“Eadwin is young and hotheaded. When his brother Leofric was promoted to lead the fyrd, Eadwin demanded an equivalent promotion, which of course his father had to refuse him.”
“Of course?”
Ælfgar nodded.
“There’s only one fyrd. Besides, the jarl is of the opinion—an opinion he made no attempt to hide from his son—that Eadwin is a little too young to be promoted. But he promised that on the very day Eadwin was old enough, he would reward him the way he had rewarded his brother.”
“And when Eadwin ran off in a sulk like any boy who hadn’t gotten his way,” Winston said with a smile, “that proved that Leofwine was right.”
“And when Eadwin realized that the road to power led through his father,” Ælfgar said, “he was too proud to go straight home with his tail between his legs like any puppy. Instead he came and hid himself away here at the monastery. And that is the truth.”
“Why is this all so secret?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
“Because Leofwine, like other people, prefers to keep his family’s squabbles behind closed doors.”
“I believe you,” Winston said, rolling his shoulders. “But then why lie about Godfrid?”
“About Godfrid? I haven’t lied about the monk.”
I leaned over and pointed at Alwyn.
“Your man claimed that he hadn’t seen Godfrid here when you came to fetch Eadwin.”
“That’s the truth,” Ælfgar said. “We didn’t.”
“But he was here,” Winston said, his brow furrowed. “We know that Eadwin spoke to Godfrid quite a bit.”
“Yes, you said that before.” Now Ælfgar’s brow was also furrowed. “But Alwyn is right. We didn’t see him.”
I caught Winston’s attention and stood up.
Turold still sat at the long table.
“Abbot Turold,” I said in a polite voice.
He looked up.
“You told my master that Eadwin Leofwineson and Godfrid spoke to each other quite a bit this summer. And yet neither Ælfgar nor Alwyn saw Godfrid when they were here. Where was he?”
“I’m sure you can imagine,” Turold said with a sigh.
I could? Then I laughed to myself. His violent temper, of course.
“He was sent to the church to atone for inappropriate conduct?” I guessed.
“He had scolded our guest most rudely,” Turold said with a nod, “so I sentenced him to three days’ penance before the altar.”
“Scolded? About what?”
But here the abbot had only an apology. All anyone knew was that the two men had stood next to each other during a service, which was suddenly interrupted by a stream of invectives from Godfrid’s mouth.
So he had offended both a guest and God’s house of worship.
“And how did Eadwin react?” I asked.
“He just laughed and asked Godfrid to remember who had the upper hand,” Turold said, his eyes filling with tears. And that was all Turold could—or would—tell me.
When I returned to the palisade, Winston and Ælfgar stood up.
“Ælfgar says that Eadwin has been all over the place since he left the monastery.” Winston shook his head apologetically. “His father wanted to show him he trusted him and sent him to ride out on a number of business matters.”
So it would be nearly impossible to find out whom he’d revealed Godfrid’s secret to. I told Winston what I’d learned from Turold, that whatever Eadwin had threatened Godfrid with, it had been enough to make Godfrid lose his temper.
“So Alfilda was right when she suggested Eadwin recognized Godfrid,” I concluded.
“Yes,” Winston said with a nod. “I’ve learned that that’s often the case.”
Chapter 30
The next morning it threatened to rain. Clouds had come in overnight from the west. Now in the early morning they towered over the hills, and in the distance stripes of rain cut through the sky below them.
I woke up alone; Winston hadn’t slept here last night either. After my morning pee and a look at the weather, I returned to our room, lay down flat on my back, and stared at the ceiling.
I thought back to the night before. Winston hadn’t let Ælfgar off that easily. He had asked him if he’d be willing to swear that what he’d told us about Eadwin was true.
“Gladly, if giving you my word is not enough,” Ælfgar said. A wrinkle in his brow made him seem less willing than his words.
Winston let his demand slide. He knew better than to provoke a thane who insisted on his word being enough. I had urged Winston to put some pressure on Ælfgar about his current visit to the monastery, but Winston pretended not to understand what I wanted. After we had parted from Ælfgar and Alwyn, I asked him why.
“Based on what he said, I doubt his business here has anything whatsoever to do with Godfrid. And,” Winston had added, glancing at the gate, “there’s no point in pressuring him to answer a question we know he doesn’t want to answer. Better to let him leave as our friend, convinced that we believe him.”
With that, Winston had nodded and walked off toward the gate, leaving me on my own.
I shivered under my blanket. A draft came in from the window, and I listened to the morning sounds of village life: the sharp cock-a-doodle-doos of a rooster; sheep bleating to their lambs; and a distant cow, mooing to make people aware that it wanted to be milked.
The spring calves were separated from the cows now, and it was time to make the cheese that would last through the winter, or else be paid to the thane, jarl, or king as tax. Soon the grass and feed would run out, the milk would dry up, and the cattle would be put into the stables for the winter.
I heard a delicate bell and then the monks’ feet scuffling through the grass outside on their way to Matins, which meant breakfast wouldn’t be on the table for another hour.
I swung my legs out of bed and shivered in the morning cold. I walked out to the water trough, where I managed to wash—trembling from the cold—before rubbing the warmth back into my body with a clean horsecloth.
I ate breakfast alone and in silence. Then I set off for Ribald’s farm, where I found a contented Winston sitting next to his woman, both of them eating their sweet bolted rye bread. They washed it down with ale so malty that just the scent of it made my nostrils quiver pleasurably.
Apparently Winston and Alfilda had managed to smooth over my affront from the day before, because Estrid offered me a tankard. I nodded in thanks. I had to smack my tongue in appreciation, the brew was that good.
We chatted about the weather as my companions finished eating. It wasn’t until we were out on the street that I asked whether Alfilda had had any luck getting anything out of Ebba the previous evening.
Alfilda looked up at the dark clouds, shook her chestnut locks, and apologized. The girl had been willing enough to talk to her, but as soon as they approached the question that Alfilda was actually interested in, the girl clammed up.
“And now?” I asked, my eyes following the path of a low-flying swallow.
The answer surprised me.
“Turold wants to see us,” Winston announced, and I looked at him in surprise.
He hurriedly corrected himself and clarified that actually just he had been asked to come. I had suspected Turold might finagle a meeting to see Alfilda again. But when and how had the message been passed on, and what did Turold want to discuss?
“Well,” Winston said, putting a hand on Alfilda’s shoulder. “A monk came awhile ago. But it remains to be seen what Turold intends to discuss.”
So we were going to the monastery.
But no. The invitation was for Winston. And where he went, Alfilda followed.
“What about me?” I asked, annoyed.
Winston had already turned toward the monastery. He turned back around to face me and shrugged.
“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what I get out of the good abbot,” he said.
He and Alfilda disappeared up the lane, leaving me seething at
being left out.
I grumpily kicked a clod of dirt, looked up at the ominous clouds, and walked aimlessly up the lane, too angry at being left out to think clearly.
At the end of the lane, I heard a girl calling my name and turned around, hoping it was Ebba, then realizing in annoyance that it was just her little sister.
“Go away.”
“I don’t think I want to,” Elvina told me with a defiant look.
“Get lost. I’m not in the mood to play with little kids.”
“This is my village, and I’ll walk where I please.” She put her hands on her hips and stood in the middle of the alley in front of me.
I stifled a smile. This wench certainly did not lack a fighting spirit.
“Fine, you walk whichever way you please, and then I’ll choose another way.”
“I came to help,” she said, looking disappointed.
“I doubt you can help me,” I said, already walking away from her. I felt the first raindrops landing on my hair. Glancing up, I accepted that it was just a matter of minutes until it started pouring.
I looked around. A little farther down the street I saw an unwalled hayloft. If she’d been her big sister, I would’ve gladly invited her to share this aromatic berth with me, convinced that my hands, lips, and sweet words could get her talking.
I strode over to it, yanked a stack of hay down from the hayloft, allowed my backside to slide down into it, and heard the rain start drumming away on the bark roof above me.
Through a veil of rain I saw the girl standing in the lane, and I took pity on her.
“Come in out of the rain!”
She stood there for a long time, seemingly unaffected by the drops soaking her clothes. Eventually she shrugged and joined me, sliding down into the hay and jabbing me in the side with her fist.
“And here I thought you wanted to know what my sister won’t tell you.”
I gaped at her. She gave me an impish look back.
“Did your sister tell you?” I asked.
She shook her head so her hair splashed water droplets onto my face.
“Then you don’t actually know,” I said.
“I do, too.” She poked me in the side with her index finger this time. “So there.”
“How could you know if she hasn’t told you?” I said, shaking my head at her, doubtful. “Did your father or mother tell you?”
If that were the case, Winston would no doubt prefer I direct my questioning to them. But I wasn’t Winston.
“Of course not, you simpleton,” she said. “I was there.”
“You were there?” Where? I wondered. Where Ebba had earned her blue kerchief?
“In church, of course.” The lass leaned back and gave me a cunning look.
I inhaled.
“Good. Please excuse me for my stupidity before. I would very much like to hear what you know.”
“That’s better,” she said, now flirting outright. “If you give me a kiss, I’ll tell you.”
“A kiss!” I scoffed. “You’re a child.”
“A child who knows something you want to know,” she said, crinkling up her nose. “Well?”
I glared at her and then looked around. It was still pouring, and the lane was deserted. They were probably all sitting inside with full ale tankards in front of them. I leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“No,” she giggled. “Here.”
I looked from her puckered lips to her inviting eyes, sighed to myself, and leaned over.
Her lips were warm and dry, so I felt it when they parted and a small tongue slipped between my own. I pulled back, startled.
“No, stop it,” I ordered.
Elvina gave me a disappointed look.
“Calm down. I just wanted to know why Ebba and her friends always find it so fascinating to talk about. And that was it. It didn’t even taste good.”
That wanton little minx! I wanted to tell her that many a young maiden had sighed beneath my lips, but then I noticed her mocking look.
“It didn’t taste bad, either,” she laughed, “but I don’t see the appeal.”
“Good,” I said, exhaling. “Well, now you’ve received your payment. So let’s hear it.”
“Ebba was in love with our neighbor’s son, a stupid lad, who luckily didn’t want anything to do with her. So she went to church to pray to Saint Winfrith.” Elvina pushed herself back up in the hay until she sat upright. “Stupid girl. As if some old saint could help her with that. I followed her.”
I noticed she was shivering. The rain had cooled the air, and I pulled my tunic over my head and passed it to her.
“Thanks.” She almost disappeared in the garment. “Ebba is deathly afraid of rats, and it’s such fun to tease her, since I’m good at squeaking the way they do. I let her go down into the ambulatory”—Elvina had trouble with the odd word—“first and I waited for a while. Then I went down through the other door. I heard her mumbling, but before I could start my rat squeaks, I heard footsteps in the church above, and two men started talking.”
She was a good storyteller, this lass, and had my full attention.
“I recognized the one voice. It was the monk that got killed. The other voice I’d also heard before, but it took me awhile to recognize it. It was the son of our jarl.”
“But I don’t suppose they were talking loud enough that you could hear what they said?”
“Yes, I could. You can hear super well down there in that passageway.”
I had noticed that myself when I’d been down there, so I nodded.
“Go on,” I told her.
“The jarl’s son threatened the monk. The jarl’s son was going to send a messenger to someone up in Northumbria, someone who wanted to take revenge on the monk.”
That sounded credible.
“Revenge? Did he say for what?”
“Yes,” Elvina said, nodding eagerly. “He said Godfrid broke his oath when he led Uhtred to his death.”
I sat bolt upright. Uhtred was the ealdorman who had been murdered after King Cnut had agreed to a formal exchange of peace between them. How long ago had that been? I thought about it. A couple of years at the most.
We had determined that the monk’s name had been Erik. And now I knew who he was. Everyone had heard of Cnut’s thane, Erik, who gave his oath-bound word that the king had promised Uhtred and his men safe conduct, that they would ride in peace. But he led them to their deaths. And this Erik had not been seen or heard from since the killings.
“Does that help you?” Elvina asked, watching me.
“A lot,” I said with a nod. “Then what happened? They must have found you two.”
“The two men argued for a long time; then the monk said he would reward the jarl’s son for not saying anything.”
“Reward him? With what?”
“The jarl’s son asked that, too,” Elvina said with a shrug, “but the monk just said he would think of a way. And then they left.”
“They left?” I said. That didn’t add up. Why buy Ebba’s silence if they didn’t even know she’d been listening?
“Well, that’s what I thought,” Elvina said. “So then I started making my rat noises, and Ebba totally lost it and ran back up into the church.”
Ah. I understood.
“But Brother Godfrid hadn’t left yet?” I said.
“No, I think he was still kneeling in front of the altar. At least that’s what Ebba told Father and Mother.”
“So he bought her silence with an expensive kerchief,” I concluded. “Did he figure out that you were there, too?”
“No. I’m not that dumb! I waited until they’d left before I came out.”
No, she was far from dumb, this girl. But there was one thing I still didn’t understand.
“Brother Godfrid is dead. Why is Ebba still keeping this all secret?”
“How should I know?” Elvina said, shrugging her shoulders melodramatically. “He made her swear that she wouldn’t say anything. My sister belie
ves in keeping her word.”
Unlike the murdered thane, I thought. I leaned back and thought for a moment. Then I asked where Erik had gotten the kerchief.
“Well, obviously he didn’t have it there with him in the church,” Elvina said, looking at me as if I were an idiot. “But he promised her something nice if she would swear to keep her mouth shut about what she’d heard. And then he brought it back from Peterborough with him one day when he’d been up there on monastery business.”
The rain had let up by now, so I stood up. Elvina pulled my tunic over her head, and I put it back on, my mind elsewhere. Now I knew who Godfrid was and why his hand had been chopped off. As for who the murderer was, Winston and I would find that out together.
I hesitated, still grumpy about being excluded by Winston and Alfilda. And yet, as long as Winston paid me, it would be his wishes and not my own that stipulated the conditions of my employment. Presenting my newly acquired knowledge to him was my only option.
“Was it worth it?” Elvina asked, tugging on my arm.
“Most definitely,” I said with a laugh.
I hesitated at the drip line from the eaves. The rain had turned the street to mud, but the sun had come out and now the mud was steaming. I glanced back at Elvina, who was once again shivering from the cold in her rain-drenched clothes.
Oh, what the hell. Had I not just said that she had most definitely earned her salary?
She watched me wide-eyed as I leaned in, took her face between my hands, and put my lips to hers. When my tongue opened her mouth, it was met by her own. She tasted fresh and young. I drew the kiss out until I heard her stifled sigh. Then my lips released hers and I gently stroked her cheeks.
Her eyes, which looked right into mine, were bright.
“Now you’ve been paid,” I said with a smile. “And this will not happen again.”
Chapter 31
Winston and Alfilda stepped out of the abbot’s chamber just as I had raised my hand to knock. Winston could tell I was excited.
“You have news?” he asked.
I nodded.
“News that can be discussed here?” he asked.
Oathbreaker (The King's Hounds series) Page 21