‘You’ll go there,’ I said, ‘and tell me if it’s gone.’
‘Of course it’s gone!’
‘I know that,’ I said, ‘and you know that, but I still want to be sure.’
‘And afterwards?’ she asked.
‘Afterwards?’
‘What happens to me?’
I looked at her and was envious of Æthelred. ‘You’re not an enemy,’ I said, ‘if you want to join your brother then you can.’
‘In Wales?’
‘Is that where he went?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know where he’s gone, but Wales is closest.’
‘Just tell me if the money is gone,’ I said, ‘and after that you can go.’
Her eyes glistened, but whether that was tears or the rain I could not tell. I slid from my horse, wincing at the pain in my ribs, and went to discover who ruled in Gleawecestre’s palace.
I was not reduced to sleeping in the stable, but instead found rooms in one of the smaller Roman buildings. It was a house built around a courtyard with just a single entrance, above which was nailed a wooden cross. A nervous steward told me the rooms were used by Æthelred’s chaplains. ‘How many chaplains did he have?’ I asked.
‘Five, lord.’
‘Five in this house! It could sleep twenty!’
‘And their servants, lord.’
‘Where are the chaplains?’
‘Standing vigil in the church, lord. The Lord Æthelred is buried tomorrow.’
‘Lord Æthelred doesn’t need chaplains now,’ I said, ‘so the bastards can move out. They can sleep in his stables.’
‘His stables, lord?’ the steward asked nervously.
‘Wasn’t your nailed god born in a stable?’ I asked, and he just looked at me dumbly. ‘If a stable was good enough for Jesus,’ I said, ‘it’s good enough for his damned priests. But not for me.’
We moved the priests’ belongings into the courtyard, then my men took over the empty rooms. Stiorra and Ælfwynn shared a room with their maids, while Æthelstan would sleep under the same roof as Finan and a half-dozen other men. I called the lad into the room I had taken, a room furnished with a low bed on which I was lying because the pain in my lower ribs was throbbing. I could feel pus and muck oozing from the wound.
‘Lord?’ Æthelstan said nervously.
‘The Lord Æthelhelm is here,’ I said.
‘I know, lord.’
‘So tell me what he wants with you?’
‘My death?’
‘Probably,’ I agreed, ‘but your father wouldn’t like that. So what else?’
‘He wants to take me away from you, lord.’
‘Why?’
‘So his grandson can be king.’
I nodded. Of course he knew the answers to my questions, but I wanted him to be alive to those answers. ‘Good boy,’ I said, ‘and what will he do with you?’
‘Send me to Neustria, lord.’
‘And what happens in Neustria?’
‘Either they kill me or sell me into slavery, lord.’
I closed my eyes as the pain sharpened. The stuff oozing from the wound stank like a cesspit. ‘So what must you do?’ I asked, opening my eyes to look at him.
‘Stay close to Finan, lord.’
‘You do not run off,’ I said savagely. ‘You do not look for adventure in the city. You do not find a girlfriend! You stay by Finan’s side! You understand me?’
‘Of course, lord.’
‘You might be the next King of Wessex,’ I told him, ‘but you won’t be anything if you’re dead or if you’re snatched away to some damn monastery to be arse-fodder for a pack of monks, so you stay here!’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘And if Lord Æthelhelm sends for you, you don’t obey him. You tell me instead. Now go.’
I closed my eyes. The damn pain, the damn pain, the damned pain. I needed Ice-Spite.
She came to me after dark. I had slept, and Finan or perhaps my servant, had brought a tall church candle into the room. It burned smokily, casting a small light on the cracked and peeling plaster of the walls and dancing strange shadows on the ceiling.
I woke to hear the voices outside, one pleading and the other gruff. ‘Let her in,’ I called, and the door opened so that the candle flame shuddered and the shadows leaped. ‘Close the door,’ I said.
‘Lord …’ the man standing guard started to speak.
‘Close the door,’ I said, ‘she’s not going to kill me.’ Though the pain was such that I might have welcomed it if she had.
Eadith came hesitantly. She had changed into a long dress of dark green wool, belted with a rope of gold and hemmed with thick strips embroidered with yellow and blue flowers. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in mourning?’ I asked cruelly.
‘I am in mourning.’
‘So?’
‘You think I’ll be welcome at the funeral?’ she asked bitterly.
‘You think I will?’ I asked, then laughed and wished I had not.
She watched me nervously. ‘The money,’ she finally spoke, ‘has gone.’
‘Of course it has.’ I winced as pain throbbed. ‘How much?’
‘I don’t know. A lot.’
‘My cousin was generous,’ I said sourly.
‘He was, lord.’
‘So where has the bastard gone?’
‘He took a ship, lord.’
I looked at her in surprise. ‘A ship? He didn’t have enough men to crew a ship.’
She shook her head. ‘Maybe he didn’t. But Sella gave him bread and hams to take, and he told her he would find a fishing boat.’
‘Sella?’
‘She’s a kitchen maid, lord.’
‘A pretty one?’
She nodded. ‘Pretty enough.’
‘And your brother didn’t take her with him?’
‘He asked her to go, lord, but she said no.’
So Eardwulf was gone, but gone where? He had a handful of followers and a lot of money, and he would need refuge somewhere. A fishing boat made sense. Eardwulf’s few men could row it, the wind would carry it, but to where? Would Æthelhelm have offered him refuge in Wessex? I doubted it. Eardwulf was only useful to Æthelhelm if he could rid the ealdorman of Æthelstan, and he had failed in that, so he would not be in Wessex and certainly not in Mercia. ‘Is your brother a seaman?’ I asked her.
‘No, lord.’
‘What about his men?’
‘I doubt it, lord.’
So he could hardly sail from the Sæfern to Neustria in a small boat, so it had to be either Wales or Ireland. And with any luck a Danish or Norse ship would see his ship and that would be the end of Eardwulf. ‘If he’s no sailor,’ I said, ‘and if you love him, then you’d better pray for good weather.’ I had spoken sourly and decided I had been boorish. ‘Thank you for telling me.’
‘Thank you for not killing me,’ she responded.
‘Or for not sending you to join Sella in the kitchen?’
‘For that too, lord,’ she said humbly, then wrinkled her nose at the stench pervading the room. ‘Is that your wound?’ she asked, and I nodded. ‘I smelt the same when my father died,’ she went on, then paused, but I said nothing. ‘When was the wound last dressed?’ she asked.
‘A week ago, more. Can’t remember.’
She turned abruptly and went from the room. I closed my eyes. Why had King Edward gone? He had not been close to Æthelred, but it still seemed strange that he had left Gleawecestre before the funeral. Yet he had left Æthelhelm, his father-in-law, chief adviser, and the power behind the throne of Wessex, and my best guess was that Edward wanted to distance himself from the dirty work that Æthelhelm planned. That work was to ensure that the nobles of Mercia appointed Edward as Mercia’s ruler and encouraged Æthelflaed to retire to a convent. Well damn him. I was not dead yet, and so long as I lived I would fight for Æthelflaed.
Some time passed. It was the slow passing of time in a pain-filled night, but then the door opened aga
in and Eadith returned. She was carrying a bowl and some cloths. ‘I don’t want you to clean the wound,’ I growled.
‘I did it for my father,’ she said, then knelt beside the bed and pulled back the pelts. She grimaced at the smell.
‘When did your father die?’ I asked.
‘After the battle at Fearnhamme, lord.’
‘After?’
‘He took a wound in the stomach, lord, and lingered for five weeks.’
‘That was almost twenty years ago.’
‘I was seven, lord, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to tend him.’
‘Not your mother?’
‘She was dead, lord.’ I felt her fingers unbuckle the belt at my waist. She was gentle. She pulled up my tunic, unsticking it from the pus. ‘It should be cleaned every day, lord,’ she said reprovingly.
‘I’ve been busy,’ I said, and almost added that my business had been thwarting her damned brother’s ambitions. ‘What was your father called?’ I asked instead.
‘Godwin Godwinson, lord.’
‘I remember him,’ I said. I did too, a lean man with long moustaches.
‘He always said you were the greatest warrior of Britain, lord.’
‘That opinion must have sat well with Lord Æthelred.’
She pushed a cloth against the wound. She had warmed the water and the touch of it was strangely comforting. She held the cloth there, just soaking the crusted mess beneath. ‘Lord Æthelred was jealous of you,’ she said.
‘He hated me.’
‘That, too.’
‘Jealous?’
‘He knew you were a warrior. He called you a brute. He said you were like a dog that attacks a bull. You had no fear because you had no sense.’
I smiled at that. ‘Perhaps he was right.’
‘He wasn’t a bad man.’
‘I thought he was.’
‘Because you were his wife’s lover. We pick sides, lord, and sometimes loyalty gives us no choice in our opinions.’ She dropped the first cloth on the floor, then placed another on my ribs. The warmth seemed to dissolve the pain.
‘You loved him,’ I said.
‘He loved me,’ she said.
‘And he raised your brother high.’
She nodded. In the candlelight her face was stern, only the lips soft. ‘He raised my brother high,’ she said, ‘and Eardwulf is a clever warrior.’
‘Clever?’
‘He knows when to fight and when not to fight. He knows how to trick an enemy.’
‘But he doesn’t fight in the front rank,’ I said scornfully.
‘Not every man can do that, lord,’ she said, ‘but would you call the men in your second rank cowards?’
I ignored that question. ‘And your brother would have killed me and the Lady Æthelflaed.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he would.’
I smiled at that honesty. ‘So did Lord Æthelred leave you money?’
She looked at me, taking her eyes from my wound for the first time. ‘The will, I am told, depended on my brother marrying the Lady Ælfwynn.’
‘So you’re penniless.’
‘I have the jewels Lord Æthelred gave me.’
‘How long will they last?’
‘A year, perhaps two,’ she said bleakly.
‘But you’ll get nothing from the will,’ I said.
‘Unless the Lady Æthelflaed is generous.’
‘Why should she be generous?’ I asked. ‘Why should she give money to a woman who slept with her husband?’
‘She won’t,’ Eadith said calmly, ‘but you will.’
‘I will?’
‘Yes, lord.’
I winced slightly as she began wiping the wound clean. ‘Why would I give you money?’ I asked harshly. ‘Because you’re a whore?’
‘Men call me that.’
‘And are you?’
‘I hope not,’ she answered evenly, ‘but I think you will give me money, lord, for another reason.’
‘And what reason is that?’
‘Because I know what happened to Cnut’s sword, lord.’
I could have kissed her and, when she had cleaned the wound, I did.
Seven
I was woken by the harsh sound of a church bell tolling. I opened my eyes and for a moment had no idea where I was. The candle had long guttered out and the only light came from a small gap above the door. It was daylight, which meant I had slept long, then I smelt the woman and turned my face into a tangle of red hair. Eadith stirred, made a mewing noise in her sleep, and snaked an arm across my chest. She stirred again, coming awake, and rested her head on my shoulder, and after a few heartbeats began to weep.
I let her cry as I counted the bell tolling twenty-two times. ‘Regret?’ I finally asked her.
She sniffed and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘no, no, no. It’s the bell.’
‘The funeral, then?’ I asked, and she nodded. ‘You loved him,’ I said, almost accusingly.
She must have thought about her response because she did not answer until the bell had rung another sixteen times. ‘He was kind to me.’
It was strange to think of my cousin Æthelred being kind, but I believed her. I kissed her forehead and held her close. Æthelflaed, I thought, would kill me for this, but I found myself strangely unworried by the thought. ‘You must go to the funeral,’ I said.
‘Bishop Wulfheard said I can’t.’
‘Because of adultery?’ I asked and she nodded. ‘If no adulterers go,’ I said, ‘the church will be empty. Wulfheard himself couldn’t go!’
She sniffed again. ‘Wulfheard hates me.’ I began to laugh. The pain in my rib was still there, but duller now. ‘What’s funny?’ she asked.
‘He hates me too.’
‘He once …’ she began, then stopped.
‘He once what?’
‘You know.’
‘He did?’
She nodded. ‘He demanded to hear my confession, then said he’d only shrive me if I showed him what I did with Æthelred.’
‘And did you?’
‘Of course not,’ she sounded offended.
‘Sorry.’
She raised her head and looked into my eyes. Her eyes were green. She looked for a long time, then put her head down again. ‘Ælfwynn told me you were a good man.’
‘And you said?’
‘I told her you were a brute.’
I laughed at that. ‘You’d never met me!’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘But you were right,’ I said, ‘and she was wrong.’
She laughed softly. It was better than crying.
And we lay listening to the cocks crow.
The bell still tolled as I dressed. Eadith lay under the bed pelts, watching me. I dressed in the clothes I had travelled in, damp, stained and smelly, then bent to kiss her, and the pain stabbed at me. It was less severe, but it had not vanished. ‘Come and have some breakfast,’ I told her, then went into the central courtyard. A mist seeped from the river, mingling with a drizzle from low grey clouds.
Finan was waiting in the courtyard and grinned at me. ‘Sleep well, lord?’ he asked.
‘Go and jump in a lake, you Irish bastard,’ I said. ‘Where’s the boy?’
‘He’s awake. Eadric’s watching him.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Not a good day to bury a soul.’
‘Any day they bury Æthelred is a good day.’
‘I’ll take another sniff outside,’ he said, nodding towards the arched gate. ‘See what’s happening. It was all quiet an hour ago.’
I went with him, but the palace grounds looked asleep. A few guards were visible by the great hall, some geese cropped the wet grass, and a lone priest hurried towards the private chapel by the main gate. ‘Did you look into the hall?’ I asked Finan.
‘All’s well. Her ladyship’s in the upper chamber and our two Frisians are blocking the stairway like a pair of bullocks. No one can get past those two.’ I had sent Gerbruht and Folcbald to r
einforce Æthelflaed’s own warriors. ‘And no one tried,’ Finan added.
‘And Æthelhelm?’
‘He’s in the main hall with his daughter and Bishop Wulfheard. He said to say a good morning to you.’ Finan grinned. ‘You’ve no need to worry, lord.’
‘I should have slept in the hall,’ I said.
‘Aye that would have been wise. Lady Æthelflaed’s lover giving her a good swiving on the night before her husband’s funeral? Why didn’t I think of that?’
I smiled ruefully, then went to the kitchen where my son and daughter were eating breakfast. Both looked at me reproachfully, presumably because gossip had told them who had shared my bed. ‘Welcome to one of the best days of my life,’ I greeted them.
‘Best?’ my son asked.
‘We’re burying Æthelred,’ I said, then sat and tore a lump from the loaf and cut some cheese. ‘You remember Father Penda?’ I asked my son.
‘I remember pissing with him.’
‘When you’ve finished stuffing your belly,’ I said, ‘I want you to find him. He’s probably in the great hall, so find him and tell him I need to see him. But tell him privately. Make sure the bishop doesn’t know!’
‘Father Penda?’ Stiorra asked.
‘He’s one of Bishop Wulfheard’s priests,’ I said.
‘A priest!’ She sounded surprised.
‘I’m turning Christian,’ I said, and my son choked on his ale just as Æthelstan came into the room and bowed his head in greeting to me. ‘You’re going to the funeral,’ I told the boy, ‘and you’ll pretend to be sad.’
‘Yes, lord, I will.’
‘And you’ll stay by Finan’s side.’
‘Of course, lord.’
I pointed the knife at him. ‘I mean it! There are bastards out there who want you dead.’ I paused, letting the knife drop point first into the table. ‘Come to think of it, though, that might make my life easier.’
‘Sit down,’ Stiorra told the grinning boy.
The bell still tolled. I supposed it would ring till the funeral began, and that could not happen until the lords of Mercia decided to go to the church. ‘What they’ll do,’ I said, ‘is hold a meeting of the Witan right after they’ve buried the bastard. Maybe today, but for sure tomorrow.’
‘Without issuing a summons?’ my son asked.
‘They don’t need to. Everyone who matters is here.’
The Empty Throne (The Warrior Chronicles, Book 8) Page 17