The Story of Alwina

by Austin Tappan Wright

In a 1977 speech to the Tolkien Society, Tolkien’s second son, Michael, recounted that as children he and his brothers and his sister had each had an imaginary island (for which they each had hand-drawn their own maps), which they devised on the advice of their father. Michael’s island was filled with railways and airplanes, much to his father’s disappointment.

The impulse to have one’s own island was shared by Austin Tappan Wright, an American law professor who invented the imaginary country of Islandia (on the southern tip of the equally imaginary Karain subcontinent in the southern hemisphere), with its own history, maps, language, and literature. At his death in 1931 Wright left several unpublished manuscripts, amounting to thousands of pages, relating to his invented country. In scope and in detail his history of Islandia rivals Tolkien’s own creation of Middle-earth. One of Wright’s manuscripts, a long novel simply titled Islandia, was edited and published in 1942. Many ancillary writings about Islandia, comparable to the appendices in The Lord of the Rings, still exist, and the following tale, “The Story of Alwina,” first saw print in the anthology Elsewhere, edited by Terri Windling and Mark Alan Arnold, published in 1981.

Tolkien appears never to have read Wright’s novel, for in a 1957 letter he answered a correspondent’s question by saying that he had never before heard of Islandia.

Excerpted from Islandia: History and Description
by Jean Perrier, first French Consul to Islandia

Translated by John Lang, first American Consul.

Alwina, on her father’s death, was a girl of twenty in a singularly hard situation. No woman had ever before ascended the throne of Islandia. Not for merely personal reasons did she aspire to that honor—the next in order of succession beside herself was her cousin, grandson of Alwin The Lazy, a man of thirty, and a vicious character, but with certain pleasing characteristics. There were greater problems yet: there was the unfortunate breach with the province of Winder to be closed, a question of particular moment because of the growing danger to the nation through the recent development by the Karain of a seagoing force. There was the mystery of the Demiji invasions to be cleared up, and the ever present threat of the undestroyed armies of Kilikash.

Even before the death of her father, trouble began over her succession. It was opposed by Dorn XI and by most of the council on the grounds of her youth and sex, though she had staunch supporters in Mora X and Cabing, a man of great power. Over the opposition of those last two and several others, the council, acting for the National Assembly, had passed a resolution that no woman should succeed. When Alwin died, however, the council was not in session. Alwina’s position was bettered thereby, but was still a perilous one. Her first act was a rather doubtful one. At her insistence, Cabing appointed a number of lieutenants sufficient to turn the scale in the council. Cabing’s authority theoretically ended with the death of the king who appointed him, but he asserted his right to hold office till a successor was appointed. Alwina by “definite act” reappointed him. The council hastily met, and was at once in an uproar. After a stormy session a vote was passed declaring Alwina’s right to succeed. The adherents of Lord Dorn protested against the presence of Cabing and his lieutenants, but without avail. The army certainly backed their leader and queen, and the threat of force therein doubtless limited the Dorn party, for the time being at any rate, to threats. Alwina was declared queen with pomp and circumstance.

Her next step, though perilous, showed her wisdom. Stating that the action of the council, in not being unanimous, filled her with dismay, she called the National Assembly—taking the decision directly to the people of Islandia.

The Assembly met at Reeves in the early summer. There were known to be many who were opposed to Alwina, but twelve thousand came—many to see her, doubtless, because of her famous beauty. Let us remember that they were men unaccustomed to a woman’s rule, stern and independent, and that she was but a girl of twenty, whom many graybeards knew as a child under the strict rule of a parent. She must have seemed not unlike their own daughters. But Alwina was mistress of the occasion; she appeared before them not only with the fire of her loveliness and the aegis cast upon her by her beloved father, but with things to say for herself. It is reported that she called attention to Cabing’s deeds and his needed reappointment; and adroitly to Dorn’s opposition. She then spoke of her father’s dying directions to protect the country from the Demiji, to prepare to meet the coming fleets of Karain, and to accomplish reconciliation with Winder. She said she would do this last first and thereby secure a fleet to meet that of Karain. If it was their will that she be queen, she would go at once to Winder. Her directness and activity after her father’s well-known procrastination carried the day. With scarcely a dissenting voice she was again declared queen. Though the Dorn party still voiced protests, her position was now unassailable, and soon in the light of what she did dissentient voices died out.

News of the building of ships in Mobono came to Islandia before the sack of Miltain. They appeared off the coast in 1308, but the Karain were still timid at sea and merely landed and took a few prisoners and then departed. Again in 1312, 1316, and 1319, vessels appeared, more bold. And meanwhile, rumors of the construction of a great fleet to capture The City continued to come over the border. It is no wonder that far-seeing eyes in Islandia viewed these developments with fear, and saw in the defection of the people of Winder the possibilities of disaster.

Doubtless with these thoughts in mind more than anything else, Alwina, true to her promise, set out for Winder as soon as her reign received the sanction of the Assembly. A girl of twenty, but full of energy and determination, and with a clear head, she made Cabing and Mora of her train and rode through the fertile spring plains of Bostia, through Loria and Inerria, and from the travellers’ hostel at the upper waters of the Cannan River sent word to Tor, at Winder, that she was about to enter his land.

No reply was received. The queen’s entourage advised her to turn back and gather men to punish the insult, but she sent a characteristic message: “Alwina is angry at your discourtesy, but the queen of Islandia grieves for the safety of your people and her own.” She followed it with herself, and Tor, with decided bad grace, prepared to receive her. She crossed the high pass between Blyth and Tor’s city, and rode down, timing her arrival at noon. It is a scene frequently painted: Tor, sullen and angry, receiving with a few followers the amazingly beautiful queen. She dismounted from her horse, advanced on foot, and without a word embraced and kissed him, saying: “In these times the people of Islandia must love their brothers.” The kiss was thus made an international political event—but still it was a kiss, and Tor a young man, the queen a beautiful woman. Alwina stayed but a very few days at Winder. The welcome to her, grudgingly begun, ended in enthusiasm. She made a great impression on the people of Winder by the fire of her personality, her earnestness and her beauty. When she left, she arranged for the support of the Winder fleet in any eventuality and for the dispatch of vessels later in the season to the East coast, pledging in return a renewal of ship money. Returning to Islandia, she convinced the council of the necessity of this step. As the chronicler says: “She had the appearance of a child, but words of wisdom came from her mouth.” This active young woman then hastened to Miltain and Carran travelling without stop, and roused the people there to the danger threatening them and informed them of the promised coming of ships. The hostility to Winder was strongest in the east, but she smoothed the ruffled emotions of the lords and people there so that a cordial reception to, and harmonious action with, the coming squadron was assured. This task done, and leaving Cabing and Mora behind, she sped south by Dean, Manry, and Searles to Storn, there to meet Tor and his fleet. It was then the month of Austus, and the south west winds were blowing strong. The queen waited a full month, with a small retinue chafing at the delay. News was coming from the south that Karain corsairs were off the coast. Eventually Tor appeared with only half the ships he promised. Alwina and he quarrelled, and finally, in a fury, he made her a prisoner. No doubt he was already enamoured of her, and her position was by no means a safe one. But she was indomitable—she eventually persuaded Tor to release her and proceed on his way. There were larger factors to be considered than her own pride.

In the middle of the month of Septen, Tor set out, with the example of his ancestor to lead him on. There was almost a mutiny, which doubtless roused his nature. While Alwina by rough roads crossed the Ardan hills, Tor rounded Stornsea, and reached Ardan not long after the queen. The quarrel was patched up, and she herself accompanied the fleet on its week’s voyage south against head winds to the port of Tire. This journey is the great episode of the Islandian poem on Tor and Alwina. One is tempted to follow the poet and consider them as in the long hours together they reconciled their differences under the force of a growing love. On the other hand, common sense and historical evidence seem to indicate that the queen’s whole relation with this man, whom in the end she so completely dominated, was the result of a cold, keen mind, considering only politics.

Karain ships were supposed to be in the Beldon River, and the queen landed; Tor went north again, but success eluded him. By reason of their oars the Karain escaped down the coast. Tor kept on faithfully and eventually surprised four Karain ships plundering farms just north of the forest of Balian. It was first blood for the Islandians. Tor, after his easy victory, sailed on to Carran, and then to Madly Bay, where he refitted with the materials and supplies forwarded by Cabing. No more Karain appeared that season, and no incursion being feared in the season of Windorn, Tor returned home. The indefatigable queen travelled into the far west to investigate conditions there and reconcile herself with the family of her cousins, the Dorns, who had opposed her accession.

Her spies on the border told her that in the next year, some definite move might be expected from Kilikash. During the season called “Leaves,” Kilikash endeavored to open negotiations for the cession to him of Carran and northern Miltain, but Alwina returned his ambassadors without hearing them.

   

The campaigns of the second year of this war were much the same. Kilikash had the advantage of a base south of the mountains, but he was unable to break the lines along the Balian.

The attitude of Tor had been most unsatisfactory—he sent fewer ships than promised, and did not come himself to lead them. In Windorn, Alwina made him another visit, and stayed several months. Queens are not above criticism; many accused Alwina of being his mistress. But the opposite seems nearer the truth—Alwina knew she must marry as a duty she owed her country, but marriage with Tor was not politically desirable unless it achieved a desirable result. Her position as wife of a man hostile to her people would be impossible; until Tor threw his whole strength in her support, it would be folly to unite with him. The worst that she can be accused of is of dangling herself as bait.

The German historian Schlauter has chosen to misread a letter of hers to Mora X, a man of fifty-six then, her most trusted adviser, and one to whom she showed almost a daughterly love: “This man (Tor) breaks my heart,” she wrote from Winder in Febor 1323. “He will and he won’t. He loves me and hates the queen. He talks of marriage and I say no. . . . But we are building ships.” The last sentence tells a great deal.

Though news of their betrothal was expected, none came, and Alwina left Winder in early Avrilis for Miltain, and arrived there to learn that Kilikash had broken through, and that his fleet, larger than ever before, was moving up the coast in a compact body. To make matters worse, the Demiji appeared in force in northern Islandia, and on the Matwin opposite Brome. The campaign was well coordinated, all forces being directed towards the unfortunate city of Miltain.

The Karain army kept together until the Beldon was crossed, and then with the fertile plain of Miltain before them spread out far and wide. The fleet passed through the Stanes unopposed and took possession of Endly. The Winder fleet sailed south into Toobey Harbor after picking off a few stragglers of the vastly superior force.

It was a time of trouble for Islandia that cast the thoughts of men back a hundred years. The Karain were better armed with their coats of mail, their ships were less dependent on wind, and the horses of the Demiji were fleeter than those of Islandia. The whole country was not sufficiently roused. Aid was slow in coming to Cabing’s hard pressed force, and Tor with his fleet was in no hurry to run into a noose. He rounded Stornsea and put into Ardan bay—and waited.

Kilikash reassembled his troops. An attack was made at Dole, which was only a feint to draw off the Islandians. It was followed by an attempt to storm Miltain, which failed. The Karain fleet was working up the river and had it arrived the city might have fallen—with it the queen. A siege began, and on the arrival of the ships the city was wholly surrounded; Alwina remained, perhaps foolishly, perhaps wisely, and news of her presence came to Kilikash. His demands were even more arrogant: all of Miltain and her person for his harem. The siege was well conducted, but the besieged were indomitable.

   

So things remained till Windorn of the next year. The queen made a daring escape from Miltain and returned to the capital; the season was spent in preparations. Ship-building went ahead everywhere, and as soon as weather permitted a stream of vessels began to round Stornsea and gather at Ardan.

The queen went then to Ardan to put courage and daring into the hearts of all, crying that the Karain would never be defeated until their own city was destroyed and that only a well-prepared fleet could do so. This was too long a look for most.

Kilikash meanwhile began determined efforts to capture Miltain. Against the advice of everyone, Alwina went back to Miltain, and her coming raised a flame in the hard-pressed defenders. It also had another effect, upon which she perhaps counted—news of her plight came to the hesitant, dour, but amorous Tor. A personal call was needed to move that dweller in a land still largely of clans. He set sail when news came to him, with no other intent than to destroy every Karain ship he could find, but the later were too wary. Their whole fleet withdrew into the mouth of the Haly River, and Tor, being no fool, did not venture to attack them there but watched them from his base at Toobey Harbor. There was no decisive action that year, but the queen had accomplished her task: the Winder fleet was brought into use to its full extent at last.

   

Matters became darker. Large parts of the city of Miltain were captured. The Demiji irrupted again into Islandia. Troops crossed the river and raided Deen and Brome. Worst of all, Cabing was killed in a skirmish and there seemed no one fit to take his place. Kilikash made a reasonable offer: the cession of Miltain, which he occupied in fact, parts of Brome and Deen, and the dispersal of the Winder fleet, which was a thorn in his side. In fact he made separate offers to Tor, who dallied with them. The Islandians lost heart—all but their queen and Mora, who undertook the command of the army. There was a deadlock. Another winter came. The war had now lasted four years and seemingly the Karain were firmly the masters of Miltain. The Demiji were more of a curse every year. The Winder fleet, fearing the bad weather, sailed north to the better harbor of Ardan. The queen was not idle. She escaped a second time from the beleagered city and she travelled all over her realm, seeking to stir her people to a great effort in the coming year. She visited the fleet at Ardan, where Tor for the first time had remained. Her conquest of him progressed.

In spring the perennial siege of Miltain was renewed, but this was not Kilikash’s main objective. A great fleet set sail from Mobono with the Sultan himself in charge. The ships in the Haly joined him and the whole force set out for the south with the object of rounding Stornsea and falling upon The City [the capital of Islandia] itself. Delayed by baffling winds, they put in at Beal, captured and sacked the town. Tor, learning of their advance, quitted Ardan, not to be caught in a trap. The weather grew more favorable as day by day the southeast winds lessened and Kilikash started on his way, his ships blackening the ocean for miles with Bant slaves at the oars. The Winder fleet boldly went out to sea for room to manoevre. Unwilling to attack so vast a force, they kept to windward and harried the wing. Nevertheless Kilikash progressed steadily. Off the rocks of Stornsea there was something of a fight, but the advance was not checked. The cape was rounded. Terror spread through Islandia. The army was concentrated at Miltain. Hordes of Dimiji were sweeping through the center. To withdraw to protect The City meant laying open Deen and Brome.

Then abruptly the balance swung.

There came up a gale from the southeast on the fifth of Maya. The Karain became terrified. Tor seized this opportunity and his ships sailed before the wind into the heart of the Karain fleet; the whole great force was scattered in a few hours. Weatherly handled, Tor’s ships suffered little danger, while many of the Karain vessels were sunk. Others were rendered prey to the wind and were blown on the unhospitable shores of Niven and Alban. Discouraged, the Karain were defeated in several battles before Miltain, and their hold on that province became insecure. The Islandians, however, had not strength enough to route them on land, and towards the end of Sorn the scales turned the other way again. The Demiji were never more ferocious or bold. They burned the unwalled town of Bostia to the ground, and invested Reeves.

   

The queen had her problems that Windorn. An ill-timed exultation possessed her people. The sea victory was magnified far beyond its real significance. There was a slackening of energy that promised evil results. Alwina, now a woman of twenty-five, showed her true greatness: The four years of war had convinced her that the way to victory lay not upon land but upon the sea; her policy of building ships was beginning to bear fruit. Hitherto the Winder fleet had been indispensable; now, without recourse to Tor, she could send to sea a substantial fleet of larger vessels than those he commanded. She had not been wholly pleased with his behaviour after his relief of The City. He had not kept his ships together and returned, as she wished, to the East coast. She could not afford to disregard him entirely, but she was in a position to treat him with a higher hand. She had before her four great tasks: the defeat of the Karain, the solution of the Demiji riddle, the annexation of Winder and Storn, and the continuation of her line. So far she had not perceptibly advanced to the solution of any. She might well have been discouraged, but if she was she did not show it. In this momentous year, in many ways as dark as any, she set in train the forces that solved all four.

   

So far, Alwina had shown no particular aptitude in the choice of leaders. Cabing was an inheritance and he was gone. Names shifted across her record not worthy of mention. The gentle Mora X was not a leader, though he was a trusted friend to whom she unburdened herself. Tor, the unruly, was not yet in her control. Most of the provincial nobles were men of little mark; Dorn XI still sulked over his defeat as to her succession. In this year she found the first of her three great followers—a young man from Hoe Bay, of an old Winder family that had long been at odds with the reigning dynasty of Tors. He had been employed in connection with the building of ships, and was largely responsible for the excellence of the growing Islandian fleet. The queen imposed more and more trust in him and in 1326 made him “Marriner,” commander in chief of all Islandian vessels. Tor protested, but the queen retorted with his failure to follow up his victory. It was a dangerous game for her to play, but she risked it, reading her man well. The controversy spread dread through Islandia—coming after Tor’s victory it boded ill in the eyes of most people. In Winder the adherents of Tor suspected that Alwina was scheming to supplant him. A great deal of discontent spread over the two nations, and her old opponents came to the fore again.

Then the queen electrified everyone. When the snow was still crisp and frozen she went to Reeves, and visiting Ingo, its lord and lord of the most ancient province of Islandia, shamed him publicly for allowing the Demiji to overrun his land year after year. Were the Demiji super-human? she asked. They were men and must come by human paths. She pointed to the mountains, saying “You fear these barrier friends, and they return your fear with contempt and punish you. Let us not dread the mountain but treat him as our brother. He will reveal his secrets if we seek them, and if we aid ourselves he will aid us.” Gathering a small retinue, she set out up the Islandia River, following its West Fork, and on foot crossed over into the frozen valley of the Upper Doring. No one ever ventured into these regions in winter! The queen showed that it was not impossible. Guided by instinct, or perhaps by knowledge she professed not to have in order to make her discovery more striking, she went straight to the hitherto unknown Lor pass, singularly concealed from the Doring valley. It was ascended, and for the first time Islandians looked down from their own mountains on the vast Karain basin, and below them, visible to their eyes, were the piedmont lands occupied by the Karain and Demiji, whose settlements were visible. The secret was explained; the answer was to seize and fortify the pass. The queen had shown the way. A later party, ascending the Doring, discovered the Doring pass, and both were strongly held in Spring. The Demiji were bloodily repulsed when their hordes advanced, confident that they would find the back door into Islandia open as usual.

The queen’s daring or good fortune or intelligence had its reward—when the story of her courageous venturing into unknown and terrifying places spread over the country she regained most of her lost ground. Her people prepared for the coming season of fighting with confidence in her, and trusted her to be successful with her new fleet, even without the aid of Tor. On land things went much as before, there was the inevitable deadlock, but at sea Alwina had reason to be proud of herself. Marriner kept the coast clear. The Islandians showed that they could fight at sea without the aid of Winder. There were no decisive battles, but there were many engagements and when Windorn came again, no Karain ship dared venture as far north as Tire Island.

   

Alwina returned to her capital, the idol of her people. Perhaps her successes turned her head a little; she showed signs of a certain wildness of character that later manifested itself more strongly. Politically she took no pains to conceal her attitude towards Tor and Winder. She had called them to her aid, and they had not come. She talked openly of divesting them of everything they had gotten from Islandia, and to a certain extent she was justified, but it seems to us now a path of folly from which she was extricated by marvellous good fortune rather than the intelligent course of a wise queen. Winder could do Islandia incalculable harm, and she apparently widened the breach deliberately. Her ships would be no match for Tor’s, and without him no match for the new fleet she must have known that Kilikash would have ready the next year. But perhaps she knew better than this outer semblance—the end ultimately justified her.

If she was not guilty of political indiscretion, it is less easy to absolve her for her private conduct. She attracted to herself a group of young men, including Marriner, a popular hero, and another, Strale, a young officer in her army. It seems hardly safe, not only on what historical evidence we have but also on our knowledge of her character, to assume that she was deliberately reckless with these lovers—for such they were. It seems unwarranted to call her their mistress. The sounder view seems to be that after all she was a young and beautiful woman as well as a queen, indulging in dangerous but innocent amusements.

The end of Windorn found her on the alert again, and adopting a less haughty mood towards Tor. Her letters to him are not those of an enemy, but rather of a woman who has quarrelled with her lover. She feels wronged, but she needs his aid, and she writes to him anxiously and is generously willing to forgive, somewhat repentant, and herself in love. Tor, in his answers, showed an inclination to bargain. The advancement of Marriner rankled bitterly. But he, too, showed the lover in his jealousy, the anger of the man obscuring the fear of the leader. There is an insistent personal note in the relations of these two. Whether or not Alwina ever loved Tor is a question—she pretended that she did, and perhaps persuaded herself that her pretense was the truth. That he was a man in love is unmistakable, but he was also a wily chief who was not going to marry without securing something for himself and his people. In their correspondence we see the very first signs on his part of a willingness to give without getting; he professed not to be satisfied but he promised to have his fleet in readiness.

   

Spring found Marriner prepared for the onrush of the Karain fleet with Tor still hesitating. Kilikash was once more at sea, once more ambitious to sweep it clean. Circumstances were in his favor. The forces of his enemy were separated. This was a year of sea fighting—it was also the year of greatest effort on the part of the Karain. Their armies swept up to the Haly River and crossed the Miltain near Dole. Marriner avoided being shut up in the River and sailed south pursued by Kilikash. There was a running fight all along the coast. News came to Tor, and still he hesitated. Kilikash, intent on crushing the Islandians before he arrived, pressed harder and harder. Then happened one of the finest actions in Islandian history: Marriner, realizing that Kilikash was so hot that he would follow regardless of danger, put to sea in terrible weather off Ailsea, with shortened sail so as to draw Kilikash among his vessels. There was a desperate engagement with more losses from marine perils than from the perils of war. Both fleets were badly depleted, but it was an Islandian victory. The queen was wild with delight. Many supposed that she meant to marry the hero.

Though the year’s campaigning was not over, Alwina left the front, contrary to her usual custom, and went to The City, sending for Tor. He came grudgingly. Their roles were reversed. His own people were angry at him for suffering the Islandians to win all the glory with the inevitable menace to themselves. Here he and the queen stayed during the summer in negotiation broken by quarrels but steadily tending to an agreement. The year ended with new glory for Marriner, and very nearly with defeat for the Islandian army, though late in Austus the Karain were driven back across the Haly at Branly where they had forced a crossing, in a bloody fight which established Strale as the coming man on land.

The agreement which Alwina and Tor reached eventually was not generally known until the next year, but it bore fruit as soon as the snows melted. Kilikash made yet another attempt, and again it was by sea. His fleet, greatly augmented, rendezvoused at Carran but by the time it was ready to sail, Tor, with the full force of Winder ships, was at Ardan, and Marriner was ready to slip cables from Raisby at a moment’s notice. Tor and Marriner, who hated each other passionately, temporarily settled their differences in the face of a desperate situation. News came that Miltain was about to fall. Kilikash went south with all speed while the calm lasted, and rounded Bealsea with the Islandians to seaward and behind him, making no effort to win either Beal or Ardan. He ran into a region of stronger winds—it is rare that eastern Storn is ever calm. Skirting the barren coast south of Ailsea on June 10th, he saw the Islandian fleet bearing down before a strong southeast wind from rearwards. The fight began in a small gale that prevented the long oared ships from turning. Tor, whose plan it was to attack, had taken advantage of the elements to the utmost. Weatherly with the wind over the quarter, the three hundred Islandian ships could be handled easily. The Karain ships were much strung out; those ahead could not return at once. The Islandian ships each aimed to shear off the oars of as many enemy vessels as possible before laying aboard. The Karain, manoeuvring to face their own foes, got into the roll of the sea. One after another they were crippled. Then the boarding began. The most crippled vessels were let go; many were swept upon the rocks. Those of the Karain who escaped among the rocks of Ailsea were hunted to death by the people of Storn.

The night promised a windless morrow. Tor decided not to risk another battle and in such airs as there were labored to seaward, hunting for wind and fog. In calm weather he would be no match for the beaked craft of Kilikash. The latter returned to Ailsea Island to restore his fleet so far as was possible. After a week he set out again, keeping his ships together. Meanwhile Tor had sailed for Stornsea and was ahead of Kilikash and to seaward, waiting and hoping for a southwest wind. Here luck failed. He was passed and the extraordinary thing is that his enemy did not know it, so far out to sea were the allies.

Kilikash put in at Storn Bay, and burnt the town. This, the first taste of war that the people of that nation had, was of importance later. It was an unfortunate move, for it enabled Tor to get to windward again. The Karain waited another week and then set out for Shores. This town they also burnt. The southwest winds were beginning. They determined to wait for a calm before seeking Islandia Bay. Two weeks passed. Raiding parties penetrated far into Niven and Alban. At last Kilikash decided the time was ripe to move. His ships kept well together, and the sea was smooth. Tor, in Selding Bay, prayed for wind, informed of his approach by signal fires. Kilikash, hugging the shore in a light mist, mistook Naba Point for the entrance to Islandia Bay. His fleet crowded into the corner of the coast to the west of that promontory. A fresh wind sprang up suddenly and Tor set sail. Kilikash was in the bad position of having to turn his line across the front of an enemy waiting to pounce, or to seek that enemy boldly against a heavy wind, or else to retreat opening his rear to the same sort of attack as had been his defeat before. He chose the second course and his ships made for Tor, who promptly took up the challenge. Had Kilikash been able to bring his ships forward in line abreast and not in an irregular mass tending to line ahead he might have won, but the mistake off Naba Point made this impossible. Bearing down on the van of his line in overwhelming force, Tor’s ships, with plenty of wind to give them way, dodged the unwieldy beaks of the enemy heading into the wind, and as before crashed along the oars. This charge discouraged the Karain, and when it was over they were no match for their opponents. In the general melee that followed, many fought bravely, but the allies had bravery and skill both, and manageable ships against many that were disabled. It was a glorious, heroic fight with legends innumerable. It became soon a series of duels, two allied ships seeking to lay aboard one enemy and finish him before aid came. It lasted all night, and the next morning showed a sea covered with wreckage for miles, duels still going on, and such Karain ships as were not engaged making off to the eastward. This great and decisive victory was won on Juny 22nd. It completely broke the Karain sea power. Some two hundred and fifty ships were captured or destroyed and some twenty-five thousand men perished. On the allied side, fifty ships were lost and some three thousand lost their lives. Miltain was cleared, and eventually Carran. The queen was with her armies. She publicly announced at Madly on the day when the last rearguard of the Karain crossed the pass, that she was to marry Tor on the first day of the new year. It was a great moment. After seven years she had defeated her nation’s greatest foe. All Islandia rejoiced.

   

Here we may speak of Alwina’s compact with Tor, which was consummated by her marriage in Janvry. It was of far-reaching consequences and the wedding, which was one of its features, was largely a political matter; and yet, on the side of Tor at least, there was also a personal element. How far love and desire induced him to act is an insoluble problem. That it was of strong influence seems certain.

By building up an Islandian fleet the queen had been astute. The Winder vessels were no longer essential, and could almost have been dispensed with at the time of the compact. Not only had Islandia shown her power to do without them, but she had proved that, without her, Winder was in danger and that Winder, if too hostile, might suffer disaster. Tor, on marrying Alwina, gained more for his country than he lost. The incorporation of Winder into Islandia was the essential condition of the agreement. It meant to the people of that land the loss of their immunity from taxation and of their ship money, but it brought them equality in trade, the protection of brothers-in-arms, and a chance of seating their leading family on the throne. With much reduced bargaining power, they could scarcely complain of being overreached by their chief’s compact.

Thus Alwina accomplished the dearest wish of her father, and for her people the addition of a seafaring folk as part of themselves. Tor, allowed to remain prince of Winder till his death, gained the woman he desired and kingship for his sons.

The only sufferer by the transaction was the doughty Marriner. He was sacrificed. It is not wholly to the queen’s credit that she made no special effort to reward him. He no longer was admiral of the Islandian fleet, second to none, but a subordinate of Tor’s. This was too much for him and he retired to his valley facing the sea, Hoe Bay.

The wedding took place. The council ratified the queen’s agreement, and on the day of marriage the necessary acts were done to incorporate Winder into Islandia.

There followed a few months of festivity and rejoicing. The queen was gayest of the gay in a gay court, but not for long. Having ousted the enemy, most were content, but not she, for early in Marth she set out with Tor on a journey through her country, including a visit to her cousin Dorn XI which resulted in a complete healing of the breach between their families. She also visited, for the first time in many years, her disgraced mother, who told her according to legend that her body was “Dorn,” but the heart and head were of the accursed race of Alwin. But Alwina was concerned with other matters. She preached everywhere to an unwilling people the necessity of invasion. She made slow progress, but little by little convinced the intelligent that the only chance to win security was to crush the Karain beyond chance of recovery. More immediately profitable was her effort to consolidate the fleets of Islandia and Winder into a unified effective force. Her husband assisted her in this effort. Lastly, she journeyed to Storn, and by a judicious mixture of cajolery and threats disposed the people of that rocky rainy land to annexation.

   

She returned to The City in mid Sorn, and In Octen her first child, a daughter, was born. The opening of the next year saw Winder an integral part of Islandia and thither in Janvry the queen with her baby at her breast journeyed, and won the people to her, tactfully coming as the wife of their prince rather than as the powerful queen of a nation of which they were a small part. She continued her journeying to work up the warlike spirit, returning in the summer to The City.

The brilliant period of Islandian literature began at this time. Like Athens after the Persians and England after the Armada, an intense period of creativity began. Its tone at first was ardently patriotic, an inspiration traceable to Islandia’s Gloriana far more closely than that of Elizabethan England to hers. Deming and Dury wrote stirring poems full of the epic war spirit in 1330, and stimulated many imitators.

On Janvry 1st the queen found herself ruler of all the lands south of the great range, with her dogs of war ready to loose. The army, under Strale, began to gather in Carran late in 1330. The fleet was already in rendezvous at Miltain.

Learning that the Karain in Mobono were fast preparing defences at the queen’s command and without waiting till melting snow left open the roads of Miltain, in Febry, both moved. The campaign began badly. The Karain held the narrow passes along the sea, and the fleet was kept back by impossible storms. The queen, furious with delay, went forward to the front, and in Avrilis at Madly amid the army gave birth to her second child, another daughter. The child was premature by some time, and though it survived, it endangered its mother’s life.

As soon as she could move she went to the front, and so inspired her army that in late Maya they broke the Karain lines and poured into the country. Fifty-six years before, Alwina’s legendary great-grandfather had come this road and never returned. Such of his followers as had escaped remembered what they had seen. Except as slaves, no Islandians had ever entered Mobono. Nothing was known of it, except what rumor had to say and a distant view from the mountains to show.

The province thus entered caused extraordinary astonishment. It was populous and fertile beyond all expectations, but for all that it offered no resistance. The Islandians were suffered to reach the walls of its heart—Mobono—and the city was ill prepared to stand the siege which was at once begun.

It was apparent that the city was crowded, and that it was doomed unless food could come in. On the land side access was blocked, but to seaward the Karain fleet still moved out and in sailing north to unknown parts for grain. To cut those off required the Islandian fleet. It was slow in coming. The queen, with the army and suckling her second child, sent message after message to her husband. Finally, in Julian, he came and the situation at once changed. The Islandian army was suffering badly, with hordes of Demiji in turn investing it. Outside the harbor of Mobono, Tor fought his finest fight, proving that his delay was wise. Wind and weather was just as he would wish, and every ship was perfectly equipped and ready. The Karain fleet, only slightly inferior, was annihilated in a very short time with only slight loss. The city was now completely invested.

The city must have contained two hundred thousand persons of mixed blood. Many of the Islandian slaves there had forgotten their homes, but there were also many who prayed for deliverance. To rescue these people had been the hope of Alwina and her father, but to find any who preferred to stay was a rude surprise. Among these last was one of the wives of Kilikash, a woman of strong character—in the defence of the palace she took a conspicuous part.

There was ill-feeling between the Winder manned fleet and the army, there were clashes in the streets and indescribable scenes. Alwina, meeting her husband, blamed him for the excess of his men and ordered him to take them away. There was evidently a sharp and terrible contest of wills, but Tor obeyed and in a few days the fleet withdrew and Tor went with them.

The queen’s position was a terrible one. Now that Mobono was captured what was to be done with it? Neither she nor anyone in her suite were trained to govern a conquered province. She had an army straining for revenge in a seductive city amid a population as large within its environs as all Islandia. Not least, she had a young and sickly baby.

Against the desires of most of her counsellors, she ordered no general massacre. She even spared Kilikash for the present, nor did she ostensibly displace him. She in fact followed roughly the only precedent she had, an Islandian province, and keeping intact the machinery of the Karain state retained through it a control that would have been impossible if an Islandian replaced every Karain functionary.

The queen settled down in Mobono to work out her future policy—Karain must be made harmless and quiet, and the road to the mines must be kept open. For two years and a half the queen did not return to her own capital. In Janvy, 1332 and again in 1333 she met the National Council at Miltain. At the first meeting she obtained ratification for all she had done without great difficulty and with her successes still fresh in men’s minds. Yet even then there were proponents of a policy of ruthlessness and massacre, and from a purely utilitarian point of view such a course seemed logical. But Alwina said characteristically, “There is no sucking the juice from an orange stamped under heel.”

But it cannot be doubted that there were other reasons for Alwina’s staying. One was her quarrel with Tor. There were other causes also—the capture of Mobono revealed another world known but dimly to the Islandians, the coastal cities to the north. Alwina’s imagination was fired and later her ambition. There can be no doubt that this young queen, lonely because of her farsightedness and up to now so intensely practical, began to nourish dreams of an empire. There had already been breaks in the continuity of her good sense, evidenced by occasional wildness. The city where she dwelt was not conducive to reason, even to this day it is a strangely seductive place. What must it have been in its glory! A place of singers and dancers and its own weird erotic langor, poets, love and wine, it was something totally different to an Islandian. And the queen was surrounded by idolaters; many of her literary court had joined her. And not the least sinister influence was the son of Kilikash, Ahmid, a young man of great personal beauty, who, given more freedom than his father, doubtless laid deep plans with him.

   

The years that Alwina spent away from her capital, keeping her court at Mobono, truly started the literary and artistic movement of her time. Poets like Snetting were of a different order than Deming, a realistic school began to produce, and this movement led eventually in the next reign to the truly great work of the younger Bodwin. That the queen was the inspiration of much of this movement is clear. She encouraged the young men with every way in her power.

But the best that can be said for her is that she was far from wise. Those that admire her wish that there was certain proof that her behavior at Mobono was not as it seemed. The German historian Schlauter, who has given her period great study, believes the proof is uncontrovertable that she carried on liaisons with a number of men including Strale, young Mora, Deming, and even Ahmid, and others. But as sure as there is no proof that she did not misconduct herself there is equally no proof that she did. Yet it must be admitted that there is much against her. Most damning of all, because most sinister, is her relation with Ahmid. This man had connections in the west, in Kilik and elsewhere. He was anxious of course to reestablish his dynasty. It seems clear that he proposed to the queen a joint enterprise against all parts of the continent. She probably dallied with these ideas to a certain extent.

In the next year came the tragedy. Ahmid certainly made love to her, and undoubtedly desired her. On the 7th of Octen the queen’s cries brought her attendants to her bedchamber, and when they arrived they found Strale lying murdered on the floor, the queen severely wounded, and Ahmid with a bloody knife. His guilt was undoubted, and when he was told he must die he committed suicide, and his father Kilikash, declaring all his hopes were gone, swallowed poison.

Alwina’s fortunes were at a low ebb. Tor had astutely built up strong support in the capital. Many believed that Alwina was becoming a piece with her grandfather, great grandfather, and notorious mother. Talk of compelling her to abdicate was general, and it must be admitted Tor did not oppose it, perhaps playing the game to crush her only so far as he could safely go without crushing himself.

The queen showed her old ability at this crisis. Returning to Islandia as soon as she had settled matters in Mobono, leaving her faithful friend Mora X and his eldest son in charge, she did not assume the guise of a penitent. Her appearance dispelled ugly rumors as to her condition—more beautiful than ever with the fire of power and long thoughts far ahead of her countrymen, she upbraided the council for its pusillanimity with regard to the war. She regained popular enthusiasm, and lastly she brought Tor to her begging for reconciliation. Alwina must have had an all but broken heart. She knew that her schemes must be put by; and she had no real love for Tor by this time, if ever.

   

The year was a quiet one. In Octen the queen bore a son and heir. Old breaches were closed. She had the consolation of seeing the last one of the tasks she had set herself on beginning her reign accomplished. Then abruptly all was changed, for due to the carelessness of an attendant the boy sickened and died. The blow was such that the queen never fully recovered. Her mourning and grief were so intense that even the dry official records of it burn. But though Alwina doubted her strength, she exposed herself to the risk of another child.

Her health was such that she left the city in Julian, and defying precedent almost religious, retired to a small chalet built for her in the sacred but dry, cool and healthy mountain air of the Frays; and here on Septen 22nd was born a son who was cared for by his mother alone and lived, although somewhat sickly, and ultimately proved that though his name was Tor his heart was his mother’s.

Alwina’s ill health continued, but a second son, who also survived, was born in Decen 1337. She now devoted herself to bringing up her children; her relations with her husband were friendly. That hard bargaining and astute Winderian was at last wholly given in to her spell, and Alwina, quite aware that she was not likely to live till her heir reached majority, spent much of her time in training Tor for the regency, and in preparing the way for his acceptance as such by the council.

She never left the Frays again. Her health rapidly declined. Her last year was spent in comparative peace, and in Decen she died in giving birth to a daughter, who subsequently married the grandson of Alwina’s ancient foe Lord Dorn XI, the young prince’s third cousin.

   

It may be wondered why so much time has been devoted to a single reign in so brief a narrative. It is partly because historic material is so abundant. Alwina’s letters to Mora X are still preserved at Miltain in the possession of the descendant of their recipient, and among them are copies of many other papers of priceless value sent by her to him. The war poems of Deming and Dury are full of detail and fact. Snetting’s account of Mora’s voyage is not without much that bears on her whole reign. But most important of all, and far outmeasuring these, is the splendid history of her time by Bodwin the Younger. It is an account covering some two hundred pages mostly from firsthand observation, for Bodwin was a soldier. It is accurate and restrained; to the psychologist interested in the character of the queen it may have faults, for little is discussed except public events—its style has that perfection for which Bodwin is so famous, and it contains descriptions of persons and events of a marvellous brilliancy.

It is not wholly because the amplitude of material tempts the historian that I have gone into Alwina’s reign so much at length, but because of its great romance and interest. A mere girl forces her way to a throne denied by tradition to a woman, frees her country from the oppressors, extends its flag to other lands for the first time in its history, unites with it permanently and successfully two recalcitrant allies, and by her inspiring beauty and gallant conduct and direct influence brings into being a golden age of letters. Certainly such a woman and queen deserves a large place in Islandian history.

—Jean Perrier
The City
Islandia 1909