Winchester, Wessex, 878 AD
Winchester, Wessex, 878 ADKing Alfred took Ealdorman Faruin aside for a quiet word. The king’s expression was stern.
“Ealdorman, of late, I have noticed disaccord in your dealings with John,” the pale blue eyes became two slivers of ice, “and I will not have it! I invited him from Old Saxony to improve recalcitrants like you.”
“But, Lord, I am not recal—”
“Do not presume to contradict me! Heed me well, Faruin. Do you remember when I was a boy, how you taught me to shoot a bow in Rochester?”
“How could I ever forget, Sire? That was when we became,” he hesitated and scanned the king’s face anxiously, “friends.” The word came out almost inaudibly.
The monarch’s countenance relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips, but he stuck tenaciously to his reproval.
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