“The woman?” Alfred asked with a slight shudder.
“She is said to be special to him, lord.”
“So I hear,” he said. “But he will have other whores.”
“She’s not the only reason he’ll go to Fearnhamme, lord,” I said, “but she’s reason enough.”
“Women brought sin into this world,” he said so quietly I almost did not hear him. He rested against the oak trunks of the parapet and gazed toward the small town of Godelmingum that lay just a few miles eastward. The people who lived there had been ordered to flee, and now the only inhabitants were fifty of my men who stood sentinel to warn us of the Danish approach. “I had hoped the Danes had ceased wanting this kingdom,” he broke the silence plaintively.
“They’ll always want Wessex,” I said.
“All I ask of God,” he went on, ignoring my truism, “is that Wessex should be safe and ruled by my son.” I answered nothing to that. There was no law that decreed a son should succeed his father as king, and if there had been then Alfred would not be Wessex’s ruler. He had succeeded his brother, and that brother had a son, AEthelwold, who wanted desperately to be king in Wessex. AEthelwold had been too young to assume the throne when his father died, but he was in his thirties now, a man in his ale- sozzled prime. Alfred sighed, then straightened. “Edward will need you as an adviser,” he said.
“I should be honored, lord,” I said.
Alfred heard the dutiful tone in my voice and did not like it. He stiffened, and I expected one of his customary reproofs, but instead he looked pained. “God has blessed me,” he said quietly. “When I came to the throne, Lord Uhtred, it seemed impossible that we should resist the Danes. Yet by God’s grace Wessex lives. We have churches, monasteries, schools, laws. We have made a country where God dwells, and I cannot believe it is God’s will that it should vanish when I am called to judgment.”
“May that be many years yet, lord,” I said as dutifully as I had spoken before.
“Oh, don’t be a fool,” he snarled with sudden anger. He shuddered, closed his eyes momentarily, and when he spoke again his voice was low and wan. “I can feel death coming, Lord Uhtred. It’s like an ambush. I know it’s there and I can do nothing to avoid it. It will take me and it will destroy me, but I do not want it to destroy Wessex with me.”
“If it’s your God’s will,” I said harshly, “then nothing I can do nor anything Edward can do will stop it.”
“We’re not puppets in God’s hands,” he said testily. “We are his instruments. We earn our fate.” He looked at me with some bitterness for he had never forgiven me for abandoning Christianity in favor of the older religion. “Don’t your gods reward you for good behavior?”
“My gods are capricious, lord.” I had learned that word from Bishop Erkenwald who had intended it as an insult, but once I had learned its meaning I liked it. My gods are capricious.
“How can you serve a capricious god?” Alfred asked.
“I don’t.”
“But you said…”
“They are capricious,” I interrupted him, “but that’s their pleasure. My task is not to serve them, but to amuse them, and if I do then they will reward me in the life to come.”
“Amuse them?” He sounded shocked.
“Why not?” I demanded. “We have cats, dogs, and falcons for our pleasure, the gods made us for the same reason. Why did your god make you?”
“To be His servant,” he said firmly. “If I’m God’s cat then I must catch the devil’s mice. That is duty, Lord Uhtred, duty.”
“While my duty,” I said, “is to catch Harald and slice his head off. That, I think, will amuse my gods.”
“Your gods are cruel,” he said, then shuddered.
“Men are cruel,” I said, “and the gods made us like themselves, and some of the gods are kind, some are cruel. So are we. If it amuses the gods then Harald will slice my head off.” I touched the hammer amulet.
Alfred grimaced. “God made you his instrument, and I do not know why he chose you, a pagan, but so he did and you have served me well.”
He had spoken fervently, surprising me, and I bowed my head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, lord.”
“And now I wish you to serve my son,” he added.
I should have known that was coming, but somehow the request took me by surprise. I was silent a moment as I tried to think what to say. “I agreed to serve you, lord,” I said finally, “and so I have, but I have my own battles to fight.”
“Bebbanburg,” he said sourly.
“Is mine,” I said firmly, “and before I die I wish to see my banner flying over its gate and my son strong enough to defend it.”
He gazed at the glow of the enemy fires. I was noticing how scattered those fires were, which told me Harald had not yet concentrated his army. It would take time to pull those men together from across the ravaged countryside, which meant, I thought, that the battle would not be fought tomorrow, but the next day. “Bebbanburg,” Alfred said, “is an island of the English in a sea of Danes.”
“True, lord,” I said, noting how he used the word “English.” It embraced all the tribes who had come across the sea, whether they were Saxon, Angle, or Jute, and it spoke of Alfred’s ambition, that he now made explicit.
“The best way to keep Bebbanburg safe,” he said, “is to surround it with more English land.”
“Drive the Danes from Northumbria?” I asked.
“If it is God’s will,” he said, “then I will wish my son to do that great deed.” He turned to me, and for a moment he was not a king, but a father. “Help him, Lord Uhtred,” he said pleadingly. “You are my dux bellorum, my lord of battles, and men know they will win when you lead them. Scour the enemy from England, and so take your fortress back and make my son safe on his God- given throne.”
He had not flattered me, he had spoken the truth. I was the warlord of Wessex and I was proud of that reputation. I went into battle glittering with gold, silver, and pride, and I should have known that the gods would resent that.
“I want you,” Alfred spoke softly but firmly, “to give my son your oath.”
I cursed inwardly, but spoke respectfully. “What oath, lord?”
“I wish you to serve Edward as you have served me.”
And thus Alfred would tie me to Wessex, to Christian Wessex that lay so far from my northern home. I had spent my first ten years in Bebbanburg, that great rock- fastness on the northern sea, and when I had first ridden to war the fortress had been left in the care of my uncle, who had stolen it from me.
“I will swear an oath to you, lord,” I said, “and to no one else.”
“I already have your oath,” he said harshly.
“And I will keep it,” I said.
“And when I’m dead,” he asked bitterly, “what then?”
“Then, lord, I shall go to Bebbanburg and take it, and keep it, and spend my days beside the sea.”
“And if my son is threatened?”
“Then Wessex must defend him,” I said, “as I defend you now.”
“And what makes you think you can defend me?” He was angry now. “You would take my army to Fearnhamme? You have no certainty that Harald will go there!”
“He will,” I said.
“You can’t know that!”
“I shall force it on him,” I said.
“How?” he demanded.
“The gods will do that for me,” I said.
“You’re a fool,” he snapped.
“If you don’t trust me,” I spoke just as forcibly, “then your son- in- law wants to be your lord of battles. Or you can command the army yourself? Or give Edward his chance?”
He shuddered, I thought with anger, but when he spoke again his voice was patient. “I just wish to know,” he said, “why you are so sure that the enemy will do what you want.”
“Because the gods are capricious,” I said arrogantly, “and I am about to amuse them.”
“Tell me,” he said tir
edly.
“Harald is a fool,” I said, “and he is a fool in love. We have his woman. I shall take her to Fearnhamme, and he will follow because he is besotted with her. And even if I did not have his woman,” I went on, “he would still follow me.”
I had thought he would scoff at that, but he considered my words quietly, then joined his hands prayerfully. “I am tempted to doubt you, but Brother Godwin assures me you will bring us victory.”
“Brother Godwin?” I had wanted to ask about the strange blind monk.
“God speaks to him,” Alfred said with a quiet assurance.
I almost laughed, but then thought that the gods do speak to us, though usually by signs and portents. “Does he take all your decisions, lord?” I asked sourly.
“God assists me in all things,” Alfred said sharply, then turned away because the bell was summoning the Christians to prayer in AEscengum’s new church.
The gods are capricious, and I was about to amuse them. And Alfred was right. I was a fool.
What did Harald want? Or, for that matter, Haesten? It was simpler to answer for Haesten, because he was the cleverer and more ambitious man, and he wanted land. He wanted to be a king.
The northmen had come to Britain in search of kingdoms, and the lucky ones had found their thrones. A northman reigned in Northumbria, and another in East Anglia, and Haesten wanted to be their equal. He wanted the crown, the treasures, the women, and the status, and there were two places those things could be found. One was Mercia and the other Wessex.
Mercia was the better prospect. It had no king and was riven by warfare. The north and east of the country was ruled by jarls, powerful Danes who kept strong troops of household warriors and barred their gates each night, while the south and east was Saxon land. The Saxons looked to my cousin, AEthelred, for protection and he gave it to them, but only because he had inherited great wealth and enjoyed the firm support of his father- in- law, Alfred. Mercia was not part of Wessex, but it did Wessex’s bidding, and Alfred was the true power behind AEthelred. Haesten might attack Mercia and he would find allies in the north and east, but eventu ally he would find himself facing the armies of Saxon Mercia and Alfred’s Wessex. And Haesten was cautious. He had made his camp on a desolate shore of Wessex, but he did nothing provocative. He waited, certain that Alfred would pay him to leave, which Alfred had done. He also waited to see what damage Harald might achieve.
Harald probably wanted a throne, but above all he wanted everything that glittered. He wanted silver, gold, and women. He was like a child that sees something pretty and screams until he possesses it. The throne of Wessex might fall into his hands as he greedily scooped up his baubles, but he did not aim for it. He had come to Wessex because it was full of treasures, and now he was ravaging the land, taking plunder, while Haesten just watched. Haesten hoped, I think, that Harald’s wild troops would so weaken Alfred that he could come behind and take the whole land. If Wessex was a bull, then Harald’s men were blood- maddened terriers who would attack in a pack and most would die in the attacking, but they would weaken the bull, and then Haesten, the mastiff, would come and finish the job. So to deter Haesten I needed to crush Harald’s stronger forces. The bull could not be weakened, but the terriers had to be killed, and they were dangerous, they were vicious, but they were also ill- disciplined, and I would now tempt them with treasure. I would tempt them with Skade’s sleek beauty.
The fifty men I had posted in Godelmingum fled from that town next morning, retreating from a larger group of Danes. My men splashed their horses through the river and streamed into AEscengum as the Danes lined the farther bank to stare at the banners hanging bright on the burh’s eastern palisade. Those banners showed crosses and saints, the panoply of Alfred’s state, and to make certain the enemy knew the king was in the burh I made Osferth walk slowly along the wall dressed in a bright cloak and with a circlet of shining bronze on his head.
Osferth, my man, was Alfred’s bastard. Few people knew, even though Osferth’s resemblance to his father was striking. He had been born to a servant girl whom Alfred had taken to his bed in the days before Christianity had captured his soul. Once, in an unguarded moment, Alfred had confided to me that Osferth was a continual reproof. “A reminder,” he had told me, “of the sinner I once was.”
“A sweet sin, lord,” I had replied lightly.
“Most sins are sweet,” the king said, “the devil makes them so.”
What kind of perverted religion makes pleasures into sins? The old gods, even though they never deny us pleasure, fade these days. Folk abandon them, preferring the whip and bridle of the Christians’ nailed god.
So Osferth, a reminder of Alfred’s sweet sin, played the king that morning. I doubt he enjoyed it, for he resented Alfred, who had tried to turn him into a priest. Osferth had rebelled against that destiny, becoming one of my house- warriors instead. He was not a natural fighter, not like Finan, but he brought a keen intelligence to the business of war, and intelligence is a weapon that has a sharp edge and a long reach.
All war ends with the shield wall, where men hack in drink- sodden rage with axes and swords, but the art is to manipulate the enemy so that when that moment of screaming rage arrives it comes to your advantage. By parading Osferth on AEscengum’s wall I was trying to tempt Harald. Where the king is, I was suggesting to our enemies, there is treasure. Come to AEscengum, I was saying, and to increase the temptation I displayed Skade to the Danish warriors who gathered on the river’s far bank.
A few arrows had been shot at us, but those ended when the enemy recognized Skade. She unwittingly helped me by screaming at the men across the water. “Come and kill them all!” she shouted.
“I’ll shut her mouth,” Steapa volunteered.
“Let the bitch shout,” I said.
She pretended to speak no English, yet she gave me a withering glance before looking back across the river. “They’re cowards,” she shouted at the Danes, “Saxon cowards! Tell Harald they will die like sheep.” She stepped close to the palisade. She could not cross the wall because I had ordered her tied by a rope that was looped about her neck and held by one of Steapa’s men.
“Tell Harald his whore is here!” I called over the river, “and that she’s noisy! Maybe we’ll cut out her tongue and send it to Harald for his supper!”
“Goat turd,” she spat at me, then reached over the palisade’s top and plucked out an arrow that had lodged in one of the oak trunks. Steapa immediately moved to disarm her, but I waved him back. Skade ignored us. She was gazing fixedly at the arrowhead which, with a sudden wrench, she freed from the feathered shaft, which she tossed over the wall. She gave me a glance, raised the arrowhead to her lips, closed her eyes, and kissed the steel. She muttered some words I could not hear, touched her lips to the steel again, then pushed it beneath her gown, hesitated, then jabbed the point into one of her breasts. She gave me a triumphant look as she brought the bloodstained steel into view, then she flung the arrowhead into the river and lifted her hands and face to the late summer sky. She screamed to get the attention of the gods, and when the scream faded she turned back to me. “You’re cursed, Uhtred,” she said with a tone she might have used to remark on unremarkable weather.
I resisted the impulse to touch the hammer hanging about my neck because to have done so would have shown that I feared her curse, which instead I pretended to dismiss with a sneer. “Waste your breath, whore,” I said, yet I still moved my hand to my sword and rubbed a finger across the silver cross embedded in Serpent- Breath’s hilt. The cross meant nothing to me, except it had been a gift from Hild, once my lover and now an abbess of extraordinary piety. Did I think that touching the cross was a substitute for the hammer? The gods would not think so.
“When I was a child,” Skade said suddenly, and still using a conversational tone as though she and I were old friends, “my father beat my mother senseless.”
“Because she was like you?” I asked.
She ignored that.
“He broke her ribs, an arm, and her nose,” she went on, “and later that day he took me to the high pastures to help bring back the herd. I was twelve years old. I remember there were snowflakes flying and I was frightened of him. I wanted to ask why he had hurt my mother, but I didn’t like to speak in case he beat me, but then he told me anyway. He said he wanted to marry me to his closest friend, and my mother had opposed the idea. I hated it too, but he said I would marry the man anyway.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” I asked.
“So I pushed him over a bluff,” she said, “and I remember him falling through the snowflakes and I watched him bounce on the rocks and I heard him scream. His back was broken.” She smiled. “I left him there. He was still alive when I brought the herd down. I scrambled down the rocks and pissed on his face before he died.” She looked calmly at me. “That was my first curse, Lord Uhtred, but not my last. I will lift the curse on you if you let me go.”
“You think you can frighten me into giving you back to Harald?” I asked, amused.
“You will,” she said confidently, “you will.”
“Take her away,” I ordered, tired of her.
Harald came at midday. One of Steapa’s men brought me the news and I climbed again to the ramparts to discover that Harald Bloodhair was on the river’s farther bank with fifty companions, all in mail. His banner showed an ax blade and its pole was surmounted by a wolf- skull that had been painted red.
He was a big man. His horse was big too, but even so Harald Bloodhair seemed to dwarf the stallion. He was too distant for me to see him clearly, but his yellow hair, long, thick, and unstained with any blood, was plainly visible, as was his broad beard. For a time he just stared at AEscengum’s wall, then he unbuckled his sword belt, threw the weapon to one of his men, and spurred his horse into the river. It was a warm day, but his mail was still covered by a great cloak of black bear fur that made him appear monstrously huge. He wore gold on his wrists and about his neck, and more gold decorated his horse’s bridle. He urged the stallion to the river’s center where the water surged over his boot tops. Any of the archers on AEscengum’s wall could have shot an arrow, but he had ostenta tiously disarmed himself, which meant he wanted to talk, and I gave orders that no one was to loose a bow at him. He took off his helmet and searched the men crowding the rampart until he saw Osferth in his circlet. Harald had never seen Alfred and mistook the bastard for the father. “Alfred!” he shouted.