Free The Edge of Light by Joan Wolf Page B

into the hall from the kitchens, laden with heavy platters of meats and sauces and vegetables and breads, Alfred turned to look curiously at his sister.
    Ethelswith was nine years older than he, the closest sibling in age to him, but he had never known her the way he knew Ethelred. Alfred had been but five when she was married to Burgred of Mercia and, except for infrequent visits, they had seen little of each other since.
    She was still a pretty woman, he thought, looking at his sister’s smoothly braided light brown hair and clear blue eyes. It had been several years now since Alfred had begun automatically to appraise every woman he met, with an eye to what pleased him and what did not. Yes, Ethelswith was definitely pretty. Much too pretty for Burgred.
    She had been married for thirteen years and still she had no children. The pity that suddenly pierced Alfred’s heart was of a different quality from the usual token flicker that his sister’s marriage generally aroused in his breast. No children, he thought, and a husband she must find irksome. And she had been married to him since she was fourteen.
    Not for the first time Alfred found himself reflecting on the bitterness of woman’s lot when it came to matrimony.
    “What do you hear of Judith?” said Ethelswith, and for one brief startled moment he wondered if she had been reading his thoughts.
    Then, because she had surprised him, he blurted out what he would ordinarily have been more tactful in disclosing. “She has a son.”
    The flicker of pain on Ethelswith’s face brought him to a swift realization of his callousness. He went on talking smoothly, to give her a chance to recover herself. “You know her father relented finally and agreed to recognize her marriage? Well, it appears now that Charles has done even more. He has made Judith’s husband the Count of Flanders. A wise move on Charles’s part. For one thing, once the pope recognized the marriage, there was nothing Charles could do about it. For the other thing, Baldwin Iron Arm is just the warrior Flanders needs to keep it safe from the Danes.”
    Ethelswith’s face was serene once more. She began to pile roast venison on her plate as she said to Alfred, a little caustically, “I must say, Judith has the most exciting life. I envy her.”
    “I hope she is happy,” he said, and his own voice was very quiet. “She deserves to be.”
    His sister shot him a slantwise look. “That is right. I remember now she had you enslaved as well.”
    Alfred forced himself to remember that Ethelswith was married to Burgred. She had cause to be jealous of Judith. “I have always been very fond of Judith,” he answered temperately,
    “Are you speaking of Judith of France?” It was Athulf, from Alfred’s other side.
    “Yes,” said Alfred. He too began to put some food on his plate. Athulf offered him the sauce and he shook his head. Bread, he thought, was probably safest.
    “That girl must be quite a handful,” Athulf said with amusement. “I am glad I’m not her father.” He poured sauce over his own meat. “Imagine it. Your daughter, whom you have locked in your most secure castle because she refuses to marry the man of your choice, proceeds to elope with her jailer! Who also happens to be your most effective war leader!”
    “She was aided and abetted by her brother,” Alfred reminded him. “Baldwin is a fine man. I think she made a good choice.” Alfred remembered how, after Ethelbald’s death, Judith would sit in the garden at Wilton, staring at nothing.
    “He may be a fine man, but he is certainly not fit to marry the Princess of France. I don’t wonder that Charles was furious. Didn’t he have all the Frankish bishops excommunicate him?” Athulf soaked up some of the excess sauce with his bread and put it in his mouth,
    “He did,” Alfred replied. “But then Baldwin appealed to Pope Nicholas. The pope was sympathetic and interceded for Baldwin and Judith with Charles. Once Nicholas