The orphaned atheling, Aelfred, is hunting with his brother when they suddenly become the hunted. In the dangerous and treacherous world of the Vikings who kidnapped them, how will he escape his captors — and fulfill his destiny as England’s greatest king?

Praise for Young Aelfred

Anyone who has enjoyed Tolkien's writing will probably also enjoy Young Aelfred

The Catholic Herald

Imagining the childhood of Alfred the Great, it has an exciting and convincing story line ... a great gift for youngsters in your family

Fr Timothy Finigan

I read it in one sitting as I didn't want to put it down. I thought the use of historical facts and the language was excellent. The pace and plot made it an exciting read.

Annalisa Webb - Head of Primary at St Michael's School

Aelfred saw the quick movement of the northman’s arm but not the knife, handle first, which flashed through the air delivering a glancing blow to the atheling’s head, a blow, sufficient enough to knock him off his feet onto the wet cobbles. In a moment Ragnar was upon him, holding him in a vice like grip, dragging him upright by the scruff of the neck.

I’ll have the sword, the northman announced, reaching for it.

Stunned momentarily, Aelfred made one last desperate bid to escape, wriggling violently under the northman’s grasp. However the man had been caught out before by the determination of the boy and held on firmly. Even so his grasp did not yet extend to the sword.

If I can’t have it then neither will you! Aelfred yelled, flinging the weapon towards the well frame. Momentarily it clattered against its timbers, gouging a deep gash in them before hurtling down into its watery darkness.

Then Ragnar, furious with this final act of defiance, cursed the boy, dragged him over the well opening and contemplated hurling the brat down after the sword.

Aelfred clung to the northman’s arm and stared down into the inky blackness beneath his feet, terrified that he would die now, broken and drowned at the bottom of the well, never to see Aethelred and his brothers again, never to taste the delights of the hall on a cold winter’s evening...