Читать книгу War of the Wolf - Bernard Cornwell - Страница 11

The next day dawned bright and cold, the pale sky only discoloured by smoke from the fires as Æthelstan’s men burned the remnants of Cynlæf’s encampment. Finan and I, mounted on horses captured from the rebels, rode slowly through the destruction. ‘When do we leave?’ Finan asked.

‘As soon as we can.’

‘The horses could do with a rest.’

‘Maybe tomorrow, then.’

‘That soon?’

‘I’m worried about Bebbanburg,’ I confessed. ‘Why else would someone drag me across Britain?’

‘Bebbanburg’s safe,’ Finan insisted. ‘I still think it was Æthelhelm who tricked you.’

‘Hoping I’d be killed here?’

‘What else? He can’t kill you while you’re inside Bebbanburg, so he has to get you outside the walls somehow.’

‘I spend enough time with Stiorra and her children,’ I pointed out. My daughter, Queen of Northumbria, lived in Eoferwic’s rambling palace, which was a mix of Roman grandeur and solid timber halls.

‘He can’t reach you in Eoferwic either. He wanted you out of Northumbria.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said, unconvinced.

‘I’m always right. I’m from Ireland. I was right about the snow, wasn’t I? And I’m still waiting for the two shillings.’

‘You’re a Christian. Patience is one of your virtues.’

‘I must be a living saint then.’ He looked past me. ‘And talking of saints.’

I twisted in the saddle to see Father Swithred approaching. The priest was mounted on a fine grey stallion that he rode well, calming the beast when it shied sideways as a man threw an armful of dirty thatch onto a fire. Smoke billowed and sparks flew. Father Swithred rode through the smoke and curbed the stallion near us. ‘The prince,’ he said brusquely, ‘requests your company today.’

‘Requests or requires?’ I asked.

‘It’s the same thing,’ Swithred said, and turned his horse, beckoning us to follow him.

I stayed where I was and held out a hand to check Finan. ‘Tell me,’ I called after Swithred, ‘you’re a West Saxon?’

‘You know I am,’ he said, turning back suspiciously.

‘Do you give orders to West Saxon ealdormen?’

He looked angry, but had the sense to suppress the fury. ‘The prince requests your company,’ he paused, ‘lord.’

‘Back in the city?’

‘He’s waiting at the north gate,’ Swithred said curtly, ‘we’re riding to Brunanburh.’

I spurred my horse alongside the priest’s grey. ‘I remember the day I first met you, priest,’ I said, ‘and Prince Æthelstan told me he didn’t trust you.’

He looked shocked at that. ‘I cannot believe—’ he began to protest.

‘Why would I lie?’ I interrupted him.

‘I am devoted to the prince,’ he said forcefully.

‘You were his father’s choice, not his.’

‘And does that matter?’ he asked. I deliberately did not answer, but just waited until, reluctantly, he added, ‘lord.’

‘The priests,’ I said, ‘write letters and read letters. Prince Æthelstan believed you were imposed on him to report back to his father.’

‘And so I was,’ Swithred admitted, ‘and I will tell you precisely what I report to the king. I tell him his eldest son is no bastard, that he is a good servant of Christ, that he is devoted to his father, and that he prays for his father. Why do you think his father trusts him with the command of Ceaster?’ He spoke passionately.

‘Do you know a monk called Brother Osric?’ I asked suddenly.

Swithred gave me a pitying look. He knew I had tried to trap him. ‘No, lord,’ he said, giving the last word a sour taste.

I tried another question. ‘So Æthelstan should be the next King of Wessex?’

‘That is not my decision. God appoints kings.’

‘And is your god helped in his choice by wealthy ealdormen?’

He knew I meant Æthelhelm the Younger. It had occurred to me that Swithred might be sending messages to Æthelhelm. I had no doubt that the ealdorman sought news of Æthelstan and probably had at least one sworn follower somewhere in Ceaster, and I was tempted to think it must be Swithred because the stern, bald priest disliked me so much, but his next words surprised me. ‘It’s my belief,’ he said, ‘that Lord Æthelhelm persuaded the king to give this command to the prince.’

‘Why?’

‘So he would fail, of course. The prince has three burhs to command, Ceaster, Brunanburh, and Mameceaster, and not sufficient men to garrison even one of them properly. He has rebels to contend with, and thousands of Norse settlers north of here. Dear God! He even has Norsemen settled on this peninsula!’

I could not hide my astonishment. ‘Here? On Wirhealum?’

Swithred shrugged. ‘You know what’s been happening on this coast? The Irish defeated the Norse settlers, drove many of them out, and so they came here.’ He gestured northwards. ‘Out beyond Brunanburh? There might be five hundred Norse settlers there, and even more north of the Mærse! And thousands more north of the Ribbel.’

‘Thousands?’ I asked. Of course I had heard stories of the Norse fleeing Ireland, but thought most had found refuge in the islands off the Scottish coast or in the wild valleys of Cumbraland. ‘The prince is letting his enemies settle on Mercian land? Pagan enemies?’

‘We have small choice,’ Swithred said calmly. ‘King Edward conquered East Anglia, now he’s King of Mercia, and he needs all his troops to put down unrest and to garrison the new burhs he’s making. He doesn’t have the men to fight every enemy, and these Norsemen are too numerous to fight. Besides, they’re beaten men. They were defeated by the Irish, they lost much of their wealth and many of their warriors in those defeats, and they crave peace. That’s why they’ve submitted to us.’

‘For now,’ I said sourly. ‘Did any of them join Cynlæf?’

‘Not one. Ingilmundr could have led his men against us or he could have attacked Brunanburh. He did neither. Instead he kept his men at home.’

‘Ingilmundr?’ I asked.

‘A Norseman,’ Swithred said dismissively. ‘He’s the chieftain who holds land beyond Brunanburh.’

I found it difficult to believe that Norse invaders had been allowed to settle so close to Brunanburh and Ceaster. King Edward’s ambition, which was the same as his father King Alfred’s, was to drive the pagan foreigners out of Saxon territory, yet here they were on Ceaster’s doorstep. I supposed that ever since Æthelflaed’s death there had been no stable government in Mercia, Cynlæf’s rebellion was proof of that, and the Northmen were ever ready to take advantage of Saxon weakness. ‘Ingilmundr,’ I said forcefully, ‘whoever he is, might not have marched against you, but he could have come to your relief.’

‘The prince sent word that he was to do no such thing. We had no need of help, and we certainly had no need of pagan help.’

‘Even my help?’

The priest turned to me with a ferocious expression. ‘If a pagan wins our battles,’ he said vehemently, ‘then it suggests the pagan gods must have power! We must have faith! We must fight in the belief that Christ is sufficient!’

I had nothing to say to that. The men who fought for me worshipped a dozen gods and goddesses, the Christian god among them, but if a man believes the nonsense that there is only one god then there’s no point in arguing because it would be like discussing a rainbow with a blind man.

We had ridden to the north of the city where Æthelstan and a score of armed riders waited for us. Æthelstan greeted me cheerfully. ‘The sun’s shining, the rebels are gone, and God is good!’

‘And the rebels didn’t attack Brunanburh?’

‘So far as we know. That’s what we’re going to find out.’

For almost as long as I could remember, Ceaster had been the most northerly burh in Mercia, but Æthelflaed had built Brunanburh just a few miles north and west to guard the River Mærse. Brunanburh was a timber-walled fort, close enough to the river to protect a wooden wharf where warships could be kept. The purpose of the fort was to prevent Norsemen rowing up the Mærse, but if Swithred was right then all the land beyond Brunanburh between the Dee and the Mærse was now settled by pagan Norse. ‘Tell me about Ingilmundr,’ I demanded of Æthelstan as we rode.

I had asked the question in a truculent tone, but Æthelstan answered enthusiastically. ‘I like him!’

‘A pagan?’

He laughed at that. ‘I like you too, lord,’ he said, ‘sometimes.’ He spurred his horse off the road and onto a track that skirted the Roman cemetery. He glanced at the weather-worn graves and made the sign of the cross. ‘Ingilmundr’s father held land in Ireland. He and his men got beaten and driven to the sea. The father died, but Ingilmundr managed to bring off half his army with their families. I sent a message early this morning asking that he should meet us at Brunanburh because I want you to meet him. You’ll like him too!’

‘I probably will,’ I said. ‘He’s a Norseman and a pagan. But that makes him your enemy, and he’s an enemy living on your land.’

‘And he pays us tribute. And tribute weakens the payer and acknowledges his subservience.’

‘Cheaper in the long run,’ I said, ‘just to kill the bastards.’

‘Ingilmundr swore on his gods to live peaceably with us,’ Æthelstan continued, ignoring my comment.

I leaped on his words. ‘So you trust his gods? You accept they are real?’

‘They’re real to Ingilmundr, I suppose,’ Æthelstan said calmly. ‘Why make him take an oath on a god he doesn’t believe in? That just begs for the oath to be broken.’

I grunted at that. He was right, of course. ‘But no doubt part of the agreement,’ I said scathingly, ‘was that Ingilmundr accepts your damned missionaries.’

‘The damned missionaries are indeed part of the agreement,’ he said patiently. ‘We insist on that with every Norseman who settles south of the Ribbel. That’s why my father put a burh at Mameceaster.’

‘To protect missionaries?’ I asked, astonished.

‘To protect anyone who accepts Mercian rule,’ he said, still patient, ‘and punish anyone who breaks our law. The warriors protect our land, and the monks and priests teach folk about God and about God’s law. I’m building a convent there now.’

‘That will terrify the Northmen,’ I said sourly.

‘It will help bring Christian charity to a troubled land,’ Æthelstan retorted. His aunt, the Lady Æthelflaed, had always claimed the River Ribbel as Mercia’s northern frontier, though in truth the land between the Mærse and the Ribbel was wild and mostly ungoverned, its coast long settled by Danes who had often raided the rich farmlands around Ceaster. I had led plenty of war-bands north in revenge for those raids, once leading my men as far as Mameceaster, an old Roman fort on a sandstone hill beside the River Mædlak. King Edward had strengthened those old walls and put a garrison into Mameceaster’s fort. And thus, I reflected, the frontier of Mercia crept ever northwards. Ceaster had been the northernmost burh, then Brunanburh, and now it was Mameceaster, and that new burh on its sandstone hill was perilously close to my homeland, Northumbria. ‘Have you ever been to Mameceaster?’ Æthelstan asked me.

‘I was there less than a week ago,’ I said ruefully. ‘The damned monk who lied to me left us at Mameceaster.’

‘You came that way?’

‘Because I thought the garrison would have news of you, but the bastards wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even let us through the gate. They let the damned monk in, but not us.’

Æthelstan laughed. ‘That was Treddian.’

‘Treddian?’

‘A West Saxon. He commands there. Did he know it was you?’

‘Of course he did.’

Æthelstan shrugged. ‘You’re a pagan and a Northumbrian and that makes you an enemy. Treddian probably thought you were planning to slaughter his garrison. He’s a cautious man, Treddian. Too cautious, which is why I’m replacing him.’

‘Too cautious?’

‘You don’t defend a burh by staying on the walls. Everything to the north of Mameceaster is pagan country, and they raid constantly. Treddian just watches them! He does nothing! I want a man who’ll punish the pagans.’

‘By invading Northumbria?’ I asked sourly.

‘Sigtryggr is king of that land in name only,’ Æthelstan replied forcefully. He saw me flinch at the uncomfortable truth, and pressed his argument. ‘Does he have any burhs west of the hills?’

‘No,’ I admitted.

‘Does he send men to punish evil-doers?’

‘When he can.’

‘Which is never,’ Æthelstan said scornfully. ‘If the pagans of Northumbria raid Mercia,’ he went on, ‘then we should punish them. Englaland will be a country ruled by law. By Christian law.’

‘Does Ingilmundr accept your law?’ I asked dubiously.

‘He does,’ Æthelstan said. ‘He has submitted himself and his folk to my justice.’ He ducked beneath the splintered branch of an alder. We were riding through a narrow belt of woodland that had been pillaged by the besiegers for firewood and the trees bore the scars of their axes. Beyond the wood I could see the reed beds that edged the flat grey Mærse. ‘He has also welcomed our missionaries,’ Æthelstan added.

‘Of course he has,’ I responded.

Æthelstan laughed, his good humour restored. ‘We don’t fight the Norsemen because they’re newcomers,’ he said. ‘We were newcomers ourselves once! We don’t even fight them because they’re pagans.’

‘We were all pagans once.’

‘We were indeed. No, we fight to bring them into our law. One country, one king, one law! If they break the law, we must impose it, but if they keep it? Then we must live with them in peace.’

‘Even if they’re pagans?’

‘By obeying the law they will see the truth of Christ’s commandments.’

I wondered if this was why Æthelstan had demanded my company; to preach the virtues of Christian justice to me? Or was it to meet Ingilmundr, with whom he was so plainly impressed? For a time, as we rode along the Mærse’s southern bank, he talked of his plans to strengthen Mameceaster, and then, impatient, he spurred his horse into a canter, leaving me behind. Mudflats and reed beds stretched to my right, the water beyond almost still, just occasionally ruffled by a breath of wind. As we drew closer to the burh I saw that Æthelstan’s flag still flew there, and two low lean ships were safely tied at the wharf. It seemed Cynlæf’s men had made no attempt to capture Brunanburh, which, as it turned out, had been garrisoned by a mere thirty men who opened the gates to welcome us.

As I rode through the gate I saw that Æthelstan had dismounted and was striding towards a tall young man who went to his knees as Æthelstan came close. Æthelstan raised him up, clasped the man’s right arm with both hands, and turned to me. ‘You must meet Ingilmundr,’ he exclaimed happily.

So this, I thought, was the Norse chieftain who had been allowed to settle so close to Ceaster. He was young, startlingly young, and strikingly handsome, with a straight blade of a nose and long hair that he wore tied in a leather lace so that it hung almost to his waist. ‘I asked Ingilmundr to meet us here,’ Æthelstan told me, ‘so we could thank him.’

‘Thank him for what?’ I asked once I had dismounted.

‘For not joining the rebellion, of course!’ Æthelstan said.

Ingilmundr waited as one of Æthelstan’s men translated the words, then took a simple wooden box from one of his companions. ‘It is a gift,’ he said, ‘to celebrate your victory. It is not much, lord Prince, but it is much of all that we possess.’ He knelt again and laid the box at Æthelstan’s feet. ‘We are glad, lord Prince,’ he went on, ‘that your enemies are defeated.’

‘Without your help,’ I could not resist saying as Æthelstan listened to the translation.

‘The strong do not need the help of the weak,’ Ingilmundr retorted. He looked up at me as he spoke, and I was struck by the intensity of his blue eyes. He was smiling, he was humble, but his eyes were guarded. He had come with just four companions, and, like them, he wore plain breeches, a woollen shirt, and a coat of sheepskin. No armour, no weapons. His only decorations were two amulets hanging at his neck. One, carved from bone, was Thor’s hammer, while the other was a silver cross studded with jet. I had never seen any man display both tokens at once.

Æthelstan raised the Norseman again. ‘You must forgive the Lord Uhtred,’ he said. ‘He sees enemies everywhere.’

‘You are Lord Uhtred!’ Ingilmundr said, and there was a flattering surprise and even awe in his voice. He bowed to me. ‘I am honoured, lord.’

Æthelstan gestured, and a servant came forward and opened the wooden box, which, I saw, was filled with hacksilver. The glittering scraps had been cut from torques and brooches, buckles and rings, most of them axe-hacked into shards that were used instead of coins. A merchant would weigh hacksilver to find its value, and Ingilmundr’s gift, I thought grudgingly, was not paltry. ‘You are generous,’ Æthelstan said.

‘We are poor, lord Prince,’ Ingilmundr said, ‘but our gratitude demands we offer you a gift, however small.’

And in his steadings, I thought, he was doubtless hoarding gold and silver. Why did Æthelstan not see that? Perhaps he did, but his pious hopes of converting the pagans exceeded his suspicions. ‘In an hour,’ he said to Ingilmundr, ‘we will have a service of thanksgiving in the hall. I hope you can attend and I hope you will listen to the words Father Swithred will preach. In those words are eternal life!’

‘We shall listen closely, lord Prince,’ Ingilmundr said earnestly, and I wanted to laugh aloud. He was saying everything Æthelstan wanted to hear, and though it was plain Æthelstan liked the young Norseman, it was equally plain he did not see the slyness behind Ingilmundr’s handsome face. He saw meekness, which the Christians ridiculously count as a virtue.

The meek Ingilmundr sought me out after Swithred’s interminable sermon, which I had not attended. I was on Brunanburh’s wharf, idly gazing into the belly of a ship and dreaming of being at sea with the wind in my sail and a sword at my side when I heard footsteps on the wooden planks and turned to see the Norseman. He was alone. He stood beside me and for a moment said nothing. He was as tall as I was. We both gazed into the moored ship and, after a long moment, Ingilmundr broke our silence. ‘Saxon ships are too heavy.’

‘Too heavy and too slow.’

‘My father had a Frisian ship once,’ he said, ‘and it was a beauty.’

‘You should persuade your friend Æthelstan to give you ships,’ I said, ‘then you can sail home.’

He smiled, despite my harsh tone. ‘I have ships, lord, but where is home? I thought Ireland was my home.’

‘Then go back there.’

He gave me a long look, as if weighing the depth of my hostility. ‘You think I don’t want to go back?’ he asked. ‘I would, lord, tomorrow, but Ireland is cursed. They’re not men, they’re fiends.’

‘They killed your father?’

He nodded. ‘They broke his shield wall.’

‘But you brought men away from the battle?’

‘One hundred and sixty-three men and their families. Nine ships.’ He sounded proud of that, and so he should have been. Retreating from a defeat is one of the hardest things to do in war, yet Ingilmundr, if he spoke truth, had fought his way back to the Irish shore. I could imagine the horror of that day; a broken shield wall, the shrieks of maddened warriors slaughtering their enemies, and the horsemen with their sharp spears racing in pursuit.

‘You did well,’ I said, and looked down at his two amulets. ‘Which god did you pray to?’

He laughed at that. ‘To Thor, of course.’

‘Yet you wear a cross.’

He fingered the heavy silver ornament. ‘It was a gift from my friend Æthelstan. It would be churlish to hide it away.’

‘Your friend Æthelstan,’ I said, mocking the word ‘friend’ with my tone, ‘would like you to be baptised.’

‘He would, I know.’

‘And you keep his hopes alive?’

‘Do I?’ he asked. He seemed amused by my questions. ‘Perhaps his god is more powerful than ours? Do you care which god I worship, Lord Uhtred?’

‘I like to know my enemies,’ I said.

He smiled at that. ‘I am not your enemy, Lord Uhtred.’

‘Then what are you? A loyal oath-follower of Prince Æthelstan? A settler pretending to be interested in the Saxon god?’

‘We are humble farmers now,’ he said, ‘farmers and shepherds and fishermen.’

‘And I’m a humble goatherd,’ I said.

He laughed again. ‘A goatherd who wins his battles.’

‘I do,’ I said.

‘Then let us make sure we are always on the same side,’ he said quietly. He looked at the cross that crowned the prow of the nearest ship. ‘I was not the only man driven out of Ireland,’ he said, and something in his tone made me pay attention. ‘Anluf is still there, but for how long?’

‘Anluf?’

‘He is the greatest chieftain of the Irish Norse and he has strong fortresses. Even fiends find those walls deadly. Anluf saw my father as a rival, and refused to help us, but that is not why we lost. My father lost the battle,’ he gazed across the placid Mærse as he spoke, ‘because his brother and his men retreated before the fight. I suspect he was bribed with Irish gold.’

‘Your uncle.’

‘He is called Sköll,’ he went on, ‘Sköll Grimmarson. Have you heard of him?’

‘No.’

‘You will. He is ambitious. And he has a feared sorcerer,’ he paused to touch the bone-hammer, ‘and he and his magician are in your country.’

‘In Northumbria?’

‘Northumbria, yes. He landed north of here, far north. Beyond the next river, what is it called?’

‘The Ribbel.’

‘Beyond the Ribbel where he has gathered men. Sköll, you see, craves to be called King Sköll.’

‘King of what?’ I asked scornfully.

‘Northumbria, of course. And that would be fitting, would it not? Northumbria, a northern kingdom for a Norse king.’ He looked at me with his ice-blue eyes and I remember thinking that Ingilmundr was one of the most dangerous men I had ever met. ‘To become king, of course,’ he went on in a conversational tone, ‘he must first defeat Sigtryggr, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he knows, who does not, that King Sigtryggr’s father-in-law is the renowned Lord Uhtred. If I were Sköll Grimmarson I would want Lord Uhtred far from his home if I planned to cross the hills.’

So this was why he had sought me out. He knew I had been lured across Britain, and he was telling me that his uncle, whom he plainly hated, had arranged the deception. ‘And how,’ I asked, ‘would Sköll do that?’

He turned to stare again at the river. ‘My uncle has recruited men who settled south of the Ribbel, and that, I am told, is Mercian land.’

‘It is.’

‘And my friend Æthelstan insists that all such settlers must pay tribute and must accept his missionaries.’

I realised he was talking about the monk. Brother Osric. The man who had led me on a wild dance across the hills. The man who had lied to me. And Ingilmundr was telling me that his uncle, Sköll Grimmarson, had sent the monk on his treacherous errand. ‘How do you know all this?’ I asked.

‘Even we simple farmers like to know what is happening in the world.’

‘And even a simple farmer would like me to take revenge for his father’s betrayal?’

‘My Christian teachers tell me revenge is an unworthy thing.’

‘Your Christian teachers are full of shit,’ I said savagely.

He just smiled. ‘I almost forgot to tell you,’ he went on calmly, ‘that Prince Æthelstan asked that you should join him. I offered to carry the message. Shall we stroll back, lord?’

That was the first time I saw Ingilmundr. In time I would meet him again, though in those later encounters he shone in mail, was hung with gold, and carried a sword called Bone-Carver that was feared through all northern Britain. But on that day by the Mærse he did me a favour. The favour, of course, was in his interest. He wanted revenge on his uncle and was not yet strong enough to take that revenge himself, but the day would come when he would be strong. Strong, deadly and clever. Æthelstan had said I would like him, and I did, but I also feared him.

Æthelstan had requested that I accompany him to Brunanburh and I had thought it was simply an opportunity for him to tell me about his hopes for Mercia and Englaland, or perhaps to meet Ingilmundr, but it seemed there was another reason. He was waiting for me at the fort’s gate, and, when we joined him, he beckoned for me to walk a small way eastwards. Ingilmundr left us alone. Four guards followed us, but stayed well out of earshot. I sensed that Æthelstan was nervous. He commented on the weather, on his plans to rebuild Ceaster’s bridge, on his hopes for a good spring planting, on anything, it seemed, rather than the purpose of our meeting. ‘What did you think of Ingilmundr?’ he asked when we had exhausted the prospects of harvest.

‘He’s clever,’ I said.

‘Just clever?’

‘Vain,’ I said, ‘untrustworthy and dangerous.’

Æthelstan seemed shocked by that answer. ‘I count him as a friend,’ he said stiffly, ‘and I hoped you would too.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s proof we can live together in peace.’

‘He still wears Thor’s hammer.’

‘So do you! But he is learning better! He’s eager for the truth. And he has enemies among the other Norse, and that could make him a friend to us, a good friend.’

‘You sent him missionaries?’ I asked.

‘Two priests, yes. They tell me he is earnest in his search for truth.’

‘I want to know about your other missionaries,’ I went on, ‘those you sent to the Norse who settled south of the Ribbel.’

He shrugged. ‘We sent six, I believe. They are brothers.’

‘You mean monks? Black monks?’

‘They are Benedictines, yes.’

‘And did one of them have a scar across his tonsure?’

‘Yes!’ Æthelstan stopped and looked at me, puzzled, but I offered him no explanation for my question. ‘Brother Beadwulf has that scar,’ he told me. ‘He tells me he had an argument with his sister when he was a child and he likes to say she gave him his first tonsure.’

‘She should have slit his throat,’ I said, ‘because I’m going to tear his belly open from his crotch to his breastbone.’

‘God forgive you!’ Æthelstan sounded horrified. ‘They already call you the priest-killer!’

‘Then they can call me monk-killer too,’ I said, ‘because your Brother Beadwulf is my Brother Osric.’

Æthelstan flinched. ‘You can’t be sure,’ he said uncertainly.

I ignored his words. ‘Where did you send Brother Beadwulf or whatever he’s called?’

‘To a man called Arnborg.’

‘Arnborg?’

‘A Norse chieftain who once held land on Monez. He was driven out by the Welsh, and settled on the coast north of here. He leads maybe a hundred men? I doubt he has more than a hundred.’

‘How far north?’

‘He came to the Ribbel with three ships and found land on the southern bank of the river. He swore to keep the peace and pay us tribute.’ Æthelstan looked troubled. ‘The monk is a tall man, yes? Dark hair?’

‘And with a scar that looked as if someone had opened up his head from one ear to the other. I wish they had.’

‘It sounds like Brother Beadwulf,’ Æthelstan admitted unhappily.

‘And I’m going to find him,’ I said.

‘If it is Brother Beadwulf,’ Æthelstan said, recovering his poise, ‘then perhaps he just wanted to help? Wanted the siege lifted?’

‘So he lies to me about his name? Lies about where he’s from?’

Æthelstan frowned. ‘If Brother Beadwulf has transgressed then he must suffer Mercian justice.’

‘Transgressed!’ I mocked the word.

‘He is a Mercian,’ Æthelstan insisted, ‘and while he is on Mercian soil I forbid you to harm him. He may be in error, but he is a man of God, and therefore under my protection.’

‘Then protect him,’ I said savagely, ‘from me.’

Æthelstan bridled at that, but held his temper. ‘You may deliver him to me for judgement,’ he said.

‘I am capable, lord Prince,’ I said, still savage, ‘of dispensing my own justice.’

‘Not,’ he said sharply, ‘inside Mercia! Here you are under my father’s authority.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘and mine.’

‘My authority,’ I snarled, ‘is this!’ I slapped Serpent-Breath’s hilt. ‘And on that authority, lord Prince, I am riding to find Jarl Arnborg.’

‘And Brother Beadwulf?’

‘Of course.’

He stood straighter, confronting me. ‘And if you kill another man of God,’ he said, ‘you become my enemy.’

For a moment I had no idea what to say, and for the same moment I was tempted to tell him to stop being a pompous little earsling. I had known him and protected him since he was a child, he had been like a son to me, but in the last few years the priests had got to him. Yet the boy I had nurtured was still there, I thought, and so I suppressed my anger. ‘You forget,’ I said, ‘that I swore an oath to the Lady Æthelflaed to protect you, and I will keep that oath.’

‘What else did you swear to her?’ he asked.

‘To serve her, and I did.’

‘You did,’ he agreed. ‘You served her well, and she loved you.’ He turned away, staring at the bare low branches of bog myrtle that grew in a damp patch beside a ditch. ‘You remember how the Lady Æthelflaed liked bog myrtle? She believed the leaves kept fleas away.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘And you remember this ditch, lord?’

‘I remember it. You killed Eardwulf here.’

‘I did. I was just a boy. I had bad dreams for weeks afterwards. So much blood! To this day when I smell bog myrtle I think of blood in a ditch. Why did you make me kill him?’

‘Because a king must learn the cost of life and death.’

‘And you want me to be king after my father?’

‘No, lord Prince,’ I said, surprising him. ‘I want Ælfweard to be king because he’s a useless piece of weasel shit, and if he invades Northumbria I’ll gut him. But if you ask me who ought to be king? You, of course.’

‘And you once took an oath to protect me,’ he said quietly.

‘I did, to the Lady Æthelflaed, and I kept that oath.’

‘You did keep it,’ he agreed. He was staring into the ditch where some skims of ice still lingered. ‘I want your oath, Lord Uhtred,’ he said.

So that was why he had summoned me! No wonder he had been nervous. He turned his head to look at me, and I saw the determination in his face. He had grown up. He was no longer a boy or even a youth. He had become as stern and unbending as Alfred, his grandfather. ‘My oath?’ I asked, because I was not sure what else to say.

‘I want the same oath you gave to the Lady Æthelflaed,’ he said calmly.

‘I swore to serve her,’ I said.

‘I know.’

I owed Æthelstan. He had been beside me when we recaptured Bebbanburg, and he had fought well there even though he had had no need to be in that fight. So yes, I owed him, but did he know he was asking the impossible? We live by oaths and we can die by them. To give an oath is to harness a life to a promise, and to break an oath is to tempt the punishment of the gods. ‘I swore loyalty to King Sigtryggr,’ I said, ‘and I cannot break that oath. How can I serve both you and him?’

‘You can swear an oath,’ he said, ‘that you will never oppose me, never thwart me.’

‘And if you invade Northumbria?’

‘Then you will not fight me.’

‘And my oath to my son-in-law?’ I asked. ‘If,’ I paused, ‘when you invade Northumbria my oath to Sigtryggr means I must oppose you. You would want me to break that oath?’

‘It is a pagan oath,’ he said, ‘and therefore meaningless.’

‘Like the oath you took from Ingilmundr?’ I asked, and he had no reply to that. ‘My oath to Sigtryggr rules my life, lord Prince,’ I spoke his title with condescension. ‘I swore to the Lady Æthelflaed that I would protect you, and I will. And if you fight Sigtryggr I will keep that oath by doing my best to capture you in battle and not kill you.’ I shook my head. ‘No, lord Prince, I will not swear to serve you.’

‘I am sorry,’ he said.

‘And now, lord Prince,’ I went on, ‘I am riding to find Brother Osric. Unless, of course, you choose to stop me.’

He shook his head. ‘I will not stop you.’

I watched him walk away. I was angry that he had asked for my oath. He should have known me better, but then I told myself he was growing into his authority, that he was testing it.

And I was pursuing Arnborg. Ingilmundr had told me that his uncle, Sköll Grimmarson, had received the allegiance of Norsemen settled south of the Ribbel, and I assumed Arnborg was one of those men. And Arnborg had sheltered Brother Osric, Brother Beadwulf, who had lied to me. I wanted to know why, and I suspected that Brother Beadwulf, after leaving us at Mameceaster, would have gone back to Arnborg’s steading. So to find the monk I needed to go north.

I needed to go into the wild lands.

We did not leave at once. We could not. Our horses needed more rest, a half-dozen of the beasts were lame, and even more required reshoeing. So we waited three days, then left to go north, though the first part of our journey took us east towards the brine pits that soured the land around the River Wevere. Great fires burned where men boiled the brine in iron vats and where salt made heaps like snowdrifts. The Romans, of course, had made the saltworks, or at least had expanded them so they could supply all Britain with salt, and to make that easy they had embanked a road across the water meadows, raising it on a great causeway of gravel.

I had scouts ranging ahead, though there was small need of them on the wide flat plain across which the road ran like a spear. I expected no trouble, though only a fool travelled Britain’s roads without taking precautions. In places we passed through thick woodland and it was possible that stragglers from Cynlæf’s forces might be looking for unarmed travellers, but no hungry or desperate men would dare attack my men, who wore mail and helmets and were armed with swords.

But hungry, desperate men might have attacked our companions, who were eighteen women on their way to establish the convent that Æthelstan wanted in Mameceaster and a dozen merchants who had been stranded in Ceaster by the siege. The merchants, in turn, had servants who led packhorses laden with valuable goods; tanned hides, silverware from Gleawecestre and fine spearheads forged in Lundene. One packhorse carried the corpse of a man who had followed Cynlæf. The head was separately wrapped in canvas, and both head and body would be nailed to Mameceaster’s main gate as a warning to others tempted to rebel against King Edward’s rule. Æthelstan, his manner cold and distant after I had refused to give him my oath, had asked me to protect the merchants, packhorses, nuns, and corpse all the way to Mameceaster. ‘I’m not going that far,’ I told him.

‘You’re going to the Ribbel,’ he had pointed out, ‘going by Mameceaster is your easiest route.’

‘I don’t want the settlers on the Ribbel to know I’m coming,’ I said, ‘which means I can’t use the roads.’ Roman roads would lead us to Mameceaster and another road left that fortress and went north to Ribelcastre, a Roman fort on the Ribbel. Following such roads made travel easy; there was little chance of getting lost in endless tracts of wooded hills, and, at least in the larger settlements, there were barns to sleep in, smithies to shoe horses, and taverns accustomed to feeding travellers. But Arnborg, who I suspected might have occupied the old Roman fort at Ribelcastre, would have men watching the road. So I planned to approach him from the west, through land settled by Norsemen.

‘The nuns need protection,’ Æthelstan had protested.

‘So protect them,’ I had said, and so twenty-two of Æthelstan’s spearmen rode to guard the travellers on the last part of their journey.

Sunngifu was one of the women. ‘What I don’t understand,’ I said to her, ‘is why you need a convent in Mameceaster.’

‘Nuns are needed everywhere, Lord Uhtred,’ she said.

‘Mameceaster,’ I said, ‘is a frontier burh. All the land around it is pagan, nasty and dangerous.’

‘Like you?’

I looked down at her. I had offered her one of my spare horses, but she had refused, claiming that Jesus’s disciples had walked everywhere, so she and the sisters should do the same. ‘I’m nasty?’ I asked. She just smiled. She was so breathtakingly beautiful even in a dark grey habit with a cowl covering her startling fair hair. ‘You’d better hope I am nasty,’ I told her, ‘because that will keep you safe.’

‘Jesus keeps me safe, lord.’

‘Jesus will be no damned use to you if a Danish war-band comes out of that wood,’ I nodded towards a stretch of leafless trees to the east, and thought of Abbess Hild, my friend now in far off Wintanceaster, who had been raped repeatedly by Guthrum’s Danes. ‘It’s a cruel world, Mus,’ I said, using her old nickname, ‘and you have to hope the warriors defending you are just as cruel as your enemies.’

‘Are you cruel, lord?’

‘I’m good at war,’ I told her, ‘and war is cruel.’

She looked ahead to where Æthelstan’s horsemen rode. ‘Will they be enough to protect us?’

‘How many other travellers have you seen on this road?’ I asked. We were going north, entering low hills and leaving the wide flat plain with its lazy rivers behind us.

‘Not many,’ she said.

‘Just three today,’ I said, ‘and why? Because this is dangerous country. It’s mostly Danish with just a few Saxons. Until Edward made his burh at Mameceaster it was ruled by a Dane, and that was only two years ago. Now that country is being settled by Norsemen. I think it’s madness sending you to Mameceaster.’

‘Then why won’t you protect us all the way?’

‘Because twenty-two warriors are enough to keep you safe,’ I said confidently, ‘and because I have urgent business somewhere else and it will be quicker for me to cut across country.’ I was tempted to escort the nuns all the way to Mameceaster, but the temptation was solely because of Mus. I wondered about her. When she had been married to Bishop Leofstan she had whored enthusiastically, but Æthelstan had been certain she was a reformed sinner. Maybe she was, but I did not like to ask her. ‘What will you do in Mameceaster?’ I asked instead.

‘Maybe I’ll take my vows.’

‘Why haven’t you taken them yet?’

‘I don’t feel worthy, lord.’

I gave her a sceptical look. ‘Prince Æthelstan believes you’re the holiest woman he knows.’

‘And the prince is a good man, lord, a very good man,’ she said, smiling, ‘but he doesn’t know women very well.’

Something in her tone made me look at her again, but her face was all innocence, so I ignored her remark. ‘So what will you do in Mameceaster?’ I asked instead.

‘Pray,’ she said, and I made a scornful sound. ‘And heal the sick, lord.’ She gave me her dazzling smile. ‘And what’s your business, lord, that makes you abandon me?’

‘I have to kill a monk,’ I told her, and, to my surprise, she laughed.

We left them next morning, striking west into wooded hills. I had not been truthful with Mus, our quickest route was to follow the convenient Roman roads, but I needed to approach Arnborg’s settlement without being discovered, and that meant cutting across the country, finding our way by instinct and by the sun. I doubled my scouts. We were entering land where the Danish had been reinforced by Norse settlers, where few Saxons survived, land that had been claimed by Mercia, but never occupied by Mercian troops. Mameceaster, the nearest burh, had been made deep in this land, a defiant gesture by Edward that claimed that he was king of all the country south of the burh, but many of the people here had not even heard of Edward.

The land was rich, but sparsely settled. There were no villages. In southern Mercia and in Wessex, which was now supposedly all one kingdom, there were settlements of cottages, usually built around a church and with no defensive palisade, but here what dwellings existed were almost all behind strong timber walls. We avoided them. We ate hard cheese, stale bread, and smoked herrings that Æthelstan’s steward had given us from his storehouses. We carried forage bags for the horses because the spring grass was still weeks away. We slept in the woods, warmed by fires. Folk would see those fires and wonder who had set them, but we were still far south of the Ribbel, and I doubted that Arnborg would hear of us. Men must have seen us, even if we did not see them, but all they saw were some ninety armed riders with their servants and spare horses. We flew no banner, and the wolf heads on our shields were faded. If any folk did see us they would avoid us because in a dangerous land we were the danger.

Next day, late in a cold afternoon, we saw the Ribbel. It was a sullen day with a grey sky and a grey sea, and ahead of us stretched the wide estuary where grey mudbanks were edged with endless marshes. Smoke rose into the windless air from a dozen settlements on the estuary’s shores. No ships disturbed the river’s channels that threaded the mud, though I could see a score of fishing boats hauled above the high-tide mark. It was close to low tide now and some of the withies marking the channels were out of the water, which swirled fast and flat. The tide was big there, and the river was draining to the sea. ‘Good living,’ Finan murmured, and he was right. I could see the fish traps in the tangled channels, and both the mudbanks and the water were bright with birds; seabirds and shorebirds, swans and waders, godwits and plovers, geese and sanderlings. ‘Dear God,’ Finan said, ‘but look at those fowl! You’d never go hungry here!’

‘There’s good salmon too,’ I said. Dudda, a shipmaster who had once guided us across the Irish Sea, had told me the Ribbel was a marvellous river for salmon. Dudda was a drunkard, but a drunkard who knew this coast, and he had often told me his dream of settling beside the Ribbel’s estuary, and I could see why.

The settlers were Norsemen now. I doubted they had seen us. We had approached the river slowly, leading our horses, only moving when our scouts gave a signal. Most of my men and all our horses were now in a swale of icy puddles and brittle reeds, hidden from the river lands by a low rise crowned with trees and brush where I had posted a dozen men. I joined them, climbing the shallow slope quietly and slowly, not wanting to explode birds from their nests, and once on the crest I could see far across the estuary, and see rich steadings, too many steadings. As soon as we rode out of the icy swale we would be seen, and the news of armed strangers would spread across the river lands, and Arnborg, wherever he was, would be warned of our coming.

I was gazing at the closest steading, a substantial hall and barn surrounded by a freshly repaired palisade. The thatch on one of the lower buildings was new, while smoke rose from a hole in the highest roof. A boy and a dog were driving sheep towards the steading’s open gates where one man slouched. The man was far away, but Finan, who had the keenest eyesight of any man I knew, reckoned he wore no mail and carried no weapon.