Alvar the Kingmaker Read Online Free PDF

his cheeks were less florid. He was of average height for his age and thus a little taller than Edgar, but he had yet to fill out and take on the shape of an adult. How could it be then, that he and his foster-brother were the same age? Edgar’s poise and gravity belied his extreme youth. His widowed mother had entrusted him into the Half-king’s care, where he would be nurtured and prepared for kingship when the time came. How soon would that time come? While she was still musing on the differences between Edgar and his foster-brothers, Brandon looked up and she averted her gaze. He liked her no more than did his brother, and she returned the loathing. The Half-king had three sons, but Alfreda thought that not one of them measured to a third of their father.
    Laughter wafted now from the head table and Alfreda lifted her head. Several of the diners were engaged in ribald conversation. She heard, “It is said that she is a winsome woman” and the response, “But she is a whore, and everyone saw how she…” and it was clear that they were talking yet again about the scandal of the king’s coronation feast.
    Elwood said, “It is rare to find a woman who does not play the whore. It is in their blood, I think.”
    Alfreda’s own blood flowed in warm pulses back to her face.
    Prince Edgar said, “But at least my brother has a wife, which is something I do not have. He has a kingdom, too, which I also do not have. If you do not like women, Foster-brother, then maybe I’ll have your wife off you.”
    Elwood’s eyes flashed black. He looked first at his father, then back to Edgar. “Why not? It would not be the only thing you have had off me.”
    “I would not need your permission.” Edgar smiled briefly and winked at Alfreda. “I take whatever I want.”
    Alfreda found reason to examine the food remaining on her plate and did not dare to look up again. ‘ I take whatever I want.’ It was a bold claim. And he mentioned kingdoms, as well as women. Edgar’s confidence bordered on arrogance but there was no doubt that he was convinced of his destiny and his ability. There was, perhaps, quite a lot that a boy could do.
     
    Chapter Two AD957
     
    In the shadow of the Black Mountain, Wales/Herefordshire border
    Sweat loosened Alvar’s grip and the sword hilt shifted in his hand. The skirmish had brought little glory with it, for either side, but neither had it brought any riches for the handful of Welshmen who had launched the raid. He planted his sword in the ground and wiped his palm on his tunic while he counted the dead. None of his men, four of theirs, and three wounded. The corpses lay bent and ugly; one man with his legs folded under his body, one on his front with a Mercian axe protruding from his back. Next to him lay a young lad whose shield was pinned to his body by the spear that had penetrated both shield and stomach, and the last lay slumped by the wall of a shepherd’s hut, his guts spilt.
    It had been over quickly and had not resembled a pitched battle. In a way, Alvar preferred this method of fighting, for he was light on his feet and accurate with his weapons, sparingly effective with his moves, and he felt constrained at times by the formulaic fighting of the shield wall. He looked again at the corpse against the wall and thought about how, as a lad, he used to practise on the slaughter-man’s carcasses; not for him the dull, unsatisfying thud of the wooden practice swords. His father wanted him to know what it felt like to thrust a metal weapon into flesh. The tactic had helped his preparation, but there was naught that truly felt the same as the pushing of iron into a living body.
    A shout went up and the last Welshman ran from behind the hut, spear held high. Alvar freed his sword from the ground, immediately at a disadvantage with his shorter weapon. As his opponent ran towards him, Alvar had to raise his shield to deflect the first spear thrust and was momentarily robbed of his sight while he