Chapter 5, Part 2

Challenges and Schemes

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Night settled over the English camp, but sleep remained a distant prospect.

A great bonfire roared against the darkness, its sparks spiraling upward into the black sky. Around it crowded hundreds of soldiers still stained with the day’s work. Mud clung to boots and cloaks. Blood darkened sleeves and mail. Faces were exhausted, hollow-eyed, and grinning.

The men pressed shoulder to shoulder around the fire, mugs of ale raised, voices hoarse from shouting and singing. Some leaned against friends. Others pounded shields with the flat of their hands. The energy carried the strange edge that follows battle—a mixture of relief, disbelief, and exhilaration.

Above them, standing atop a low outcropping of stone, Aethelstan raised his mug. The noise began to settle. He looked little different from the men below him. His cloak was torn. His boots were caked with mud. Dried blood streaked one sleeve. Yet somehow he seemed larger than everyone around him, alive in a way that only victory could make a man.

“To the warriors of England,” he shouted. “I salute you!”

The camp answered with a roar. Aethelstan grinned.

“To the heroes of England, I salute you!” The cheers grew louder.

Then his expression softened. “And to our fallen brothers—the martyrs of England—we honor you.” This time the response carried a different weight. Mugs rose quietly. Heads bowed. Somewhere near the edge of the crowd, a soldier made the sign of the cross.

Aethelstan allowed the moment to linger before drawing the men back upward. “You are warriors,” he called. “You are heroes. You are saviors.” His voice carried across the camp. “But you are also unifiers.” The crowd shifted. “You have done what Angles and Saxons dreamed of for generations.” His mug swept toward the darkness beyond the firelight.

“You have unified England!” The camp exploded again. Men shouted themselves hoarse. Shields rang beneath fists.

“Free of heathen raiders!” More cheers. “A home for men who wish to sow their fields, drink their ale, and raise strong sons and beautiful daughters in peace!” Laughter broke out alongside the applause. Several men raised their mugs enthusiastically at the mention of ale.

“Tonight,” Aethelstan declared, “we celebrate.” The crowd answered him before he could continue. “Tomorrow, we march home.” That drew another roar.

“But first...” He paused. “To Wessex!” The reaction bordered on delirious. Aethelstan laughed. “Let the lords in their warm halls see the faces of their defenders!” The men loved that even more.

“More importantly,” he continued, lowering his voice just enough to draw them in, “I intend to give you what you have earned.” The camp quieted. A thousand men leaned forward. “Three times your promised wage.”

For a heartbeat there was stunned silence. Then the camp erupted. Men shouted. Ale splashed. Someone fell over backward laughing.

“For England!” Aethelstan bellowed.

“For England!” the soldiers thundered back.

“For England!”

“For England!”

“For England!”

“For England!”

The chant rolled across the camp like distant thunder.

Aethelstan leapt down from the rocks and disappeared into the celebration. He clasped shoulders. Shared mugs. Accepted embraces. Laughed with veterans and farm boys alike. The king moved through the crowd as naturally as any soldier among his comrades.

Then he noticed Edmund. His brother stood beyond the brightest circle of firelight. Apart. Cleaner than the others. There was little mud on him. No blood. No visible mark of the day’s fighting. Beside him stood Aelfric, steady and watchful, hands folded before him.

Aethelstan made his way toward them. “Aelfric,” he said, “why is my brother so quiet? He has just commanded men in a great victory.”

Aelfric’s weathered face creased into a smile. “Aye, he did, Your Majesty. Though whether to credit his skill or my instruction, I cannot say.”

Aethelstan laughed. “So modest.”

“Not modest,” Aelfric replied. “Truthful.”

“He was magnificent.”

Edmund’s gaze remained fixed on the fire. “I played the fool.”

“You deceived our enemies.”

“And they were easily deceived because they already believed me to be one.” The words hung in the air. Aethelstan dismissed them with a wave.

“And now they are dead. Or running back to Ireland and Scotland.” He turned toward Aelfric. “Tell him.”

Aelfric nodded. “They will remember you, my lord.”

A small silence followed. Aethelstan tried again. “The poets and minstrels will sing of this commander of men.” He glanced at Aelfric. “The one who stood fast against an enemy charge.” Aelfric nodded dutifully. “The one who held a strong line until we could crush them.”

“Aye,” Aelfric agreed.

“And they will tell these tales—” A grin spread across Aethelstan’s face. “—because I shall make them.”

Aelfric laughed. Edmund did not. “I remain untested.” The words emerged quietly. “And that truth matters.”

The laughter and celebration seemed suddenly distant. Aethelstan studied his brother for a long moment. Then he stepped closer. The warmth faded from his face. The king remained. “The story matters.” Edmund looked up. “And this is your story now.” The words were deliberate. Measured. “You must carry it.” Neither brother looked away. “I need you to.” His voice softened. “England needs you to.”

The fire crackled nearby. Men cheered somewhere beyond them.

“There will be other battles.”

Edmund wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe there would come a day when victory would feel earned rather than inherited. A day when the story and the truth would finally become the same thing.

“Yes, brother,” he said.

Aethelstan nodded once and clapped him on the shoulder. Then he turned back toward the fire, toward the laughter, toward the men who were already transforming the day into legend.

Edmund remained where he was. Standing just beyond the light.

* * *

The Lord Chancellor’s chambers felt less like an office and more like a command post. Parchments covered the heavy oak desk in carefully ordered stacks. Wax seals, notes, and correspondence spread across the surface like troop movements on a battlefield. Sunlight from the narrow windows did little to soften the room’s severe character.

A guard escorted Arthur inside. “Master Arthur, my lord.”

The Chancellor acknowledged neither the guard nor Arthur. He continued writing. The guard withdrew. The door closed behind him.

Arthur remained standing. “My lord.”

The Chancellor dipped his quill again. “I will dispense with the pleasantries.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. “I find them useful.”

The scratching of the quill stopped. The Chancellor looked up. For a moment neither man spoke. Then the Chancellor set the quill aside.

“Something was discovered in the ashes of the serf’s hut.”

Arthur kept his expression neutral. The place where the soldiers had first found him. The place he had later insisted should be burned.

“Can you explain this?” the Chancellor asked.

“Explain what?”

The Chancellor watched him carefully.

“Why the Sergeant and his men found something not of England at the hut you were so eager to destroy.”

Arthur felt a small tightening in his chest. He showed none of it. “What kind of something?”

“He described objects.” The Chancellor’s tone remained measured. “Unfamiliar. With no obvious purpose.”

Arthur let a few seconds pass. “So he didn’t actually bring them to you?”

The Chancellor offered no answer. Which was answer enough.

Arthur folded his hands behind his back. “I cannot explain what I cannot see.” A pause. “But I can offer a theory.” The Chancellor waited. “The same Sergeant who planted evidence against me—rather clumsily, if we’re being honest—is trying again.”

The Chancellor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You accuse a sworn officer of the Crown.”

“I describe a man who was embarrassed in front of his peers.” Arthur shrugged faintly. “Proud men rarely forgive that.”

Silence settled between them. The Chancellor seemed content to let it linger. Arthur had noticed that about him. Most men rushed to fill quiet moments. The Chancellor treated silence as a tool. Finally, he spoke again.

“Where did you come from?”

Arthur resisted the urge to sigh. “I’ve answered that.”

“Answer it again.” There it was. The real purpose of the meeting. Not evidence. Not mysterious objects. The same question. Again.

Arthur complied. “We were separated from our master, an Englishman.” The words came easily now. Rehearsed. “We spent years traveling the continent.” A half-truth. “I learned what I could.” A much larger half-truth. “And I am fortunate to bring some of that knowledge here.”

The Chancellor regarded him steadily. “You arrive without record.” His voice remained calm. “You possess knowledge without lineage.” Another pause. “You attract attention remarkably quickly.” Arthur said nothing. “And now strange things are reported wherever you go.”

Arthur met the older man’s gaze. “Strange things are reported every day.” The faintest trace of a smile touched his expression. “Truth is considerably less common.”

The Chancellor did not return the smile. For a long moment neither man moved. Arthur suspected they were having two entirely different conversations.

The Chancellor finally leaned back in his chair. “You are either precisely what you claim to be ...” His eyes remained fixed on Arthur. “... or something far more dangerous.”

Arthur considered the statement. Then answered with complete sincerity. “If I were dangerous, you would already know.”

That earned him another long look. Not anger. Not disbelief. Assessment. The Chancellor seemed perpetually engaged in the process of measuring him, weighing possibilities against evidence.

At last he nodded. “You are observed.” The statement carried no threat in its wording. Only in its certainty. A brief pause followed. “Do not give me reason to conclude.”

Arthur understood exactly what he meant. The investigation remained open. The verdict had not yet been reached.

He inclined his head once. “As you wish, my lord.”

The Chancellor had already reached for his quill again. The audience was over.

Arthur turned and crossed the room. He stepped into the corridor and pulled it closed behind him. The sound of the latch seemed unusually loud. For a moment he stood there staring at the stone wall opposite. Then he exhaled. The Chancellor still did not know who he was, which was fortunate, but was determined to find answers.

* * *

The Cruck House was quiet except for the soft slosh of water and the occasional crackle from the hearth. Saras knelt beside a wooden basin, working a bundle of laundry through cold water. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, her movements practiced and efficient.

Across the room, Tuck carried armloads of firewood from the pile near the door and stacked them carefully beside the fire. Neither pile was particularly impressive. The dwindling stack of wood worried her. So did the equally modest stack of folded laundry waiting on the table. Winter had a way of turning every household task into an accounting exercise.

The door burst open.

“Saras! Saras!” Aelfwynn hurried inside, cheeks flushed from exertion.

Tuck straightened immediately. “Milady.”

Saras looked up at once. Whatever had sent Aelfwynn racing across Winchester had nothing to do with courtly manners. “Is something wrong?”

Aelfwynn hesitated, as though the certainty that had driven her here was suddenly giving way to doubt. “I think so.” She glanced toward Tuck before lowering her voice. “I don’t want to start a panic, but...”

Saras rose and dried her hands on a cloth. Crossing to the table, she pushed aside a small stack of freshly folded laundry and gestured toward the bench. “Sit.”

Aelfwynn sat immediately. Tuck drifted closer under the transparent pretense of continuing his work. Neither woman commented on it.

“I passed the Lord Chamberlain in the manor,” Aelfwynn began. “He was speaking with another nobleman. I’m not sure who.” Saras nodded for her to continue. “They stopped talking when they saw me.”

“What happened then?”

“I walked on.” Aelfwynn looked faintly embarrassed. “Then I hid and listened.” A smile tugged briefly at Saras’s mouth.

“I shouldn’t have listened,” Aelfwynn added.

“No,” Saras agreed. “But you did.”

Tuck’s attention sharpened considerably.

“What did you hear?” asked Saras.

Aelfwynn frowned as she searched her memory. “The Chamberlain said, ‘There’s not much left. I’ll be gone before anyone can piece it together.’” The room grew still. Saras considered the words carefully. “This other nobleman was asking about his share,” Aelfwynn continued. “And about keeping his name clear.” She looked between them. “What could he mean by ‘not much left’? The royal treasury?”

Saras considered the possibility. A small frown touched her face. She lifted one shoulder in a slight, uncertain shrug. “Perhaps.” It was not an answer so much as an acknowledgment that the possibility existed. “He said he was leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know of any expected travel?”

Aelfwynn shook her head. “Not at this time of year. It would be unusual.”

Saras folded her arms. Her mind was already moving ahead, assembling possibilities. “Is he trusted?”

“There have always been rumors.” Aelfwynn frowned suddenly.

“Oh.” The memory surfaced all at once. “He also said he kept a second set of accounts.”

Saras looked up sharply. “A ledger?”

“Yes. He was carrying one.”

For several moments no one spoke. The pieces fit together a little too neatly.

“The treasury is the most likely explanation,” Saras said at last. “But we cannot accuse him.”

“Why not?” Aelfwynn asked.

“Because we don’t know whether the corruption ends with him.” The answer immediately dampened the excitement in the room.

Aelfwynn leaned forward. “Then what do we do?”

“We see the ledgers.” Saras met her gaze. “We find proof.”

Aelfwynn blinked. “Steal them?”

“Borrow them.” Saras paused. “Without him knowing.”

That finally drew Tuck into the conversation. “That’ll take three people.”

Both women turned toward him, confused.

“What?” Saras asked.

“Three people.”

“Why?”

Tuck spread his hands to explain the obvious. “Because to take something and put it back without anyone noticing, you need three people.” His confidence grew visibly as he explained. “A distraction. A lookout. And a thief.” Then he grinned. “There are three of us.”

Despite herself, Saras felt curiosity replacing skepticism. “Go on.”

Tuck straightened proudly. “Lady Aelfwynn distracts the Lord Chamberlain.” He pointed to Saras. “You watch the hall and warn us if he comes back.” Then he tapped his own chest. “I sneak into his chambers and take the ... the ...” His brow furrowed. “The thing.”

“The ledger?” Saras suggested.

“Yes. That.” His confidence returned instantly. “Then I put it back before he notices.”

Saras regarded him for a long moment. “Do you know what a ledger is?”

Tuck froze. “Not exactly.”

Aelfwynn pressed her lips together, fighting laughter.

Saras closed her eyes briefly. Of course. When she opened them, the decision was already made. “That makes me the thief.” Tuck looked disappointed for all of half a second. “And you the lookout.” His grin returned immediately.

Aelfwynn clapped her hands together. “This is exciting.”

Tuck nodded enthusiastically. Saras looked from one to the other. A noblewoman and a former street thief were suddenly delighted by the prospect of breaking into the Lord Chamberlain’s chambers. The troubling part was not their enthusiasm. The troubling part was that the plan might actually work.

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