He said as much. ‘Think on it, lord. In two days we break camp. The kings will depart, the monks will return to Dacore, and I shall travel south to Wintanceaster. Tomorrow afternoon we give a great feast, and you must tell me your answer then.’ He stood and stepped towards me, holding out a hand to help me stand. I let him pull me to my feet, and then he gripped my hand in both of his. ‘I owe you much, lord, more perhaps than I can ever pay, and in the time you have left on this earth I would like you close to me, in Wessex, as my adviser, as my counsellor!’ He smiled, unleashing his handsome charm on me. ‘As you once looked after me,’ he said softly, ‘I shall look after you.’
‘Tomorrow,’ I said, and my voice sounded to me like a croak.
‘Tomorrow afternoon, lord!’ He slapped my shoulder. ‘And bring Finan and your pet Norse brothers!’ He strode towards our horses that were held by a servant beyond the old camp’s low earthen wall. He turned suddenly. ‘Make sure you bring your fellows! Finan and the Norsemen!’ He had said nothing about Egil’s men accompanying me despite his order that I should only bring thirty men. It appeared he did not mind. ‘Bring all three!’ he called back. ‘And now, let’s hunt!’
The Christians tell a story of how their devil took the nailed god to the crest of a mountain and showed him the kingdoms of the world. All could be his, the devil promised, if he just knelt and swore fealty. And like the nailed god I had been offered wealth and power. The nailed god refused, but I was no god and I was tempted.
Æthelstan, I realised, was like a man playing tæfl. He was moving his pieces about the squares to capture the tallest piece and so win the game, but by offering me Wiltunscir he was trying to remove me from the playing board altogether. And of course I was tempted. And as we had hunted he had tempted me further by casually saying that I would remain the Lord of Bebbanburg. ‘The fortress and estate are yours forever, lord, so all I’m asking of you is to let me supply the commander and his garrison! And only until we’re sure of peace with the Scots! Once those scoundrels have proved they mean to keep their oath then Bebbanburg will belong to your family for ever! All yours!’ He had given me his dazzling smile, then spurred on.
So I was tempted. I would keep Bebbanburg, but live in Wiltunscir, where I would command land, men, and silver. I would die rich. And as I followed him, watching the hawks stoop on partridges and pigeons, I thought of that casual promise, that he would only hold Bebbanburg until there was peace with the Scots. It had sounded reassuring, but then I remembered that there had never been peace with the Scots and likely never would be. Even when the Scots spoke of peace they were readying for war, and when we spoke the same smooth words to them we were busy forging more spears and binding more shields. It was an enmity without end. Yet Wiltunscir? Rich, plump Wiltunscir? But what a king gave, a king could take away, and I thought of what Hywel had told me, how his successors might not feel bound by the agreement he had made with Æthelstan. And would Æthelstan’s successors feel bound by any agreement he made with me? Would Æthelstan himself? For what need would Æthelstan have of me once he was in possession of Bebbanburg?
Yet he had gripped my hand, looked into my eyes and promised to look after me as I had once looked after him. And I wanted to believe him. Better perhaps to spend my last years among Wiltunscir’s lush pastures and heavy orchards, secure in the knowledge that my son, my second son, would be given his birthright when the Scots bent the knee.
‘Will the Scots ever make peace?’ I asked Finan that night.
‘Will the wolf lie down with the lamb?’
‘We’re lambs?’
‘We’re the wolf pack of Bebbanburg,’ he said proudly.
We were sitting with Egil and his brother, Thorolf, beside a fire. There was a bright half-moon that kept vanishing behind high, fast clouds, while the wind, briskly cold from the east, whirled the sparks of our fire high. I could hear my men singing as they sat around their fires, and sometimes they would bring us ale, though Æthelstan had sent me a small barrel of wine. Thorolf tasted it and spat. ‘It’s good for cleaning mail,’ he said, ‘but damn all else.’
‘Vinegar,’ Egil agreed.
‘Æthelstan won’t be pleased,’ Finan put in.
‘He didn’t want the wine,’ I said, ‘why should he care?’
‘He won’t be pleased if you stay in Bebbanburg.’
‘What can he do?’ I asked.
‘Besiege you?’ Egil suggested uncertainly.
‘He has enough men,’ Thorolf growled.
‘And ships,’ his brother added. For the last two years we had been hearing how Æthelstan was building new and better ships. His grandfather, Alfred, had built a navy, but his ships had been heavy and slow, while Æthelstan, we had heard, was making ships that even a Norseman might admire.
Finan stared up at the sparks whirling in the wind. ‘I can’t believe he’d besiege you, lord. You gave him his throne!’
‘He no longer needs me.’
‘He owes you!’
‘And he has Bishop Oswald spewing hatred into his ear,’ I said.
‘The best thing to do with bishops,’ Thorold said savagely, ‘is to gut them like summer salmon.’
No one spoke for a moment, then Finan poked the fire with a branch. ‘So what will you do?’
‘I don’t know. Truly, I don’t know.’
Egil sipped the wine again. ‘I wouldn’t clean my mail with this goat’s piss,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Did you give an answer to King Constantine?’ he asked. ‘Didn’t he expect to hear from you?’
‘I’ve nothing to say to him,’ I said curtly. Constantine might expect an answer, but I reckoned my silence would be answer enough.
‘And Æthelstan didn’t ask you about it?’
‘Why should he?’ I asked.
‘Because he knows about it,’ Egil said. ‘He knows the Scots visited you at Bebbanburg.’
I stared at him through the flames. ‘He knows?’
‘Ingilmundr told me. He asked if you’d accepted Constantine’s offer.’
There comes a moment in battle when you know you have it all wrong, that the enemy has out-thought you and is about to outfight you. It is a sinking feeling of horror and I felt it at that moment. I still stared at Egil, my mind trying to take in what he was telling me. ‘I thought of saying something,’ I admitted, ‘but he didn’t ask so I didn’t speak.’
‘Well, he knows!’ Egil said grimly.
I cursed. I had thought of telling Æthelstan about the Scottish envoys, but had decided to keep silent. Better to say nothing, I had thought, than poke that sleeping polecat. ‘And you said what to Ingilmundr?’ I asked Egil.
‘I said I knew nothing about it!’
I had been a fool. So Æthelstan, all the time he was offering me wealth, knew that Constantine had made me an offer and I had not mentioned it. I should have known that Æthelstan’s spies riddled Constantine’s court, just as the Scottish king had his spies among Æthelstan’s men. So what was Æthelstan thinking now? That I had deliberately deceived him? And if I was to tell him now that I would not surrender Bebbanburg to him then he would surely believe I was planning to give my allegiance to Constantine instead.
I heard the chanting of monks and saw the same small group as the previous night, again led by the man with the lantern who walked solemn and slow, around the encampment. ‘I like that sound,’ I said.
‘You’re a secret Christian,’ Finan said with a grin.
‘I was baptised,’ I said, ‘three times.’
‘That’s against church law. Once is enough.’
‘None worked. I almost drowned the second time.’
‘Pity you weren’t!’ Finan said, still grinning. ‘You’d have gone straight to heaven! You’d be sitting on a cloud now, playing a harp.’
I said nothing because the chanting monks had turned south towards the Welsh encampment, but one of them had left the group furtively and was coming towards us. I held up a hand to silence my companions and nodded to
wards the hooded monk who seemed to be coming straight towards our fire.
He was. His hood was deep, so deep that I could not see his face as he paced towards us. His dark brown robe was belted with rope, a silver cross hung at his breast, and his hands were clasped in front of him as though he prayed. He did not greet us, did not ask if his company was welcome, but just sat opposite me between Finan and Egil. He had drawn the hood further forward so I still could not see his face. ‘Please join us,’ I said sarcastically.
The monk said nothing. The chanting faded away to the south and the wind blew sparks high.
‘Wine, brother?’ Finan asked. ‘Or there’s ale?’
He shook his head in answer. I caught a glimpse of firelight reflected from his eyes, nothing more.
‘Come to preach to us?’ Thorolf asked sourly.
‘I have come,’ he said, ‘to tell you to leave Burgham.’
I held my breath against the anger welling in me. This was no monk, our visitor was a bishop and I knew his voice. It was Bishop Oswald, my son. Finan recognised the voice too, because he glanced at me before turning back to Oswald. ‘You don’t like our company, bishop?’ he asked mildly.
‘All Christians are welcome here.’
‘But not your pagan father?’ I asked bitterly. ‘Who put your friend and king on his throne?’
‘I am loyal to my king,’ he said very calmly, ‘though my first duty is always to God.’
I was about to say something sharp, but Finan laid his hand on my knee in warning. ‘You have a godly duty now?’ the Irishman asked.
Oswald was silent for a few heartbeats. I still could not see his face, but sensed he was staring at me. ‘Have you made an agreement with Constantine?’ he finally asked.
‘He has not,’ Finan said firmly.
Oswald waited, wanting my answer. ‘No,’ I said, ‘nor will I.’
‘The king fears you have.’
‘Then you can reassure him,’ I said.
Again Oswald hesitated, then for the first time since he joined us, he sounded uncertain. ‘He cannot know I am speaking to you.’
‘Why not?’ I asked belligerently.
‘He would see it as a betrayal.’
I let that remark rest for a moment, then looked at my companions. ‘He won’t hear it from us,’ I said, and Finan, Egil and Thorolf all nodded. ‘A betrayal of what?’ I asked, though in a more kindly tone.
‘There are times,’ Oswald said, his voice still hesitant, ‘when a king’s counsellor must do what he thinks is right, not what the king wants.’
‘And that’s betrayal?’
‘In a small sense, yes, in the larger? No. It is loyalty.’
‘And what does the king want?’ Finan asked quietly.
‘Bebbanburg.’
‘He told me as much this afternoon,’ I said dismissively, ‘but if I don’t want him to have it then he’ll have to fight over my walls.’
‘The king believes otherwise.’
‘Otherwise?’ I asked.
‘Where force might fail,’ Oswald said, ‘guile might succeed.’
I thought how cleverly Æthelstan had captured Eoferwic, putting Guthfrith to panicked flight, and I felt a chill of fear. ‘Go on,’ I said.
‘The king is persuaded you have an agreement with Constantine,’ Oswald said, ‘and he is determined to thwart that agreement. He has invited you to a feast tomorrow. While you are eating and drinking, Lord Ealdred will lead two hundred men across Northumbria.’ He spoke flatly, as if reluctant. ‘And Ealdred will carry a letter to my brother, a letter from the king. King Æthelstan and my brother are friends and my brother will believe the letter and welcome the king’s men into the fortress, and Ealdred will then be the Lord of Bebbanburg.’
Finan swore quietly, then threw another length of firewood into the flames. Egil leaned forward. ‘Why does the king believe a lie?’ he asked.
‘Because his advisers have convinced him that Constantine and my father are allied.’
‘Advisers,’ I growled, ‘Ingilmundr and Ealdred?’
Oswald nodded. ‘He was reluctant to believe them, but today you said nothing of meeting Constantine’s men in Bebbanburg and that convinced him.’
‘Because there was nothing to say!’ I said angrily, and again thought what a fool I had been to say nothing. ‘There was a meeting, but no agreement. There is no alliance. I sent his men away with a gift of goat’s cheese. That’s all.’
‘The king believes otherwise.’
‘Then the king …’ I began and checked the insult. ‘You say he’s sending Ealdred?’
‘Lord Ealdred and two hundred men.’
‘And Ealdred,’ I guessed, ‘has been named Ealdorman of Bebbanburg?’
The dark cowl nodded. ‘He has.’
‘Even before I talked to the king?’
‘The king was confident you would accept his offer. It was generous, was it not?’
‘Very,’ I admitted grudgingly.
‘You could go to him tonight,’ Oswald suggested, ‘and accept?’
‘And Ealdred becomes Lord of Bebbanburg?’
‘Better him than Ingilmundr,’ Oswald said.
‘Better me than either!’ I said angrily.
‘I agree,’ Oswald said, surprising me.
There was silence for a short moment, then Finan poked at the fire. ‘Ingilmundr holds land in Wirhealum, yes?’
‘He does.’
‘Which is in your diocese, bishop, yes?’
‘Yes.’ Curtly.
‘And?’
Oswald stood. ‘I believe he is a deceiver. I pray to God I am wrong, but with all charity, I cannot trust him.’
‘And the king does.’
‘The king does,’ he said flatly. ‘You will know what to do, father,’ he said, then turned abruptly and walked away.
‘Thank you!’ I called after him. There was no reply. ‘Oswald!’ Again no reply. I stood. ‘Uhtred!’ That had been his name before I disowned him, and the sound of it made him turn. I walked to him. ‘Why?’ I asked.
To my surprise he pushed back the big dark cowl and in the firelight I saw his face was drawn and pale. Old too. His short hair and clipped beard were grey. I wanted to say something to acknowledge our past, to seek his forgiveness. But the words would not come. ‘Why?’ I asked again.
‘The king,’ he said, ‘fears that the Scots will capture Northumbria.’
‘Bebbanburg has always resisted them. Always will.’
‘Always?’ he asked. ‘The only thing that lasts for ever is God’s mercy. Our family once ruled all the land to the Foirthe, now the Scots claim all of it north of the Tuede. They want the rest.’
‘And he thinks I won’t fight them?’ I protested. ‘I took an oath to protect Æthelstan and I’ve kept that oath!’
‘But he no longer needs your protection. He’s the strongest king in Britain, and his advisers are poisoning him, telling him you can no longer be trusted. And he wants his flag on the ramparts of Bebbanburg.’
‘And you don’t want that?’ I asked.
He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘Bebbanburg is ours,’ he finally said, ‘and though I deplore your religion I believe you will defend it more savagely than any troops Æthelstan posts on its walls. Besides, his troops will be wasted there.’
‘Wasted?’
‘The king believes that if his plan for peace doesn’t work then the island of Britain will have to endure the most terrible war in its history and, if that happens, father, it won’t be fought at Bebbanburg.’
‘No?’
‘The Scots can only defeat us if the pagans join them, and the strongest pagans are the Norsemen of Ireland. We know Constantine has sent gifts to Anlaf. He sent a stallion, a sword and a golden dish. Why? Because he seeks an alliance, and if the Irish Norse come with all their power they will take the shortest route. They’ll land in the west.’ He paused. ‘You fought at Ethandun, father?’
‘I did.’
‘W
here Guthrum led the Northmen?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Alfred the Christians?’
‘I fought for him too,’ I said.
He ignored that. ‘So if Anlaf comes, father, it will be a war of grandsons. Guthrum’s grandson against Alfred’s grandson, and that war will be fought far from Bebbanburg.’
‘You’re saying I should go home and protect that home.’
‘I’m saying you will know best what you should do.’ He nodded abruptly and pulled the cowl over his head. ‘Good night, father.’
‘Uhtred!’ I called as he turned away.
‘My name is Oswald.’ He kept walking and I let him go.
And for a moment I just stood in the lonely darkness, overwhelmed by feelings that I did not want. There was guilt about the son I had rejected and an anger for what he had revealed to me. For a moment I felt tears prick at my eyes, then I growled, turned and walked back to the fire where three faces looked up at me questioningly. There, venting my anger at last, I kicked over the barrel so that wine, or perhaps goat’s piss, poured and hissed in the fire. ‘We leave tonight,’ I said.
‘Tonight?’ Thorolf asked.
‘Tonight, and we go quietly, but we go!’
‘Jesus,’ Finan said.
‘The king mustn’t see us readying to leave,’ I insisted, then turned to Finan. ‘We go first, you, me and our men.’ I turned to Egil and Thorolf, ‘but you and your men will leave just before dawn.’
No one spoke for a few heartbeats. The wine still bubbled and hissed at the fire’s edges. ‘You really think Æthelstan plans to steal Bebbanburg?’ Finan asked.
‘I know he wants it! And he wants the four of us at his feast tomorrow, and while we’re there he’ll have men riding to Bebbanburg, and they’ll be carrying a letter to my son, and my son and Æthelstan are old friends and my son will believe whatever the letter says. He’ll open the Skull Gate and Æthelstan’s men will ride in and they’ll take Bebbanburg.’
‘Then we’d better leave now,’ Finan said, standing.
War Lord Page 12