The Incident at the Coronation

It was Byrhthelm, the young bishop of London, who brought the news of what had happened next.

"A meeting of the Mercian Witan?" Edwig could hardly believe what he was hearing. "There is no Mercian Witan! They have not met since...."

Since they had chosen Æthelstan as King ahead of his half-brother Ælfward; Ælfward who had been dead within the fortnight.

"They have elected Edgar," Byrhthelm confirmed. "He has promised not just to respect the customs of the Danes but to restore to Mercia all those freedoms it had before King Edward's time."

Ælfgifu clutched her husband's hand as he sunk back in his chair, the colour draining from his cheek.

"He has also made a vow to reform the monasteries," the bishop added ruefully. "He'd have folk believe he is on some sort of holy mission. It's that blasted holier-than-thou abbot, Æthelwold. Really, what do laymen care if a priest keeps a woman or cannot read and write, so long as the fellow sobers up sufficiently to say the prayers he has been paid for?"

"What of my ealdormen?" asked Edwig. He had no hopes of the ageing Æthelmund, but the others were men of his own making, surely they owed him loyalty?

"The ox Byrhtnoth has been the prime mover in all this, together with Æthelstan's pack of wolfcubs," Byrhthelm explained. "Though if you ask me it is the old man pulling the strings, along with that bat Edgifu. Æthelstan the Red was on board from the outset as well. Never trust a man who tries too hard to be liked."

"He is married to my stepmother," the dazed Edwig threw in needlessly.

"Edgar's stepmother too don't forget. She can't make fuss enough over the boy, even if he does barely come up to her tits."

Damn the bitch, thought Æthelgifu. I keep her at arms length from Edwig so she holds her nose and parts those long legs for the brat Edgar.

"And Ælfhere?" she asked, exchanging alarmed glances with Ælfheah.

"If he did not have a hand in it from the start he saw which way the wind was blowing," the bishop replied. "Edgar makes a great deal of him, always asking his opinion before that of his other ealdormen, and in all his proclamations ensuring Ælfhere's name is linked with his. He's binding him to his cause; Ælfhere'll not desert him now."

As the bishop rattled on, Edwig crumpled into Ælfgifu's arms, sobbing tears of frustration and self-pity as he buried his golden head in her bosom. Feeling sick to her stomach Æthelgifu wondered what was to become of them all.

Edgar did not press home his advantage, being content to be proclaimed King of the Mercians and Northumbrians, Oswulf and the York Danes having fallen into line. Edwig continued to style himself King of the English, but though he retained control of the coinage, his writ no longer ran north of the Thames. Nor could he stop Edgar recalling his old enemy Dunstan and installing him in the see of London, replacing poor Byrhthelm who for his loyalty had been obliged to remove to Wells, where the canons, sympathetic to Glastonbury and to Dunstan, flatly rejected his authority.

And in return for continuing to support Edwig the West Saxon Witan exacted a price: Edwig was put aside his wife: Archbishop Odo decreed that the marriage was be dissolved on grounds of consanguinity.

Alone in her chamber with Ælfheah, Æthelgifu railed at the injustice. "They are barely cousins at all! Ælfgifu's grandfather's grandfather was the brother of Edwig's grandfather's father. How can it be wrong for them to marry?"

"The church forbids marriage within seven degrees," Ælfheah explained once more.

"Then they are blind fools," shouted Æthelgifu. "There is not a King that has ever walked the earth who has not been related to his spouse within seven degrees, nor a thegn in all England! Do they think the peasants compare their family trees before they rut?"

"Damn it," replied Ælfheah, exasperated, "stupid or not it it is forbidden, and the Archbishop has decided that, just this once, it is going to be enforced. We can't defy the church, not on a point of canon law, and he knows it; besides, Odo has the backing of the Witan - and Edwig can't govern without them, not with Edgar a king in waiting beyond the Thames."

"And you're just going to stand by while Edwig is forced to put aside my Ælfgifu?" Æthelgifu snarled.

"What choice do I have, woman?" The dishthegn kicked the side of the bed in the frustation.

"If Edwig is forbidden his distant cousin, then fucking your own aunt must be as mortal a sin as you can get. Will your religious scruples put an end to that as well?"

"It's not religion, it's politics, that's all," replied Ælfheah non-committally.

Æthelgifu stared at her nephew in disbelief. "Oh, why don't you just piss off to Mercia and join your worthless brother in licking Edgar's balls?"

"Æthelgifu!" Ælfheah warned.

"To hell with you, you – you traitor!" she screamed, slapping him across the face.

The dishthegn grabbed her roughly by the arms, and seating himself upon the iron-bound chest where Æthelgifu kept her finery, he pulled her across his knee. Ignoring her oaths, he hoisted an arm behind her back to quell her struggling, and brought his broad palm down on the plump matronly buttocks again and again. Wincing with each resounding smack, Æthelgifu swore and threatened and kicked, but the burly dishthegn did not break his rhythm for so much as a second. With each full-bodied swat the stinging heat in her rear became harder to bear, the prospect of the next merciless blow more unbearable. As the pain became intolerable, she ceased to protest, and too proud to beg, simply lay there whimpering; and still Ælfheah did not relent. Æthelgifu found herself in another world where nothing existed for her except the fire raging in her arse, and an answering heat that arose unbidden in her loins, suffusing her body and moistening her female parts, as once long ago she had responded to the beatings of the nuns inflicted when she had foolishly resisted their unholy demands.

Ælfheah hauled her to her feet and pinned her against the wall. Hurt, angry, and confused at the treachery of her own body as it responded to this harsh punishment with a fierce arousal, she sniffed back the sobs, holding her head up defiantly, as the tears ran in channels down the artfully powdered cheeks. "It is not your daughter," Ælfheah spat, "it is you. You are the one they want rid off. You are the cause of all this. You did this to us."

Stripped of her defences, all her pride and indignation, the cunning and the wiles ruthlessly beaten out of her, Æthelgifu recognised the truth of the charge; her ambition and spite had brought this upon them. Her body slumped, all defiance gone; as the dishthegn released her she flung herself sobbing around his shoulders, melting into his arms as he clasped her to him.

This would be their last night together for they knew not how long, and Ælfheah did not intend that it should be spent in recriminations. Pushing her away from him he told he to undress, and she did so meekly, almost modestly, as if this was a first time rather than perhaps a last. When she was bare he turned her around to face away from him, and roughly caressed her bottom, a ripening plum as the bruises began to emerge. She suffered the rough treatment without complaint parting her legs a little to allow him access to her private places. Two fingers pushed into her slot, as the other hand, strong and calloused from wielding steel, grabbed a breast. Pulling down his trousers, Ælfheah instructed her to stand with her feet splayed widely apart, and then bent her over, so that she had her palms braced against the wall.

In pleasant expectation Æthelgifu waited for the familiar cock to slide into her cunt, only for her eyes to widen in trepidation as she felt the tip pushing against the tightly puckered bud of her arse-hole. This she had allowed to no-one, not her husband, not Ælfheah. For a moment as the knob sought to prise apart the impossibly small hole, she thought Ælfheah might not succeed in entering. Then she gasped as the thick stubby cock was forced into her; unable to stop herself she instinctively pushed back, grimacing as she attempted to squeeze the cock out as if it were a turd; but Ælfheah was relentless, filling her to his full length, the broad girth of his cock stretching her painfully. Before commencing thrusting Ælfheah allowed her a moment to collect herself, and as she became accustomed to the sensation she found herself able to relax a little, appreciating the sense of being so completely filled. To her surprise she found herself discovering a sense of redemption and self-respect in her submission, taking pride in the abjectness of her surrender. She could do this.

Stoically the widow endured the pain her lover inflicted upon her, forcing herself to not let the protesting muscles of her back passage resist as he reamed her with his thick cock, his belly and thighs slapping excruciatingly against the tenderised flesh of her arse. As her excitement at enduring the abuse blossomed, she found herself beginning to enjoy the unfamiliar sensations in her anus, learning to accommodate the invading penis, drawing it into her rather than fighting against the intrusion. When she felt him shudder to a climax, spurting his semen in her rectum, she found the undeniable relief tempered with disappointment.

Her daughter would be saying her farewells now to Edwig; she had no doubt that the young lovers leave-taking would be more tender than hers from Ælfheah, but she doubted that the bond between man and woman could be affirmed more strongly than had this night that between dishthegn and the ealdorman's widow. Whatever the future held for her and for her daughter, and she understood they could no longer remain at court, she accepted gladly that she would always be Ælfheah's to use however he would whenever he should choose to come to her.

Winchester, October 959

The harassed bowerthegn told them to go straight up. Clasping one another's hands for support, Æthelgifu and Ælfgifu ascended the stair. They had already learned that Edgar had overturned his brother's nomination to succeed the late Archbishop Odo at Canterbury. Edwig's first choice had frozen in the Alps on his way to Rome to collect his pallium, so he had fallen back on the hapless Byrhthelm. Instead Dunstan was to be the new Archbishop. It did not bode well for their reception.

The King was standing over a table strewn with rolls of parchments. Abbot Æthelwold was with him and Æthelgifu breathed a little more easily at the reassuring smile he gave them as they entered the chamber. To her relief Archbishop Dunstan was not to be seen. With delight, followed instantly by a chill of fear, she recognised the third man in the room as Ælfheah.

Edgar looked up. "Archbishop Dunstan would have your ears and noses cut off as harlots," he announced without preamble. Æthelgifu felt her knees buckle; beside her Ælfgifu swayed as if about to faint. "But Æthelwold tells me I must be magnanimous," he added smiling crookedly.

"A new king is expected to be open-handed, not that that spendthrift of a brother of mine has left me much to be open-handed with. And what I do have Æthelwold assures me by rights belongs to his blessed monasteries." Grinning Edgar flung a charter at his former tutor. "But my goodwill is given freely to any man – or woman – who lives by my laws. I am peaceable man, so long as folk do exactly as I tell them."

He looked squarely at the two women. "I did not wish Edwig's death, but I am King now and all would do well remember it." He was not much taller than when last Æthelgifu had seen him, but there was a manly vigour to him as he paced about the chamber.

"I have spoken to your sons," he continued. "They shall serve me as they did my brother."

"Thank you, my lord," simpered Æthelgifu.

Edgar snorted. "They are bright fellows; you raised them well. I need men of education about me. That Æthelward has better Latin than most of your monks Æthelwold."

"A little florid perhaps," the abbot demurred.

Coming closer Edgar lifted Ælfgifu's chin, intently examining her face. "And this then is my brother's woman," he reflected, running his palm down the swan-like neck onto her breast. Ælfgifu blushed furiously as he squeezed a teat."Edwig was a fool," he said at last. "Not to bed you, any man would; for a taste of that pretty mouth even Æthelwold might forget his vows."

"I think not my lord," Æthelwold objected, smiling indulgently.

"But even such sport as lies between thighs such as yours is not worth the loss of a kingdom." He slapped her firmly upon the arse. "Have no fear though, you shall be well looked after."

Æthelgifu saw that Ælfgifu was treating the King to her most demurely winning smile. So much for Edwig. It was only a wonder that her daughter did not rub herself up against the little sod like the bitch on heat she was. Oh well, Æthelgifu reflected ruefully, if she could no longer claim a queen in the family a royal mistress would have to do.

"I almost forgot," added the King, "Ælfheah, the brother of my beloved ealdorman of Mercia, is to be rewarded for his service to the late King."

Ælfheah smiled at her. "I am to be made ealdorman of Hampshire and the neighbouring shires."

"It is your husband's old ealdormanry is it not?" asked Edgar. "Doubtless you still hold estates there. Now that Ælfheah is to be spending less time at court perhaps he shall be good enough to call on you occasionally. Should you like that?"

"Oh yes my lord," replied Æthelgifu, smiling back at the man she loved; a proud lady whose ambition had brought down a king, craving only that this man whose will had mastered hers should satisfy his lusts upon her body, allowing her to prove herself his bondswoman to be used however he willed. She hoped he would not be gentle.

THE END

HISTORICAL NOTE:

The incident at the coronation is well attested in the sources, though the lurid details are left to the imagination; fortunately I have a filthy imagination. The political background I have reconstructed as best I am able. The cause of Edwig's death is not recorded, and I have not speculated other than to hint at foul play. The West Saxon royal house were short-lived, but there are also numerous examples of deaths in suspicious circumstances during, or in the the aftermath of, succession crises. Æthelgifu's relationship with Ælfheah the dishthegn is of my own imaging, though he does leave a bequest in his will to Æthelgifu's son Æthelward. Similarly there is no suggestion that Ælfgifu became Edgar's mistress, but he was generous in endowing her with estates, and was a noted porkswordsman. Ælfgifu in her will left some small personal items to immediate family, but the bulk of her estate went to the King, and to religious foundations associated with Æthelwold, by then Bishop of Winchester. The reign of Edgar the Peaceful was remembered as a golden age of peace and prosperity in which there was a revival in the religious life; though in the succession crisis that followed Edgar's death in 975, ealdorman Ælfhere, the "Prince of Mercia", was to earn a reputation as a despoiler of monasteries. Ælfhere was also implicated in the murder in 978 of Edgar's elder son, Edward the Martyr, whose succession had been sponsored by Archbishop Dunstan and the powerful sons of Æthelstan Half-King. Ælfhere's candidate for the throne, Edgar's younger son, Æthelred the Unready, was also supported by Bishop Æthelwold; the young king was to bemoan the bishop's death in 984 as the loss of a guiding hand. It was in Æthelred's reign that a fresh Viking onslaught began, one of the first victims being the white-haired ealdorman Byrhtnoth of Essex, whose doomed last stand at the Battle of Maldon in 991 is commemorated in a surviving fragment of epic poetry, the inspiration for a verse drama by Professor Tolkien. Æthelgifu's elder son, Æthelward, rose to become an ealdorman and was the author of an unreadable Latin translation of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Genealogists have speculated that Æthelward, a great great grandson of Ælfred the Great's elder brother, the sainted King Æthelred, was himself the great great grandfather of Harold the Last, who fell at Hastings. Æthelgifu would have been pleased if one of her descendants had after all sat upon the throne, if only for a little while.

*

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

*those marked with an asterisk are deceased at the time the story begins

Ælfgifu, elder daughter of Æthelgifu

Ælfheah, a royal dishthegn

Ælfhere, brother of Ælfheah, afterwards ealdorman of Outer Mercia

Ælfred the Great*, King 871-899

Ælfward*, King for sixteen days in 924, son of Edward the Elder by his second wife

Ælfward, younger son of Æthelgifu

Ælfwaru, younger daughter of Æthelgifu

Æthelflaed, second wife of King Edmund, stepmother of Edwig and Edgar

Æthelgifu, widow of ealdorman Edric

Æthelmund, ealdorman of North Mercia

Æthelred*, saint, King 865-871, elder brother of Ælfred the Great

Æthelstan the Glorious*, King 924-939, son of Edward the Elder by his first wife

Æthelstan Half-King, ealdorman of East Anglia

Æthelstan the Red, second husband of Queen Æthelflaed, afterwards ealdorman of South Mercia

Æthelward, elder son of Æthelgifu

Æthelwold, abbot of Abingdon

Byrhthelm, bishop of London

Byrhtnoth, brother-in-law of Queen Æthelflaed, afterwards ealdorman of Essex

Cynesige, bishop of Lichfield

Dunstan, abbot of Glastonbury

Ecgbert, King 802-839, grandfather of Æthelred and Ælfred

Edgar the aetheling, younger son of Edmund the Magnificent, afterwards king

Edgifu, third wife of Edward the Elder, mother of Edmund and Edred and grandmother of Edwig and Edgar

Edmund the Magnificent*, King 939-946, elder son of Edward the Elder and Queen Edgifu

Edred Weak-in-the-Feet*, King 946-956, younger son of Edward the Elder and Queen Edgifu

Edric*, late ealdorman of Hampshire, younger brother of Æthelstan Half-King

Edward the Elder*, King 899-924, son of Ælfred the Great

Edwig the All-fair, King of England, elder son of Edmund the Magnificent

Eric Bloodaxe*, late Viking King of York

Odo the Severe, archbishop of Canterbury

Oswulf, ealdorman of Northumbria

Wulfstan, bishop of Dorchester, formerly archbishop of York