most to look after her. Once the child is born, she will be able to return to her homeland."

"That is a Christly thing to do," Alfred nodded again, "and so it shall be done. Send for Father Beocca at once, have him make the necessary preparations. I want her away from prying eyes before her belly begins to swell."

"It will be done, my Lord."

~

You were born on a calm night in summer in the safety of the high walls of Winchester. There was no announcement of your arrival to the townsfolk, nor the residents of the grand estate. Your mother brushed the soft skin of your face as you nursed at her breast, a soft breeze cooling her damp skin from the window across her bed. Handmaids cleaned her bed of the bloodied sheets and blankets and quietly scuttled out of the room.

"Is she healthy?" Alfred's voice was soft as he entered, eyes landing on the small bundle in your mother's arms.

"Yes, quite healthy. Praise Him." she glanced up at the future king with a questioning look before nodding to the babe at her breast. "Would you like to hold her?"

"That would not be wise." he shook his head but slowly walked closer to you both, a gentle look on his face. His breath caught in his chest, "She is beautiful."

"It is a pity daughters are not treated as equally to sons," your mother spoke, eyes looking down at you again, "for they are just as precious."

Alfred said nothing as he stared downcast at the stone floor. "You cannot stay here, now that the babe has been born."

"Is that the will of you, Lord King, or your future Queen?"

"It is the best for my kingdom. I did my Christian duty by allowing you to stay until the child was born. You must leave once you have healed from your labors."

Your mother said something in her language, sharp and full of dissent.

"I am sorry." Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat. "I cannot have a bastard walking the same halls as my heirs. I cannot claim her as my own."

"That word is foul and should never be used to describe your child, Lord. I am no common whore, nor a slave. I am a princess! There is no shame in what we have done, no shame in what life we have created."

"You are not my wife-"

"That did not matter when your cock was inside me, no?"

Alfred said nothing.

"You Saxons and your judgmental ways! My father sent me on a quest to join our great houses together in a steady and strong friendship, and I have borne you both the most precious fruit of that labor. You claim you are a loving man of God, yet you are sending the mother of your only child away."

"I allowed my lust and desires to cloud my judgement that night. I should not have done so." he replied thickly, struggling to meet her gaze.

"Many kings in my homeland have multiple wives and children borne of them. What is so wrong with this?"

"We are not in your homeland."

The room went silent save for your suckling.

"I am sorry, my dear."

"You are a cowardly man."

He did not respond. In an instant Alfred turned away, never to look upon your mother again.

~

"The princess has died, Lord King." the messenger from your mother's homeland knelt solemnly, bearing a scroll with your family's seal.

Alfred's breath was stolen from him. "Explain yourself."

It had been ten years since he last laid eyes upon your mother and the babe she cradled to her chest. Three nights after your birth, your mother set sail for her homeland with you in her arms, never to look back. When she landed back on home soil with the news of her failure to secure a friendship with the future king of Wessex, her father banished her to the ends of his lands. He did not care for the half-Saxon at her breast and deigned you as a half-blood, the lowest title of your mother's people.

"Upon her return to the empire, my Lord, she and the child were stripped of their standing and banished. In the coming years war broke out amongst the other kingdoms. The princess was taken for ransom but was killed as a blood traitor."

"Killed?" Alfred's vision began to swim.

"Yes, Lord King."

"What of the child? Is the child alive?"

"Yes, my Lord. Her whereabouts are written in this scroll."

"Who else knows of this?"

"None, my Lord. I have been sworn to secrecy. The child was declared dead in our lands."

Alfred took a breath before grabbing the scroll with steady hands. The moment he opened the seal he recognized your mother's handwriting. She wrote only a few lines, but the contents within made his heart race.

My dear Lord King,

if you are receiving my word, it means I have passed into the next world. Our daughter is in danger here in our lands, and so, I am sending her with those I trust the most back to your kingdom. I know the risks are great, but her life would be forefeit if she stays. I am entrusting her fate to you, Lord King. My dying wish is that you protect her, to give her the chance to live, even if it is not by your side. She is due by the summer solstice. Please keep her safe.

"Send for Father Beocca at once," Alfred crumpled the parchment paper within his hands. "at once!"

~

Beocca's eyes strained against the light of the rising sun as sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His frock clung to his skin uncomfortably and he pulled at the collar in attempt to cool. The breeze wafting from the sea did nothing to aid and instead the hot and putrid smell of rotten fish wafted from the shore. The small shape of a ship could be seen, slowly making its way towards him.

Just as the sun reached its zenith, the ship landed on the shores of Wessex. Beocca eyed the strangely dressed warriors warily, his gaze softening as they gazed upon you. A woman brought you to shore, her hair veiled by blue silk.

"Are you a servant of King Alfred?" the women's voice was soft and sweet and she clung to your hand tightly.

"I am, my Lady. I am Father Beocca."

"A priest?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"Hmm," her eyes narrowed, "you must go with this man, halfling."

Your small frame attempted to hide within the women's skirts but to no avail. She quickly placed your hand into Beocca's and turned without another look in your direction.

"Surely you would like to join us and rest before you continue your travels?" Beocca's voice startled in confusion.

"No need."

They left without another word. You stared at Beocca wildly, tears brimming in your eyes. "I miss home. I want to go home."

The priest knelt to your level. He could see Alfred's likeness in the way you held your head, the glint in your eyes. You were only a child, and yet, fate had been cruel. No mother, a father who could not claim you. A land and kin who did not honor you.

"My name is Father Beocca," he began softly, "I am here to take you to your new home. You will be safe there. You have my word, little one."