Through the keyhole

The deleted Prologue from The Shadow of the Thegn

Hello everyone,

I wanted to share a deleted prologue from my upcoming novel The Shadow of the Thegn.

This chapter didn’t make it into the final draft, but I’ve never forgotten it. It’s a quiet and reflective piece that sets the emotional tone for everything that follows. To me, it captures the heart of the novel: duty, sacrifice, and the weight of legacy.

Think of this as a look behind the curtain, not just into Eadric’s beginnings, but into mine as a writer discovering this world for the first time. I hope you enjoy it.

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Ecgtheow paced the grand hall, his boots striking the floor, It was the silence that worried him most. Was Eadburh alive? What about the child? His heart thundered against his chest, each beat stronger than the last. He clasped his hands together and began to pray once again, begging God to have mercy on his family.

The door to the hall creaked open and he spun around. He rushed towards it, in what was usually a calm and collected demeanour was now laden with panic and unease.

“Is she safe? What of the child?” Ecgtheow’s eyes searched for a sign in the woman’s face that all was well.

The thrall bowed in front of him, her grey gown swaying at her feet. “She is fine, Hlaford, he is fine. You can see them now.” She smiled.

He looked up silently thankful to God. “He? It's a boy?” tears welled in his eyes.

He followed the woman through a courtyard with a large oak tree in the centre, its long sweeping branches swaying in the breeze. He stepped to the threshold of a small thatched hovel, and felt the warmth from the hearth on the wooden door as he pushed it open.

A thin trace of dawn shone through tiny gaps in the thatched ceiling of a small chamber. Its golden beams pierced the dim room like a blessing from the heavens, casting a soft light on the rough wooden walls. The air was thick with herbs. Camomile, nettles and hyssop - mingling with a heavy, musty scent of straw from the bed where Eadburh lay. A bloody bucket of rags in the corner gave off a metallic tang. Eadburhs face was pale and drawn as she shifted slightly, letting out a soft whimper. She breathed a heavy sigh scarcely audible against the crackle of the hearth. Another thrall dabbed her sweat-laden forehead with a wet cloth. With another woman kneeling beside her, she held a small wooden cup of ale to her lips. Eadburh took a sip, her gaze slipping back to her newborn baby.

The Ealdorman of Sumorsaete, Ecgtheow, stood by the door, his eyes darting nervously between mother and child. His chest tightened as his palms went clammy.

“Eadburh,” he said, pausing in the doorway.

His fingers gripped the timber beams. “How does my son fare?”

She looked up at him with weary eyes, a small smile revealing her fatigue. “Like you, my darling, he is strong. This is Eadric.”

Ecgtheow's heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of pride. Yet tempered by anguish, a gnawing fear that fate would not be kind.

With the burden of fatherhood resting on him like a heavy shield, he walked up to the bed, taking the infant in his arms.

A glimmer of resolve lit within, as he marvelled at the small face coddled in a white cloth that hid the tiny boy.

“May he grow to be as brave and noble as his namesake,” he said, his voice low.

Father Brithwald stepped through a creaking door. “Your horse is ready, Hlaford -lord. I shall send prayers for our people’s fate,.” Brithwald said.

Ecgtheow paused, caught between love and duty. He turned to Eadburh, who nodded, her resolve defiant despite her fatigue. He had received word of an urgent Witenagemot or Wise Council to discuss the situation in West Seax. Cynewulf, his favoured choice for the throne, had denounced Sigebert, the current ruler, seen as an inept leader who seemed to be in the palm of Offa of Mercia.

The birth of his son consumed Ecgtheow’s thoughts even as duty drew him to the council. Two of his children had already taken their place beside God, and the threat of losing another one hung over him like a shadow.

“Go, Hlaford; your people need you.” Eadburh's voice was soft yet firm, as she met his gaze, “When you return, our son will be here.”

He replaced Eadric in Eadburh’s arms, giving her a lingering kiss on the forehead. Stroking her hair, he hesitated for a moment. He knew his wife needed him, from the sorrow in her eyes. He clasped her hand tightly before he peered into his son’s deep blue eyes and then turned and left.

As he headed outside he turned for one last look at the boy cradled in his mother's arms. His heart fluttered and the name Eadric persisted in his heart. The boy was named after his grandfather, who had fought alongside the great Cyning Ina of West Seax.

Then the weight of the Witan’s urgency tugged him back to the outside world where the fate of the West Seax existence lay in wait.

“Who do you think should take the crown?” He shuffled cautiously to Ecgtheow’s side.

Ecgtheow’s expression was unreadable. “It is for the Witan to decide.”

Brithwald reddened slightly. “I’m concerned for our people. Prayer can only do so much.”

Ecgtheow rested a hand on Brithwald’s shoulder. “We must have faith,”

Deep down, he hoped it would be Cynewulf. A powerful leader was required. One capable of fortifying the borders and facing the threats rising on all sides. The notion of Sigebert maintaining his power quickened Ecgtheow’s pulse. He knew the consequences of failure in war. He also understood that the games played in the halls of power were as perilous as any battlefield.

All he desired was a brighter future for his people - for his family. But for now, he remained torn between honour and kin.

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While I still love the original prologue for its emotional weight, I felt the opening of The Shadow of the Thegn needed something with more urgency and something that thrusts readers into the heart of the conflict from the very first page.

I hope you enjoyed reading this early version, and I’d truly love to hear your thoughts. If you’re not yet subscribed, please consider joining. Your support means the world as I continue sharing this story.