The information gatherer rode to Tame Weorth in the spring to tell me he had overheard a scheme to blind Athelstan. Without his sight, any claim to kingship he might nurture would have no substance. In my anger at this referral, I nigh on seized the poor messenger, only restraining myself with difficulty.
“Who did you overhear,” I hissed, my teeth so clenched the words issued scarcely intelligible.
“One who goes by the name of Alfred.”
“An insult to the name of our King of beloved memory.”
“Ay, Lord, but one of a noble family,” and he whispered their tribal name so no other should hear.
There is truth in the old saying ‘a man forewarned is a man forearmed,’ or something of that ilk.
‘a man forewarned is a man forearmed,’ When a band from West Seax came to Tame Weorth and used that ap
