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‘We cannot protect him here. We have to send him away.’
‘Well,’ Aidan began, ‘we could send him to Ireland, to my brother. Or to your cousin Audrey in Northumberland.’
‘No. It has to be somewhere no one would expect him to be. Somewhere his identity can be hidden. And even he,’ Edith paused, as the implications of Anwen’s suggestion became clear to her, ‘he cannot know who he is. It is the only way to stop Gwydion laying hands on him.’
‘But Edith,’ Aidan was frowning, ‘that means he cannot know who we are, either. We will never be able to visit him, to talk to him …’ He sat down heavily, covering his face with his hands. ‘He will grow up without us.’
Edith stared at the hanging above the bed. It showed the emblem of her family: a great wolf, silver and grey, its tawny eyes gazing back at her.
I will be like the wolf, and do what I must to protect my cub. Even though I can feel pieces of my heart freezing away.
‘It will be hard, Aidan. Almost impossible. But if Jack is safe, and alive …’
She picked up the baby, put him in Aidan’s arms and put her arms around both of them, trying to chisel this moment into her memory. All the tiny details: the translucent creaminess of Jack’s skin, his tiny fingernails, the way he fit so perfectly in the crook of his father’s elbow.
‘He looks like you, Aidan.’
‘But he has your eyes.’
The fire burned lower.
‘But, if we do this – if – where can we send him?’ Aidan asked.
‘To Hilda. She used to be my nurse, and she cannot yet be forty. She and her husband live down by the coast.’
‘And you trust her?’
‘I would trust her with my life.’ Edith looked down at her son, still sleeping peacefully in Aidan’s arms. ‘Jack will be happy there.’
‘And if we can find Gwydion quickly, we may not need to send him away for long.’
‘No. I will pray to your god, and to mine, that we will be able to bring him home again soon.’
And so Jack was sent away, to a village perched high on the white cliffs and a childless couple who quickly loved him as their own. King Aidan scoured the country for Gwydion, but the wizard had left no traces. Queen Edith had other children and Jack was not spoken of. Still, her people whispered about the sorrow that clung to the young queen like a shadow.
The years passed, harvest followed harvest, and Jack grew into a boy. Finally, his eighteenth birthday came and went, and Gwydion did not appear. The king and queen, believing the danger to have lifted, made preparations to bring their first-born home again …
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‘Jack? Jack! Where are you, lad?’
Jack sighed. He had just got comfortable, lying on the sand in the shade of the cliffs, and now he was going to have to climb back up to the farm at the top. The whole plan had been to work fast so he could have a sleep before the rest of the day’s labour.
‘Jack! If I have to come down there …’
There was no help for it.
‘Coming, father.’ He picked up the sacks of seaweed and carefully made his way up the steep track cut into the side of the cliff.
‘Ah, good.’ Edwin took the sacks from Jack’s back. ‘Rufus can spread this on the field, and we will have a fine harvest in the fall. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, father.’
‘Then you can go and wash. Father Brendan is waiting in the house. I hope you’ve been practising your letters, and learning your history.’
‘But Ned and I were going to go hunting this morning. If I catch a couple of rabbits, mother will be able make that pie you enjoy so much.’
For a moment Jack thought he was going to get away with it; he could see his father wavering.
‘Well …’ But Edwin shook his head. ‘No. Hunting later. Learning first.’
‘But why? None of my friends have to sit with Father Brendan and listen to him go on and on about—’ Jack stopped. His father had that look in his eye, the look that meant: If you don’t do what you are told, I will tell your mother, and then we will see. He sighed. ‘As you wish, father.’
‘You’re a good lad, Jack. I know there’s much you don’t understand as yet, but one day soon it will all become clear. Off with you now.’
Jack hurried away. Recently, his father had often seemed to come out with odd references to the future, to some revelation that would answer all Jack’s questions. Given that Jack’s questions were mostly along the lines of ‘When will I be able to leave the village?’ he suspected sometimes that the ‘revelation’ was just a delaying tactic – like their insistence that he still needed lessons. Jack could not see the point of reading, or learning about politics. What he really wanted was to go to Helmswick, fight for the king and win his own land. He’d listened to the heroic tales as a child: Beowulf defeating the monster and gaining renown and treasure from his lord. That was what he dreamt about. That, and winning the hand of a beautiful maiden.
Jack scowled and kicked at the rushes growing at the edge of the nearby stream. A cormorant squawked angrily and took off into the air. His dreams of glory were pointless; he was bound to end up a carpenter, just like his father. As for all the nonsense about a future revelation, maybe it was just a sign of old age. His parents were a good twenty years older than the parents of all his friends. An unlooked-for gift, his mother called him.
The house came into view. It was a low, comfortable building, with a separate area for the animals, and even two separate sleeping chambers. Jack sometimes wondered how his father had been able to afford to build such a house. Edwin was a good carpenter, but he made simple furniture for the other villagers, not expensive items for the king. Maybe this was another of the mysteries that would one day become clear.
Jack was just about to go into the house when he stopped, brought up short by the sight of a girl planting seeds in the garden of the house opposite.
‘Good day, Winifred.’
A lot of the girls in the village liked Jack. He used to hear them as he walked around the narrow lanes, whispering about how strong and handsome he was, then he would wink at them and they would dissolve into giggles. He had to admit, he’d kissed quite a few of them too – when the elders weren’t watching. But Winifred … Jack was never sure whether she liked him or not. She was the niece of the thane, besides being the prettiest girl in the village. She was so beautiful that Jack’s brain seemed to seize up when he looked at her, all his usual wit and charm evaporating like rain on a summer’s day. Jack had hardly ever tried to speak to Winifred, let alone kiss her.
‘Good day, Jack.’ She smiled at him as she stood up, and Jack could feel the hot blood turning his face red. ‘Been on the beach, have you?’
‘Yes.’ Jack ran a hand through his blond hair and tried desperately to think of something else to say. ‘We needed seaweed for the field, so I thought … the beach …’
Why? Why did I say that? Where else would I get seaweed? She’s going to think I’m an idiot.
But Winifred just laughed, and put her hands on her hips, and looked Jack up and down. ‘You’ve grown very tall, Jack.’
Jack stood up straighter.
‘Maybe a bit too tall.’
Jack slouched again. ‘Well, I am eighteen now. I mean, I probably won’t grow any more.’ He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, before taking a deep breath. ‘Winifred, I was hoping—’
‘Jack! Father Brendan is waiting.’
Jack could not believe it: his mother was leaning out of the window behind him. If Winifred had not been there, Jack would have sworn. As it was, he had to bite his tongue.
‘I have to go.’
‘Don’t worry, Jack. I will still be here later. Probably.’
Jack went into the house and met his mother in the main room.
‘Why did you shout at me in front of Winifred? I was going to ask her …’ he hesitated. ‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.’ He looked down at his hands for a moment; his palms and long fingers were covered with calluses from sawing and shaping wood. ‘Mother, do you think Winifred would ever agree to marry someone like me?’
A fierce light came into Hilda’s eyes. ‘You are good enough for any woman, and I will stick a needle into any man who says otherwise. Winifred would be lucky to have you. You’re the cleverest lad in the village.’
Jack smiled at his mother. He could never be cross with her for long. ‘Well, that’s true. And the most handsome. And the tallest.’
Hilda laughed and patted Jack on the cheek. ‘Of course.’ Her smile faded. ‘As for Winifred, she is a girl who knows her own value. And you do not really know her at all. I think, Jack dear, you are in love with her face.’
‘But it is such a face, Mother.’ Jack sighed. ‘You don’t think the thane will allow her to pledge herself to the son of a carpenter?’
‘I think perhaps there would be difficulties, though maybe not for the reasons you suspect.’ She pulled Jack into a hug. ‘Soon, the path you are meant to take will become clearer.’
Jack groaned. ‘That’s what father keeps saying.’
‘And he is right. Now go, have your lessons before that troublesome priest eats me out of hearth and home.’
There was no time for rabbit hunting even after Jack had finished his lessons: his father had been summoned to repair one of the thane’s barns, so Jack had to chop more wood, ready to be made into planks. He channelled his frustration into each stroke of the axe.
All this nonsense about things becoming clear – chop – they are deliberately trying to hold me back – chop – to stop me from leaving – chop – Leofric is working on the lord’s estate – chop – Ned is betrothed – chop – even Osric, who has a face full of spots, is getting married – chop – and my parents say I need more skills – chop – they just want to stop me ever being a man –
‘Ow!’ The log had flown sideways and dropped on to Jack’s foot. ‘Ow, ow, ow!’ He hopped over to a tree stump and sat down.
‘Are you injured, lad?’
Jack glanced up. A mail-clad man on a horse – a nobleman – was looking down at him. The man was grinning, and Jack narrowed his eyes, but he still stood up: there were more knights, at least ten, waiting further down the lane.
‘I am not hurt, my lord. If you are looking for the thane’s house, it is further through the village, where the land rises.’
‘No, I am seeking one Edwin, a carpenter. Do you know him?’
Jack frowned and picked up his axe. What did these men want?
‘He is not here at present, but I am his son. Perhaps I can find him, if you will tell me your business with him.’
The grin fell from the man’s face. He leapt down from the saddle and knelt in front of Jack. The other horsemen, seeing his action, did the same.
‘My name is Harold Aethelson, and I lay my sword at your service. When all becomes clear, I hope you will forgive me, my lord.’
Jack thought: Am I going mad? ‘When all becomes clear?’ He shook his head. ‘Have you been talking to my parents?’
‘Jack, dear, did you finish—’ His mother walked out of the house, and saw the knights. ‘Oh. Already?’
Jack stared at her. Hilda looked as if she were about to cry, but she didn’t seem surprised.
The knight got up. ‘We are come, Mistress. And we must away again quickly. Tonight we lie at the king’s hunting lodge, but it will take us at least three days to reach Helmswick.’
Jack put his arm around Hilda’s shoulders. ‘Mother, what’s happening. Why are you going to Helmswick?’
‘I’m not going, Jack. You must run to the thane’s house and find your father.’
‘But what shall I tell him?’
‘Tell him—’ Hilda’s voice broke, and she threw her arms around Jack’s neck. ‘Tell him you are leaving us.’
Edwin had refused to answer any of Jack’s questions about what was happening; he too seemed saddened but unsurprised by the arrival of the knights. When Jack and Edwin got back to the house they found the window shutters closed against the curious stares of the neighbours. Inside, Hilda was dashing about, finding clothes and other items and placing them in a small wooden chest. At the same time she was making some of Jack’s favourite apple cakes.
‘Hilda, leave the packing. I do not think Jack will need any of those clothes anyway, not where he is going,’ Edwin said.
‘But where am I going?’ Jack plucked a pair of shoes out of Hilda’s hands. ‘Will you please tell me what is happening?’
Hilda and Edwin looked at each other. Then Hilda burst into tears.
‘Come now, sweetheart, we knew this day would arrive eventually.’ Edwin put an arm round his wife. ‘The truth is, Jack – in my heart, and in your mother’s heart, you are our child. And I swear you always will be. But, by blood – by blood, you are not related to us.’
Jack shook his head. ‘No. That’s impossible.’ He looked at his mother, but she said nothing; just dabbed at her eyes with a cloth.
There was a bracelet tied round Jack’s wrist. His mother had woven the strap and his father had carved three wooden beads through which the strap was threaded: one bead for Hilda, one for Edwin, one for Jack. His family, or so he had thought.
Jack stepped backwards, away from his parents. ‘Then all this is a lie.’
He ran out through the back door of the house, ignoring his father’s voice, and climbed a tree that stood nearby. From here he could see the sea, taste the salt in the air, hear the gulls wheeling and calling above the cliffs. He could slip past the knights waiting in the road, go across country and be on a boat sailing to Frankia by tomorrow morning …
The wind shifted, and instead of the sea he could hear his mother weeping quietly. The sound shamed him. She and his father loved him. Jack knew that was the truth, whatever deceit they had been forced into.
And here am I, behaving like a child who cannot get his own way?
Jack went back into the house. His parents were sitting by the hearth. ‘Who am I, father?’
Edwin glanced at Hilda; she nodded.
‘Well, Jack … you are the son of the king and queen: John Aetheling, their firstborn. You are a prince. You will likely one day be king.’
Jack laughed, but the sound died in his throat as he realised his father was serious. Aetheling was the title given to potential heirs to the throne. Using that title – it wasn’t something his father would do in jest.
‘If I am their son, why did they send me away?’
‘Your life was in danger,’ Hilda replied, ‘and now the danger has passed.’ Hilda took Jack’s hands in hers. ‘Trust the queen, Jack. I was her majesty’s nurse, many long years ago, and I love her almost as well as I love you.’
This comforted Jack a little; his mother would not love anybody unworthy of being loved. And now he thought of what this might mean: a chance to leave the village, to adventure …
A thought occurred, and Jack smiled a little. Winifred’s uncle was bound to let her marry him now.
‘You’ve grown into a man,’ said his father. ‘You must ride out to meet your destiny.’
A hour later, Jack was sitting astride a large grey horse, trying to understand his feelings as he waved goodbye to his parents and to Winifred, and trying to remember what he had learnt in the handful of riding lessons the thane’s steward had given him. He did not feel very much like a man: surely a man should not feel this torn, excited about the future but also grieving for that left behind?
As soon as they’d ridden out of the village, Harold started talking to him about Helmswick, about the king and queen and his brothers, and what life would be like for him now. Jack knew the man meant well – he had a kind face – but the weight of so much instruction bore down on him like the sea. All he really wanted was to be left in peace, with his own thoughts.
