The Lords of the North (25 page)

Ragnar frowned, trying to recall that winter night, then he nodded. 'You did, that's
right.'

'He was no servant,' I said, 'that was Alfred.'

Ragnar stared at me. In his head he was working things out, realising that I had lied to
him on that distant night, and he was understanding that if he had only known that the
hooded servant had been Alfred then he could have wen all Wessex for the Danes that same
night. For a moment I regretted telling him, because I thought he would be angry with me,
but then he laughed. 'That was Alfred? Truly?'

'He went to spy on you,' I said, 'and I went to rescue him.'

'It was Alfred? In Guthrum's camp?'

'He takes risks,' I said, reverting to our talk of Mercia. But Ragnar was still thinking
of that far-off cold night. 'Why didn't you tell me?' he demanded.

'Because I'd given him my oath.'

'We would have made you richer than the richest king,' Ragnar said. 'We would have given
you ships, men, horses, silver, women, anything! All you had to do was speak.'

'I had given him my oath,' I said again, and I remembered how close I had come to
betraying Alfred. I had been so tempted to blurt out the truth. That night, with a handful
of words, I could have ensured that no Saxon ever ruled in England again. I could have made
Wessex into a Danish kingdom. I could have done all that by betraying a man I did not much
like to a man I loved as a brother, and yet I had kept silent. I had given an oath and honour
binds us to paths we might not choose. 'Wyrd bid ful araed,' I said. Fate is inexorable. It
grips us like a harness. I thought I had escaped Wessex and escaped Alfred, yet here I was,
back in his palace, and he returned that afternoon in a clatter of hooves and a noisy rush of
servants, monks and priests. Two men carried the king's bedding back to his chamber while a
monk wheeled a barrow piled with documents which Alfred had evidently needed during his
single day's absence. A priest hurried by with an altar cloth and a crucifix, while two
more brought home the relics that accompanied Alfred on all his travels. Then came a group
of the king's bodyguards, the only men allowed to carry weapons in the royal precincts, and
then more priests, all talking, among whom was Alfred himself. He had not changed. He still
had a clerk's look about him, lean and pale and scholarly. A priest was talking urgently to
him and he nodded his head as he listened. He was dressed simply, his black cloak making him
look like a cleric. He wore no royal circlet, just a woollen cap. He was holding Æthelflaed's
hand and Æthelflaed, I noticed, was once again holding her brother's horse. She was hopping
on one leg rather than walking which meant that she kept tugging her father away from the
priest, but Alfred indulged her for he was ever fond of his children. Then she tugged him
purposely, trying to draw him onto the grass where Ragnar and I had stood to welcome him
and he yielded to her, letting her bring him to us. Ragnar and I knelt. I kept my head
bowed.

'Uhtred has a broken nose,' Æthelflaed told her father, 'and the man who did it is dead
now.'

A royal hand tipped my head up and I stared into that pale, narrow face with its clever
eyes. He looked drawn. I supposed that he was suffering another bout of the bowel cramps
that made his life perpetual agony. He was looking at me with his customary sternness, but
then he managed a half-smile. 'I thought never to see you again, Lord Uhtred.'

'I owe you thanks, lord,' I said humbly, 'so I thank you.'

'Stand,' he said, and we both stood and Alfred looked at Ragnar. 'I shall free you soon,
Lord Ragnar.'

Thank you, lord.'

'But in a week's time we shall be holding a celebration here. We shall rejoice that our
new church is finished, and we shall formally betroth this young lady to Lord Æthelred. I
have summoned the Witan, and I would ask you both to stay until our deliberations are
over.'

'Yes, lord,' I said. In truth all I wanted was to go to Northumbria, but I was beholden to
Alfred and could wait a week or two.

'And at that time,' he went on, 'I may have matters,' he paused, as if fearing that he spoke
too much, 'matters,' he said vaguely, 'in which you might be of service to me.'

'Yes, lord,' I repeated, then he nodded and walked away. And so we waited. The town,
anticipating the celebrations, filled with folk. It was a time of reunions. All the men who
had led Alfred's army at Ethandun were there, and they greeted me with pleasure. Wiglaf of
Sumorsaete and Harald of Defnascir and Osric of Wiltunscir and Arnulf of Suth Seaxa all
came to Wintanceaster. They were the powerful men of the kingdom now, the great lords, the
men who had stood by their king when he had seemed doomed. But Alfred did not punish those who
had fled Wessex. Wilfrith was still Ealdorman of Hamptonscir, even though he had run to
Frankia to escape Guthrum's attack, and Alfred treated Wilfrith with exaggerated
courtesy, but there was still an unspoken divide between those who had stayed to fight and
those who had run away.

The town also filled with entertainers. There were the usual jugglers and
stilt-walkers, story-tellers and musicians, but the most successful was a dour Mercian
called Offa who travelled with a pack of performing dogs. They were only terriers, the
kind most men use to hunt rats, but Offa could make them dance, walk on their hind legs and jump
through hoops. One of the dogs even rode a pony, holding the reins in its teeth, and the other
dogs followed with small leather pails to collect the crowd's pennies. To my surprise Offa
was invited to the palace. I was surprised because Alfred was not fond of frivolity. His
idea of a good time was to discuss theology, but he commanded the dogs he brought to the
palace and I assumed it was because he thought they would amuse his children. Ragnar and I
both went to the performance, and Father Beocca found me there.

Poor Beocca. He was in tears because I lived. His hair, that had always been red, was
heavily touched by grey now. He was over forty, an old man, and his wandering eye had gone
milky. He limped and had a palsied left hand, for which afflictions men mocked him, though none
did in my presence. Beocca had known me since I was a child, for he had been my father's
mass-priest and my early tutor, and he veered between loving me and detesting me, though
he was ever my friend. He was also a good priest, a clever man and one of Alfred's chaplains,
and he was happy in the king's service. He was delirious now, beaming at me with tears in his
eyes. 'You live,' he said, giving me a clumsy embrace.

'I'm a hard man to kill, father.'

'So you are, so you are,' he said, 'but you were a weakly child.'

The?'

'The runt of the litter, your father always said. Then you began to grow.'

'Haven't stopped, have I?'

'Isn't that clever!' Beocca said, watching two dogs walk on their hind legs.

'I do like dogs,' he went on, 'and you should talk to Offa.'

'To Offa?' I asked, glancing at the Mercian who controlled his dogs by clicking his
fingers or whistling.

'He was in Bebbanburg this summer,' Beocca said. 'He tells me your uncle has rebuilt the
hall. It's bigger than it was. And Gytha is dead. Poor Gytha,' he made the sign of the cross,
'she was a good woman.'

Gytha was my stepmother and, after my father was killed at Eoferwic, she married my
uncle and so was complicit in his usurpation of Bebbanburg. I said nothing of her death,
but after the performance, when Offa and his two women assistants were packing up the
hoops and leashing the dogs, I sought the Mercian out and said I would talk with him.

He was a strange man. He was tall like me, lugubrious, knowing, and, oddest of all, a
Christian priest. He was really Father Offa. 'But I was bored with the church,' he told me
in the Two Cranes where I had bought him a pot of ale,

'and bored with my wife. I became very bored with her.'

'So you walked away?'

'I danced away,' he said, 'I skipped away. I would have flown away if God had given me
wings.'

He had been travelling for a dozen years now, ranging throughout the Saxon and Danish
lands in Britain and welcome everywhere because he provided laughter, though in
conversation he was a gloomy man. But Beocca had been right. Offa had been in Northumbria
and it was clear that he had kept a very sharp eye on all that he saw. So sharp that I
understood why Alfred had invited his dogs to the palace. Offa was plainly one of the
spies who brought news of Britain to the West Saxon court. 'So tell me what happens in
Northumbria.' I invited him. He grimaced and stared up at the ceiling beams. It was the
pleasure of the Two Cranes for a man to cut a notch in the beam every time he hired one of the
tavern's whores and Offa seemed to be counting the cuts, a job that might take a lifetime,
then he glanced at me sourly. 'News, lord,' he said, 'is a commodity like ale or hides or the
service of whores. It is bought and sold.'

He waited until I laid a coin on the table between us, then all he did was look at the
coin and yawn, so I laid another shilling beside the first. 'Where do you wish me to begin?'
he asked.

The north.'

Scotland was quiet, he said. King Aed had a fistula and that distracted him, though of
course there were frequent cattle raids into Northumbria where my uncle, Ælfric the
Usurper, now called himself the Lord of Bernicia.

'He wants to be king of Bernicia?' I asked.

'He wants to be left in peace.' Offa said. 'He offends no one, he amasses money, he
acknowledges Guthred as king and he keeps his swords sharp. He is no fool. He welcomes Danish
settlers because they offer protection against the Scots, but he allows no Danes to enter
Bebbanburg unless he trusts them. He keeps that fortress safe.'

'But he wants to be king?' I insisted.

'I know what he does,' Offa said tartly, 'but what he wants is between Ælfric and his
god.'

'His son lives?'

'He has two sons now, both young, but his wife died.'

'I heard.'

'His eldest son liked my dogs and wanted his father to buy them. I said no.'

He had little other news of Bebbanburg, other than that the hall had been enlarged and,
more ominously, the outer wall and the low gate rebuilt higher and stronger. I asked if he
and his dogs were welcome at Dunholm and he gave me a very sharp look and made the sign of the
cross. 'No man goes to Dunholm willingly.' Offa said. 'Your uncle gave me an escort through
Kjartan's land and I was glad of it.'

'So Kjartan thrives?' I asked bitterly.

'He spreads like a green bay tree.' Offa said and, when he saw my puzzlement, enlarged the
answer. 'He thrives and steals and rapes and kills and he lurks in Dunholm. But his influence
is wider, much wider. He has money and he uses it to buy friends. If a Dane complains about
Guthred then you can be sure he has taken Kjartan's money.'

'I thought Kjartan agreed to pay a tribute to Guthred?'

'It was paid for one year. Since then Good King Guthred has learned to do without.'

'Good King Guthred?' I asked.

'That is how he is known in Eoferwic,' Offa said, 'but only to the Christians. The Danes
consider him a gullible fool.'

'Because he's a Christian?'

'Is he a Christian?' Offa asked himself. 'He claims to be, and he goes to church, but I
suspect he still half believes in the old gods. No, the Danes dislike him because he favours
the Christians. He tried to levy a church tax on the Danes. It was not a clever idea.'

'So how long does Good King Guthred have?' I asked.

'I charge more for prophecy,' Offa said, 'on the grounds that what is worthless must be
made expensive.'

I kept my money in its purse. 'What of Ivarr?' I asked.

'What of him?'

'Does he still acknowledge Guthred as king?'

'For the moment,' Offa said carefully, 'but the Earl Ivarr is once again the strongest man
in Northumbria. He took money from Kjartan, I hear, and used it to raise men.'

'Why raise men?'

'Why do you think?' Offa asked sarcastically.

'To put his own man on the throne?'

'It would seem likely,' Offa said, 'but Guthred has an army too.'

'A Saxon army?'

'A Christian army. Mostly Saxon.'

'So civil war is brewing?'

'In Northumbria,' Offa said, 'civil war is always brewing.'

'And Ivarr will win,' I said, 'because he's ruthless.'

'He's more cautious than he was,' Offa said. 'Aed taught him that three years ago. But in
time, yes, he will attack. When he's sure he can win.'

'So Guthred,' I said, 'must kill Ivarr and Kjartan.'

'What kings must do, lord, is beyond my humble competence. I teach dogs to dance, not men
to rule. You wish to know about Mercia?'

'I wish to know about Guthred's sister.'

Offa half smiled. 'That one! She's a nun.'

'Gisela!' I was shocked. 'A nun? She's become a Christian?'

'I doubt she's a Christian,' Offa said, 'but going into a nunnery protected her.'

'From whom?'

'Kjartan. He wanted the girl as a bride for his son.'

That did surprise me. 'But Kjartan hates Guthred.' I said.

'But even so Kjartan decided Guthred's sister would be a suitable bride for his one-eyed
son,' Offa said. 'I suspect he wants the son to be king in Eoferwic one day, and marrying
Guthred's sister would help that ambition. Whatever, he sent men to Eoferwic and offered
Guthred money, peace and a promise to stop molesting Christians and I think Guthred was half
tempted.'

'How could he be?'

'Because a desperate man needs allies. Perhaps, for a day or two, Guthred dreamed of
separating Ivarr and Kjartan. He certainly needs money, and Guthred has the fatal mind of
a man who always believes the best in other people. His sister isn't so burdened with
charitable ideas, and she would have none of it. She fled to a nunnery.'

'When was this?'

'Last year. Kjartan took her rejection as another insult and has threatened to let his
men rape her one by one.'