The Betrayal of King Ealdræd

“I’m sorry to have woken you, sire,” Dunstan Fairchilde panted with anxiety as he led a sleep-deprived Sir Hale of Ackerlane towards the Great Hall. 

“I told you to come to me instantly if his state worsened,” Sir Hale croaked, blinking wearily. “And by the sound of your words, his state has indeed worsened. Will the king’s chamber steward live?”

“Ealhstan Kimball will live, sire,” Dunstan explained. “I fear, however, he may walk with a limp for the rest of his life.” 

“I suppose young Kimball should be thankful the king is old and fragile. Had it been a few years earlier, Kimball would have died where he stood.” 

“Quite,” Dunstan replied.

“You say the king is convinced Prince Ælfsige is trying to kill him and claim his birthright as King of Mercinia?” Sir Hale sighed. 

“Yes, sire,” Dunstan said. “He does.” 

“How can a man who died almost twenty years ago steal his crown, Fairchilde?” Sir Hale ran a weathered and battle-scarred hand across his face. “The king slew his brother on the battlefield.”

 “He doesn’t remember it, sire,” Dunstan said. “He still thinks Mercinia is at war with Brithonia.” 

“Brithonia doesn’t even exist as a nation anymore,” Sir Hale said, deflated. “It hasn’t for…” “Nearly twenty years, sire,” Dunstan interjected. “It’s as if the king has forgotten the last two decades of his life.”

 “Where’s the mage?” Sir Hale asked in distaste as he continued to make his way up the staircase. He had no time for the man, a dangerous and malignant figure, born and raised in Brithonia no less, who, in Sir Hale’s opinion, King Ealdræd had bestowed too much power upon. 

“Sæwine is with the king,” Dunstan informed. 

“Of course, he is,” Sir Hale said bitterly.

King Ealdræd slouched in his high-backed throne chair, the silver bejewelled crown of Mercinia that adorned his head lay tilted and damaged. The king’s sunken eyes flitted erratically in their sockets with wild suspicion and fear. “Why do they seek to destroy me, Sæwine?” Ealdræd said with deep regret to his mage. “Have I not been good to my people? I have given them a better life than my brother could ever have given them. He spends too much time with whores, and drinks so much mead it could kill ten men. And the gambling, Sæwine. He would bankrupt the realm if he were king. I am the right king, aren’t I? Tell me so.” 

“You speak only the truth,” Sæwine stood with his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out of the window at the magnificent rugged landscape of Mercinia. How old Sæwine was, nobody knew, not even the king. With his long black hair, rat-like eyes, and pallid complexion, he could have been thirty-three or seventy-three. “It is times like these you need to keep your friends close, my lord, but your enemies closer, enough to stab them through the heart at a moment’s notice.”

 “I fear my enemies grow by the second,” the king said wearily. “And I don’t have the armoury to hold such daggers.” Ealdræd didn’t see it, but his mage almost grinned at his master’s remark. 

“Then I suggest we strike your enemies whilst the iron is hot, my lord. Remove the heads, hands, and lands of those who seek your downfall and wish to see Prince Ælfsige on the throne.” Sæwine feigned a response of dread as he turned away from the window. He hastily made his way to the king. “I’ve heard rumors from some of my starlings that certain knights within the Privy Council are planning your assassination.

 “Assassination!” Ealdræd bellowed, and ravenous spit dribbled down his chin. “Who are these knights, mage?! Name them, damn thee! Name them!” 

“They are just rumors, my lord,” Sæwine sighed. “I wish not to lose my head to villainous lies. One likes his head upon their shoulders.” 

“As long as I draw breath, mage, your head will remain upon its shoulders!” more spit dripped down the king’s chins. “Now, these assassins.”

 “If you insist,” Sæwine said as if someone was placing great pressure upon his life. “Sir Wystan of Aylmere, Sir Oswin of Kinsleye…and…” 

“Yes, spit it out, Sæwine! Who else conspires against me?”

 “Sir Edric of Bloodthorne.” 

“Bloodthorne!” the king wept, broken by the deception. If any of the king’s guard or members of the privy council were in the Grand Hall, they would have told the king that Sir Edric of Bloodthorne had been dead for nearly twenty years. He had died on the same battlefield as Prince Ælfsige. Both had been slain by the sword of King Ealdræd. 

“I wish the words I speak were not the case, my lord,” Sæwine lowered his head in shame and knelt on the floor. “I should have seen the signs sooner. I have failed you. It would be right for you to put me to the sword.”

 “Get up, mage. You are my only true friend in the realm.” The king heaved himself from his throne and dragged Sæwine to his feet. “I’m not about to kill one of my loyal allies.”

“There is another knight that I have not mentioned,” Sæwine grimaced. “I feel you may not want to hear my words, my lord. Your wounded heart may break.” 

King Ealdræd stumbled back to his throne. He stayed silent as his eyes, red and strained, were fixed on the floor with emptiness. “You speak of bond-brother, don’t you?”

“Yes, my lord,” Sæwine said. “The main instigator of the conspirators is Sir Hale of Ackerlane. My starlings tell me Sir Hale is driven by promised wealth and lands to seat your brother on the throne.”

 “My brother and Sir Hale have never had a good word to say about each other,” Ealdræd said confused. “Are you telling me this has been a front all these years? They’ve been colluding behind my back and scheming my downfall all this time.”

 “That they have, my lord. It pains my soul to deliver you this news.”

 “Bring me the treacherous bastard now! I will cut him down where he stands.” King Ealdræd shook with rage. “We’ve been friends since we were babes. I’ve elevated him and his family beyond his greatest dreams and this is how he repays me. Not only will I kill him, but I’m going to slaughter his family too. They all will die!” 

“I wholeheartedly agree, my lord,” Sæwine said. “You need to send a message to the realm. Your people will rejoice in your decision. They will love their king with all their hearts.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Ealdræd announced manically as his eyes flitted in their sockets. “Bring me the treacherous bastard. Bring him to me now!”

“Ah, the wheels are in motion for that, my lord,” Sæwine smiled knowingly. “One of my starlings, Dunstan Fairchilde, has gone to fetch him for you. They both should be here any minute.”

 “You’re a good man, Sæwine,” Ealdræd said fondly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

 “Please, my lord. You make me blush. I’m only doing my duty.”

“How can I repay such loyalty? Tell me, mage…”

 A loud knock then came at the chamber door, and Sir Hale of Ackerlane asked permission to still enter. 

“I have one request,” Sæwine said. “But I feel it a cheek to ask.” 

“Ask it, man,” the king urged. 

“When you remove Sir Hale’s head, I wish to have his lands, authority, and title.” 

“You wish to be Grand Secretary of the Realm,” the king said dubiously. “That would make you a powerful man.”

 “I’m sorry if I offended you…” 

“Offend me?” Ealdræd scoffed. “I was expecting you to ask me for the crown of Mercinia!” ‘Not yet’, Sæwine thought. ‘But it will be mine, and I will get revenge for my people…’ 

Sir Hale knocked hard on the door again. 

“I think it’s time we let Sir Hale meet his end,” the king growled. “Do you agree, Grand Secretary?” 

Sæwine smiled victoriously. And the smile he bore, you couldn’t tell whether he was thirty-three or seventy-three.