They returned, unconcerned, to their food and
drink. Vitolinus was always in one sort of trouble or another; he seemed to have
a gift for rubbing people the wrong way.
“But why?” Vitolinus protested vehemently. “I could take thirty or forty
men this very night and…”
Aesc thrust himself with such force from the table his chair toppled back-
wards with a crash that boomed and echoed through the length and height of
the building. His hand snatched out to catch hold of his nephew’s neckband,
dragging the young man also to his feet. Aesc shook him, bellowing, “I said no!
I have agreed peace with the Pendragon. If I ever decide to break that peace
I will do the cattle-raiding or the settlement-burning.” He shook Vitolinus
again, “I would lead my warriors. I, Aesc of the Kent Jutes, not a mere whelp
who still drinks milk and has a handful of straw-piddling pups as hearth-mates!”
He tossed the lad aside, sending him skidding across the timbers of the floor on
his backside. Several men laughed, Vitolinus was not much liked, tolerated only
because he was Aesc’s kindred, the son of their lord’s dead and buried sister.
Righting his chair, and with a contemptuous snort, Aesc re-seated himself,
stretched forward for a third helping of roasted fowl.
Vitolinus clambered to his feet. His arm was bruised, his pride hurting worse.
His expression was always a scowl, enhanced by the scar that ran from ear to
chin down the side of his long, thin face. Behind Aesc’s back his hand formed
an obscene gesture; he turned and stalked, furious, from the Hall. Many a man
S h a d o w o f t h e k i n g 6 5
breathed a sigh of relief at his going. Where Vitolinus sat there would always
be a storm blowing. Few of the older men would grieve at a permanent ending
to Vitolinus.
Aelfred was younger, and like many of those of his age group, admired
Vitolinus. He slipped from his own place at table and joined his friend, catching
up with him a few yards from the Hall door. The sky was almost dark, a few
stars stealing from behind wispy cloud cover. No moon this night. Vitolinus
acknowledged his companion with a grunt, indicated he was heading for the
kennels. His favourite bitch had whelped; he would need to check the pups
before seeking his bed.
They stood a while, watching the proud mother suckle her litter of eight.
Aelfred pointed out a large, fat pup. “That one’ll be a fine dog when he grows!
See how he shoves the others aside to get at her teats?”
“ Ja , a hound who knows his own mind.” Vitolinus made no effort to hide
the anger that burnt inside him. “As do I.”
Aelfred was silent a moment, leant his weight on his arms, straddling the
closed gate of the hound pen, said, “So you want to lead a raiding party against
the British?”
Vitolinus only grunted as a reply.
Vaguely, Aelfred observed, “Aesc is our lord, he must know what is best.”
“It is in my mind, old men prefer the warmth of a hearth fire to the cold
of battle.”
Aelfred was not shocked by Vitolinus’s rebellious words. Aesc’s nephew was
known for his provocative opinions. And aside, he agreed.
“It is also in my mind,” Vitolinus continued, knowing his companion’s
thoughts well enough, “those same old men need reminding occasionally of
who we are, where we come from. Are we the Pendragon’s slaves? Or are we
warriors, proud men who take what we want, when we want?”
The air moved as the outer door opened, another young man entered, joined
them at the hound pen.
“Thought I would find you here,” Cuthbert grinned. “A fine litter—I would
like one of the bitches when they are weaned.”
“You’ve nothing to barter for such a hound!” Aelfred teased, “Vitolinus has
enough blunt spears and worn, holed cloaks already!”
Playfully, Cuthbert batted at his friend’s shoulder, laughed, “Mayhap not,
but he needs sharpened spears and willing hearts to form the basis of an
drink. Vitolinus was always in one sort of trouble or another; he seemed to have
a gift for rubbing people the wrong way.
“But why?” Vitolinus protested vehemently. “I could take thirty or forty
men this very night and…”
Aesc thrust himself with such force from the table his chair toppled back-
wards with a crash that boomed and echoed through the length and height of
the building. His hand snatched out to catch hold of his nephew’s neckband,
dragging the young man also to his feet. Aesc shook him, bellowing, “I said no!
I have agreed peace with the Pendragon. If I ever decide to break that peace
I will do the cattle-raiding or the settlement-burning.” He shook Vitolinus
again, “I would lead my warriors. I, Aesc of the Kent Jutes, not a mere whelp
who still drinks milk and has a handful of straw-piddling pups as hearth-mates!”
He tossed the lad aside, sending him skidding across the timbers of the floor on
his backside. Several men laughed, Vitolinus was not much liked, tolerated only
because he was Aesc’s kindred, the son of their lord’s dead and buried sister.
Righting his chair, and with a contemptuous snort, Aesc re-seated himself,
stretched forward for a third helping of roasted fowl.
Vitolinus clambered to his feet. His arm was bruised, his pride hurting worse.
His expression was always a scowl, enhanced by the scar that ran from ear to
chin down the side of his long, thin face. Behind Aesc’s back his hand formed
an obscene gesture; he turned and stalked, furious, from the Hall. Many a man
S h a d o w o f t h e k i n g 6 5
breathed a sigh of relief at his going. Where Vitolinus sat there would always
be a storm blowing. Few of the older men would grieve at a permanent ending
to Vitolinus.
Aelfred was younger, and like many of those of his age group, admired
Vitolinus. He slipped from his own place at table and joined his friend, catching
up with him a few yards from the Hall door. The sky was almost dark, a few
stars stealing from behind wispy cloud cover. No moon this night. Vitolinus
acknowledged his companion with a grunt, indicated he was heading for the
kennels. His favourite bitch had whelped; he would need to check the pups
before seeking his bed.
They stood a while, watching the proud mother suckle her litter of eight.
Aelfred pointed out a large, fat pup. “That one’ll be a fine dog when he grows!
See how he shoves the others aside to get at her teats?”
“ Ja , a hound who knows his own mind.” Vitolinus made no effort to hide
the anger that burnt inside him. “As do I.”
Aelfred was silent a moment, leant his weight on his arms, straddling the
closed gate of the hound pen, said, “So you want to lead a raiding party against
the British?”
Vitolinus only grunted as a reply.
Vaguely, Aelfred observed, “Aesc is our lord, he must know what is best.”
“It is in my mind, old men prefer the warmth of a hearth fire to the cold
of battle.”
Aelfred was not shocked by Vitolinus’s rebellious words. Aesc’s nephew was
known for his provocative opinions. And aside, he agreed.
“It is also in my mind,” Vitolinus continued, knowing his companion’s
thoughts well enough, “those same old men need reminding occasionally of
who we are, where we come from. Are we the Pendragon’s slaves? Or are we
warriors, proud men who take what we want, when we want?”
The air moved as the outer door opened, another young man entered, joined
them at the hound pen.
“Thought I would find you here,” Cuthbert grinned. “A fine litter—I would
like one of the bitches when they are weaned.”
“You’ve nothing to barter for such a hound!” Aelfred teased, “Vitolinus has
enough blunt spears and worn, holed cloaks already!”
Playfully, Cuthbert batted at his friend’s shoulder, laughed, “Mayhap not,
but he needs sharpened spears and willing hearts to form the basis of an
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