The Heavy Crown
Wareham, England - February 1139
Beorhtmaer took great strides through the camp as the snow crunched under his boots. It was clear that he was unhappy and none dared trouble him as he was focused upon the tent separated from all others. Several paces indeed and two guards stood outside with heavy scarves over their faces. As the Prince approached, they moved to bar his entry.
“At the risk of your lives you would move away from me!” Beorhtmaer shouted at them.
Hearing a commotion outside, the physician ducked his head under the flap and suddenly stood tall before the Prince, “My Lord...I cannot allow you the risk. It is too grave. There is a fever that grows within the camp and we must not allow it to spread, especially to you, my Lord Prince.”
Beorhtmaer grabbed the physician’s collar and shook him, “You do realize that it is mine own son that resides inside of that tent?!”
“A great sadness indeed, my Lord...” the physician stammered, “...yet I fear your son to be highly contagious at the now and take all risk onto myself so that I might treat him as best as possible. But you...you must not take such a risk. I beg of you, my Lord Prince!”
“I am a feared of no man nor devil, sir, so you would stand aside for I will see to my son this day!” Beorhtmaer pushed the man away and the two guards did not try to stop him as he entered the tent.
Inside, he found his eldest son Thurfrith shivering on a cot. He was covered in furs and yet his head was dripping with sweat. A great rash covered his face and his breathing was labored but once he saw his father, Thurfrith did his best to smile.
“Father...always the brave one.”
Beorhtmaer quickly moved to his side and sat to the edge of the cot, “No, my son...you are the brave one. The moment that you noticed the first signs of this camp sickness, you did well to put aside those that seemed to suffer.”
“And now I am one of them,” Thurfrith answered with humor even though he began to cough.
His father was quick to find a cold cloth to press to his son’s head, “Do not tax yourself, son. Stay to rest and all will be well. I would throttle this physician otherwise and he does know it so you receive the very best of treatment.”
Thurfrith finally found his cough subside and he looked to his father with concern, “As do the others? We must not see this spread...not at the now. Wareham is nearly ours.”
“All are being treated...” Beorhtmaer sat once more to the cot, “...and none yet have died from this disease. I think it contained.”
“And what of Wihtræd?” Thurfrith found a slight grin, “He must be a shambles without me to spar with.”
Beorhtmaer allowed a smile, “Your brother misses you very much and wishes you well. I would not allow him to come and see to you but he did desire it greatly.”
“Keep him on the line,” Thurfrith looked up, clearly in some discomfort, “He would do well there and push the hardest of us all, I do believe.”
“And yet he does need you,” Beorhtmaer answered his son, “I think the two of you push each other to greatness. You must know how proud I am to see it.”
Thurfrith gave nod as he moved to pull his arm from under the furs, “I know it true father. If you might wish some more pride...then fetch the letter just there. I think that you will find it most pleasing.”
His father noticed the further rash that had spread to his son’s arm but did as asked and moved to pick up the letter, “What does it say?”
“Read it,” Thurfrith found a grin.
Beorhtmaer opened the letter and began to read the words and suddenly a huge grin splashed across his face, “Is this true?!”
“I must trust my Eliza’s words, father,” Thurfrith smiled wide, “I would hope that she not lie about a thing like this.”
“Truly, Thurfrith?” Beorhtmaer’s face was beaming, “A son?!”
Thurfrith stifled a cough and tried to keep his smile, “I did not wish to tell you until it was certain. Yet I did receive a letter sometime soon after we moved on Ilchester where she told me that she was with child. I wished to say something then, but...”
“Indeed...” Beorhtmaer replied knowing the soldier’s life and was quick to sit by his son once more, “...and hold no blame for that, sir. One does never want to celebrate before the victory. And yet...a son!”
“I would have been pleased with either sex, to be true,” Thurfrith found some comfort in the thought, “Yet...indeed a son, father. I so wish I could be there at the now to see him.”
Beorhtmaer shifted to wet the cloth once more and dabbed at his son’s forehead, “And of course you will in short time. Worry not over that, sir. I too wish to spy the babe. I be certain that he is strong like you were when born.”
“It is a wonder, is it not?” Thurfrith asked as he closed his eyes under the comfort of his father’s care.
“A great day is what it is!” Beorhtmaer was quick to answer as he tucked the furs around his son, “There is no thing better than the birth of your first child...I assure you.”
Thurfrith opened his eyes to see his father looking down upon him with a slight tear running down his rugged face, “And to think...back in time...that I might have wished this not. It was only my good father’s wise words that pushed me to carry through.”
“Come now...” Beorhtmaer smiled, “...you did that all on your own. The King did counsel with you and you agreed to follow through with the match.”
“And we are happy now, are we not?” Thurfrith returned the smile.
Beorhtmaer allowed a laugh, “I should hope so at this glorious news!”
“I meant...” Thurfrith stifled another cough under his loving smile, “...with us...you and I and Wihtræd. So much has happened and you have lost so much...first mother, and then your brother. Now your sister. I hope that this joyous news does bring some feeling back to your aching heart.”
Beorhtmaer was ready to burst into prideful tears at his son but he held them back enough so he might touch to Thurfrith’s face with a gentle hand, “Always the caring one, were you. Your tough exterior is clear to all, but I know you better than any man alive. You would always take care for others if you might. Even as a young boy, you always stood tall for your brother or even the other little ones in training. Your mother would be so proud of you today as I am.”
His son reached out his own hand to touch at his father’s face, “As I am proud of you. Proud to call you my father. Proud to know that I am your son. I am not the man I am without you.”
The Prince dabbed at his own face, “We both grow somewhat teary eyed. Rather tender...”
“Very unlike you, father,” Thurfrith grinned.
“Well...” Beorhtmaer cleared his throat, “...you speak fine words and they do touch at me. And yes...to answer your question, we are all very happy at the now. We will be off soon once you have recovered from this ailment. We must get you to your son!”
Thurfrith found a larger grin, “And I know well what I shall name the boy when the time does come.”
“Already thinking of names, are you?” Beorhtmaer turned to wet the cloth once more.
“Indeed, father...it was agreed to months ago when I told Eliza...” Thurfrith kept a smile to his face, “...we would name him Beorhtmaer. After you.”
Beorhtmaer was unable to turn back at first as he felt a great well flowing from his eyes. The emotion was so much within him that he tried to hide it with a cough of his own. Finally pulling a meaty hand to his face to brush away the wetness, he looked back with great teary eyes and gave nod, “A fine name. It has served me well.”
“It has served us all well, father,” Thurfrith agreed, “May it continue to do so.”
Don't miss that one as it contains some vital information. 
