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 The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles Part II

   An Interlude on Athelney, AD 878

   In the second week of the New Year of Our Lord, Eight Hundred and
Seventy Eight, the Danes broke out from their winter camp at Gleawanceaster
and once more assailed the Kingdom of Ælfred.  The King was at Cippanhamm
for Yuletide when the Danes descended out of the snow on the small Saxon
host.  Ælfred and his companions were taken utterly by surprise.  They
tried to stand at the river but were overwhelmed.  The fighting was fierce
and bloody and the waters of that unhappy stream ran red with the bright
heart's blood of Wessex.  Ælfred was defeated and driven back beyond
Selwood.  The King, together with such remnants of his band as remained,
took refuge amid the masterless men of the marshes on the isle of
Athelingaig.

   Among those who accompanied the King was one Edric, House Ceorl to the
Ealdorman of Dornwaraceaster.  Much of what follows is his story but it
would make no sense without reference to the actions of the King at this
time of his greatest trials.

   Fr Asser of St Davids Wiltun In the Year of Our Lord, 908.

   Author's Note: An Interlude on Athelney

   Following the death of Ivar in 871, the wars continued intermittently
until 874.  Halfdan took the majority of the Danish forces north away from
Wessex, where resistance was strongest, and established a Kingdom centred
on York - Jorvik to the invaders.  At some point in 876, Halfdan departed
England and the Danish army split into two.  The southern faction was led
by Guthrun, sometimes called Gudrun, who established himself in Eastern and
Southern Mercia, forcing peace on the Mercian King, Ceolwulf.

   This state of affairs was tantamount to a partition of the Mercian
Kingdom and gave Guthrun a base at Gloucester, the Anglo-Saxon
Gleawanceaster, from which he could again harass Wessex.

   The principal place names I have used in this story are: Athelingaig -
The Island of Athelney; Bradanforda is Bradford on Avon, where one can find
one of the few extant Saxon Churches; Cippanhamm - Chippenham,
Dornwaraceaster is Dorchester.  Glestingaburg - Glastonbury and Ceoddor,
modern-day Cheddar.  The physical geography of Somerset in those days was
very different from today.  It is hard to see Athelney as an island these
days and the area now known as the Levels was then alternately forest and
swamp.

   The main forest of Selwood divided the Kingdom of Wessex into two parts.
Wessex proper ran from Kent through Sussex, Hampshire and Wiltshire and
included eastern Dorset.  Selwood ran almost north-south, from just above
Dorchester to Calne, in Wiltshire.  Wessex-beyond-Selwood was a wilder
place.  The towns were smaller and further apart and the landscape less
hospitable.  The land ran from the marshes of Somerset to the granite moors
of Devon and the wild, wooded hills and valleys of West Dorset.

   This distinction remains to this day.  West of Selwood, one is aware of
the space.  The congruence of Somerset, Dorset and Devon is one of the most
beautiful and unspoilt parts of England.  I am happy to say it is where we
now make our home.

   Ælfred, Ætholnoth and Guthrun are, of course, historical characters. 
The rest, and this entire story, are my own imaginings.



   An Interlude on Athelney, AD 878



   "Edric!  Edric!  Come on, man, where the Devil are you?" Edric of
Dornwaraceaster rose slowly from his sleeping-pallet and pushed aside the
hides that covered the doorway.  He emerged, blinking, into the wan
daylight.  As usual on this cursed isle it was raining, a fine drifting
rain that covered everything, the sort of rain that a man does not heed
until he is soaked to the skin.

   Ælfred had arrived on Athelingaig with the remnants of his force the day
before Easter.  In the fortnight since, others had come straggling in,
bringing both reinforcement and news.  It seemed the Kingdom was lost.  All
of Wessex proper was subjugated by the Danes.  Many had fled across the sea
to the land of the Franks.  Only here, beyond Selwood, were men still free.
Edric wiped his eyes and looked about him.

   He was a tall man, well above the average, with a long face and
prominent ears.  His bare arms showed countless old whitened scars, little
legacies of a life of conflict.  A livid purple line was slashed across his
brow, evidence of another and more recent wound received in the service of
his King and the Land of Wessex.

   Of all the marks he bore, this was the one he hated, for it had taken
his honour.  That day at Cippanhamm -- he felt heart-sick in its
remembrance.  He had served his Ealdorman for nigh on fifteen years, had
taken wounds in his defence.  At Cippanhamm his Lord had fallen.  Edric had
been powerless to save him, rendered insensible by a blow from a Danish
sword to the head.  His helmet had saved his life but that was as nothing
to the loss of his reputation.  The code of the House Ceorl was a harsh
one. A man should not survive his sworn Lord, his Ring-Giver.  His
companions had all fallen at their Lord's side, defending the tattered
banner of Dornwaraceaster.  Edric should have died among them.  Thus he
lived, a ni-thing, a man without a master.  Such thoughts consumed his
every waking hour and troubled his dreams, also.

   "There you are, you ugly bastard.  The King has sent for you.  Look
sharp, now!"

   It was Hereward of Middletun, made Ealdorman at the young age of
seventeen and standing high in the King's favour.  Edric liked Hereward,
most people did.  He was a cheerful young man, even now barely three and
twenty.  Edric may have felt a twinge of jealousy at Hereward's renown but
could not find in his heart to resent the younger man.

   "What does Ælfred want of me?"

   "His horse has died and he wants you to carry him!"

   "A task I'm fit enough for."

   "Oh, don't take on, man.  No one blames you for your Lord's misfortune.
The King has need of you now, so look lively!"

   Edric smoothed his clothes as best he could.  Hereward could hardly
suppress a grin, as the big warrior pulled stray bits of straw from his
tunic and beard.  They walked together to the King's hut.  Edric moved
ponderously.  His shoulders seemed too wide, even for his height, and they
rolled as he walked.  By contrast, Hereward was light and graceful, seeming
to glide along beside the larger man.

   The King was seated outside the hut at a rough wooden table.  Moisture
sparkled in his hair and beard but he did not heed the rain.  Several of
his Thegns and House Ceorls stood or sat nearby.  He looked up as Edric and
Hereward approached; gave a nod to Hereward, who moved to one side.

   "Edric of Dornwaraceaster, thank you for coming so early.  I have need
of your services."

   "Are you sure it's me you need, My Lord?"

   A flash of irritation crossed the King's face and then he smiled.

   "Edric, I understand your pain.  You feel you have lost all honour.  We,
who fought that day at Cippanhamm and saw your master fall, know different.
You fought as a man should for as long as you were able.  Your Lord is dead
now, and we pray, with the saints.  Now I have need of you.  Will you
refuse me?"

   "Never, Lord.  You have only to command me."

   "Good!  Now, if you can accomplish that which I now desire, you shall
become Ælfred's man.  Seventeen House Ceorls I lost at Cippenhamm.  There
is a place at my table for you, if you will but take it."

   Ælfred knew his man.  To simply give Edric a new position would have
failed.  The man was too proud.  But to earn a place among the King's
Ceorls - that was a challenge he would respond to.  His sense of duty to
the King would let him make the attempt.  His honour would be satisfied
only by success.  Ælfred knew Edric would not return if he failed.  He
would succeed or literally die trying.

   "How may I serve you?"

   "The Abbess of Glestingaburg has sent word.  She has provided succour to
several of our wounded.  She has also given shelter to a number of women
and children who fled the pagans.  I am taking a force to escort them here.
I need you to draw away the Danes.  I want you to take a small band and
harry them.  Hit and run.  Can you do this for me?"

   Edric brightened visibly.  Here was a chance for him to avenge his
master and recover his pride.  "That I will, My Lord!" Ælfred smiled.  The
King had an infectious smile that lightened the hearts of those about him.
He was not yet thirty years old and had been King for seven years.  He had
never expected to sit on the throne of Wessex, being the youngest son of
King Æthelwulf.

   "There is one other charge I must give you."

   "You have but to ask, My Lord."

   "Today we had great news!  The pagans sent an army out of Cymru, to
attack our lands in the West.  They came to battle at Cynuit Hill and were
destroyed."

   "Great news indeed, My Lord."

   "I want you to spread the word of this victory and tell all you meet
that the Fyrd is summoned by Ælfred to come to Egbert's Stone at
Whitsuntide, five weeks from today.  This time we will not fail or Wessex
will be no more."

   "It shall be as you command."

   Edric spent the rest of the day in preparation.  He chose local men to
ride with him, men of the King's Royal Estate at Ceoddor.  The following
day he rode out with forty well-mounted warriors at his back, heading
north, towards Gleawanceaster.  They had ridden but half a day when they
came upon a small host, heading for Athelingaig.  At its head rode
Ætholnoth, Thegn of Sumurtun, and the chief of the King's men in those
parts.  Edric exchanged news with the grizzled old veteran and Ætholnoth
gave him twenty more warriors to supplement the band.

   "The King will be glad of you and your men," Edric told the Thegn.  "He
rides this day to Glestingaburg to bring the wounded and the women in."

   "First I ride to the west, for we have news of a raiding party towards
Tantun.  I mean to warm their arses before I go to Athelingaig.  There's
sport for you to the east as well.  The Danes forage far and wide out of
Cippanhamm.  They seem to believe they own the place!"

   "Then we must teach them different!"

   And with this, they parted, Ætholnoth to Tantun and Edric to the
northeast.  At each village and holding, he sent messengers to gather news
and pass the word of the mustering at Egbert's Stone.  Whenever they saw
large bodies of Danish troops, they would linger long enough to be seen,
and for the pursuit to start, before drawing away, ever eastwards.  Thus it
was that Ælfred was able to bring the folk from Glestingaburg unmolested.
It was on their return leg, as they approached the great sweep of Selwood
from the East, they had their first true encounter with the enemy.

   Five days of running from a fight had made the band restive and now, as
they saw a small party of pagans driving off cattle, they saw their
opportunity at last.  Edric led his men round a hill capped with a ring of
trees: the sort men said were groves of the Druids in ancient times. 
Saxons fight on foot, so they dismounted in the tree line, leaving half a
dozen as horse-holders.  The fighting men ran lightly over the tussocky
ground to a ford they knew the raiders would have to cross.  Here, Edric
divided his men, sending twenty into the woods on the far side with the
rest ordered into the river, to crouch from sight beneath the riverbank.
The Danes came on, unawares.  Edric waited until they were almost at the
river.  He gave a great yell "God Almighty!!!" and led the charge.  An
echoing shout came from the woods behind and the Danes found themselves
caught between hammer and anvil.  It was not battle - it was slaughter. 
Eighteen invaders died in the blink of an eye.  Blood turned the approaches
to the ford to sanguineous mud.  The axe-blades drank their fill.  Edric
roared to his men "You see they can be beaten!  They die like any other

vermin.  Now, round up the cattle and we'll take them home!"

   The villagers were stunned.  The Danes had arrived at dawn, stolen their
cattle and taken what few precious things they could find.  They had
murdered the headman and the hedge-priest and fired the Great Barn.  The
women and children had fled to the woods at the raiders' approach.  They
were only now emerging as the Saxons rode in with the rescued cattle.

   "God be praised!" A woman's voice rose from the crowd.  She broke the
spell, for suddenly they were surrounded by excited faces, clamouring for
news and demanding an account of the battle.  Edric was a taciturn man and
lacked facility with words.  He had never been easy other than in the
company of warriors.  He envied those at court who could jest and recount
stories.  He looked around the crowd and reddened.  He lifted his voice. 
"We caught them by yonder ford and killed them." The villagers looked on
expectantly, for Saxons love a good tale.  There was an awkward silence. 
"I'm no bard," Edric said at length.  "Let some other tell it." And with
this he moved a little way off, hearing as he did so, the voices of his
men, competing to tell the story.

   He dismounted and began to rub down his horse with a handful of dry
grass.  He cursed himself inwardly for his inability to speak to his
fellows, other than to give orders or discuss tactics.  He felt at home
only among others of his kind: warriors.  He was thirty-one years old and
had never married; had never known a woman other than the drabs that
followed the armies.  He could count his friends on one hand.  It was
little to show for a life of service.

   "I see that, for you, the glory's in the doing, not the telling." The
woman's voice was low and well modulated, without strong accent.  Edric
nodded and turned to face the speaker.  "I am Godgifu, daughter of Oswulf
of Bradanforda." She was unmarried, then, for she had not named herself as
any man's wife.  She was tall and full-breasted.  Her fair hair was braided
and coiled and about her head.  She wore a simple dress of fine green wool,
belted about a slim waist.  He guessed her age to be not too many years
above twenty.  She could not have been called handsome, for her features
were large and bore the scars of some childhood ailment.  Yet there was
something about her that called to Edric.  There was an aura about her.  It
spoke to the warrior of calm self-assurance.  Her eyes, he saw, were
beautiful, brilliant blue and kind, somehow.  It was as if she could look
inside him and see the pain.  He was dumbstruck.

   "And are you always so frugal with words, My Lord?"

   "I'm no Lord.  I'm ni-thing."

   "That, I cannot credit.  How so?"

   "House Ceorl to the late Ealdorman of Dornwaraceaster.  He died, I
lived."

   "At Cippanhamm on Twelfth Night?"

   "Aye."

   "What happened?"

   "I took this," he indicated his scarred brow, "Lost my senses for a
while.  When I came to myself again, the day was lost, my lord with it."

   "But none can blame you, surely.  You took a wound, and not the first,
by your scars.  What of the new Lord?"

   "I failed his sire, what need has he of such as me?"

   "Then he's a puppy and fool, to boot.  I see you for a valiant man."

   "Then you see more than most."

   "More than most, or just more than you?"

   Edric shrugged.  He grew uncomfortable under the woman's gaze.  He knew,
deep down, that she had the right of it.  He knew he was no coward.  Yet
the new Ealdorman, his lord's son, had spurned him.  He was a puppy, she
was right.  He hadn't been at Cippanhamm when the Danes had surprised the
Saxons, attacking, out of common custom, in the dead of winter.  The lad's
refusal had cut Edric to the quick.  He had been weak from his wound,
barely able to stand when he had offered the heir his service.  "By God,"
the boy had drawled, "I think not.  See what your service brought my
father!" Edric had slunk away liked a whipped cur, to lick his wounds on
Athelingaig.

   "Cat got your tongue?  Or is it that that blow took your wits and you
can't remember your own name?"

   "I am Edric, once of Dornwaraceaster and now of Athelingaig.  But what
of you?  You name yourself a Thegn's a daughter yet here you are in this
midden."

   "I was on my way to Scireburnan, to the sisters there, to take the
veil."

   "A nun?"

   "Not yet, and not of my choosing.  My father said I was too old to
remain unwed in his household.  For me, at least, the Danes are a blessing,
for they keep me in the world and out of the cloister!"

   "What will you do now?"

   "I'll ride with you to Athelingaig.  I would have gone before, when we
heard the King lived, but the men my father charged to convey me fled and
the ones hereabout are little better than thralls.  Will you take me?"

   "I somehow feel that that decision isn't mine!" Edric smiled for the
first time in many weeks and she saw a different man emerge, if only
fleetingly.  The smile transformed his long, lugubrious countenance.  It
brought an answering smile to her face and for a moment they stood,
enjoying a precious spark of happiness amid the dark days.

   Edric despatched runners from the village to the surrounding area,
telling of the muster at Egbert's Stone.  When he was satisfied that this
part of the country was awake to their King's needs, he ordered his band to
mount up once more.  This time, Godgifu rode by his side.  Sometimes they
talked quietly as they rode but most often travelled in companionable
silence.  Godgifu proved herself to be a hardy traveller and made no
complaint as to the pace or length of the day's journey.  They camped that
night in Selwood.  No fire was lit to alert the Danes to their presence and
they had a frugal meal of dried beef, oatcakes and apples from the previous
autumn with skins wrinkled like an old woman's but still sweet.

   The wood was silent but for the occasional stamping of a horse.  Edric
and Godgifu sat against an ancient beech and talked in low voices.  Their
conversation ranged far and wide but the more they talked, the more they
found shared experiences.  Both had found it hard to make friends.  Both
had grown up knowing that others were more comely.  Edric found himself
speaking of things he had never shared with another soul.  It was easy to
tell Godgifu, she understood him.  She didn't see him as a big warrior with
over-wide shoulders and prominent ears, a figure to be mocked when his back
was turned.  She didn't think him slow-witted because he found it hard to
put things into words.

   For her part, Godgifu found Edric an ideal companion.  He did not try to
impress her with exaggerated tales of his own deeds.  He didn't act as if
she wasn't there, like so many young men of her father's court.  He
answered her questions honestly.  Sometimes he struggled to find the exact
word he wanted to express a particular feeling or describe something that
he had seen but she quickly realised this was because there was only one
word that would do.  He spoke sparingly, precisely; there was no room for
ambiguity anywhere in his life.  She found herself warming to this taciturn
man.  When he smiled, he was a different person.  She saw within him all
the honesty and gentleness that one person could wish for in another.  He
was serious, reflective, but not without humour.  And he gave weight to
everything she said, neither rejecting her opinions because she was a woman
nor accepting everything she said simply to please her.  She thought, for
one horrified moment, that he was treating her like a man, that he would be
different, somehow, if she were beautiful.  Then she realised that he could
not be other than he was, plain-spoken, carefully considerate.  They talked
late into the night in hushed voices.  It was only when the guard changed
for the third time that they reluctantly withdrew to sleep.

   The following morning they were on the move before the sun had cleared
the tops of the trees behind them.  Edric was anxious to push on now, to
return to Athelingaig.  He found himself thinking that if he were one of
Ælfred's House Ceorls he could approach Godgifu's father and he started at
the thought.  'Great God, man!  You barely know her and yet you think of
marriage!' How could this be?  Godgifu saw the confusion on his face and
wondered at its cause.  She had been watching him surreptitiously.  'Now
here's a man I could spend some time with,' she mused, but dismissed the
thought as silly.  She had given up hope of marriage years before when not
even the most impoverished of her father's men had asked for her, despite
the sizeable dowry Oswulf had offered in desperation.

   They rode on through the long spring evening and it was almost full dark
when they came to Athelingaig.  Edric answered the challenge of the watch
and it was with relief that the tired band came to the camp.  It was much
changed during their absence.  Ætholnoth's men had joined with the King's
host so there were now upwards of eight hundred warriors gathered in the
fort.  Ælfred himself came out to meet them together with Ætholnoth and a
half dozen others of the King's Thegns.

   "Edric, you're back!  And I hear from my spies that the Danes believe
there are bands of three-score Saxons ranging all over Wessex!  And whom do
we have here?"

   "Allow me to present the Lady Godgifu, daughter of Oswulf of
Bradanforda, My Lord.  The Lady's escort deserted her so she accompanied us
here."

   Ælfred handed her down from her horse and gave a bow.

   "Lady, welcome to Athelingaig.  Your father joined us not two days
since. He will be pleased to see you safe for he feared you might be
taken."

   "My safety is entirely due to Edric, My Lord."

   "Well, now I have need of him.  Doubtless you will wish to see your
father.  Ceolwulf here will take you to him.  Come, Edric, for we have much
to discuss."

   With that the King strode off.  Edric turned to Godgifu and the look
that passed between spoke more than words.  "Later, " was all he said and
she nodded.  He made his report to the King and his War Council in a few
terse sentences.  "And so, My Lord, we got as far east as Wiltun before
turning back.  I sent word also into Hamtunshire and I believe such of
their men who have not fled will join with us at Egbert's Stone.  I am sure
of the men of Wiltunshire."

   "You have done well, Edric," the King replied.  "I had not thought you
would get so far.  Now Wessex knows I am neither dead nor fled!  Whitsun
will bring a reckoning.  Now, will you swear to me and be my man?"

   So it was that Edric the ni-thing became Ceorl to Ælfred of Wessex.  In
the days that followed he saw little of Godgifu.  The King kept him busy
with constant forays against the Danes.  Ælfred's men would strike out of
the forests or in the darkness, keeping the enemy off balance.  He was
wounded once, in a sharp fight near Ceoddor.  And then there were the
drills.

   Ælfred had visited Rome twice as a young man and was much impressed with
both the city and its history.  He now taught the Saxons to fight in a
moving Shield Wall, like the Roman 'tortoise'.  He divided his army into
two parts and four hundred men locked arms in each square.  Those on the
outside held shields and axes, the inner ranks thrust with spears between
the wall of shields.  No Saxon had seen the like.  They had always fought
in the Shield Wall but chose their ground and stood under the banners.  Now
they could manoeuvre in fighting formation.  The warriors hated the drills
but were itching to put them into practice.

   As May rolled on, messengers began to arrive at the camp with more
frequency.  The men of Wessex were responding to their King's call.  Simple
reckoning said that there would be five thousand to meet the King at
Egbert's Stone.  One evening, Ælfred summoned the leaders of his host and
told them to prepare.  They would march from Athelingaig for the last time
in just two more days.

   Those two days passed in a mad blur for Edric and his companions.  The
King's preparations were meticulous and no detail must be overlooked,
however small.  He had barely been able to snatch a few words with Godgifu
but there was now an understanding between them.  If Edric survived the
coming battle, he would speak to Oswulf.  As always with him, his duty came
first and he put such thoughts far from his mind as he went about his
tasks.

   Thus it was, on that last night before the army's departure, that
Godgifu slipped quietly into his hut.  Edric sat upon his pallet in
surprise.  "Godgifu, what are you doing here?  It is not seemly." She
placed a finger to his lips.  "Hush, my man, and listen," she said.  "Do
you suppose I am some green girl?  I am twenty three years old and I have
thought this over.  My mind's made up.  I will not go to my grave a virgin.
If you should fall I will take the veil but at least I will know love
before I do so!"

   She took a flint and steel and lit a rush light, filling the hut with a
warm, soft light.  Turning back to him, she stripped off her dress and
stood before him.  He thought his heart would burst its bounds and choke
him.  He had no voice.  Her body was bathed in a golden glow.  Her breasts
were large and swung outwards from her chest.  He felt his pulse race as it
did when he stood in the Shield Wall.  His eyes were drawn to the round
flare of her hips, down her slightly domed stomach to the crown of curls at
its base.  He felt himself grow hard as he stripped off his trews and tunic
and drew her down to the pallet beside him.

   She ran her fingers lightly over his body, touching the hard muscles and
the scarred flesh.  Only his back was unmarked.  His eyes were wide in
wonder and his breath came quickly.  She felt completely in control,
trusting his inherent gentleness.  She inclined her head and kissed him,
feeling his beard on her cheek as she did so.  It was softer than she
expected.  Passion rose in her and she kissed him again, harder this time,
thrusting her tongue into his mouth.  She took his lower lip between her
teeth and bit down softly.  He uttered a low groan but she knew it was not
pain.

   His hands moved to her breasts and he felt their soft weight.  She
inhaled sharply as he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked at her lightly.
He teased at it with his tongue and teeth and it was now she who moaned
aloud.  His hands stroked the rounded swelling of her buttocks and she felt
his strength as he lifted her easily to lie on top of him.  She could feel
his hardness pressing against her and she thrust towards it with her hips.
"Slowly, my love," he whispered and she relaxed a little, luxuriating in
the new sensations invading her body in waves as he stroked the moistened
curls and slipped a finger gently into her cleft.  She gasped as his
questing finger found its target and he gently rubbed the little knot.  She
could wait no longer.  She rose above him and grasping him with one hand,
thrust down suddenly.  A flash of pain shot through her but he was through
the barrier.  She scarcely had time to feel it.

   His hips thrust up to meet her and he seized her buttocks, pulling her
forwards and downwards until their bodies met.  She almost screamed at the
sudden shock but already he was lifting her away and she found herself
falling easily into the rhythm.  It was like riding a wild horse, she
thought, or better yet, a dragon.

   He bent forward and captured a gently swaying breast with his mouth. 
The sensation flashed like lightning through her body, as if there was a
direct connection between her nipple and her loins.  All conscious thought
had left her now; she was only aware of the demands of her body and the
rising tide of feeling deep within her.  She felt his teeth graze her
nipple and it pushed her over the brink.  She screamed aloud as the climax
hit her.  She looked down at his face and saw it contorted with passion as
he followed her to fulfilment.

   Thus it was that her father found them, summoned by the sounds of her
passion.  The old Thegn's face purpled with rage.  "A rape!" He bellowed, "
A rape!" This brought others running and before they knew it, Edric had
been seized and dragged naked from the hut.  Oswulf would have killed him
out of hand but Hereward of Middletun stepped between the maddened Thegn
and his intended victim.

   "Come now, Oswulf, you know that is not the King's law."

   "Law or not, I'll have this bastard's life!  She was to take the veil!
He has despoiled the Holy Church!"

   "Take the veil, indeed!" Godgifu appeared then from the hut.  She stood,
naked and proud, before the assembled company." And if there was rape,
well, it was I that did it!  I went to Edric willingly and would do so
again."

   Edric raised his head.  His initial sense of shame was passing.  "I
meant no insult to you.  Lord Oswulf.  I had planned to speak to you. 
Godgifu and I are not children.  We would wed.  Will you have me for a
good-son?"

   Oswulf spat.  "I'd sooner have you as carrion!"

   Ælfred's voice then cut across the hubbub.  "Oswulf, it is my wish that
Edric lives a while longer yet." He took off his cloak, worn against the
evening chill and draped it about Godgifu with a smile.  "It seems to me,
Lord Oswulf, that all would be best served by a marriage.  I can see no
rape here and know it is not Edric's way.  What say you?"

   Oswulf still bridled and fulminated but gave a grudging nod.  "Let him
have the sow." Edric stepped forward and grabbed the Thegn by his tunic. 
He lifted the older man bodily until their eyes were level.  "You are worse
than a fool," he said.  "You've had a treasure under your nose for years
and have been blind to her.  You think beauty exists only at the level of
the skin.  How can you have lived so long yet learned so little?  You are
unfit to be father to such a Lady.  Hear me now.  If you ever speak of your
daughter without respect again, I will punch you.  This is something to be
feared.  Ask any man in Dornwaraceaster and they will tell you I can fell
an ox with one blow.  I trust I make myself plain?" Godgifu had never heard
him so eloquent.

   Oswulf blustered.  "Did you see that?  He manhandled me!  He threatened
me!" Hereward stepped forward and put an arm around the Thegn.  "Oswulf,"
he said with a smile, "Consider yourself lucky to be alive.  If that big
ugly bastard had been naked and close enough to kiss me, I'd have died of
fright!" There was a moment's silence before the assembled crowd dissolved
into gales of laughter.  Edric looked furious a little while longer but
found it impossible not to smile.  His grin stretched until he, too, was
consumed by mirth.

   "Enough," said the King.  "We have serious work ahead of us on the
morrow.  Edric, say your farewells to your betrothed.  There will be time
for love when peace is won." Edric bowed his head in agreement.  Ælfred
turned to Godgifu.  "My Lady, you shall have a dowry of your King and I
promise you, it will be more fitting than any that old curmudgeon would
provide." She, too, bowed her head; but not before she saw Hereward's broad
wink.

   The Saxons gathered at Egbert's Stone on Whitsunday.  Ælfred led them
forward to a place called Ethandun.  They attacked the Danes as the first
rays of sunlight touched the broad downs.  The moving Shield Walls took the
foe by surprise but still they outnumbered Ælfred's men.  The fighting
lasted most of the day.  The King was everywhere, inspiring his warriors,
leading counterattacks, wherever the fighting was fiercest.  And ever at
his side was Edric.  The big warrior was magnificent that day.  He seemed
tireless and when, as the day grew late, the Danish host finally broke, it
was Edric who led the pursuit.

   Guthrun and his army withdrew to a fortified camp at Cippanhamm. 
Cippanhamm was where it started and where it finished.  After a bitter
siege lasting a fortnight, Guthrun asked for terms.  He gave himself up to
the King's Peace and was baptised a Christian.  After swearing deep oaths
and giving hostages, the Danes withdrew to the east.  In his wisdom, Ælfred
granted them settlement rights in Danelaw.  So the year of grace eight
hundred and seventy eight ended with Wessex free and Danish power humbled
for the nonce.  It would not remain so.

   Edric and Godgifu were married at Lammass.  The bulge in her belly was
noticed by all but mentioned by none, certainly not by her father!