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teamivankaye · 5 months

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Vikings: The Missing Scenes

King Aelle's Last Night with his Wife Ealswith

It was before dawn after a restless night. The King of Northumbria was sitting in his night shirt on the edge of the broad bed that he had been sharing with his wife for over three decades.

He had opened the curtains of the bed on his side and his impressive figure was bathed in a mixture of black and silver tones from the pale moonlight shining through the window. Staring outside, into the darkness, he pondered what this day might bring for him and his people: victory or doom?

As much as his confidence in the Lord's assistance had grown during the recent events, in this hour between night and day, all his doubts were readily lining up in his mind again.

No matter how many times he had gone down in prayer and emerged enlivened and with renewed trust in the ongoings in the divine realm and his place in the greater scheme of things: It only ever lasted for a limited time. Too often had Aelle faced adversity, loss and defeat since those savage brutes had laid foot on his shores for the first time. The heathens' triumphs over good Christian people had left even the clergy at a loss.

After striving to adhere to all the rules to the letter over the years, Aelle found it hard to imagine that they would be allowed to triumph again now, especially considering that God had gifted Aelle the most dangerous one of them, his worst enemy, on a silver platter, so that he could finally make him pay for his cruel misdeeds, acting as the instrument to restore the proper order of the world. Yet the heathen plague had threatened Christian lands for a very long time with inexplicable success and the Lord's intentions always remained blurred. Aelle had never been graced with any clear signs that would have strengthened his confidence.

Now, the heathens had landed farther south than expected and Aelle would have to meet them outside of his new fortifications, very likely on the open field, if he wanted to block their way. And allowing them to advance farther into his kingdom was out of the question. His people had suffered too often and too much from the incursions of these savages. It was his duty to protect them from further harm. But then, on the open field, a battle was usually won by numbers and the numbers of this "Great Heathen Army" had been anything but clear in the reports of his scouts.

Aelle exhaled with a deep sigh, about to rise, when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. His wife had awoken and silently risen to step around the bed, unnoticed by the king who had been deep in thought and in search of an invigorating feeling within.

"Do you really need to lead the army into battle in person?", Ealswith asked almost in a whisper, barely veiling a tremble of concern in her voice.

Turning his head, he placed the hint of a kiss on her fingers as her hand still rested on his shoulder with a loving touch. Here, in their chamber, shielded from the curious looks of the outside world, they could drop all masks, have their weak moments and show their affection for each other.

"You know the answer", he replied calmly. "Why do you ask?"

"I had a horrible dream", Ealswith shuddered, squeezing his shoulder. "And a king who has reached such an unusually high age ..."

Aelle looked out of the window again.

"A king of such a high age, however strong, does not stand a chance in a man-to-man fight with savages half his age and should better send his heir to lead the decisive battle?", he completed her sentence, pressing his lips together in a bitter, slopsided smile.

The squeeze on his shoulder intensified and he heard a stifled sob. In a sudden wave of regret, he turned around and took Ealswith's hand, dragging her down onto the bed beside him.

"Forgive me, my dear", he said in his softest voice, looking into his wife's tear-filled eyes. "I did not mean to stir up your grief again."

He appreciated her usual composure, the dignity with which she bore the terrible loss in public and most of the time even in private. But this seemed to be a weak hour for both of them.

"God has already taken our son. I cannot lose you too, my lord!" Ealswith's voice was shaky, but she kept her countenance enough not to weep. Aelle was grateful for it as the rare times she had wept, it had affected him more than he wanted to admit - and he had always felt terribly clueless about what to do to comfort her.

He sighed again. She was right that it would all have been much easier if their Ecgberth had lived to be a man. If Aelle could at least rely on his heir for support now if on nobody else. Yet one thing would not have changed: He had to fight this battle in person, to settle the old score with the Northmen once and for all and to restore the dignity and reputation of his kingdom.

"You will not lose me", the king reassured his wife more firmly than he felt. "Don't forget that we have finally regained the Lord's favour."

But Ealswith still looked at him with scared eyes. Her hand was hidden in his big fist and now, she put her other hand on his.

"But what if we do not understand His plan right?", she asked. "What if these barbarians slaughter you? In my dream, there was blood and pain and horror everywhere - your blood and pain, I could feel it!"

She shuddered again. He had rarely seen her so horrified.

"Now, now, my dear Ealswith", he patted the back of her hand with his free hand in a helpless attempt to soothe her anxiety. "Let us not give a mere dream so much weight. Maybe it was just your worst fears that showed up. I have always returned to you, have I not?"

He tried a smile but he was not sure how convincing it looked as such a vivid dream of impending doom in the night before a decisive battle was a bad omen indeed.

"Aelle, dear husband, please, for the love of God", she pleaded, "do not go in person, not this time!"

"I must", he stated, gently but with authority. "This is my duty, I am the king. I would not be worthy of the title if I sat in my castle, watching from a safe distance as my subordinates save my kingdom and rid our lands from the heathen plague - or perish in the attempt."

"But what shall we do without you, my lord?", she asked in a disheartened tone. "What shall become of us, of our kingdom - and of our daughter, if you don't return?"

Upon hearing these desperate words, King Aelle sighed deeply.

"Ealswith, my dear wife, do not talk like this, there is no reason to despair." He realised that his own torment at the thought of leaving not only his people, but also his family exposed to the barbarians without proper protection was barely hidden in his voice, so he squeezed her hands reassuringly.

"Believe me, I wish our son was still with us and I could assign your safety to him and leave you in his trusted custody. But even then, I would have to fight this battle myself. Be assured, I have taken all possible precautions to keep you safe in the event of a defeat."

Once more, Aelle explained to his wife:

"I have set up a chain of couriers to convey news from the battlefield to you as fast as possible. You know what to do if word of our defeat reaches you: Quickly retreat with the household to our remotest castle at the southern border. In that event, I have given instructions to send an envoy to Wessex immediately. You will be able to survive and defend yourselves for a while even with the small number of men in arms that I can leave behind - if the heathens find you. So, you will be safe until Aethelwulf can come to your rescue."

At least, Aelle hoped devoutly that his son-in-law's honour would prompt him to do so, if he could. While Ealswith listened to his reassuring words, she straightened up and bravely swallowed her unshed tears.

"Well then", she said with forced composure. "But you must promise me to do all in your power to return to us alive. All you can do, no matter what it requires!"

Aelle swallowed hard, hesitating, and considered her request. Not a man to take a promise lightly, he acknowledged that it was hard to tell what it might entail in this case.

A defeat of his troops was not too probable as he had raised the largest force in the history of his reign. It would easily defeat the biggest heathen army he had ever seen on Saxon soil, the combined forces of two kings and an earl.

Admittedly, the information his scouts had brought about the enemy's numbers were deficient, since the Northmen had not landed with all their ships in one place, but were scattered along a great stretch of the coast and it was hard to locate all of them. But it was most likely that they tried to obscure their numbers because they did not, in fact, live up to the rumours they had spread about their "Great Heathen Army". Scattering their ships along the shores was probably another device of their psychological warfare. Besides, it was not too likely that Ragnar's death would rally an enormous number of Northmen when he had not even been able to bring his own sons, let alone any significant number of troops while he had still been alive.

Despite his ever nagging doubts about God's plans, Aelle was thus fairly confident that he would be able to beat the heathens in a battle in the open field this time. And even if they turned out to get the upper hand, he could still retreat behind his fortifications and fight them off from there.

But IF the Lord in his wisdom, for whatever reason, had decided to withdraw His grace again and to allow a defeat of the Northumbrian forces, then keeping the promise Ealswith was asking for could very well involve dishonourable behaviour. And that, as a king, Aelle could not afford - and, as a man, he would find hard to bear for the potential compromise of his pride.

Eventually, Aelle sighed and decided that his good, loyal wife had bravely endured and sacrificed so much in his support over the years, without complaining even once, that she deserved this urgent wish to be fulfilled. She deserved this sacrifice on his part to calm her mind. So, he would agree - but with one important exception that, he reckoned, would keep his dignity safe.

"Save for running away from the enemy under any circumstance", he said earnestly, looking straight into her eyes, "I will do anything it takes to return to you alive. I swear it by our Lord Jesus Christ."

That seemed to console her. As he rose from the bed, Aelle drew Ealswith into an embrace and she snuggled up against him, resting her cheek on his broad chest. For a moment, he held her slim figure tightly, gently striking her hair and enjoying her warmth on his body, remembering times past that they had spent happily in this chamber in their youth while learning to love each other.

She was a tall woman but he still had to bow down a bit to rest his chin on her head. The sudden realisation of her fragility touched him and, for a moment, he felt his throat tightening at the mere thought of losing this treasure or of imagining her in the hands of these savages - her or their young daughter. As fast as he could, he diverted his thoughts from such nightmares.

"Come back to us alive, my lord", Ealswith whispered. "We need you. All of Northumbria needs you." He gently kissed her on the forehead.

Then, he released her, in order to get dressed and head to the chapel as he had need for the comfort of prayer.

Before donning his armour, Aelle bade his family farewell. They had joined him in the changing room for a last halfway private moment. As he entered, Aelle embraced their young daughter, the joy of his later years whose unexpected arrival had helped them to survive Ecgberth's loss. Her young heart was racing and he suddenly felt a constriction in his chest. She must have heard the renewed rumours about the alleged invincibility of the Northmen and the enormous size of their army. A look at his wife's face when he kissed her a last time showed him that a new level of concern had taken over his family's minds.

He felt desperate about leaving them in this state, but he had not much time left to uplift their spirits. Besides, the latest estimates were, in fact, concerning, even though the rumours still seemed exaggerated. With the troops waiting and the battle ahead, the pressure did not allow him to cater for the emotional needs of his womenfolk in the way he would have wished. He had to stay focussed on his strength and determination.

"Are you sure these pagans can be defeated?" Ealswith asked in deep worry, taking his hand while the servants put on his armour. "Judith warned us."

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