A series where my guests are female writers
talking about their female characters
(and yes, I'll be doing the chaps next!)
Today:
A Conversation between Æthelflæd, Lady
of the Mercians
and her author, Annie Whitehead
Æ: Am I interesting? Why did you tell my
story?
Annie: You were the most renowned of a very
few female leaders. Your country had to wait centuries until another woman
became queen in her own name.
Æ: You watched me from when I was a tiny
child. Couldn’t you have waited until I was a grown-up? I would’ve been more
interesting then.
Annie: Oh I don’t agree. I knew how closely
you worked with your brother when you were older and I needed to have a look at
you as children, to see how your relationship formed. I also wanted to see what
kind of a young woman you would be, and what your hopes were, before your
father set you on your course.
Æ: Oh yes, my father. Alfred. You know him
as ‘the Great’, don’t you? You don’t talk about him much in the book.
Annie: Well, he was away a lot, fighting the
Vikings, and I wanted to show how that affected you all as a family.
Æ: I understand why I was sent to Mercia
from my homeland. But the Mercians didn’t treat me very well.
Annie: No, they didn’t. And I really think
that’s how it would have been. But didn’t you enjoy the opportunity I gave you
to turn them round and get them on your side?
Æ: Enjoy? That’s an odd word. You put me
in quite a lot of danger, and more than once. That wasn’t nice.
Annie: Well, those scenes were dramatic and, I
admit, fun to write. I had to give you challenges, and a chance to develop. You
needed to learn to accept the Mercians, too.
Æ: I grant you that. Even so, you threw in
a lot of surprises for me. And why did you give me such a temper?
Annie: I’d read a story about you throwing
things at the enemy during a siege and I thought that had better be part of
your nature. See, it isn’t all about surprises, is it? Some of it was carefully
planned.
Æ: So you had to fit your story to the
truth? You didn’t make any of it up?
Annie: I had to make some of it up. Not many
people wrote about you at the time, so there were a few gaps to fill in.
Æ: But you knew which husband I’d end up
with, didn’t you?
Annie: Yes, I did. That, at least, is well
documented. But I was able to divert your route along the way.
Æ: Ah, so all the heartache and misery I
suffered - you were responsible for that? And the Welshman? Was he a figment of
your imagination?
Annie: No, he was real. I’ve no idea if he
actually played such a big part in your life, but it was a nice interlude,
wasn’t it?
Æ: At the time, perhaps. Looking back
though… Why did you make me live so long?
Annie: I couldn’t mess about with that. The
exact date of your death was recorded. Besides, you had a lot to achieve, so I
couldn’t cut it short.
Æ: It also meant I lived long enough to
suffer losses.
Annie: I’m sorry for that. But you see, I
truly believe you endured them, and that you were a caring woman. You know, the chroniclers said that after one
campaign you lost men who were ‘dear’ to you. Their words, not mine.
Æ: I’m still not sure why you wrote about
me though. I wasn’t a queen, or anyone really famous.
Annie: Ah, but that’s the point. You took on
all the challenges of being a queen, and your father, and later your brother,
couldn’t have won against the Vikings without your help and, indeed, without
your husband’s help. You did get a mention now and again in the chronicles, but
for whatever reason, and I have my theories about that, you didn’t really get
the fame you deserved.
Æ: So that’s why you called it To Be A
Queen?
Annie: Exactly! You were the daughter of a
king, the sister of a king, and you ruled a country. You knew what it took to
be a queen. And I think you did it rather well.
Excerpt:
Coming to the edge of the encampment she saw the
gates of the town hanging open, one almost off its great hinges. Beyond the
open gateway, the Danes, surrendered and surrounded, had been herded together.
A Mercian banner fluttered from the watchtower. A thegn on the tower pointed
his sword at her and began a victory chant. It was taken up by those below, who
all joined in, shouting their triumph in the name of their lady. But Æthelflæd
was looking at Frith, who walked towards her with his sword still in his hand,
hanging low, dragging. He had blood on his face and his long hair was matted.
He had his mail coat on and she gave thanks for his innate tendency to be
sensible at such times. But he walked like a wounded man, though she could see
that he was whole.
He bowed on one knee before her. “Lady, Derby is
yours.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me. Who do we
mourn?”
His blond brows came together to form a single line
above his eyes. Beneath those blue-grey eyes, dark shadows of exhaustion robbed
him of his beauty. Careworn, fatigued, speaking carefully through a cut lip, he
could give her no more than a list of names. “Helmstan, Ælfric, Eadwine,
Wulfwine.”
The rest of her personal guard.
“Eadric.”
She opened her mouth but stood, gaping. What did
she think to say? No? You are wrong? I misheard you? Of course he was not
wrong; he would not break his own heart with lies. He struggled to his feet and
she squeezed his arm. Nodding towards the inner courtyard she said, “Do what needs
to be done here. I will speak to Elfwen.”
She found her daughter in her tent. She wished that
she could be like Frith, and give Elfwen a moment more of the world when it was
right, before she plunged her into a deep lake where there was no light, only
despair. But she knew that her face told Elfwen all that she needed to know.
“Daughter, the town is ours. But many men died in the taking of it. Among them
was Eadric.”
Elfwen gasped but shook her head, believing as her
mother had not, that the news was false. “No, that cannot be.” But as she
spoke, the words, having hit her ears as lies, must have come into her mind as
truth, and she fell face down onto her bed and wept.
Æthelflæd stood still and let her cry out the
initial pain, knowing that there would be more, for days, weeks, mayhap even
months to come.
When the first waves had left her body and the
sobbing subsided, Elfwen sat up. “How can you stand there like that? Do you not
care?”
Æthelflæd flinched. She thinks I do not care
because I do not weep. Once, many years ago, I would have thought the same
thing. Dear Lord, I have loved and lost so often that I have forgot what the
first time feels like. She took a step forward.
Elfwen put out her hand. “No. Do not come near me.
You are heartless.”
Æthelflæd lifted her chin and let her head fall
back. Her mouth opened and a strange animal cry came forth from her. It rose
from within her core, and shocked her with its force. She looked her daughter
in the eye and said, “Oh God, if I had opened my heart upon every death and cut
out the part that died with them, it would not have the strength left to carry
on beating.” She left Elfwen alone with her tears. The girl would have to learn
the hard way. There was no other.
Buy on Amazon: http://mybook.to/To-Be-A-Queen
Website: https://anniewhiteheadauthor.co.uk/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AnnieWHistory
Full Guest List
What a brilliant interview!!! Well done annoe. he;en and, of course, my Lady Aethelflaed
ReplyDeleteThanks Richard!
DeleteThanks so much Helen for dropping a mic into the room and recording my little chat with Athelflaed!
ReplyDeleteA lovely interview. I'm sure that was she alive today, Aethleflaed would have been pleased with the story you write for her. It was a beautiful book and one of my favourites.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Paula - really glad you enjoyed it!
Delete