The Edge of Light by Joan Wolf Page B

ealdorman.”
    “Doubtless some spineless thane Ivar saw he could manipulate,” Alfred replied. “He is of no account; a king who will move to Ivar’s command the way a child moves a glove-doll.” He frowned. “I do not think this appointing of a puppet king bodes well, Ethelred. If Ivar planned to remain in Northumbria, he would not have done thus.”
    Alfred’s foreboding proved all too correct. In mid-November the Danish army, moving with a speed that astonished the shocked Mercians, came down the valley of the Trent to Nottingham, one of Burgred’s towns that lay but thirty miles to the north of Tamworth. The Danish army then proceeded to systematically raid the countryside.
    Burgred sent a frantic message south, to his brother-by-marriage the King of Wessex, reminding Ethelred of his alliance to Mercia and asking for assistance.
    It was the end of December when Alfred and an escort of fifty thanes rode north to Tamworth in order to confer with the Mercian king and to gather information for Ethelred as to the actual situation in Nottingham.

    The day was gray and silent, with a low sky that seemed full of snow, when Alfred reached Tamworth. It had snowed lightly the night before, and white sprinkled the roofs of the halls and covered the woodpiles stacked against the palisade walls. The great hall of Tamworth was decked with evergreens and the Yule log still smoldered on the hearth, but the faces that greeted Alfred as he came forward to salute his host were far from festive.
    “It is good to see you, my boy,” said Burgred heavily.
    Ethelswith came to give Alfred the kiss of peace. Her lips felt chill as they touched his cheek.
    Burgred had called together his witan to hear what Wessex would have to say, and the nobles and bishops of Mercia assembled quickly in the great hall as soon as they learned that Alfred was come. Alfred knew most of the Mercian ealdormen by sight. They were all older, save for Athulf, with whom Alfred exchanged a friendly smile.
    The men sat along the benches in the great hall before the remnants of the Yule log. Edred, Ealdorman of the Tomsaetan and chief of the Mercian nobles, spoke first. “What does King Ethelred plan to do about these Danes?”
    Alfred raised one perfect eyebrow and forbore to point out that the Danes in Nottingham were chiefly Mercia’s problem.
    Burgred said, almost querulously, “When Mercia swore allegiance to your grandfather, King Egbert, he promised to protect us. Wessex does owe us assistance, Alfred. Surely Ethelred recognizes that.”
    Now Alfred was really surprised. It almost sounded as if Burgred had nothing planned, was waiting for Ethelred to do it all. He looked around the circle of Mercian nobles and did not like what he saw. Athulf was the only man to meet his eyes, and Athulf was looking very grim.
    Alfred looked back to his brother-by-marriage and said very evenly, “Ethelred is above all else a Christian king, my lord. In the face of such a threat as that posed by the Danes, it is essential for all Christian kings and Christian lands to stand together. Wessex will help Mercia in this time of need.”
    The heavy tension Alfred had felt in the hall shattered. For the first time since Alfred had arrived, Burgred smiled. “Thanks be to God,” he said devoutly. Then, “What shall we do?”
    Alfred looked at Athulf. The young Mercian refused to look back. The rest of the nobles were staring at the West Saxon prince, waiting for him to answer.
    Alfred was astonished. Almost embarrassed. He laced his jeweled hands together on his knee and asked mildly, “What is the situation at present in Nottingham?”
    At least the Mercian witan seemed to be well-informed as to what was happening in the Danish camp. The Danes apparently had made no attempt to move beyond Nottingham. They were behaving much as they had while they were in York—staying within their defenses save for quick raids into the surrounding countryside. “Most of the people within a