Edwin held up his hand and the thegn’s voice trailed away. “Many of Æthelfrith’s retainers have served me well, but they have generally made themselves known to me. Now, woman, tell me your truth.” And the king spoke a few words in the language of the Britons. The crone brightened and began to speak, the words fluid and musical and far too quick for Forthred to follow.
Edwin nodded as the crone spoke, looking over at the thegn as the old woman made her argument with jabbing finger and jabbering tongue. The thegn’s grasp of the language of the Britons appeared to be little better than Forthred’s, for he had to look to his companions for a translation of the crone’s case.
“Very good.” Edwin sat back on the judgement chair and gestured the crone to take her place beside the thegn. He looked at the petitioners, the old woman gabbling soundlessly through her toothless lips, the thegn red and sweaty with embarrassment.
“Pay the old woman her weregild,” Edwin said, staring at the thegn, “and do not think that being of the same blood as my forefathers trumps the ancient customs and laws.”
The old thegn stared at the king, his face becoming even redder with anger. But when he did speak, it was not to argue but to ask a question.
“Have you heard the news, lord?”
Edwin’s eyes narrowed as he looked sharply at the thegn.
“What news?”
The thegn sniffed. “The king is dead.” He sniffed again. “All kings die.” And he turned and made to stalk from the hall.
But Edwin rose from the judgement seat and where the thegn’s face was red, Edwin’s was as pale as death.
“Stop.”
Forthred, seeing the bitter flare of his master’s anger, stepped forward, but Edwin stopped him with a gesture. The thegn stopped, his back still turned to the king. The crone licked her lips, eyes flicking from her master to her king and back again as she strove to understand what was being said in an alien tongue. The people in the hall – petitioners, servants, slaves, thegns – fell into a watching, waiting silence. Even the news that had fluttered around the hall minutes before was hushed.
The thegn turned back to his king. The blood had drained from his face, but his lips were set firm and his eyes were steady as he faced Edwin.
“You upheld the ancient customs and laws for this lying old woman. Will you spurn them now because I angered you?”
The hall waited in silence, and even the dogs, sensing the tension, were still.
“My lord.”
The voice was quiet, but in the quiet it carried. Edwin looked to his left and the eyes of everyone else in the hall turned to Forthred.
“My lord, King Rædwald is dead.”
And around the hall, everyone let out their breath. Edwin’s face did not change – no colour came to his cheeks or blood to his lips – but his jaw tightened.
For a minute the king made no answer and in the hall there was no sound. Then Edwin turned to the day’s remaining petitioners.
“Go,” he said. He looked around the hall. “Everyone, go.” He turned his gaze upon the thegn. The old warrior held his gaze for a moment and then bowed, the red flush dying from his face. He was going to live. “Go,” said Edwin. “But insult me again and I will put you to death.”
The people drained out of the hall, gossiping and talking as they went. Forthred remained, standing quietly by the judgement seat, and when the hall was empty Edwin turned to him.
“When did he die?”
“Two days past.”
“You are sure? The news has come most quickly.”
“The winds were fair and the ship sailed fast. Its master, I think, hoped to be rewarded for bringing the news to you first.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, lord.”
Edwin stared into the hall without seeing its wooden columns, high roof or the hangings that trembled upon the walls as they attempted to seal it from the cold winds that blew in over the grey sea.
“How did he die? Was it in battle?”
“No, lord. He died after falling from his horse.”
Edwin gave a snort of grim laughter.
“His horse?”
“Yes, lord. It was a gift: a stallion fresh come from the king of the Franks, a white horse, magnificent and headstrong.”
“My father told me to be wary of gifts from the Franks, for they give with the right hand and take with the left.” Edwin shook his head. “A fall.” He lapsed into silence, his gaze focused on the intermediate, indeterminate space between near and far. “So Rædwald the warrior goes down, a shade, to Hel, while Æthelfrith, the man he defeated, feasts at the table of the All-Father.” Edwin looked to Forthred. “That does not seem right.”
Forthred shrugged. “Even the gods are subject to wyrd. At the Last Battle the All-Father, Thunor – they will all fall.”
“But at least they will be there, fighting the frost giants, with Æthelfrith at their side. Rædwald’s ghost, a gibbering lost thing, will not even remember the strength and rage with which it cut down Æthelfrith. Only a shade will remain, a shadow that fades as the sun fails and darkness takes everything.”
“The fate singers weave wyrd and we, men and gods, must endure.”
Edwin nodded slowly, then stood. “I have been in this hall too long today and the reek sits heavy in my chest. Come with me. There is more I must learn.”
The door warden bowed as the king and his chief retainer left the hall. The gaggle of unheard petitioners, spotting Edwin, made to follow, but the door warden gestured for them to wait.
“The king will hear you from the judgement seat, not –” he looked to where Edwin and Forthred were headed – “the toilet seat.” The petitioners laughed and settled back to their waiting.
But Edwin and Forthred did not cross to the north tower with its garderobe jutting out over the rock beneath. Instead, they climbed the battlements and stood upon the thick timber-topped wall that looked out over the sea and the ship moored beneath.
The wind, cutting and clear, whipped over the waves. Edwin faced into it and breathed its coldness in.
“There is no one to hear us here, Forthred.” Edwin looked out over the ridged grey water to the wave-breaking islands that rose, long and low, a mile and more from the shore. “With Rædwald dead, where lies the power in the land?”
Forthred looked at the profile of the man he had served as exile and king, and he made the courtesy, his clenched fist and forearm sounding out dully as they struck the muscles of his chest.
“With you, lord.”
The wind blew harder and Edwin shivered, but it was not from a cold to which he was inured that he shook.
“He made me bow to him. He forced me to my knees in front of his men, in front of mine, and made me do homage.” Edwin turned to Forthred, and his eyes were as grey and cold as the sea. “He bought me my kingdom and defeated my enemy, but he ground my knees into the blood-soaked mud and forced the homage I would have willingly given. But he is dead now, and no other man will make me kneel.”
“But I will kneel to you, lord,” said Forthred, and he went down on one knee before Edwin.
“Get up, get up.” Edwin hauled Forthred back to his feet. “We have endured too much together for you to kneel to me, old friend. But tell me, who do you think will take rule of the East Angles after Rædwald?”
“Most probably Eorpwald, Rædwald’s son.”
“Do the thegns wish him for king?”
“He is young and not the warrior his father was, but unless a thegn can rally the rest to him, Eorpwald will be king.”
“So he needs support. I will give it, at a price.” Edwin turned his back to the sea and looked over the high walls of his castle to the west, seeing the well-tended fields that fell away from the castle rock to the woods and the rising, bare-backed hills beyond.
“This was Æthel
frith’s land. When I came here after the battle, Æthelfrith’s thegns could have held the castle long against us, but they pledged themselves to me and they have been true to their word. But still, though it be the strongest castle in the land, I have no love for it. Bamburgh. A hundred kings could come against it and they would fall before its walls. But still I do not love it. It is time we went back south, Forthred, to our own old lands. Will Eorpwald come if we summon him to York?”
“There is a man on the ship who can tell us, lord. He seeks audience with you.”
“Who is he?”
“Wældhelm, the smith.”
“Rædwald’s smith?”
“Yes, lord.”
“Why has he come?”
“He brings his wives and children; I saw them on the ship. If he brings them over sea, he must be seeking a new lord.”
Edwin peered down over the battlements to where the ship lay, pulled up onto the narrow stretch of sand beneath the castle rock. The sailors were setting up their tents alongside and a group of children were playing chase with each other and the waves. Standing apart from them, looking up at the castle, was a man who even from this height looked big among the others.
“Bring him to me.”
Forthred made to leave, then stopped. “Where will we find you?”
“Bring him to the hall.”
Chapter 2
Edwin sat upon the judgement seat. The petitioners stood outside, for he had told the door warden to await Forthred and the man he brought before allowing the squabbling, arguing mass of men, women, children and dogs inside. In the corners of the hall, slaves and servants cleared and cleaned, readying the long tables for the short midday meal. From outside, mingling with the sound of the arguing petitioners, came the thud of wood on wood and, more occasionally, the ringing of metal on metal as his men practised their arms under the watchful eye of his warmaster, Guthlaf.
The door warden pushed open the carved and painted oak door and stood to the side as Forthred entered, followed by a man a full head taller and with a chest and shoulders to match his height. But as they approached, Edwin saw that the big man dragged his right leg in the characteristic sidelong pull of a man who has been hamstrung.
Forthred made the courtesy, then turned to introduce the man he led.
“Wældhelm the smith, lord.”
Edwin inclined his head and turned his gaze upon the smith. The man bore, in many small scars and burns, the marks of smithship upon his hands and arms, and he smelled of the craft too. Smoke had darkened his flesh and yellowed it, like a preserved fish. The smith looked at the king through narrowed eyes. But Edwin realized this was not a sign of suspicion, but the result of many years spent staring into the white heart of fire.
The smith made the courtesy. “Rædwald, king, is dead. I seek a new king.”
“I already have a smith,” said Edwin. “Why should I take you?”
“You do not have a smith like me.” Wældhelm turned and gestured to the door warden. “Bring it forward.” Turning back to Edwin, the smith said, “I cannot carry a sword in your presence, so I asked the door warden to guard my gift. Look on that and then tell me you already have a smith.”
The door warden brought forward a sword, scabbarded in rough leather. Wældhelm stepped towards him, but the door warden did not give up the weapon. He looked at Edwin questioningly. The stranger was a giant of a man; to hand him a sword when there were so few to guard the king seemed foolish.
“I will take it,” said Forthred smoothly. He grasped the weapon. The hilt was plain, neither jewelled nor engraved, but their practised eyes told them it was well made. Forthred looked at the smith, his hand poised.
“Shall I?”
“Yes,” said Wældhelm.
Forthred drew the sword.
The king gasped. Forthred gasped. Even the door warden – who had seen more swords than anybody else – gasped.
The sword was three feet long, double edged and pointed, with a fuller running three-quarters of its length. But what drew the exclamations were the patterns of light and dark metal that ran the length of the blade, like sand ridges upon a beach.
Wældhelm laughed, even his narrowed eyes opening out in pleasure at the reaction to his work.
“Test it, lord; try it. Believe me, you will never have held a sword like this. It will cut through a good shield with one strike.”
Forthred looked at Edwin, saw the way the king’s eyes had locked upon the blade, and he handed the sword, hilt first, to the king. Edwin held the sword up, turning it this way and that, letting the light play upon its pattern, and holding it out straight in front to feel its balance.
“It will hold its edge through a battle and be as keen at the end, when all your enemies lie dead about your feet and the ravens have come for their souls, as it was at the beginning when the young men were calling insults and the old men were running whetstones down their blades.”
“Get a shield.” Edwin pointed the door warden to an old leather-bound lime-wood shield. While the warden fetched it, Edwin swung the sword through the air in the careful, prescribed strokes that his father and his sword master had taught him as a boy. He could hear the sword hiss as it cut the wind, a sound as unmistakeable as a wave upon sand.
The warden strapped the shield to his forearm and made to hold it up, but Wældhelm stepped forward. “Not if you want to keep your arm,” he said. “Hold it between your hands.”
The door warden looked to Edwin, who nodded his assent. Holding the edges of the shield, his hands wide apart, the door warden steadied himself, rooting his feet against the coming blow. But when the strike came, he hardly felt it. For the sword cut through the shield as if it were new leather. The incredulous laughter of Edwin and Forthred filled the great hall. And the smith smiled.
“Nor will it break.” He held out his hand.
Edwin handed the sword to Wældhelm. The smith took it and paused for a moment, the only man there with a drawn sword in his hand. In the sudden silence, Forthred felt for his seax and the door warden went for the hilt of his own sword, but Edwin made no move towards the blade that hung from his waist. Wældhelm looked around the three watching men.
“Shall I?”
“Yes,” said Edwin.
“Lord,” said Wældhelm, and he pushed the tip of the sword into the gap between two flagstones and began to bend the blade. Accompanied by gasps and muttered oaths, the smith bent the hilt further and further and further, the effort causing drops of sweat to break on his skin, until the pommel touched the very floor and the straight sword had become an arch.
“Watch now,” Wældhelm grunted through gritted teeth, and he pulled the point clear. The blade sprang back, shivering to the true, and Wældhelm gave the sword to the marvelling hands of king and thegn and door warden.
“I have never seen a sword bend like that before,” said Forthred in wonder, as he, Edwin and the door warden passed the weapon to each other.
“No sword of mine has ever broken, not in battle, not in duel, not in practice.”
Edwin held the sword out straight in front of him, feeling it as light in his hand as the wooden practice sword he had wielded as a boy.
“I will smith for you now,” said Wældhelm, “and make you swords such as this.”
Edwin looked over at the giant smith.
“Yes.” He passed the sword back to Forthred, who held it up to the light and slowly turned it before his wondering sight. “You are not oath bound to Rædwald’s son?”
“My oath was to Rædwald alone. He takes it with him into the ground.”
Edwin slipped off one of the heavy gold armlets from his upper arm. He held it out, and the smith stepped forward. Both men took hold of the thick gold ring.
“I give you this gift, and more gifts too I will give, so long as you honestly serve me.”
; “I take this gift and pledge my service to you.” Wældhelm took the ring and placed it on his own arm, although his muscles were so thick that the armlet would not go past his forearm.
From the door there came a rustle of argument, and Edwin looked over to see that a gaggle of petitioners had taken advantage of the door warden’s absence to enter the great hall. He sighed and made his way towards the judgement seat.
“Forthred will find lodgings for you and your family,” he said to the smith as he waited for the petitioners to sort themselves out. “But tell me, how did you become lame?”
“My father cut my hamstring when I was a boy in sacrifice to Wayland, that he might gain the knowledge to make a sword such as this.”
“And did he?”
“No. But I did.”
Edwin laughed. “The gods give gifts to whom they will. But I will give you many gifts for a sword such as the one you brought me.”
As he moved towards the judgement seat, a thought occurred to Edwin and he stopped. He turned back to Wældhelm. “How did you know to find me here, at Bamburgh? I could have been at York, Yeavering, Goodmanham, Leeds – I have many houses.”
“Wayland told me where to find you,” said the smith.
Edwin felt upon his flesh the creep that told of being watched, unseen. He nodded and, leaving Wældhelm, took his place upon the judgement seat. The petitioners were arranging themselves into groups, but before the first came forward, Edwin motioned to Forthred. “Call my thegns, counsellors and priests here this evening. We must feast Rædwald’s spirit, even though it lingers among the shadows, and I will have need of counsel.”
The king watched Forthred lead the huge smith from the great hall. With Rædwald dead and his master smith seeking a new master in Edwin, the opportunity had come to take the overlordship of the kingdoms of this island. Hence the feast. Edwin had a proposal to make to his thegns and counsellors and priests.
Chapter 3
“Hwæt!”
Edwin Page 5