Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) by Millie Thom Page A

me.’
    ‘Then we’ll ponder on it together, Eadwulf. I would also wish your brother and sister freed and in their rightful place.’
    Leaving the stub of candle to burn out, Eadwulf pulled Leoflaed down to nestle beside him. Sleep would come much more easily now.

Six
    Wessex: late August – mid September, 865
    On a sultry afternoon in the last week of August, King Aethelberht finally lost his battle for life. He was thirty years old and had been a respected and competent king of Wessex for the past five years. For some weeks he had withdrawn from public life and remained in his bedchamber at Wilton, his frail body captive to the ravages of the illness that had taken his two older brothers and gradually drained every modicum of his own strength.
    Although Aethelberht’s death had not come as a surprise, Alfred knew that his one remaining brother was daunted at the prospect of becoming the next king. Responsibilities loomed high. But Alfred was certain that Aethelred would measure up to the challenge and rule the kingdom with wisdom and courage. And Alfred would always be there for him: together they would face threats to Wessex, from wherever they may stem.
    Aethelwulf’s two youngest sons had been at their brother’s bedside on that muggy afternoon, surrounded by some of Aethelberht’s closest retainers, as well as their uncle, Osric of Hampshire, Theomund the Wilton reeve, and Bishop Ealhstan. Only Aethelswith had not arrived in time to say farewell to her dying brother. Messengers had been sent to Tamworth almost two weeks ago with the sad news that Aethelberht was barely holding on to life. Their return had brought an apologetic reply from Aethelswith, informing her brothers that Burgred was leading a campaign against the Welsh, the last news she’d received relaying that he was deep into Gwynedd and heading for the island of Mon. So it was likely that the Mercian royal party would be late in making their journey to Wilton. If they came at all.
    But after fretting over the situation for almost a week, during which time there was no further news from Burgred, Aethelswith had made the decision to travel without him. With a small company of guards, she and her young daughter had set off on the long journey to Wilton. Having been forbidden by Burgred to travel for either her father’s last days or his funeral, she was determined to be there for Aethelberht.
    Unfortunately, she was still too late. Alfred’s heart bled for his sister whose lovely face contorted with grief on hearing of Aethelberht’s death the previous day.
    ‘At least he’s free of his pain now,’ she whispered to her brothers as they rose from their prayers and gazed down on Aethelberht’s serene features. The three were sombrely dressed, befitting the mood of intense sadness. It was so quiet and still in the little stone church; even Father Eldwyn had left to allow them privacy with their departed brother. In God’s comforting presence, Alfred’s turbulent emotions calmed, but for Aethelswith, the awareness of Aethelberht’s death was too recent. Even prayer offered no consolation and the tears flowed freely. ‘I’m heartbroken that I couldn’t see him for one last time,’ she sobbed. ‘If only Burgred had not–’
    ‘Peace, sister,’ Aethelred urged. ‘Your husband could not ignore the threat to Mercia’s safety. There’s no blame to be laid there.’
    ‘But knowing that his wife’s brother was so close to death, couldn’t he have trusted a competent ealdorman to lead the campaign?’
    Alfred bit his tongue, realising too late that criticism of her husband may further upset his sister. But Aethelswith did not refute his words. ‘It is what I believe myself, Alfred. I was devastated when your messengers arrived and Bugred was miles away.’
    Alfred enfolded her in his arms as she wept tears of sadness and regret. ‘Aethelberht knew how much you cared for him, sister. And we all realised there’d be a good reason if you