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Author's Chapter Notes:
right, time to own up. I made an error, and as far as I'm concerned a big one!!!
The King of Mercia was Athelred not athelstan. I have changed it in this chapter. sorry.

thanks to Ariadne for the banner and to all those people who take the time to review
William and Anne were given their own sleeping areas in the hall: William on a pallet near the fire with the rest of the hearth troop and Anne in one of the beds shared by the ladies in the separate hall put aside for their use. Both had their places at the tables, well above the salt. And both began to make friends amongst those that surrounded the Lord and Lady of Mercia. Brother Giles stayed close to his lady Anne, working in the small chapel attached to the main hall as well as the priory in the centre of the town.

They soon settled into the routine of the King’s Hall in Shrewsbury. The hall was as large as any he had seen and kept as well as Buffy’s had been. Here was food enough for all and the King and his lady were good and kind people. William soon returned to the routine of his childhood: church every morning, weapons practice in the afternoon. Sitting with his mother talking and playing chess or being called to talk at Athelred’s side, to listen to the discussions. He didn’t let his hard-earned skill with weapons lapse: William could be seen out in the practice fields at every opportunity, mastering spear and sword. Athelred watched for some time before encouraging some of his more experienced hearth troops to join the lad and expand his experience. William might be the youngest of his father’s sons but as far as Athelred was concerned he was the best.

Anne loved her life with her lady Athelflaed. She bloomed under the gentleness and care of her childhood mistress and the presence of her beloved William. She was so proud of her boy as he had become a man and if she noticed the shadows in his eyes sometimes she said nothing, but wore the brooch where he could easily see it.

Lady Anne found a loom that had been left empty for more than a week; she asked for, and received, permission to warp it and use it. William came across his mother dancing across the beams as she strung thread after thread along the bar. He tried to help but was soon sent packing as his calloused hands caught yarn and heddle-string alike. He ended up just passing pieces of wood and string to her as she asked for them. He loved seeing her eyes shine so much from the simple joy of working with her hands. Her weaving, once started, was much admired for its intricacy and it was soon much sought after. She was even asked to oversee the weaving of a cloak-length for the King himself. It was something she took great pride in doing well, her deft fingers pulling weft through warp and moving heddles to produce a fine and glorious cloth for the king.



William was proving to be a fine and clever fighter, as well as a strong voice in the council at the King’s table. Athelred listened to his words, especially where it came to the Norse-folk; he had more experience with them than any of the others that sat with him. William spoke quietly and thoughtfully, his intelligence shining through. Though he could wound with his tongue when annoyed.


It was the middle of the afternoon when a farmer’s son, on the back of a small pony, had made it to Shrewsbury bringing a tale of demons coming from the sea. He was bruised and blooded, and the haunted look in his eyes told of horrors that no child should have endured. The tale he told the hearth troop was one of a raid on his small, isolated farm on the welsh coast. They had come from the sea and left no-one alive in the hall: his mother, father and brothers had been slaughtered. His sister had been defiled first: her screams had been what had alerted him and an old retainer. The man had hidden the little boy, Selwyn, in a copse overlooking the stream and so the boy had seen them kill even the old man.

Anne felt the tears rising in her eyes. She could feel the waves of anger rolling off her son. And feared what the man might do.

They were assaulting the coast as far as Flint and could be heading towards the main town at Chester. The Jutlanders had been brutal: few had survived the attacks they had started, and the fires of the burning buildings had left a trail of devastation as far as the eye could see.

Athelred ordered a troop immediately, and it was the work of moments before armed and armoured men took to their horses. William was mounted on a dapple-grey stallion who answered to the unlikely name of Finn.

Anne and the other ladies handed the men bags of food for their journeys and blankets were bundled into bedrolls for them all. William was grateful for the lined cloak Buffy had given him as he wrapped it around his shoulders.

Finn took objection to every leaf and branch, rearing and bucking whenever he could to try and unsaddle William. William had had enough before they had ridden for very long at all, and dismounted and grabbed the stallion by the ear, twisting it until the stallion’s own eyes started watering. The horse would still not give in and William twisted harder until the big horse went down on his knees and whinnied.

‘Now was that really worth it?’ William asked and the stallion seemed to agree. He behaved properly for the rest of the day.

They camped cold that night deep inside the Welsh countryside and rode hard and fast in the morning. They could see the smoke on the horizon showing where the raiders had been.

William and the hearth troop fought with the Danes on a beach and he had held nothing back, taking out the boat master himself, his skill with sword and spear making him a fearful opponent. Godwin had led the hearth-troop in a short bloody battle, swinging his sword left and right, cutting a swathe through the Danes camped by their boat. William, knowing the routine Olaf and Xander had kept to, had suggested that they attack as the men were sitting down to their meal and he had been right. The Saxons had caught them completely by surprise and had slaughtered one in five before the enemy had even gathered their own arms properly. Godwin turned in time to see William put a spear through the back of a man who had crept up behind them with a knife. He got the villain straight through the heart by the amount of blood that was spilt.

They had been Jutlanders, who had been hiding in a small bay on the welsh shore and raiding up and down that same coast, hitting small farms and settlements. William had shown them no mercy, given no quarter. He had spent most of the day before burying children who had been caught in the middle of the great slaughter and his heart held no love or forgiveness to any man who warred on children. He remembered Buffy standing on the pale and putting a cloth yard through such as these and spared them no thought. Wild dogs need putting down she had said, and she had been right.

Now they were no more, and William and the warriors had brought the ship round to Chester, the town being rebuilt under Athelred’s orders; it was a wonderful addition to the town’s growing wealth. They basked in the Kings favour that night and it resulted in his being presented with a helm and sword of his own from the spoils.

William was delighted with the sword. He begged some wool from the ladies and spent evening after evening lovingly fashioning a scabbard for his new baby. The oiled wool would keep the blade keen and bright and the wooden mid-layer would protect it from damage.

William’s star was rising fast at court and it wasn’t long before fathers started looking at him as a suitable match for their daughters. When the fifth one approached him the same week, William asked to see the King privately.

Athelred was weakening: the sickness had left him confined to the rooms that had been built away from the main hall for his comfort. As always Athelflaed was with him: the daughter of the great Alfred of Wessex was a remarkable woman in her own right and her husband was encouraging her to learn as much as she could before he died.

‘William, do come in,’ Athelred said from his bed, giving the young Lord his ring to kiss.

‘Your grace,’ William bowed and walked forward.

‘You have need of my counsel, now that does make a change my dear William. What troubles you?’

‘I have received various approaches regarding marriage,’ William began.

‘And you wish counsel in choosing the best?’ Athelflaed asked.

‘No my Lady, that’s not it. I cannot face marrying any of them and I wish counsel as to how to refuse without giving offence.’

‘Why can’t you marry? You should, you know. It’s your duty.’

‘I know. But while I was away I met someone and I know in my soul I simply could not make any vow to another woman and keep it. The only woman I could ever marry would be Elizabeth of Trondheim. The truth is I don’t think I could perform my husbandly task on the wedding night with another…’

‘I appreciate your honesty and sentiments. That is a different matter entirely. It could not have been easy to talk about this to me, to us. But we will advise the court, gently, that we have other plans for your marriage and none of the daughters here are included in them.’

‘Thank you my Lord,’ and William bowed himself out of the room.

‘What are you thinking, my love?’ Athelred asked his wife. She had that look on her face that told him there was a good idea on its way.

‘I think I have a little job for our William,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘one that will get him away from grasping fathers who seek to rise in his wake.’

‘You do? And what would that be?’ he said, pulling his wife onto the edge of the bed and kissing her neck.

‘I think we need to send our William to Ingimund in the spring. I want that market opened up and we could do with help keeping the Jutlanders at bay; and who better to trap a wolf than a wolf?’

‘And what do we offer them?’

‘We offer them a market and land. But I think we’ll talk about it later,’ she added with a smile as she curled into her husband’s side.

William was delighted by the result of his little talk with the King. No further offers of marriage were made, once it was known that Athelred would sanction none of the proposed brides. William earned his name and his rank from the King of Mercia and left Wessex and his brothers far behind.





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