Again he hesitated. ‘Answer!’ Æthelflaed called.
Still he hesitated. I could see he was tempted to lie, but all the Mercians knew the truth and so he grudgingly spoke it. ‘The Lord Æthelhelm, my lady,’ he said.
I laughed sourly. ‘He sent you to make certain Eardwulf did his bidding?’
He nodded for answer and I jerked my head to Finan, indicating he should take Grindwyn aside. ‘Keep him safe,’ I told Finan.
Æthelflaed looked down at the remaining prisoners. ‘My husband,’ she said, ‘gave high privileges to Eardwulf, yet Eardwulf had no right to make you swear loyalty to him instead of to my husband. He was my husband’s servant and had sworn an oath to him. But my husband is dead, God rest his soul, and the loyalty you should have offered him is now mine. Is there any one of you who refuses to give me that loyalty?’
They shook their heads. ‘Of course they’ll offer you loyalty,’ I snarled, ‘the bastards want to live. Just kill them.’
She ignored me again, looking instead at Sihtric who stood over a pile of captured weapons. ‘Give them their swords,’ she commanded.
Sihtric glanced at me, but I just shrugged and so he obeyed. He carried a bundle of swords and let the men choose their own. They stood holding their weapons, still uncertain, wondering if they were about to be attacked, but instead Æthelflaed dismounted. She gave the reins of her horse to Sihtric and walked towards the fourteen men. ‘Did Eardwulf give you orders to kill me?’ she asked.
They hesitated. ‘Yes, my lady.’ It was one of the older men who answered.
She laughed. ‘Then now is your chance.’ She spread her arms wide.
‘My lady …’ I began.
‘Be silent!’ she snapped at me without turning her head. She gazed at the prisoners. ‘You either kill me,’ she said, ‘or you kneel to me and give me your oaths.’
‘Guard her!’ I snapped at my son.
‘Stand back!’ she told Uhtred, who had drawn Raven-Beak and moved to her side. ‘Further back! These are Mercians. I need no protection from Mercians.’ She smiled at the captives. ‘Which of you commands?’ she asked and, when none answered, ‘Then who is the best leader among you?’ They shuffled their feet, but finally two or three of them pushed the oldest man forward. He was the man who had confirmed that Eardwulf’s ambition had been to kill Æthelflaed. He had a scarred face, a short beard, and a wall eye. He had lost half an ear in the fight and the blood was black on his hair and neck. ‘Your name?’ Æthelflaed asked.
‘Hoggar, my lady.’
‘Then for the moment you command these men,’ she said, indicating the prisoners, ‘now send them to me one by one to take their oaths.’
So she stood alone in the flamelight, and one after another her enemies came to her, each holding a sword, and each knelt to her and swore to be her man. And, of course, none raised their sword to kill her. I could see their faces, see how they had been seduced by her, how the oath they swore was heartfelt. She could do that to men. Hoggar was the last to swear his oath, and I could see tears in his eyes as he felt her hands clasp his about the hilt of his sword and as he said the words that tied his life to hers. Æthelflaed smiled at him, then touched his grey hair as if she was blessing him. ‘Thank you,’ she said to him, then turned to my men. ‘These warriors are no longer prisoners! They are my men now, they are your comrades, and they will share in our fortune, for good or for ill.’
‘But not that one!’ I called, indicating Æthelhelm’s man, Grindwyn.
‘Not that one,’ Æthelflaed agreed, then touched Hoggar’s head again. ‘Treat your wounds, Hoggar,’ she said gently.
And then the fifteenth prisoner was brought into the flamelight, the long dark-haired rider whose horse had stumbled just in front of me. The rider wore a long mail coat and a finely chased helmet that Eadric hauled off.
It was Eardwulf’s sister, Eadith.
We rode to Eardwulf’s camp in the dawn. I did not expect to find him there, nor was he. Instead the rest of his men, those who had refused to accompany him in the night, were either sitting about campfires or else saddling horses. They panicked when we appeared, some clambering into saddles, but Finan led a half-dozen men to head them off and the show of swords was enough to drive the fleeing men back to their comrades. Few were wearing mail, and none looked ready for a fight, while our men were mounted, armoured, and carrying weapons. I saw some of Eardwulf’s men cross themselves as if they expected sudden slaughter.
‘Hoggar!’ Æthelflaed called sharply.
‘My lady?’
‘You and your men will escort me. The rest of you,’ she turned and pointedly looked at me, ‘will wait here.’ She was insisting that she needed no protection from Mercians and, just as she had seduced Hoggar and his men in the night, so she would work her sorcery on the rest of Eardwulf’s troops.
She had ordered me to stay behind, but I nevertheless rode close enough to hear her words. The twin priests, Ceolberht and Ceolnoth, met her, bowing their heads respectfully, then claimed that they had restrained the rest of Eardwulf’s men from joining the night-time attack. ‘We told them, my lady, that what he planned was a sin and would be punished by God,’ Father Ceolnoth said. His toothless twin nodded vigorous agreement.
‘And did you tell them,’ I asked loudly, ‘that a failure to warn us was also a sin?’
‘We wanted to warn you, my lady,’ Father Ceolnoth said, ‘but he set guards on us.’
I laughed. ‘Two hundred of you and forty of them?’
Both priests ignored the question. ‘We thank God for your life, lady,’ Ceolberht lisped instead.
‘As you’d have thanked your god for Eardwulf’s success if he’d killed Lady Æthelflaed,’ I said.
‘Enough!’ Æthelflaed motioned me to silence. She looked back to the twin priests. ‘Tell me of my husband,’ she demanded.
They both hesitated, glancing at each other, then Ceolnoth made the sign of the cross. ‘Your husband died, my lady.’
‘So I hear,’ she said, but I sensed her relief that what had been mere rumour so far was now confirmed. ‘I will pray for his soul,’ she said.
‘As do we all,’ Ceolberht said.
‘It was a peaceful death,’ the other twin said, ‘and he received the sacraments with grace and calmness.’
‘Then my Lord Æthelred has gone to his heavenly reward,’ Æthelflaed said, and I snorted with laughter. She gave me a warning look, and then, escorted only by the men who just hours before had tried to kill her, she rode among the other Mercian troops. They had been her husband’s household warriors, supposedly the best in Mercia and for years her sworn enemies and, though I could not hear what she said to them, I watched them kneel to her. Finan joined me, leaning on his saddle’s pommel. ‘They love her.’
‘They do.’
‘So what now?’
‘So now we make her Mercia’s ruler,’ I said.
‘How?’
‘How do you think? By killing any bastard who opposes her.’
Finan smiled. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘by persuasion!’
‘Exactly,’ I agreed.
But first we had to go to Gleawecestre, and we rode there over three hundred men strong, a band of warriors who, not hours before, had been fighting each other. Æthelflaed ordered her standard raised alongside her husband’s flag. She was telling the places we passed that her family still ruled in Mercia, though we still did not know whether the men waiting in Gleawecestre would agree with that claim. I wondered too how Edward of Wessex would take his sister’s ambition. He, of all people, could thwart her, and she would obey him because he was a king.
The answers to those questions must wait, but as we rode I sought out the twin priests because I had other questions for them. They bridled when I spurred my horse between their two geldings, and Ceolberht, whose mouth I had ruined, tried to kick his horse ahead, but I leaned down and seized the bridle. ‘You two,’ I said, ‘were at Teotanheale.’
‘We were,’ Ce
olnoth said guardedly.
‘A great victory,’ his brother added, ‘thanks to God.’
‘Granted by Almighty God to Lord Æthelred,’ Ceolnoth finished, trying to irritate me.
‘Not to King Edward?’ I asked.
‘To him too, yes,’ Ceolnoth said hurriedly, ‘God be praised.’
Eadith was riding alongside Ceolnoth, guarded by two of my men. She still wore the mail coat over which hung a bright silver cross. She must have thought of the two priests as allies because they had been such stalwart supporters of Æthelred. She looked at me sullenly, wondering no doubt what I planned to do with her, though in truth I had no plans. ‘Where do you think your brother went?’ I asked her.
‘How would I know, lord?’ she asked in a cold voice.
‘You know he’s outlawed?’
‘I assumed so,’ she said distantly.
‘You want to join him?’ I asked. ‘You want to fester away in a Welsh valley, perhaps? Or shiver in some Scottish hovel?’
She grimaced, but said nothing. ‘The Lady Eadith,’ Father Ceolnoth said, ‘can find refuge in a holy nunnery.’
I saw her shudder and I smiled. ‘She can join the Lady Æthelflaed, perhaps?’ I asked Ceolnoth.
‘If her brother desires it,’ he said stiffly.
‘It is customary,’ Ceolberht said, ‘for a widow to seek God’s shelter.’
‘But the Lady Eadith,’ I heaped scorn on the word ‘lady’, ‘is not a widow. She’s an adulterer like the Lady Æthelflaed.’ Ceolnoth looked at me with shock. What I had said was common knowledge, but he had hardly expected me to say it aloud. ‘As am I,’ I added.
‘God offers his protection to sinners,’ Ceolnoth said unctuously.
‘Especially to sinners,’ Ceolberht said.
‘I’ll remember that,’ I said, ‘when I’ve finished sinning. But for now,’ I looked at Ceolnoth, ‘tell me what happened at the end of the battle of Teotanheale?’
He was puzzled by the question, but seemed to do his best to answer it. ‘King Edward’s forces pursued the Danes,’ he said, ‘but we were more concerned for the Lord Æthelred’s wound. We helped carry him from the field and so saw little of the pursuit.’
‘But before that,’ I said, ‘you saw me fight Cnut?’
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘Of course, lord,’ I reminded him of his absent courtesy.
He grimaced. ‘Of course, lord,’ he said reluctantly.
‘I was carried from the field too?’
‘You were, and we thank God you lived.’
Lying bastard. ‘And Cnut? What happened to his corpse?’
‘It was stripped,’ Father Ceolberht said, his lack of teeth making a thickly sibilant sound of the words. ‘He was burned with the other Danes,’ he paused, then forced himself to add, ‘lord.’
‘And his sword?’
There was a moment’s hesitation, a moment so short that it was hardly noticeable, but I noticed it, just as I noted that neither priest looked at me as Ceolnoth answered. ‘I did not see his sword, lord.’
‘Cnut,’ I said, ‘was the most feared warrior in Britain. His sword had killed hundreds of Saxons. It was a famous weapon. Who took it?’
‘How would we know, lord?’ Ceolnoth retorted.
‘It was probably a West Saxon,’ Ceolberht said vaguely.
The bastards were lying, but short of thumping the truth from them there was little I could do, and Æthelflaed, who was riding not twenty paces behind me, disapproved of me thumping priests. ‘If I discover that you’re lying to me,’ I said, ‘I’ll cut your damned tongues out.’
‘We do not know,’ Ceolnoth said firmly.
‘Then tell me what you do know,’ I said.
‘We told you, lord, nothing!’
‘About the next person to rule in Mercia,’ I finished my question. ‘Who should it be?’
‘Not you!’ Ceolberht spat.
‘Listen, you spavined piece of serpent shit,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to rule in Mercia, nor in Wessex, nor anywhere except my home in Bebbanburg. But you two supported her brother,’ I nodded towards Eadith who had been listening closely to the conversation. ‘Why?’
Ceolnoth hesitated, then shrugged. ‘The Lord Æthelred,’ he said, ‘left no heir. Nor was there any ealdorman who was a natural successor. We discussed the problem with the Lord Æthelhelm, who convinced us Mercia needed a strong man to defend its northern frontiers, and Eardwulf is a good warrior.’
‘Not good enough last night,’ I said.
Both twins ignored that. ‘And it was decided he could rule as King Edward’s reeve,’ Ceolnoth said.
‘So Edward would rule in Mercia?’
‘Who else, lord?’ Ceolberht said.
‘The lords of Mercia would have retained their lands and privileges,’ Ceolnoth explained, ‘but Eardwulf would have commanded the royal household troops as an army to face the Danes.’
‘And with Eardwulf gone?’ I asked.
The twins paused, thinking. ‘King Edward must rule directly,’ Ceolnoth said, ‘and appoint someone else to command Mercia’s troops.’
‘Why not his sister?’
Ceolnoth gave a bitter laugh. ‘A woman! Commanding warriors? The idea is absurd! A woman’s task is to obey her husband.’
‘Saint Paul gave us explicit instructions!’ Ceolberht agreed vigorously. ‘He wrote to Timothy saying that no woman could have authority over a man. The scripture is plain to understand.’
‘Did Saint Paul have brown eyes?’ I asked.
Ceolnoth frowned, puzzled by the question. ‘We don’t know, lord, why do you ask?’
‘Because he’s full of shit,’ I said vengefully.
Eadith laughed, suppressing it almost immediately, while both twins made the sign of the cross. ‘The Lady Æthelflaed must retire to a nunnery,’ Ceolberht said angrily, ‘and reflect on her sins.’
I looked at Eadith. ‘What a future you have!’
She shuddered again. I touched a spur to my horse and turned away. Someone, I thought, knew where Ice-Spite was hidden. And I would find her.
It was raining again when we reached Gleawecestre. Water was puddling in the fields, pouring down the road’s stone-choked gutters, and turning the stone of the Roman walls dark. We rode towards the eastern gate in mail, helmeted, with shields on our arms and spears held high. The gate guards stepped back without a challenge and watched in silence as we rode under the arch, spears momentarily lowered, and then clattered down the long street. The town seemed sullen, but perhaps that was just because of the low dark clouds and the rain that spilled from the thatched roofs and washed the roadway’s shit towards the Sæfern. We lowered spears and banners again to ride under the palace archway, which was guarded by three men carrying shields that were painted with Æthelred’s prancing horse. I curbed my stallion and looked at the oldest of the three. ‘Is the king still here?’
He shook his head. ‘No, lord. He left yesterday.’ I nodded and spurred on. ‘But the queen stayed, lord,’ he added.
I stopped and turned in the saddle. ‘Queen?’
He looked confused. ‘Queen Ælflæd, lord.’
‘West Saxons don’t have queens,’ I told him. Edward was king, but Ælflæd, his wife, was denied the title of queen. It had ever been thus in Wessex. ‘You mean the Lady Ælflæd?’
‘She’s here, lord.’ He jerked his head towards the largest hall, a Roman building, and I rode on. So Æthelhelm’s daughter was here? That suggested Æthelhelm himself had stayed in Gleawecestre and, sure enough, when I rode into the wide grassy courtyard there were men carrying his badge of the leaping stag on their shields. Other shields showed the West Saxon dragon.
‘Ælflæd’s here,’ I told Æthelflaed, ‘and probably occupying your quarters.’
‘My husband’s chambers,’ she corrected me.
I looked at the West Saxon guards, who watched us silently. ‘They’re telling us they’ve moved in,’ I said, ‘and won’t move out.�
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‘But Edward left?’
‘Seems so.’
‘He doesn’t want to be involved in the argument.’
‘Which we have to win,’ I said, ‘and that means you move into the royal quarters.’
‘Without you,’ she said tartly.
‘I know that! I’ll sleep in a stable, but you can’t.’ I turned in the saddle and summoned Rædwald, a nervous warrior who had served Æthelflaed for years. He was a cautious man, but he was also loyal and reliable. ‘The Lady Æthelflaed will be using her husband’s quarters,’ I told him, ‘and your men will guard her.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘And if anyone tries to stop her using those rooms you have my permission to slaughter them.’
Rædwald looked worried, but was saved by Æthelflaed. ‘I will share the rooms with the Lady Ælflæd,’ she said sharply, ‘and there will be no slaughter!’
I turned back to the gate and beckoned the guard who had told me about Edward leaving. ‘Did Eardwulf return here?’ I asked him.
He nodded. ‘Yesterday morning, lord.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He came in a hurry, lord, and was gone again in an hour.’
‘He had men?’
‘Eight or nine, lord. They left with him.’
I dismissed him and went to Eadith’s side. ‘Your brother came here yesterday,’ I said, ‘stayed a short while, and left.’
She made the sign of the cross. ‘I pray he lives,’ she said.
There would have been no time for news of Eardwulf’s failed attempt to kill Æthelflaed to reach Gleawecestre before he arrived in the city, so no one would have suspected his treachery, though doubtless they had wondered why he had fled so quickly. ‘Why did he come here?’ I asked Eadith.
‘Why do you think?’
‘So where was the money kept?’
‘It was hidden in Lord Æthelred’s private chapel.’
The Empty Throne (The Warrior Chronicles, Book 8) Page 16