The Lords of the North (29 page)

'He's a Saxon,

he's armed.'

Hakon and his men looked at the huge, baleful Steapa. 'He's with you, lord.'

'So why has Ivarr summoned you?' Ragnar demanded.

And so the story emerged, or as much as Hakon knew. Guthred had travelled this same road
north, but Kjartan had sent men to block his path. 'Guthred has no more than a hundred and
fifty spearmen,' Hakon told us, 'and Kjartan opposed him with two hundred or more. Guthred
did not try to fight.'

'So where is Guthred?'

'He ran away, lord.'

'Where?' Ragnar asked sharply.

'We think west, lord, towards Cumbraland.'

'Kjartan didn't follow?'

'Kjartan, lord, doesn't go far from Dunholm. He fears Ælfric of Bebbanburg will attack
Dunholm if he goes far away, so he stays close.'

'And you're summoned where?' Ragnar demanded.

'We're to meet the Lord Ivarr at Thresk,' Hakon said. Thresk?' Ragnar was puzzled. Thresk
was a settlement beside a lake some miles to the east. Guthred, it appeared, had gone west,
but Ivarr was raising his banner to the east. Then Ragnar understood. 'Ivarr will attack
Eoferwic?'

Hakon nodded. 'Take Guthred's home, lord,' he said, 'and where can he go?'

'Bebbanburg?' I suggested.

There are horsemen shadowing Guthred,' Hakon said, 'and if he tries to go north Kjartan
will march again.' He touched his sword's hilt. 'We shall finish the Saxons for ever, lord.
The Lord Ivarr will be glad of your return.'

'My family,' Ragnar said harshly, 'does not fight alongside Kjartan.'

'Not even for plunder?' Hakon asked. 'I hear Eoferwic is full of plunder.'

'It's been plundered before,' I said, 'how much can be left?' 'Enough.' Hakon said
flatly.

Ivarr, I thought, had devised a clever strategy. Guthred, accompanied by too few
spearmen and cumbered with priests, monks and a dead saint, was wandering in the wild
Northumbrian weather, and meanwhile his enemies would capture his palace and his city, and
with them the city's garrison that formed the heart of Guthred's forces. Kjartan, meanwhile,
was keeping Guthred from reaching the safety of Bebbanburg.

'Whose hall is this?' Ragnar asked.

'It belonged to a Saxon, lord.' Hakon said.

'Belonged?'

'He drew his sword,' Hakon explained, 'so he and all his folk are dead. Except two
daughters.' He jerked his head towards the back of the hall. They're in a cattle byre if you
want them.'

More Danes arrived as evening fell. They were all going to Thresk and the hall was a good
place to shelter from the weather that was now blowing a full storm. There was ale in the hall
and inevitably men got drunk, but they were happily drunk because Guthred had made a
terrible mistake. He had marched north with too few men in the belief that the Danes would
not interfere with him, and now these Danes had the promise of an easy war and much plunder.
We took one of the sleeping platforms at the side of the hall for our own use.

'What we have to do,' Ragnar said, 'is go to Synningthwait.'

'At dawn.' I agreed.

'Why Synningthwait?' Beocca wanted to know.

'Because that's where my men are,' Ragnar said, 'and that's what we need now. Men.'

'We need to find Guthred!' Beocca insisted.

'We need men to find him,' I said, 'and we need swords.'

Northumbria was falling into chaos and the best way to endure chaos was to be surrounded
by swords and spears.

Three drunken Danes had watched us talking and they were intrigued, perhaps offended,
that we included a Christian priest in our conversation. They crossed to the platform and
demanded to know who Beocca was and why we were keeping him company. 'We're keeping him,'
I said, 'in case we get hungry.'

That satisfied them, and the joke was passed about the hall to more laughter. The storm
passed in the night. Thunder growled ever more faintly, and the intensity of the rain on
the wind-tossed thatch slowly diminished so that by dawn there was only a light drizzle and
water dripping from the moss-covered roof. We dressed in mail and helmets and, as Hakon and
the other Danes went east towards Thresk, we rode west into the hills.

I was thinking of Gisela, lost somewhere in the hills and a victim of her brother's
desperation. Guthred must have thought that it was too late in the year for armies to
assemble, and that he could slip past Dunholm to Bebbanburg without the Danes trying to
oppose him. Now he was on the edge of losing everything. 'If we find him,' Beocca asked me
as we rode, 'can we take him south to Alfred?'

'Take him south to Alfred?' I asked, 'Why would we do that?' 'To keep him alive. If he's a
Christian then he'll be welcome in Wessex.'

'Alfred wants him to be king here.' I said.

'It's too late.' Beocca said gloomily.

'No,' I said, 'it's not too late.' Beocca stared at me as though I were mad, and perhaps I
was, but in the chaos that darkened Northumbria there was one thing Ivarr had not thought of.
He must have believed he had already won. His forces were assembling and Kjartan was
driving Guthred into the wild centre of the country where no army could survive for long in
cold and wind and rain. But Ivarr had forgotten Ragnar. Ragnar had been away so long, yet he
held a stretch of land in the hills and that land supported men, and those men were sworn to
Ragnar's service. And so we rode to Synningthwait and I had a lump in my throat

as we cantered into the valley for it had been near Synningthwait that I had lived as a
child, where I had been raised by Ragnar's father, where I had learned to fight, where I had
been loved, where I had been happy, and where I had watched Kjartan burn Ragnar's hall and
murder its inhabitants. This was the first time I had returned since that foul night.
Ragnar's men lived in the settlement or in the nearby hills, though the first person I saw
was Ethne, the Scottish slave we had freed at Gyruum. She was carrying two pails of water
and she did not recognise me till I called her name. Then she dropped the pails and ran towards
the houses, shouting, and Finan emerged from a low doorway. He shouted with delight, and
more folk appeared, and suddenly there was a crowd cheering because Ragnar had come back to
his people.

Finan could not wait for me to dismount. He walked beside my horse, grinning.

'You want to know how Sverri died?' he asked me.

'Slowly?' I guessed.

'And loudly.' He grinned. 'And we took his money.'

'Much money?'

'More than you can dream of!' he said exultantly. 'And we burned his house. Left his woman
and children weeping.'

'You let them live?'

He looked embarrassed. 'Ethne felt sorry for them. But killing him was pleasure enough.'
He grinned up at me again. 'So are we going to war?'

'We're going to war.'

'We're to fight that bastard Guthred, eh?' Finan said.

'You want to do that?'

'He sent a priest to say we had to pay the church money! We chased him away.'

'I thought you were a Christian,' I said.

'I am,' Finan said defensively, 'but I'll be damned before I give a priest a tenth of my
money.'

The men of Synningthwait expected to fight for Ivarr. They were Danes, and they saw the
imminent war as one between Danes

and upstart Saxons, though none had much enthusiasm for the fight because Ivarr was not
liked. Ivarr's summons had reached Synningthwait five days before and Rollo, who commanded
in Raenar's absence, had deliberately dallied. Now the decision belonged to Ragnar and
that night, in front of his hall where a great fire burned beneath the clouds, he invited his
men to speak their minds. Ragnar could have ordered them to do whatever he wanted, but he
had not seen most of them in three years and he wanted to know their temper. I'll let them
speak,' he told me, 'then I'll tell them what we'll do.'

'What will we do?' I asked.

Ragnar grinned. 'I don't know yet.'

Rollo spoke first. He did not dislike Guthred, he said, but he wondered if Guthred was the
best king for Northumbria. 'A land needs a king,' he said,

'and that king should be fair and just and generous and strong. Guthred is neither just nor
strong. He favours the Christians.' Men murmured support. Beocca was sitting beside me and
understood enough of what was being said to become upset. 'Alfred supports Guthred!' he
hissed to me.

'Be quiet,' I warned him.

'Guthred,' Rollo went on, 'demanded that we pay a tax to the Christian priests.'

'Did you?' Ragnar asked.

'No.'

'If Guthred is not king,' Ragnar demanded, 'who should be?' No one spoke.

'Ivarr?' Ragnar suggested, and a shudder went through the crowd. No one liked Ivarr, and
no one spoke except Beocca and he only managed one word before I choked off his protest with
a sharp dig into his bony ribs. 'What about Earl Ulf?' Ragnar asked.

'Too old now,' Rollo said. 'Besides he's gone back to Cair Ligualid and wants to stay
there.'

Is there a Saxon who would leave us Danes alone?' Ragnar asked, and again no one answered.
'Another Dane, then?' Ragnar suggested.

'It must be Guthred!' Beocca snapped like a dog.

Rollo took a pace forward as if what he was about to say was important. 'We would follow
you, lord,' he said to Ragnar, 'for you are fair and just and generous and strong.' That
provoked wild applause from the crowd gathered about the fire.

This is treason!' Beocca hissed.

'Be quiet,' I told him.

'But Alfred told us . . .'

'Alfred is not here,' I said, 'and we are, so be quiet.'

Ragnar gazed into the fire. He was such a good-looking man, so strong-faced, so
open-faced and cheerful, yet at that moment he was troubled. He looked at me. 'You could be
king,' he said.

'I could,' I agreed.

'We are here to support Guthred!' Beocca yapped.

'Finan,' I said, 'beside me is a squint-eyed, club-footed, palsied priest who is
irritating me. If he speaks again, cut his throat.'

'Uhtred!' Beocca squeaked.

'I shall allow him that one utterance,' I told Finan, 'but the next time he speaks you
will send him to his forefathers.'

Finan grinned and drew his sword. Beocca went silent.

'You could be king,' Ragnar said to me again, and I was aware of Brida's dark eyes resting
on me.

'My ancestors were kings,' I said, 'and their blood is in me. It is the blood of Odin.' My
father, though a Christian, had always been proud that our family was descended from the
god Odin.

'And you would be a good king.' Ragnar said. 'It is better that a Saxon rules, and you are
a Saxon who loves the Danes. You could be King Uhtred of Northumbria, and why not?' Brida
still watched me. I knew she was remembering the night when Ragnar's father had died, and
when Kjartan and his yelling crew had cut down the men and women stumbling from the burning
hall. 'Well? Ragnar prompted me.

I was tempted. I confess I was very tempted. In their day my family had been kings of
Bernicia and now the throne of Northumbria was there for the taking. With Ragnar beside me
I could be sure of Danish support, and the Saxons would do what they were told. Ivarr would
resist, of course, as would Kjartan and uncle, but that was nothing new and I was certain I
was a better soldier than Guthred.

And yet I knew it was not my fate to be king. I have known many kings and their lives are not
all silver, feasting and women. Alfred looked worn out by his duties, though part of that
was his constant sickness and another part an inability to take his duties lightly. Yet
Alfred was right in that dedication to duty. A king has to rule, he has to keep a balance
between the great thegns of his kingdom, he has to fend off rivals, he has to keep the
treasury full, he has to maintain roads and fortresses and armies. I thought of all that while
Ragnar and Brida stared at me and while Beocca held his breath beside me, and I knew I did
not want the responsibility. I wanted the silver, the feasting and the women, but those I
could have without a throne. 'It is not my fate,' I said.

'Maybe you don't know your fate.' Ragnar suggested. The smoke whirled into the cold sky
that was bright with sparks. 'My fate,' I said, 'is to be the ruler of Bebbanburg. I know that.
And I know Northumbria cannot be ruled from Bebbanburg. But perhaps it is your fate.' I said
to Ragnar.

He shook his head. 'My father,' he said, 'and his father, and his father before him, were
all Vikings. We sailed to where we could take wealth. We grew rich. We had laughter, ale,
silver and battle. If I were to be king then I would have to protect what I have from the men
who would take it from me. Instead of being a Viking I would be a shepherd. I want to be free.
I have been a hostage too long, and I want my freedom. I want my sails in the wind and my swords
in the sun. I do not wish to be heaped with duties.' He had been thinking what I had been
thinking, though he had said it far more eloquently. He grinned suddenly, as if released
from a burden. 'I wish to be richer than any king,' he declared to his men, 'and I will make
you all rich with me.'

'So who is to be king?' Rollo asked.

'Guthred,' Ragnar said.

'Praise God.' Beocca said.

'Quiet.' I hissed.

Ragnar's men were not happy with his choice. Rollo, gaunt and bearded and loyal, spoke
for them. 'Guthred favours the Christians.' he said. 'He is more Saxon than Dane. He would make
us all worship their nailed god.'

'He will do what he's told to do,' I said firmly, 'and the first thing we tell him is that no
Dane will pay a tithe to their church. He will be a king like Egbert was king, obedient to
Danish wishes.' Beocca was spluttering, but I ignored him. 'What matters,' I went on, 'is
which Dane gives him his orders. Is it to be Ivarr? Kjartan? Or Ragnar?'

'Ragnar!' men shouted.

'And my wish,' Ragnar had moved closer to the fire so that the flames illuminated him
and made him look bigger and stronger, 'my wish,' he said again, 'is to see Kjartan defeated.
If Ivarr beats Guthred then Kjartan will grow stronger, and Kjartan is my enemy. He is our
enemy. There is a bloodfeud between his family and mine, and I would end that feud now. We
march to help Guthred, but if Guthred does not assist us in taking Dunholm then I swear to you
that I shall kill Guthred and all his folk and take the throne. But I would rather stand in
Kjartan's blood than be king of all the Danes. I would rather be the slayer of Kjartan than be
king of all the earth. My quarrel is not with Guthred. It is not with the Saxons. It is not
with the Christians. My quarrel is with Kjartan the Cruel.'