Warrior Princess

Now, breaking cover beneath us was another group on horseback, the first detachment of Alfred’s men charging towards the Surrey rebels. In a flash they were upon them, hacking away as the traitors wailed for mercy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw three riders escape the confusion, heading south away from the ambush, fleeing towards the Sussex border. Instinctively I raised my bow and let fly a single bolt. It flew, straight and true, burying itself in the rump of the rearmost horse. The animal reared, sending its rider flying backwards with a cry of terror. I fitted a second arrow and aimed for the two remaining fugitives – but it was hopeless — they were too far away. I watched them flee southwards, gritting my teeth in frustration — without doubt they’d reach King Oslac.

The dust was clearing around the main ambush. The Wessex detachment was returning to the shelter of the trees, bringing the captured horses back with them. Behind them the bodies of the Surrey rebels were strewn across the ground. I felt my stomach turn over as I picked out their shields — these were young men — no more than five years older than me. Most I’d grown up with — I knew them all from my father’s court — I’d even danced with some. But Alfred’s strike had been clinical — he had made them pay for their treachery.

There was another blast from the trumpet — a shorter one this time — a warning note to gain our attention. The kings’ attack had worked – Viking men were streaming southwards, running in fear of their lives. I watched as the leaders reached the fallen Surrey traitors. They stopped, bewildered by the scene in front of them – that was our cue. Again we archers stood as one and fired volley after volley of arrows, scattering the invaders as more poured through the narrow pass onto the plain. They were pinned in place — ripe for the taking — Alfred’s men would cut them down. I watched the Wessex warriors ride out from the cover beneath us, a euphoric confidence rising within me. Was this too easy?

But what was this, charging towards us, sending up a great dust cloud at the south of the plain? My stomach turned over — it was the Sussex Army — heading to engage us. My heart sank. This was what Alfred had been hoping to avoid — now he’d be fighting on two fronts — caught in the middle between his enemies.

With a crash the three armies came together. I saw Alfred’s standard charging boldly towards the King of Sussex and with that, he was hidden from view by the dust.

Hour after hour the warriors clashed, spilling the blood of those who opposed them. Heart in my mouth, I watched each time Alfred rode out, anxiously awaiting his return as others took his place on the front line. A steady stream of casualties was ferried from the fighting, most limping, some stretchered, carried past our position and up to the infirmary. I wondered if I should go to help the nurses, but then I would see the prince riding back into battle and I was glued to my post once more.

It was noon when King Oslac made his final charge, thundering towards where Alfred and his men were in the thick of the battle. They were off their horses now, fighting sword-to-sword, man-to-man — this was going to be brutal. I couldn’t watch — I buried my head in my hands and prayed.

A cheer erupted from the archers either side of me. I looked up in disbelief. Alfred was returning from the battlefield, holding the flag of Sussex triumphantly in his hands. Behind him King Oslac was sprawled on his back, left for dead by his fleeing supporters.

Overcome by relief and giddy with excitement, I ran downhill to where Alfred’s army had gathered, ready to congratulate my prince. But as I reached the bottom, I saw him hand the Sussex standard to a page, leap onto a horse and charge off in pursuit of those retreating.

Impulsively I grabbed the reigns of the nearest mount and leapt on top of it. A groom saw me and shouted for me to stop, but I ignored him. I wanted to be with Alfred, to be alongside him as the final victory was won – to prove to him and to my father that the Princess of Surrey was a worthy warrior.

Impetuosly, I dug my heels into the horse’s side and galloped across the battlefield. To my left, the Vikings were battling hard against the united army of the two kings; to my right, the Earls of Lewes and Portslade were leading the Sussex army in full retreat. But Alfred was ahead of me, chasing eastwards into the dark forest of the Holmwood.

Rashly, I pushed caution to the side and steered my horse into the trees. Above me the branches grew close, blotting out the light of the sun as the undergrowth became thicker and thicker. By now, I’d lost sight of the prince, riding was now impossible — any further and I would have to go on foot. I tethered the horse to a tree and set determinedly forwards, tripping over roots and dodging branches as I ran to follow my man.

The sky was appearing above me again as the trees gave way to a large circular clearing. For a moment I paused, staring closely at each of the tracks through the grass, wondering which Alfred had chosen.

Suddenly, I felt a cold shadow on my back. An arm reached around my body from behind and the cold steel of a long-bladed dagger pressed tightly against my throat.

“Ah, my lady, how nice of you to join me! What a shame our last meeting was so abruptly curtailed.”

I knew that voice too well — Sigbehrt.

“Let go of me!” I yelled, struggling against him. “Alfred! Alfred!”

“That’s right — call for your prince — why not? Scream for your life! Bring him to me, so I can kill him!” Sigbehrt cawed.

I tried to wriggle free from his grasp, but it was hopeless. I closed my eyes in despair — this was my fault — I’d put Alfred’s victory and my own life at risk — all because of my foolishness.

“Your fight is not with the princess,” said a voice behind us. “Let her go — I am the one you want.”

Roughly Sigbehrt spun round, dragging me with him. Alfred was standing there alone, sword in hand.

“The King of Sussex died an honourable death — a warrior’s death,” the prince taunted. “And you, Sigbehrt, Thane of Chertsey, would cower behind a woman to protect your skin?”

My captor was getting angry, but still he held me tightly.

“How dare you insult me, scum of Wessex!” he spat.

He began to back us away towards the edge of the clearing.

“If you follow me, I will kill her!”

“So you would take your chance in the forest?” Alfred goaded. “The brave men of the Holmwood would tear you limb from limb – surely you would not risk it?”

“The brave men?” Sigbehrt mocked. “The brave men? The men of the Holmwood are not brave! They are slow and stupid. Their spears are no match for a warrior’s armour and I will break their clubs with my sword. They fear me — I do not fear them!”

A smile broke across Alfred’s face.

“They are braver men than you, Sigbehrt, Thane of Chertsey. Tell me — what were you doing when your father needed you — when he was holding a dagger to King Frithwald’s throat?”

I felt Sigbehrt make the slightest hesitation.

“You were meant to be directing the Vikings,” continued Alfred mockingly. “You were meant to show them the way. How many men were you meant to bring? You were not there when your father forced the king to abdicate! Where were you Sigbehrt, Thane of Chertsey? Where were you when your father needed you?”

Sigbehrt let out a growl of frustration, pressing the point of his dagger more firmly against my neck.

“You were in my lady’s bedchamber,” continued Alfred, a look of disgust across his face. “You could not wait! You meant to rape her while your father sealed your marriage in the room above — such loyalty you showed him!”

“What do you know of my father?” demanded Sigbehrt.

The prince smiled.

“I know your father too well — I watched him for a year – watched his lust for power as it poisoned him, watched his greed as it ate him from inside. I saw his treachery at work, watched as he hatched his plan, betrayed this land to the Vikings. It was a brilliant scheme – there was only one flaw…” Alfred pointed directly at Sigbehrt. “You!”

Sigbehrt twisted as if hit by an invisible blow; Alfred took a step towards us, sword raised.

“Your father did not trust you,” the prince continued. “He knew you would abandon him — that your carnal lusts would get the better of you. He needed something to fall back on, a scapegoat to blame, an easy neck to snap.

“He thought a Benedictine would be perfect — that’s why he took Cedric — that’s why he took him to Morden Castle.

“But Cedric was not the person you thought he was — Cedric was no novice,” Alfred paused for effect. “Cedric was me!”

“You?” snarled Sigbehrt in disbelief.

“I was the one who waited on the bridge, who sent the fireboats against the longship, who brought my men to Morden Castle to buy the loyal Surrey guards more time. I was the one who freed the princess and laid you out cold on her bedchamber floor. Yes — I was the one who rescued King Frithwald and the queen from your father’s sword.”

“You?” gasped Sigbehrt again, his body beginning to shake.

“It is curious,” said Alfred, a little flippantly. “That was what your father said, just before I watched him die!”

Sigbehrt roared with anger and flung me to the side. He ran forwards, charging at the prince with his sword raised.

But Alfred was ready for him. The two blades met with almighty clash, flashes of metal catching the sunlight as they fought, blow after blow. Easily the prince had the upper hand — younger, fitter, taller, he danced around Sigbehrt, taunting him all the while as his foe’s face grew redder and redder.

Sigbehrt charged again, but Alfred sidestepped, watching as the thane tumbled forwards onto the ground, losing his weapon as he did so. Calmly the prince reached down and picked up his opponent’s sword, waiting chivalrously for him to regain his feet.

I saw Sigbehrt’s eyes dart around, appraising the situation. The clearing was empty — just the three of us — Alfred, him and me.

Then he ran, sprinting forwards at full pelt, disappearing into the trees. Alfred watched and shook his head, as if deciding he was not worth following. He turned and looked at me, concern in his eyes.

“You are hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head. I rushed forwards and embraced him.

Over Alfred’s shoulder I caught the flash of steel charging towards us — Sigbehrt – with a dagger raised high above his head.

“Look out!” I screamed.

Alfred spun round. His sword lifted high. Cleanly the blade sliced through Sigbehrt’s neck as the traitor lunged forwards. There was a final gasp and the severed head fell to the ground. It rolled away from us across the grass, the face a twisted grimace of horrified surprise, the lifeless eyes staring out in permanent defeat.

Silence thundered through the clearing.

“He is gone,” said Alfred quietly. “The treachery is ended.”

There was a shout from the edge of the clearing, “My lord, my lord, you are not harmed?”

The two of us turned; Wilfred of Romsey was running towards us at full pelt, closely followed by two other soldiers, dressed in the scarlet livery of the Wessex army.

“We have another body,” Alfred said calmly, pointing to Sigbehrt’s corpse. “We should keep the head — the people must know that the traitor is dead.”

The three men set to work on the torso, stripping it of armour and weapons.

Alfred turned back to me with a smile.

“And now,” he said, “I think it is time.”

Hanging by his side was a hunting horn, secured to his belt with a strap of leather — I had seen it that morning as we prepared for battle, but had thought nothing of it. He raised it to his lips and blew a single, deep blast, that rung through the forest, shaking the trees around us.

For a long moment nothing happened – nothing moved. Silence hovered above the clearing.

Then as one, the trees began to sway, the branches began to rock and the rustle of the undergrowth gr

ew louder and louder until, all around us, five hundred men stepped in unison into the light.

Alfred took a step forward.

“Brave Men of the Holmwood,” he cried, addressing those around him. “The hour has come — the traitor is dead — will you join with King Frithwald and rid this realm of the Vikings?”

A cheer rang out — each man shaking his spear above his head in vigorous agreement.

“Then I call on you now — defend this land from those who would take it — bring peace to your children and grandchildren — fight to protect those you love!”

Another roar of approval rang out.

Alfred turned back to face us; Wilfred was looking up at him in confusion.

“My Lord, we do not need these men. The fight is won — the victory is ours!” the lieutenant protested.

“Aye Wilfred,” the prince replied. “We do not need them to win the battle, but we will need them to win the peace!”

In that moment I knew I loved him – saw in his deep blue eyes his wisdom, his compassion, his love for all the peoples of our islands.

And all around the clearing, the battle cries of the Men of the Holmwood rang loud — their blood was up, they were ready for war — they would follow the prince anywhere!

Alfred lifted the leather strap from around his neck and pressed the horn into Wilfred’s reluctant hands.

“My lord, w-w-what are you doing?” he protested.

“Take it Wilfred! You lead the charge; they will follow the sound. Attack the Vikings from the south!”

“Yes my lord,” Wilfred replied, giving a slight bow.

“I will circle to the north, to join my father and King Frithwald. Now go! Go!” He pointed through the trees in the direction of the battlefield.

Wilfred put the horn to his lips. He blew a long blast and began to run.

I stood with Alfred as the fighters surged forwards, the sound of their battle cries ringing in my ears. Warrior after warrior streamed past until the final one had disappeared.

Then there was silence again.

Alfred turned. I followed his gaze.

Standing at the other end of the clearing was the hermit, dressed in his robes of grey, holding his wooden staff.

The prince raised his hand in solemn greeting. The old man smiled, gave a low bow and melted back into the forest.

“Did he know?” I asked.

“Know what?” Alfred asked, a little mischievously.

“Who you were? Who you are? Did he know you were a Prince of Wessex?”

“He did,” Alfred replied.

I looked at him pointedly.

“He told me that a prince would come from a far-away land,” I said quietly. “He was right — he could see the future in that pool!”

“It is very easy to predict the future, if it is already in the past,” Alfred laughed. “I am sorry to say it – but I told him who I was. I sent him back to his people, to ready them for the fight.”

Of course he had — Alfred had been in control all along — why could I think otherwise?

“He said you would be a great king,” I said slowly.

The prince gave a derisive snort. “My brother Aethelstan will succeed my father — he is the elder by five years. I will be never King of Wessex.”

I said no more. The hermit had made one other prophesy, but now was not the time to reveal it.

Alfred glanced down for the final time at the headless torso of Sigbehrt.

“He will trouble this land no more,” he said simply.

The two of us turned and walked steadily back through the woodland, to the place where I’d stabled my horse. Above us the sun was filtering through the branches and the birds had started to sing again. The traitors’ curse was lifting – Mother Nature was blessing the kingdom once more.

We paused at the edge of the trees, half concealed by the foliage, watching as the rabble of Holmwood men hurtled towards the exhausted army of Vikings.

“They will tell great stories of this day,” said Alfred quietly. “Their children and grandchildren will hear how they fought for King Frithwald.”

In the far distance a single rider was approaching us on horseback.

“It is Alaric of Dibden,” said Alfred. “You must go with him. He will take you to the infirmary. Many men will be injured — you must help where you can.”

I looked up at him anxiously. “And you? Where will you go?”

“I must go to my father. We must end it now.”

“I will do as you ask,” I replied reluctantly. I could scarcely bear to be parted from the prince.

We walked back to my horse and I prepared to untie its reins.

I turned to face him, my heart full of regret — I had put him in danger — I had made him fight Sigbehrt for my life.

“Alfred,” I began, “I am sorry, I…”

But the prince was too quick for me. Gently he placed a finger on my lips to silence me, then tenderly, so very tenderly he bent his head towards mine and kissed me. His strong arms closed around me and pulled me softly into his chest. I squeezed him closer, crushing him against me, feeling the firmness of his armour against the soft linen of my uniform. He cradled my face in his hands and again his lips met mine, our tongues gently caressing one another in our first declaration of love.

Panting we broke apart, staring deep into each other’s eyes. We could hear hooves approaching now. Frantically we kissed once more. Then in one smooth single motion, Alfred lifted me onto my horse and led it out of the trees.

Alaric of Dibden stopped before us, awaiting his instructions.

Alfred looked me straight in the eyes.

“Go with him!” he said. “Go!”

—

I’d expected a scene of utter chaos when I reached the infirmary tent, but to my surprise the small team of nurses was well organised and was processing the casualties as quickly as they arrived. Most were only lightly injured — cuts and bruises, which I could help to bandage, but a few had more serious wounds that required the attention of those who knew what they were doing.

By late afternoon, there was little more I could do, and I was considering finding a quiet corner where I could rest my feet, when the messenger arrived.

“My lord Alfred of Wessex requests you attend him most urgently, my lady,” explained the page.

A flash of panic ran through me.

“Is he injured, has he fallen?” I asked anxiously.

The young lad smiled.

“No, my lady. He wishes to thank you for your service.”

Intrigued I followed him back down the Green Mountain towards the battlefield, unsure what I would find when I got there. As we descended towards the plain, we could see the victors’ armies, standing together in a big circle — almost a thousand men together. My father’s standard was fluttering in the breeze alongside the flags of Wessex.

“You should join them, my lady,” said the messenger, gesturing to the assembled company.

There was space enough between the lines of men to let me push through to the front of the formation – those either side of me gave way as they realised who I was.

The Kings of Surrey and Wessex were seated on thrones at one side of the circle. Standing next to them was one of the captains from the Wessex army. He was reading aloud from a list, calling his men one-by-one to receive honour and thanks from the two monarchs. Archers and foot soldiers were each given a coin, but those in higher ranks were receiving titles and land. Each commander took their turn, bringing forward those under their command who had distinguished themselves in battle, before kneeling in front of Aethelwulf and my father for their own reward.

Alfred was called — I listened and watched as each of his men approached the kings in turn — many I recognised from the camp, but a few I did not. Alaric of Dibden was given a manor in Wiltshire and Wilfred of Romsey new lands in Berkshire.

“Your majesties,” called the prince in a loud, clear voice. “I present Princess Elspeth of Surrey.”

My eyes widened in surprise as all around me the soldiers burst into applause. Alfred smiled and motioned me forwards. Bewildered I approached the thrones and prepared to kneel, but as I did so, King Aethelwulf rose from his feet and placed his hands on my upper arms.

“My lady,” he said with a kindly smile, “a Princess of Surrey should not kneel before a King of Wessex.”

A page stepped forward, carrying a scarlet cushion, edged with gold. There was something resting on it – a necklace. Delicately the king picked it up. I could see it clearly now, a gold chain with a square medallion — a red enamelled design, bearing the golden lion of Wessex.

“My lady, you are born to serve your father, but I thank you for your service to my people. Know that as you wear this pendant that you will always find friends in the House of Wessex.”

I lowered my head and the king placed the chain around my neck, fastening it behind me.

Thunderous applause rang out around me. I curtsied low and looked first to my father and then to Alfred. Both men were smiling back, faces beaming with pride — my heart leapt.

I took a few steps to the side.

“And now,” intoned King Aethelwulf, “I call Alfred, Prince of Wessex.”

I watched the prince kneel before his father. There’d be an earldom or a dukedom for him — I was sure. Perhaps he’d be sent to Berkshire with Wilfred, to watch the border with Mercia.

But no, what was this? Aethelwulf was signalling again to the courtier. Two men were approaching, wearing the dark green colours of the Sussex army. I blinked — I knew exactly who they were — the Earls of Portslade and Lewes. What on earth were they doing here?

The page was coming forward again. A gasp went up from the men, for resting on the green cushion that he carried was a golden crown. My heart skipped a beat.

“Alfred of Wessex,” intoned King Aethelwulf. “You are called to the throne of Sussex. Are you willing to take the Oath?”

A deafening roar of approval sounded around the assembled companies. Alfred’s reply was lost in the cheering.

The king held up his hand silence and asked the question again.

“Alfred of Wessex – are you willing to take the Oath?”

“I am,” the prince replied, still kneeling before his father.

“Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Sussex according to their respective laws and customs?”

“I solemnly promise,” Alfred answered.

“Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?”

“I will.”

King Aethelwulf turned and lifted the crown from the cushion.

“Then Alfred, Prince of Wessex – in the presence of these here assembled – I crown you King of Sussex!”

A second roar of approval sounded, even louder than the first. I shot the two Earls a glance — they were applauding too as Alfred rose to his feet. He looked across at me and I smiled back. He turned to acknowledge the support of his men, his golden crown glinting in the early evening sun.

The new king held up his hand for quiet.

“Your majesty,” he said, addressing his father again, “I am humbled by your charge. I pledge to serve my people justly and faithfully for as long as I live.” He paused. “But there is one thing I desire that you have no power to give.”

Aethelwulf looked up sharply and furrowed his brow. Alfred turned and extended his arm towards me. I walked, no ran to his side, gleefully accepting his hand. I knew what was coming, my heart was pounding.

Alfred turned to my father.

“King Frithwald of Surrey,” he began, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness for the first time. “Most humbly I request your permission to take your daughter, Princess Elspeth, as my wife.”

My father broke out into the broadest smile.

“My daughter,” he asked, turning to me, “is it your will that you be married to this man?”

“It is your majesty,” I replied, giving a long, deep curtsey.

“Then I give you my blessing. Let the houses of Sussex and Surrey be joined!”

Alfred and I embraced as the cheers sounded around us.

“Thank you,” he whispered in my ear.

“I love you!” I whispered back.

—

There was a feast that night — the largest I’d ever seen. A giant fire blazed in the centre of the camp and all around was music and dancing as the beer flowed freely.

There were many to meet — too many – all wanted to offer their congratulations to the new king and his future queen – to pledge their loyalty, to make an impression. There were the veteran comrades of Alfred’s father, the nobles of Wessex — my fiancé’s boyhood peers, now knights in their own right — and the men of the Sussex army, desperate for their new leader’s approval. A few names I recognised, but most washed over my head in a jumbled torrent.

I looked across to the other side of the fire, to where the archers were celebrating in the highest spirits. That morning they’d been but boys, fearful of the battle ahead. Now they were warriors — they’d return to their families as conquering heroes. I smiled to myself — they too had become the greatest of men.

“Go to them,” I heard Alfred whisper in my ear. “They are your army. Your must share your victory with them.”

He planted a gentle kiss on the side of my head.

The archers fell silent, bowing low as I approached. I felt a tinge of regret — hours earlier I had been their elder sister — but now a chasm had opened between us that could never be bridged. They were nervous, wary even. But I felt them relax a little as I congratulated each one of them in turn, thanking them for their service, telling them how proud their parents would be.

I turned away from the group and caught sight of Alfred talking to the two Sussex earls — laughing and joking as they sat either side of him.

“He puts people at their ease so quickly,” said a voice. “He gets it from his mother.”

I spun round. King Aethelwulf was standing behind me. Immediately I sank into a low curtsey.

“Your majesty,” I murmured reverently, averting my gaze from his face.

“Elspeth,” the king replied with a gentle laugh, “you have no need to bend your knee before me!”

“I must thank you for all that you have done for my country and my family,” I babbled nervously.

King Aethelwulf smiled gently. “I have done little,” he replied. “It is your fiancé who rightly receives the thanks and praise.”

I blushed.

“Alfred has chosen well,” he said. “He cares for you deeply – I can see why. I am honoured to call you my daughter.”

“You have honoured him greatly with a kingdom of his own,” I answered, trying to deflect the king’s attention away from myself.

Aethelwulf looked across the circle of revellers towards his son.

“It is indeed an honour…” he said carefully, placing his hand on my shoulder, “…but it is a great responsibility. The shores of Sussex are ill protected; the Vikings will seek their revenge. There are defences to build, armies to train… There is little time to celebrate. Alfred must get to work.”

His voice trailed off as he saw the reaction in my face — in the heady exuberance of love and celebration, I’d not stopped to consider the challenges ahead.

“But the new king is ready,” Athelwulf continued quickly. “And he will not do it alone – he will have my support through it all.”

“It is a great burden,” I said quietly.

“It is a great responsibility,” he replied. “But Alfred is prepared for the task — I can teach him no more. For too long he has hidden in Chertsey, playing his spy games, sending secret messages to his brother. Now he must step into the light — now he must command like a king.”

“You did not send him? To Chertsey, I mean?”

The king rubbed his chin between his forefinger and thumb — I’d seen Alfred do the same — like father, like son.

“He wanted to live in a frontier town. He thought there’d be gossip and intrigue — he’d learn much of the world.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. Alfred had led me to believe that the posting was his father’s idea.

“The abbey was our compromise,” Aetherwulf continued. “I thought the monotony would bore him — that he’d be back in Winchester in a month — with his tail between his legs!” He chuckled. “Some hope! The next thing I heard, he’d killed the local thane, rescued the Surrey royal family and was demanding 800 soldiers be sent to Holmburgh Hill!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“But you knew there would be a battle,” I answered. “You knew you’d have to face the Vikings soon,” I said.

“I thought it would be south on our coast – not east,” the king replied slowly. “But I was wrong and my son was right.” He paused. “I am old — the younger generation is coming to the fore – perhaps I have been in this game too long.”

I looked up at him alarmed. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but he looked away.

“Ah — that is your father,” he said pointing to King Frithwald at the far side of the fire. “I must leave you to your men.” He indicated the archers with a nod. “I have much to discuss with him.”

I watched him retreat into the crowd, before turning back to seek out my prince. But my fiancé had disappeared. I looked anxiously among the revellers at the far side of the fire – I was beginning to get a little worried. Portslade was missing too — had he dragged the prince into the woods and slit his throat?

There was a tap on my shoulder. I spun round. It was Alfred, holding a finger to his lips. Silently he took my hand and lead me away from the sounds and smells of the feasting.

The moon was rising as we stood hand-in-hand, looking down to the plain below. He drew me to him, encircling me with his arms, holding me close, letting me feel his body against mine. He placed a soft kiss on the side of my head. My heart pounded with excitement. I smiled back at him that gooey delight of the first flush of love.

“Will you sit with me awhile?” he asked softly.

Silently, we sat together on the fallen tree trunk, arms behind each other’s backs. I rested my head against his shoulder and he kissed me lovingly on the side of my head.

“I am the happiest man in the world,” he said quietly.

“And I am the happiest woman,” I replied.

The brightest, widest smile lit up his face.

“You are sure?” he asked.

“I have loved you since the moment I saw you,” I said.

“You mean you loved Cedric?” he teased.

“Cedric was nice,” I admitted, “but he was very serious. Alfred is much more fun!”

He laughed and I kissed him on the cheek.

“Look yonder,” said my fiancé, pointing to the horizon. “That is our kingdom. Never have I set foot there, but tomorrow, I must ride into Chichester at the head of the Sussex army to take my place as king.”

“And will I come with you?” I asked eagerly.

Alfred shook his head sadly. “I am sorry Elspeth – you must go north with your father. You must be at his side when he enters his castle at Morden. I may not see you again before our wedding day — that will be many months away.”

That hit me like dagger to my heart. I opened my mouth to protest, to insist that I would not be parted from him. But I knew he was right – there were customs to be followed, protocols to be observed, rules to be obeyed — the marriage of a king and princess from two royal houses was not straightforward — we too were bound by the ancient law.

But tonight was different. An idea was forming in my mind. I glanced around to check — was anyone watching? No, we were definitely on our own. No one was looking for us — they were too busy celebrating to worry where we were.

“Alfred,” I asked cautiously, “will you lie with me tonight? Will you let me know you as a lover before I know you as a king?”

His eyes widened with surprise and a smile crept over his face.

“You want to?” he asked, surprised.

I nodded. “Please Alfred — let me lie with you tonight!”

I kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face and looked deep into my eyes. Then, with a conspiratorial smile, he held a finger to his lips, stood and offered me his hand.

Stealthily we crept around the outside of the camp, slipping past the guards, skirting the summit of the Green Mountain. The trees around us closed in, casting deep shadows, concealing our flight as we began to descend again. Sure-footedly Alfred led the way northwards. Instinctively, I knew where he was taking me — back to the hermit’s cottage, our place of sanctuary — this was the path he’d taken each night, when he returned to us as Cedric.

We reached the clearing by the cottage. A soft mist was rising from the magical pool — embracing us — as if Nature herself was blessing our union. Silently we stood, hand-in-hand, watching the moonlight dance as it played across the water.

Now it was my turn to take the lead — to show my prince what I wanted. Cautiously, I pushed open the front door of the cottage, heart in my mouth — half expecting a troop of Vikings to be hiding there. But inside the building was dark and empty — as austere as the day I had fled.

Alfred picked up an oil lamp from the table and struck a flint. The flame grew strong, casting a yellow light around us, picking out the bare stone fireplace, spreading a little warmth through the humble building.

He lit a second lamp and handed it to me. I took his hand and led the way, into the room where he’d slept each night. I remembered the last time I was here — how I’d brushed my fingers through Cedric’s hair, seen that flash of gold, revealed the true man concealed beneath. Back then, I’d panicked — but now I understood. He was the one I’d love for the rest of my life — he was the one who’d been waiting for me.

Methodically I began to undress him, unfastening his belt from his waist and freeing the hem of his tunic. Cautiously I pushed the fabric upwards, exposing the ridges of his chest beneath. His hands reached down to grasp the sides of the garment, lifting it up and over his head, tossing it to the side.

My jaw dropped. The most perfect man stood before me.

From the blond curls of his hair to his fine-chiselled chest, his body glowed with a brilliant bronze lustre. Hesitantly I reached forwards, fearful the vision of beauty might vanish beneath my fingertips. Lightly I traced the outline of his muscles — feeling the firm coolness of his skin — in awe of his masculine form. He opened his arms and I stepped willing towards him, letting him fold me into his secure embrace. Gently I laid my head against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart as a tidal wave of love swept over me.

But what was that? Something hard and bone-like, digging against my belly as I squeezed myself against him. I’d removed his belt and sword hadn’t I? In my confusion I pushed away a little — something was caught in the front of his trousers — a long shadow cast where the fabric was tented.

Realisation dawned — I’d seen the stallions when they ran with the mares!

“Is that… Is that…?” I asked, my eyes wide with excitement.

A shy smile crept across Alfred’s face.

“Yeah, it is,” he nodded, a little embarrassed.

“Can I..?” I whispered.

I stared in fascination at the stretched material — the beast beneath was straining to escape.

“Can I touch? Can I feel?” I asked, my nervousness catching in my throat.

I didn’t wait for a reply. Tentatively I reached downwards and rested my palm against his length. He was hard — exquisitely hard! And long — far longer than my hand. Above me, Alfred let out a strangled moan, his body twitching as I made contact.

“Is that good?” I asked doubtfully, looking up at him for guidance.

He rested his hand over mine, moulding my palm more firmly around his length.

“Like that,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes, letting my fingers ripple around him as I contemplated his girth. He felt so big – would he really fit inside me? My confidence was deserting me – I had no idea what I was doing. I wanted to hold him, to stroke him, to make him feel good – but where should I even start? Should I undress him? Slip my hand inside his trousers? Or would that be pushing him too far?

And what of me? The ladies-in-waiting would prepare a royal bride for her wedding night. She was supposed to wait beneath the sheets, her modesty hidden from her husband’s eyes. I was clueless – I had no idea what to do. Should I be naked? Should I lie on my back? There was no one to ask — no one to guide me — only him.

But gentle Alfred saw my hesitation, saw the doubts that overwhelmed me, saw my confusion as I looked into his eyes. Lovingly he brushed a few stray strands of hair from my face and cradled my cheeks in his hands.

“Please,” he said simply. “I will take care of you. Let me undress you.”

Tenderly he kissed me, lightly brushing his soft lips against my skin, letting his tongue caress my own, stirring my heart as it beat in time with his.

Delicately his fingers unfastened the gold chain of my necklace, lifting the proud Wessex lion from my chest. He turned to set his father’s gift behind him. Another tender kiss, his hands running down my sides, gathering the fabric in his hands.

Slowly, very slowly, he inched the garment upwards, keeping his eyes fixed on mine. Uncommanded, my arms raised above my head as he lifted my tunic clear.

The moment I was free, I fell against him, anxiously hiding my body from his eyes. My breasts were still bound and I was still in trousers, but no man had seen me this naked before. I felt tense, I felt awkward — I clung to him for support.

He held me — letting me get used to the feel of his skin on mine. Gently he stroked my back with his fingers. I took a deep breath — this was what I’d wanted — this is what I did want — I had to trust myself, I had to trust my prince.

I looked up into his deep blue eyes. He smiled reassuringly.

“I love you,” he whispered, squeezing me tightly against him.

There it was again — his hardness against my belly — now bigger and firmer than before. Mischievous thoughts flitted through my mind, firing the heat within me — I wanted to see, I wanted to touch.

Again, I slid my hand towards the source of my fascination. My fingers closed around his length, more boldly this time — testing his weight through the fabric of his trousers. I smiled up at him, watched his eyes close as I squeezed him gently, heard his strangled gasp of pleasure as I tightened my grip.

Gentle kisses became frantic kisses — our tongues dancing in a vortex of passion as our bodies fought to become one. His hands scrabbled behind my back, untying the binding that held my breasts. I lifted my arms above my head as he began to pull, spinning away from him as he unwrapped me. With a cry of delight, I was finally free. I turned to face him.

His mouth fell open in awe.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, “so beautiful.”

Instinctively I raised my hands to shield my nakedness.

“They are too small,” I protested.

Alfred shook his head.

“They are perfect – perfect!” he replied.

He stepped towards me again. I braced myself — waiting for him to untie the fastenings of my trousers, to disrobe me, to strip me completely, to make me fully naked, to leave me vulnerable, standing in front of him. But he didn’t. In one, swift movement he had lifted me upwards, sweeping me off my feet. I clung to him as he carried me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he crossed the floor. Gently he lowered my body to the bed and I felt my back sink into the mattress.

A pang of self-consciousness shot through me as he pulled away from me. He was turning around, moving back to the other side of the room. Again I lifted my hands to cover my breasts, fearful I might have done something wrong. What was he doing? Was he leaving? Was I not good enough?

I saw him pick up one of the lamps and place it on the small table next to the bed. I shivered — I wanted to hide in the darkness — I’d hoped he’d blow it out.

I turned towards him as he lay down beside me, his body casting shadows over mine. The light from behind him streamed through his golden curls and his deep blue eyes shone with his love. My prince was an angel, descended to earth.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

Demurely I looked away, my cheeks reddening.

He smiled and brushed a stray strand of hair from my face.

“Let me kiss you,” he said quietly.

His lips met mine — gentle kisses this time, slow and tender. Instinctively I lifted my hands to cradle his face, holding him close as he moved his body over mine.

But what was this? He was slipping away from my grasp, moving down the bed, fettering my neck and collar bone with his kisses. He paused — eyes aflame as he beheld my naked breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered again.

He bent his head and lightly blew across my nipples. A pulse of lighting flashed through me, shaking my body from tip to toe. Alfred gave an excited smile — he’d seen the effect he’d had on me.

Again, he dipped his head, this time planting a simple kiss on each breast. That felt so good – my body fizzed with excitement. Another sensation – his tongue this time – caressing each nipple – the gentle warmth of his mouth closing over each in turn as he worshipped me. A low moan sounded from deep inside my chest – the visceral call of a waking beast.

Instinctively my hands went to the back of his head, guiding him on as I offered myself to him. Soft kisses he placed between my breasts – I arched my back, as he nuzzled their swell. His breath was so warm and gentle, his fingers so soft and caring. Every part of my body was tingling now – my skin on fire, my breath ragged, my heart pounding as I surrendered myself to his power.

I moaned in protest as his mouth left my bosom – he was slipping lower, brushing his lips across the flatness of my stomach. Impulsively, fearlessly I lifted my hips and, in a flourish, he stripped me of my archer’s trousers. There I’d done it – I was exposed before him – naked and unashamed as I lay proudly beneath him.

Again he kissed me, more passionately this time – I moaned and growled into his mouth as my fingers clawed at the skin of his back. But again he was slipping from me, down my body, heading inexorably towards the raging heat of my core. Surely he wasn’t going to kiss me there? Was that allowed — wasn’t that wrong? I felt a twinge of panic – should I push him away?

I snaked my hand towards my sex, but as he settled between my legs, I hesitated. There was that disarming smile again – those bright, shining eyes, sparkling with love. He caught my hand and held it — reassuring me as he brushed his lips across the smooth flatness of my stomach. Then slowly, very slowly, he dipped his head and placed a soft kiss on the dark, downy hairs that covered my mons.

That felt good — there was nothing to be afraid of! Alfred’s eyes shone in the lamplight – he could see I liked that! I smiled back at him.

He dipped his head again and blew gently across my lips. Sparks flew, my body jolted and a gasp of surprise forced itself from my throat. I buried my hands in his soft golden curls, pushing his head down – making him do it again.

I felt him take my slender hips in his powerful hands, lifting me a little as he prepared to taste me – his eyes locked on mine. Softly he parted my lips and swept his tongue up upwards to the nub of my pleasure. My body shook, driving the breath from me with a shriek of unadulterated excitement. Again and again, he did the same, faster and faster, spreading my wetness as he lapped across the entrance to my channel. I closed my eyes and moaned in delerium, trying to capture his tongue and suck it inside me.

Hotter and hotter he stoked my fire, building the tension as he fanned the flames of my passion. I buried my hands in his curls, bucking my hips against him as he worked his magic. The heat inside me was rising – simmering, bubbling, boiling — driving my whimpers, my cries, my growls, as the whirlpool inside me prepared to blow.

I threw back my head and screamed, clamping my legs around him as a wave of ecstasy exploded over me. A thousand earthquakes thundered through me as he catapulted me to the stars. Blindly I clung to him, shaking uncontrollably, fighting to breathe, as the waves of pleasure crashed over me.

I opened my eyes.

I was lying across Alfred’s body, my dark hair a chaotic tangle across his shoulders, my breasts crushed tightly against his chest. Such a wonderful feeling — so soft, so safe, so secure in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Lazily I ran my fingers through the little blond hairs on his chest, watching them shimmer as they caught the light. I traced the outline of his muscles, in awe of his power and strength. Now my eyes slipped lower, to where the fabric of his trousers was stretched so tightly. I stared – mesmerised — it was as if a caged animal was straining to escape. I wanted to see — I needed to see — that mysterious part of him that my body craved so much.

Slowly I slid my hand towards it, hovering my hand teasingly until my fingers closed around his hardness. Alfred groaned; I smiled to myself, delighted that my hand could have such an effect on him.

Hesitantly I repositioned myself, straddling his muscular legs, so I could hook my fingers beneath his waistband. Anxiously I looked up at him, fearful that he might push me away and forbid me from uncovering my treasure. To my relief he nodded — letting me continue.

He lifted his hips for me as, hands shaking, I began to slide the material downwards. Awestruck, I watched as little-by-little his weapon appeared — first the fiery red, bulbous tip, next the long, broad sweep of his shaft, then the forest of blond curls at its base and finally the loose pouch of skin containing the most precious jewels of all. A magnificent sceptre for the greatest king.

I stared, open mouthed, drinking in the sight of his manhood, astonished by its length and girth. So big, so hard — it looked quite terrifying — would it really fit inside me? A thousand thoughts ran through my mind — tumbling together in a heady vortex of lust.

Cautiously, I stepped from the bed, bending to down to free Alfred’s legs from his trousers. I placed the garment on the chair, then turned to face him once more.

He lay before me, revealed in his full nakedness for the first time. He was perfection personified. From his muscular legs to the broad sweep of his shoulders — his body would make a demigod blush. His eyes sparkled, his hair glistened and his skin shone in the soft light of the lamp. No earthly being could compare to him.

And there it was, straight and tall, unashamedly saluting me — the weapon that would slay my virginity — the crowning glory, enthralling me as I gazed down on him. My nipples tingled with excitement; my core ached for fulfilment.

I saw him move his hand down his body. Lightly, he grasped his shaft between his thumb and forefinger. Slowly, he began to stroke himself — lazily moving up and down. I looked up at him — he was staring at me, eyes glazed over, entranced by my body as I stood before him. Uncommanded, my own hand began to move, seeking out the heat between my legs, stroking my lips with my fingertips, spreading the wetness of my sex, as I bewitched him with my spell.

I knelt on the bed and settled between his legs, just as he had done for me. He let go of his weapon as I reached out to touch him for the first time. He was warm, he was smooth, but beneath the softness of the velvety skin, he was hard – so very hard! Hesitantly, I dipped my head and blew across the tip. His body shook with pleasure.

I dipped my head to do it again, bending lower this time, but my hair tumbled forwards over my eyes, hiding the vision of beauty from me. Alfred reached out and brushed the dark strands away. He held his hand tenderly at the side of my face as we looked at each other. He gave a smile and a little nod of encouragement. Now I realised — he wanted to watch — I needed to put on a show!

Tentatively I ran my finger lightly along his shaft, feeling the ridges beneath my fingertips. I reached the base and then traced upwards again. Another soft moan emanated from Alfred’s throat.

“Is that good?” I asked nervously. “Am I doing it right?”

Alfred nodded. “It feels really good.”

“Can you show me?” I asked doubtfully. “Show me how you do it?”

His big hand closed over mine, adjusting my position so I gripped him like a spear. Together we began to work his weapon with long, slow strokes.

“Like this?” I asked.

“Perfect,” he smiled. He brushed his thumb against my cheek.

I tightened my grip a little more and moved a fraction faster, watching my hand as I settled into a hypnotic rhythm. Each time I reached the top, the bright bulbous tip of his weapon would disappear and as I began the downward stroke, it would re-emerge, shining like a beacon in the dim light of the room.

A hunger was taking hold of me, a compelling urge to know him more — to take that most glorious part of him inside and let it drive me to ecstasies never before experienced. I knew it in that moment — the vigour of his flesh to command my body — the strength of his steel to drive my inner heat — the power of his love to conquer my heart.

I fell on his shaft, frantically fettering it with kisses, smothering it as I caressed it with my lips. At the back of my head, Alfred’s grip was tightening, pressing my mouth against his arousal as he moaned and writhed beneath me. I began to tease him with my tongue — small, rapid movements, like a cat washing a kitten’s fur — now growing longer, running his length from base to tip as I prepared to take him inside.

Another long sweep of my tongue and I reached the head. I glanced upwards — his eyes were closed — I knew what he was praying for. Emboldened, I pushed my neck forwards again and slipped my tongue around the end of his shaft. A deep bass moan reverberated through his ribcage and his body shook – delighted, I watched on with glee.

Once more to the base of his glorious cock, raking my tongue upwards, but this time as I reached the top, I nodded forwards, engulfing the scarlet head in one swift moment. Alfred let out a cry of pure pleasure. The bulbous tip slid deep, filling my mouth, forcing my jaw wide open as I tasted him for the first time.

Boldly, I took him further, swirling my tongue around him, savouring his essence — that intoxicating nectar that fired my passion even more. Beneath me his hips twitched and jolted, pushing his rod deeper, letting me know how much I controlled him. I was beginning to choke now, coughing and retching, but still I forced him deeper. Saliva was pouring from my mouth, but I hardly noticed – all I cared for was his pleasure.

With a roar he reached down and pulled me upwards. Frantically his mouth sought mine, our tongues colliding as we bound ourselves to one another.

In a flash he was on top of me, settling between my legs, crushing his hardness against my belly. This was it, this was the moment, my time had come – now he’d make me his woman!

Instinctively I raised my knees, opening myself for him. I watched his face as he positioned himself against me, watched as his deep blue eyes gazed down into mine.

“Please Alfred, please,” I begged.

“You are ready?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Please I need you.”

“It will hurt a little, but I will go slowly.”

I didn’t care — all I wanted was him inside me.

I kissed him firmly on the lips.

Tentatively he began to push forwards, slowly easing into my channel. I winced. That hurt — a sharp, stinging, pinching pain, as his head began to stretch me. I gritted my teeth — I was going to get through this — no matter what it took. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths, fighting to stay in control. Above me, Alfred held so very still — comforting me with the lightest kisses on my cheeks and forehead, tenderly stroking my hair as my body adjusted to his.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“A little,” I replied.

The pain was written all over my face — he could see it; I could not lie to him. I took some more deep breaths as he held himself motionless above me.

“Can you push a little more?” I asked hesitantly.

Gradually, so gradually he moved forwards, watching me closely, ready to stop in a heartbeat. It hurt, of course it hurt – my maidenhead was not giving up without a fight. But this was a battle it could never win — my pain had been conquered by love. All I wanted now was to give myself to him — to let him possess me — to let him own me. I lifted my legs a little more, calling him deeper still.

Now he was all the way inside — filling me completely, making me whole. The walls of my channel gripped him tightly, testing his steel — he was so big, so hard — he felt so good! Euphoria erupted inside me — a wonderful completeness, a joining of our bodies and souls, banishing the discomfort from my mind.

Tenderly we kissed — for how long, I do not know, but Alfred would have held me for eternity. Little-by-little, the pain began to melt away, sinking beneath my love for him, as I gazed into his deep blue eyes.

Slowly he began to withdraw, pulling his hips upwards as he eased his hardness from me. I pressed my forehead against his, curving my body upwards, as if trying to prevent him escaping.

Again, he held himself motionless above me, waiting for my signal to push forwards. Now it was me who was pulling him into me, sliding my hands down his back, gripping his buttocks as I demanded he fill me.

Slowly, very slowly he began to press, pushing forward, invading my softness once more. My back arched, calling him deeper as I stretched around him. I threw back my head, gasping in pleasure, my eyes sightless as my fingers clawed at his skin.

Suddenly he was all the way inside me, sheathed to the hilt, splitting me open as the two of us united. My muscles gripped every part of him, binding him to me, enslaving his flesh to my service. Nothing could persuade me to let him go.

He kissed me tenderly on the lips, but as he started to move away, I grabbed the back of his head and held him, pushing my tongue hungrily into his mouth. Surprised, he hesitated for split second, then responded vigorously, gripping my face between his hands, as we lost ourselves in a whirlpool of passion.

Withdrawing again, pulling from me, lifting his hips as he slipped away. My core cried out in anguish, clutching in vain as he slid from me, desperate to hold him inside, aching to receive him again. A third push, a little smoother, a little quicker, all the way in once more.

“Yes!!!!!” I moaned, delirious with pleasure, overwhelmed by the waves of passion as I gripped his full length once more.

Kisses, frantic kisses, endless kisses — on my cheeks, my forehead, my lips; Alfred’s tenderness in that most masculine of acts. My mouth searched blindly, my tongue thrusting against his as I tightly held the back of his head. Moans and whimpers emanated from my chest, words were impossible – unfit to carry my emotions.

“Yes?” he asked softly, “you like that?”

I nodded.

“More, more,” I begged.

There was a change in Alfred as he heard my first true moans of pleasure. He’d been tentative, hesitant in those first few strokes, but now he was settling, understanding what I needed — he was dominant, in charge and in control — his masculinity fully unsheathed. His thrusts became faster, harder, more powerful — driven onwards by the same urgent, primeval desire that commanded me. I flung my head backwards, surrendering myself to pleasure, pain banished to the farthest corners of the earth as the fire in my core burned ever brighter.

“Yuss,” I hissed each time he hammered into me, squealing and moaning in equal measure.

A white heat had taken hold of me — surging upwards, forging higher — sparks flashing through me as my inner furnace blazed. Alfred’s thrusts had become a blur — a deafening, intoxicating rhythm, spinning waves of pleasure through my brain as he whipped my furious heartbeat ever faster. I flung my arms outwards, gripping the sides of the bed as I felt the tipping point approaching, thundering towards me like a raging bull.

Alfred thrust forward one final time, a bellowing roar erupting from his chest as together we plunged headlong over the precipice. Tightly I clung to him, folding my body around him, burying my head against his as I screamed with pleasure. A blinding white light flashed around us, lifting us from the simple bed, launching us upwards as our souls became one.

—

I woke the following morning, nestled in the crook of Alfred’s arm. The soft light of morning was beginning to creep into the cottage. Outside the woodland was stirring — the world was waking — a new dawn of peace and freedom had arrived.

I shifted slightly onto my side, watching Alfred as he slumbered beside me. My heart melted with love for him – he was so handsome, so brave, so strong. I brushed a stray golden curl from his face and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. The hermit was right — he would be a great king — his name would be known for generations to come. Together we would serve our people and faithfully defend them from our enemies. Together we would honour our destiny — the warrior king and his warrior queen.

But all that was to come. For now, in those precious moments, we two were simply lovers, lying in a humble bed in a hermit’s cottage, as around us the most joyous birdsong proclaimed the glory of a bright, new day.

—

THE END

—

Historical note

Following the fall of the Roman Empire, much of England was settled by the Anglo-Saxons, a group of Germanic tribes who established a number of small kingdoms including Kent, Mercia, Sussex and Wessex. From the late 8th century, the British Isles came under attack from Scandinavian Vikings. Initially they came as raiders, plundering towns and monasteries, but later they began to settle.

The Battle of Aclea, between the West Saxons and the Vikings, took place in 851 AD. It was one of many battles fought between the two peoples, that would eventually lead to the establishment of the Danelaw in northern and eastern England in the late 9th century. By tradition, it is thought to have occurred near the modern village of Ockley in Surrey, although some suggest a location in north Hampshire.

Alfred was the youngest of five sons of King Aethelwulf (four of his brothers ruled briefly before he became King of Wessex). His reign was marked by a series of battles against the Vikings and the consolidation of the southern Anglo-Saxon kingdoms under his control. He was responsible for building burhs (forts) along the Sussex coast, including at Chichester and Lewes, to defend against attack from the sea. Today Alfred is the only king that the English call “The Great”, although most historians usually consider his grandson, Athelstan, to be the first true King of England.

It is not clear whether Surrey (or Suthrige as the Anglo-Saxons called it) was ever an independent kingdom in its own right, but it was certainly a realm with a high degree of autonomy. Totalling around 750 square miles (1950 sq. km), it included most of the area covered by today’s county of Surrey and much of south London. The Anglo-Saxon territory appears to have come under the control of Mercia (to the north) and Wessex (to the west) at different times. In the mid-9th century, it was incorporated into the latter as a shire. The Kingdom of Sussex (to the south of Surrey) also submitted to Wessex at around the same time. The Kingdom of Kent was ruled by Alfred’s oldest brother, Aethelstan, from 839 to 851, but he did not live to succeed his father as King of Wessex.

With the exception of Alfred, Aethelwulf and Aethelstan, all characters in this story are fictional. Most places mentioned are real, but I have tried to allude to their Anglo-Saxon names where possible. (Frithwald’s castle at Morden is an invention and the actual capital of Surrey was most likely Kingston-upon-Thames, where 10th-century Anglo-Saxon kings were crowned.) The true timeline of the Battle of Aclea is unclear, in part because reliable sources are few and far between, and I have taken considerable liberties in adjusting the timings of events to fit the plot of the story.