Chapter 5, Part 4
Plans in Motion
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Tuck lingered near the outer wall of the manor, doing his best to appear occupied by nothing at all. It was a skill he had spent years cultivating. People noticed boys who looked guilty. They rarely noticed boys who looked bored.
He kept one eye on the entrance to the manor and the other on the handful of servants crossing the courtyard. For several minutes nothing happened.
Then he saw the Lord Chamberlain as he emerged from walking up the street from the center of town. His pace was brisk, purposeful, and he was heading toward the manor.
Tuck darted across the courtyard, slipped through the doorway, and sprinted into the manor. The corridors seemed twice as long as they had earlier. His footsteps echoed against stone and timber as he raced toward Aelfwynn’s chamber. He reached the door and hammered on it with the flat of his hand. “He’s coming,” he hissed. “He’s coming!”
Inside the chamber, conversation stopped instantly. The latch lifted. Aelfwynn pulled the door open a crack.
Tuck was breathing hard. “He’s coming back,” he said. “You need to go.”
Saras snapped the ledgers shut and gathered them into her arms.
Auntie rounded the corner in the passageway carrying a basket piled high with freshly folded linen. She had intended to continue straight. Instead, she stopped.
At the far end of the corridor, Tuck stood outside Aelfwynn’s chamber. The boy was knocking rapidly on the door while whispering through the crack between the frame and the latch. Whatever he was saying, it appeared urgent. Auntie frowned. Tuck rarely moved with urgency unless trouble was involved.
The door opened with Aelfwynn emerging first. The young noblewoman looked anxious, her attention fixed entirely on the corridor ahead. Saras followed immediately behind her, clutching two large ledgers against her chest. Neither woman noticed Auntie. They hurried down the passageway together, moving with the unmistakable determination of people who did not wish to be interrupted.
The door clicked shut behind them. Tuck turned and nearly jumped out of his skin. He had finally noticed her. For a moment they simply stared at one another across the length of the corridor. Then Tuck slowly raised a finger to his lips. His expression carried all the earnest desperation a thirteen-year-old could muster. Please. Do not ask questions.
Auntie regarded him silently. She had spent years feeding children, raising children, disciplining children, and occasionally protecting children from the consequences of their own creativity. She knew that look.
The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Certainly not approval. But neither was it condemnation. She said nothing.
Relief flooded Tuck’s face. A moment later he spun and sprinted down the corridor, disappearing around the corner after the others.
Auntie remained where she was for a few seconds longer, the basket still balanced comfortably in her arms. Then she resumed her walk.
Aelfwynn and Saras began to separate, so each could achieve her assigned task. Aelfwynn moved ahead quickly, her pace purposeful but not so hurried as to attract attention. Saras fell behind with the ledgers pressed tightly against her chest. Every instinct urged her to move faster. Every instinct also warned her not to. The trick was appearing as though nothing unusual was happening at all.
Unfortunately, that became considerably more difficult when Prior Duncan stepped around a corner directly into her path. Saras checked herself so abruptly that she nearly collided with him.
“Ah! Mistress Saras.” Duncan’s face brightened immediately. “What a welcome surprise.”
Saras adjusted her grip on the ledgers, drawing them slightly closer to her body. “Prior Duncan.”
He smiled warmly. “I have not yet praised you for your performance at the Queen’s presentation.”
Saras forced herself to stop walking. Aelfwynn continued down the corridor ahead, wisely pretending not to notice.
“Thank you,” Saras said. “Arthur cannot carry a tune, so I—”
“Your song.” Duncan spoke with such earnest reverence that Saras found herself momentarily wrong-footed. “It lingers.” His gaze drifted slightly, as though hearing it again. Then his expression brightened further. “How will I know if He really loves me?“
Saras blinked. Of all the things she expected to be discussing while carrying stolen evidence of embezzlement through the royal manor, Whitney Houston had not been among them.
Duncan shook his head in wonder. “That is the essential question.”
Saras frowned slightly. “Yes, Prior, but—”
“God’s love.” The words emerged with growing enthusiasm. “Where does faith come from?” He leaned forward slightly. “And what does one do if one does not feel it?”
Saras stared at him. Under almost any other circumstances, she might have found the conversation interesting. Unfortunately, she was currently transporting evidence of what appeared to be a massive theft from the royal treasury. She managed a strained smile.
“I am sorry, Prior, but I have an urgent matter to attend to.” The words felt inadequate. “Perhaps another time?”
At once Duncan stepped back. “Of course.” His disappointment was mild and entirely gracious.
Saras offered a quick nod and resumed walking before further questions could emerge. Duncan watched her depart. Then his gaze drifted upward thoughtfully.
Softly, almost to himself, he began singing. “How will I know ...” The melody echoed faintly down the corridor.
Saras closed her eyes for a brief moment. Then she tightened her grip on the ledgers and continued after Aelfwynn.
Saras rounded the corner and arrived outside the Lord Chamberlain’s chambers. The evidence of Tuck’s handiwork remained exactly where he had left it. Water still glistened across portions of the stone floor. Two overturned candelabras lay beside the wall, abandoned in the midst of apparent chaos.
To anyone passing through the corridor, it looked like the aftermath of a careless servant’s mistake. To Saras, it looked like a countdown. She slowed her pace and listened. Nothing. No approaching footsteps. No voices. Only the distant sounds of the manor carrying faintly through the corridors.
She glanced once in each direction along the passageway, searching for movement. Seeing none, she crossed quickly to the Lord Chamberlain’s door. For an instant she hesitated. Then she slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind her.
Further down corridor, Aelfwynn rounded another corner and then spotted the Lord Chamberlain the moment he entered the passageway. He was moving quickly—too quickly. For a brief instant she considered abandoning the plan entirely. Then she stepped directly into his path.
“My lord, I was hoping to find you.”
The Lord Chamberlain stopped. The interruption was clearly unwelcome, though years at court prevented any sign of outright irritation from reaching his face.
“Lady Aelfwynn. How may I help you?”
Aelfwynn clasped her hands together to keep them from fidgeting. “You attended the Queen’s presentation?”
“I did. It was very well done.”
Relief flickered across Aelfwynn’s face. “Thank you.” Then she pressed on. “I fear we may have set expectations rather high.”
To her surprise, the Lord Chamberlain’s expression softened slightly. Almost a smile.
“One must not neglect appearances.”
“No,” Aelfwynn agreed earnestly yet also nervously. “Of course not. As you certainly do not.” For a moment she felt herself settling into the role. This was merely a conversation. Nothing more. “Which is why I would welcome your advice. Mistress Leonfrun is excellent, of course, but you clearly know where to go when one has ... higher expectations.”
The Lord Chamberlain glanced down the corridor. The movement was brief, but Aelfwynn noticed it. He was thinking about something else.
“I am happy to help, Lady Aelfwynn,” he said, “but I have urgent matters to attend to.”
He stepped to one side to continue on his way. Aelfwynn moved with him. Not enough to be rude. Just enough to remain in front of him.
“Yes, my lord, but just to be clear, I am thinking about the quality of the materials not just the workmanship.”
“Of course.”
The Lord Chamberlain attempted to pass on the opposite side. Again Aelfwynn shifted politely into his path.
“And accessories,” she added. “Jewelry. Capes.”
The Lord Chamberlain stopped. For the first time, irritation showed openly. Only for a moment. But it was there. Aelfwynn smiled as innocently as she could manage.
“I am sorry, Lady Aelfwynn.” The apology contained very little apology. “Another time. I am needed elsewhere.”
This time he did not attempt to maneuver around her. He simply walked past. Aelfwynn stepped aside immediately. The delay had lasted as long as it was ever going to.
The Lord Chamberlain strode down the corridor without another glance. Aelfwynn watched him disappear around the corner. Only then did she release the breath she had been holding.
A moment later she followed. More quietly this time.
Inside the Lord Chamberlain’s room, Saras slid the ledgers back onto the shelf. She paused. For a moment she simply stared at the shelf, comparing it against her memory. The two volumes sat exactly where she had found them, nestled among the surrounding books with the same spacing and alignment as before. Or so she hoped.
Her pulse still had not settled.
Saras forced herself to look around one final time. Nothing appeared disturbed. Nothing appeared stolen. Clutching her composure more tightly than she had held the ledgers, she crossed the room and moved toward the door.
The Lord Chamberlain rounded the corner and stopped abruptly. The mess still occupied the middle of the corridor. Water streaked the stone floor. Wax lay scattered in pale flecks. Two overturned candelabras rested where they had fallen.
His expression darkened immediately. “That incompetent little ...” The muttered complaint died unfinished as he took in the full extent of the disorder.
From the opposite end of the passageway, Auntie approached carrying her basket of linens. The Lord Chamberlain looked to her at once.
“Auntie, do you see this?! Your waterboy made this mess! I told him to clean it up, but he clearly ...”
Auntie blinked. “Waterboy, my lord?”
The Lord Chamberlain gestured impatiently toward the floor. “The boy ... with the buckets ...” His irritation deepened. “I told him to clean this.”
Farther down the corridor, Aelfwynn appeared around the corner behind the Lord Chamberlain but in Auntie’s line of sight. She stopped instantly—the Lord Chamberlain stood only a few steps from his door. Aelfwynn felt the blood drain from her face.
“I am terribly sorry, my lord,” Auntie said calmly. “I will see to it at once.”
“Quickly, please.” The Chamberlain turned away from her and reached for the latch.
Across the corridor, Aelfwynn pressed both hands to her mouth. The movement was instinctive, helpless.
The latch clicked.
Inside the Chamberlain’s rooms, Saras froze. The sound seemed impossibly loud. A moment later the door cracked open. A thin line of light spilled across the floorboards.
Saras did not move. Did not breathe. The room seemed to shrink around her.
Then Auntie’s voice floated in from the corridor. “My lord.”
The Lord Chamberlain paused. His hand remained on the latch as he turned back toward her.
Auntie stood exactly where she had been. Calm. Unhurried.
“I was actually looking for you. In the clean up from the storm, we found a case of wine. From the Continent.”
The effect was immediate. The Lord Chamberlain’s attention shifted. “Wine? From the Continent?”
“Quite fine.” Auntie adjusted the basket slightly. “I thought perhaps the Lord Chancellor—”
“Goodness, no. Not him.” The answer came with surprising speed.
Auntie allowed a brief silence. “Fine things are wasted if they are not properly appreciated, right?”
The Lord Chamberlain said nothing, but the change was clear—curiosity had arrived.
Auntie continued. “The porters are just about to take it away.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “If you wish to inspect it and ensure it is ... appreciated ... if we hurry, we can—”
The hook settled neatly into place. The Lord Chamberlain smiled. “Yes. We shouldn’t delay.”
He pulled the chamber door closed. Inside, Saras silently released the breath she had been holding.
Outside, the Lord Chamberlain stepped away from the latch and crossed toward Auntie. “Lead on.”
Aelfwynn’s shoulders sagged with relief. She clasped her hands together and silently mouthed two words. Thank you.
Auntie caught the gesture. She understood its significance, but gave no sign of it. Instead, she turned and began walking down the corridor with the Lord Chamberlain beside her.
“And perhaps, while you inspect, we can discuss the funding for the kitchen repairs.”
Together they disappeared around the corner. Aelfwynn waited only long enough to be certain they were gone. Then she hurried to the Lord Chamberlain’s door and pulled it open.
Saras emerged immediately. Neither woman spoke. Aelfwynn caught Saras by the arm, and together they moved quickly down the corridor before Fortune could change her mind.
* * *
The Lord Chancellor’s office was lit by only a handful of candles. Their glow pooled across the desk and left the corners of the room in shadow. Stacks of parchment sat arranged with characteristic precision. Nothing appeared out of place. Except the guest.
Ealhhelm, Ealdorman of Mercia, occupied a side chair as though he owned it. His boots were planted comfortably before him. A bowl of nuts rested on a nearby table, and a stein of ale sat within easy reach. As the office door opened, he tossed a nut into the air and caught it neatly in his mouth.
The Lord Chancellor paused just long enough to take in the scene. Not surprised. He crossed to his desk and sat.
“Good evening, my lord.” The greeting was perfectly polite. The temperature behind it was not.
“Lord Chancellor!” Ealhhelm grinned broadly. Another nut disappeared.
The Lord Chancellor folded his hands. “I heard you are in Winchester.” A brief pause. “What brings you here?”
Ealhhelm gestured lazily. “Do you mean here?” He pointed toward the office. “Or here?” His finger traced a circle in the air.
The Chancellor remained unmoved. “Both.”
The Mercian laughed. “I have business in Winchester.” He took another drink. “And I thought I might look in on our kinsmen in Wessex.”
The Lord Chancellor did not return the smile. “Or perhaps ...” He leaned forward slightly. “... with Olaf settled at York, the roads are finally safe enough for you to travel south and ask favors of our young king.”
The remark landed exactly as intended. Ealhhelm merely chuckled.
“You always did see everything, my friend.” Then his expression softened slightly. “Though not everything is so dark.” After a beat, the playfulness faded a degree. “How is he, our young king?”
For the first time, neither man smiled. The question lingered between them. The Lord Chancellor considered it before answering. “Shall we speak plainly?”
Ealhhelm set the bowl aside. The casual ease remained in his posture, but something changed behind his eyes. “Please.”
The office grew quieter. The Lord Chancellor chose his words carefully. “Something is not right.” Ealhhelm waited. “Someone made terms with Olaf before Aethelstan died.”
The Mercian absorbed the statement without visible surprise. Perhaps because he had already suspected it. Perhaps because he knew it.
The Lord Chancellor continued. “They will not say it aloud.” His fingers rested motionless atop the desk. “But Kent remembers Holme.” The name carried weight. “East Anglia grows ambitious.” A brief pause followed. “And Northumbria ...” The Lord Chancellor gave a small shrug. “... they may not have been given a choice.”
Silence settled over the room. Ealhhelm nodded slowly. He was not hearing new information so much as seeing familiar pieces arranged into a clearer picture. “You are right to focus on them.” The Lord Chancellor remained silent. “Essex and Sussex will follow whoever appears strongest.” Ealhhelm reached for his stein. “And Mercia ...” A faint smile touched his face. “We are family.”
The Chancellor’s expression did not change. Yet the look that passed between them carried far more than the words themselves. Mercia was family. Mercia was also powerful. The distinction mattered.
Ealhhelm set down the stein. “And the boy?”
This time the Lord Chancellor did not hide his reaction. A slight tightening around the eyes—a faint grimace, nothing more.
“He listens.” The words sounded almost like praise. Almost. “But he is untested.” The Lord Chancellor looked toward the window. “He knows it.” A beat. “And they know it.”
The Lord Chancellor’s voice grew quieter. “If England is to hold ...” He stopped. The thought seemed unpleasant even to speak aloud. “... we may have to consider difficult remedies.”
The room fell silent. Even the candles flickered more quietly. Ealhhelm studied him carefully now. Not as a friend. Not as a kinsman. As a man measuring the cost of what might come next. Several moments passed before he finally spoke. “Whatever comes.” The Lord Chancellor held his gaze. “You will have Mercia.”
The promise hung between them.
* * *
The blacksmith’s forge was impossible to ignore. Heat rolled out through the open doorway. The steady rhythm of hammer on metal echoed across the yard, punctuated by bursts of sparks and the hiss of cooling iron.
Arthur stepped inside. Normally, he would have announced himself before he reached the workbench. Today he merely drifted through the doorway, his thoughts still tangled around Duncan’s words.
Wynstan looked up, immediately noticing Arthur’s mood and wanting to change it. “Arthur!” The blacksmith grinned broadly. “Come to check on your madness?”
Arthur managed a faint smile. “Something like that.”
Wynstan handed his hammer to one of the apprentices and wiped his hands on a leather apron. “Well then, you’re in luck.” He nodded toward a nearby workbench. “Your dragon’s teeth are ready.”
The words cut through Arthur’s distraction immediately. His head snapped up. “It is?” For the first time since entering the forge, genuine energy entered his voice. “Let’s see.”
Wynstan led him across the workshop. Resting on the bench was a metal disk nearly two feet across. Sharp teeth lined its edge with remarkable precision. The iron gleamed in the forge light.
Arthur stopped. For several moments he simply looked at it. The thing had existed only as an idea for so long that seeing it made real felt oddly disorienting.
Wynstan folded his arms. “I used the wooden template Godric carved.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “He complained the entire time. Says you owe him.”
Arthur barely heard the comment. His attention remained fixed on the blade.
“And we made the teeth as sharp as we dared.”
Arthur reached out and ran a finger just short of the edge. The workmanship was extraordinary. “It’s beautiful.” The words escaped before he could stop them. Then he looked at Wynstan. “It’s perfect.”
The apprentices exchanged pleased glances. Praise from Arthur carried weight now. One of them stepped forward. “What kind of weapon is it?”
Arthur laughed softly. “Not a weapon. Do you know the mill up the river?”
“Of course,” the apprentice answered, with as the others nodded.
“Imagine that instead of the waterwheel turning a millstone, slowly, you had this.” He lifted the disk. “Standing upright.” His free hand began tracing circles through the air. “And turning very fast.”
Wynstan frowned. “Grinding grain?”
“No.” ” He picked up a scrap of wood from the workbench and pressed the scrap of wood against the teeth. “Cutting wood.”
The blacksmith blinked. “Wood?”
Arthur nodded. The idea had him now. The distraction from earlier was gone. “Logs fed into it.” He mimed pushing timber through the blade. “Clean cuts. Straight cuts.” His hands moved faster as he explained. “Faster than any saw. Faster than any axe. Faster than any man.”
The forge grew quiet. Wynstan looked at the disk again. This time he was no longer seeing a strange metal wheel. He was seeing a tool. A possibility. “A spinning blade ...” His eyes narrowed. “.. for timber.”
Arthur grinned. “A sawmill!”
The apprentices murmured among themselves. Even they could imagine what that might mean.
“Better lumber.” Arthur declared as his gaze drifted beyond the forge walls. “Faster.” Then, almost to himself, “Better houses. More houses.”
Wynstan studied him for a moment. There was admiration in his expression now. Not merely for the invention. For the mind behind it.
“I’ll say this, Arthur.” Arthur looked up. “Your ideas are mad.” The blacksmith let the words settle. “And simple.”
Something in Arthur relaxed. The compliment meant more than Wynstan realized. A good idea should feel obvious once someone explained it. That had always been the goal. For a few moments neither man spoke.
Then Wynstan shrugged. “You should put on a demonstration.” Arthur looked at him. “Invite people. Tradesmen. Lords.” The blacksmith gestured toward the blade. “Make a week of it.” Arthur’s attention sharpened. Wynstan continued. “A festival, even.” A grin appeared. “Though you’ll need a lot of ale.”
Arthur did not laugh. Instead, he went very still. Wynstan noticed immediately.
“What did you say?” Arthur asked.
The blacksmith blinked. “... lots of ale?”
“Before that.”
“A festival.” Wynstan shrugged. “People from all over England.” The words hung in the air.
Arthur stopped seeing the forge. Stopped seeing the blade. Stopped seeing anything in front of him at all. His mind was elsewhere. Pieces were moving. Connecting.
Arthur stared at nothing. “Could it work?” The question emerged almost as a whisper. Then, a heartbeat later, “Yes.” His eyes widened. “Yes.” The answer exploded through him.
The uncertainty that had shadowed him since leaving the monastery vanished instantly. He looked up. Alive again. “It’s brilliant!”
Wynstan frowned. “What is?”
Arthur reached for the blade, then thought better of carrying a sharpened iron disk through Winchester. He set it back down and started toward the door.
“I’ve got it!”
“What?”
Arthur was already moving. “The solution to his problem!”
And then he was gone. For a moment, nobody spoke. Wynstan stared after him, confused.
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