The king nodded. “Wake him,” Edwin whispered, indicating Eumer with his eyes. “I – I would know why he sought to kill me, knowing his own death must surely follow.”
While servants were sent to fetch buckets of water, Edwin, supported by his sons, stood over the body of Forthred. The king said no words, but simply looked into the eyes of the dead man. There was no recognition there, no reflection. The spirit had gone out of him and only the body remained – he was as lifeless as any man left for the crows and ravens on the battlefield. Yet Edwin knew that he lived now only through the sacrifice of his oldest and most faithful friend.
“Though you do not hear, let this be known through all the high halls of the gods and in the weaving place of the fates: I will avenge you, Forthred.”
“The ravens will carry your message to Forthred and he will hear your pledge in the mead halls of Woden,” said Osfrith.
Edwin weakly shook his head. “He – he did not die in battle. Only warriors who die in battle are taken to the mead halls of Woden.” The king saw that the servants were waking the assassin. “Bring him before me.”
With his sons supporting him, Edwin staggered to the judgement seat, the painted wood and stone throne that stood at the top of the great hall, and took his place there.
Eumer was thrust down upon his knees in front of Edwin. The king stared at him.
“You must have known that even had you succeeded in killing me you would die,” Edwin said. “So why did you attempt this thing, against all laws of hospitality?”
The assassin looked up. His face was blood smeared and bruised, and one eye was half closed, yet Eumer still managed a death’s head grin.
“My knife was poisoned – you may yet die.”
Guthlaf struck the man down and kicked him in the ribs. “I burned the poison out. The king will live.”
Eumer coughed, and spat a mixture of blood and phlegm before forcing himself back upon his knees. “We all die,” he said.
“We do,” said Edwin, “and your death is near, Eumer of the West Saxons. But it is in my power to make your death swift or long. Now answer me: why did you try to strike me down?”
“Do you remember Eohric, son of Dearlaf, a thegn of Mercia and companion to the king?”
“No,” whispered Edwin.
“He was my father, and you killed him. Kings pay no weregild, they accept no fault for the blood they spill, but their blood is as red as any man’s and it flows as freely. Would only that I had spilled more of yours.”
“I – I do not remember him.”
Osfrith drew his sword. “Father, shall I kill him?”
Edwin swayed upon the judgement seat and Eadfrith had to stop him falling from the throne.
“No – not yet,” said Edwin in a voice that was growing steadily weaker. “Wh-why did Cwichelm send you against me?”
Eumer swayed, but forced himself to remain upright. “You would make us all your slaves. But the West Saxons will never, never kneel before you, and nor will the men of Mercia, or the Hwicce, nor the East Folk or the South Folk.”
“Th-the world is changing, Eumer. The ways of our fathers, those ways gave us the strength to take this land, but they will not give us the strength to hold it. If you do not bow to me, you will bow to others, and worse, and they will burn your halls and take your women.”
Eumer made to spit, but Guthlaf struck the back of his head and the man pitched forward. Osfrith’s sword pricked his neck but Edwin signed him to hold.
“Le-let him see me live. But if I die, make his dying long.”
“Oh, we will, father, we will.” Osfrith signed to Eadfrith. “Help me.” And the brothers helped their father, the king, from the great hall to his chamber, while Guthlaf saw to the prisoner and the dead.
Chapter 10
Edwin’s eyes snapped open.
Osfrith, who had been dozing, saw the movement and stooped over his father. The pupils were dilated, great black pits that filled the king’s eyes. He looked questioningly to Coifi, who squatted by the fire, passing his hands through the smoke.
“What is it?”
But before the priest could answer, the king began to tremble, starting in his extremities, but moving inwards, to the core.
“Help me,” said Osfrith.
Coifi stared at the thrashing figure of the king. “A god has taken him,” he whispered fearfully.
“I need your help,” said Osfrith.
The priest shook his head dumbly, backing away, his eyes as wide as the king’s.
“Eadfrith,” called Osfrith. “Eadfrith, get in here.”
The younger brother rushed into the chamber to find Osfrith holding Edwin down as the man convulsed upon the bed, his body jerking and heaving despite Osfrith putting his full weight upon him. Eadfrith threw himself upon the king’s lower half and the brothers together managed to hold the convulsions. Slowly, slowly the king subsided into a sweat-stained, shallow-breathed rest.
“Can you help him?” asked Eadfrith. “There was poison on the knife.”
Coifi licked his lips. Thoughts flashed through his head. What would happen to him if he tried to cure the king and he died? Would the princes exile him for failure? And what could he do? A god had taken the king, he could see that, but he did not know which one. Unless he could find out, there was nothing he could do.
“Coifi?”
The priest, shivering with fear, turned to the fire. “Let me see, let me see,” he mumbled, as he cast the seeds of poppy and henbane into the flames, searching for the weavings of wyrd in the perfumed smoke that twisted through the room and upon the shifting faces of the burning logs.
“What do you see?” asked Osfrith.
“I – I…give me time. The gods – ”
“Leave him,” said Eadfrith. “He knows nothing. I will call on the queen’s priest. Maybe he has knowledge, for he comes from the land of the emperors.”
“No, I will find the answer…” began Coifi.
“While you are looking I will bring Paulinus. In any case, two priests must be better than one. He can pray to his god and Coifi can pray to our gods.”
Eadfrith hurried in search of Paulinus, leaving Osfrith tending to Edwin and Coifi swaying in front of the fire, occasionally throwing seeds and minerals upon the flames. Servants and slaves scurried in and out of the room, bringing water and burning sweet-smelling perfumes and heating oils. A miasma of heady scents filled the room and leaked out into the great hall, where the men waited in whispering, anxious groups.
“Here he is.” Eadfrith led Paulinus into the room. “The king sleeps now, but he went into convulsions a short time ago. It was all we could do to hold him down.”
Paulinus went down on one knee next to Edwin. He took his wrist and felt the king’s pulse, then laid his hand on his brow. His fingers came away sticky and wet.
“The knife was poisoned,” said Eadfrith.
“Where is it?”
Eadfrith looked to his brother, who gingerly handed the knife to the priest. Paulinus stared at the black ichor coating the blade, twisting the handle so that it caught the light at different angles. Then he sniffed along the blade. Finally, and very carefully, he scraped a tiny amount of poison onto his fingertip and touched it to his tongue.
“Belladonna,” said Paulinus, getting to his feet. “The beautiful lady of death. The women of my home, they put the belladonna on their cheeks to give them a beautiful blush, and in their eyes to make them dark and beautiful. But when she gets into the blood, the beautiful lady is deadly.”
“Can you help?” asked Osfrith.
“Maybe – I will try.” Paulinus turned to a servant. “Go, get my satchel. James knows where it is. And I also need wine and a pot to heat the wine in.”
“I will get the wine,” said Eadfrith.
“And I will bring the po
t,” added Osfrith.
That left Paulinus alone in the room with Coifi and the unconscious king. Paulinus knelt again beside the bed, but did so in such a way that he could keep an eye on Coifi while he soothed Edwin’s brow. For his part, Coifi remained squatting in front of the fire, swaying and staring into the coals, mumbling low incantations and occasionally passing his hands through the flames.
“A god has taken him,” Coifi muttered without turning round. “He will not give him up.”
“You serve demons, not gods, as the Canaanites served Moloch and sacrificed their children to him.”
“If we did not make sacrifice to the gods, they would take what they wanted and give us back nothing in return.”
“My God sacrificed himself for us and he asks our service in return.” Paulinus paused as an image entered his imagination. “It is like this: imagine you are in battle, in the shieldwall, and your enemy is about to strike you down. Then your king puts himself between you and your enemy; he takes the blow and is struck down. But the king lives! Would you not owe such a king every service from that day forth?”
Coifi passed his hand through the flames. The yellow tongues licked over his rough fingers. “The gods are not like that. They give to the strong and they take from the weak. The gods are kings who cannot die.”
“I thought the gods will die,” said Eadfrith, returning with the wine, “when the serpent rises from the sea and the wolf comes from the north.”
“There is only one God,” said Paulinus, “and he has defeated death already.”
Eadfrith looked at the priest. “Tell that to Forthred,” he said.
Paulinus shook his head. “Forthred did not believe. But those who do believe in the one God, the true God, they shall rise again with him who has already risen from the dead. Think you: a king gives gifts to his bondsmen, and to the most favoured he gives the greatest gifts, yes? Our God gives life to his bondsmen – life indeed, in this world and the next world, for he has proved he has power over death by breaking forth from the underworld where wicked and cruel men had delivered him.”
Osfrith and the servant – who had sprinted all the way from and to the king’s room – returned with satchel and pot.
“Heat the wine,” said Paulinus, as he took the satchel and searched through it. “I know – I know I brought some… Ah, here.” Paulinus poured a handful of striated seeds from a leather pouch and smelled them. “Yes, they still have their virtue. Here, smell.” He held the seeds out to Osfrith and Eadfrith, who both sniffed. “As long as the seeds retain their aniseed smell, they will work. I tried to grow some, but there is not enough sun for any civilized plant to grow here. My vine died too.” Paulinus turned to the fire. “Is the wine hot yet?”
The heavy fumes rising from the pot gave answer. Paulinus added the seeds to the hot wine, chanting in a low voice as he did so. Coifi, who had been pushed away from his berth by the fire, squatted in the corner, his raven cloak pulled around his shoulders. He too began to croak an incantation, shaking his bone rattle, but when Paulinus heard, he turned sharply on the priest.
“Silence!” he said. “Do not invoke demons and devils while I pray for the king’s deliverance.”
Coifi looked to Edwin’s sons for support. “I was asking the gods’ help to change the wyrd that has afflicted the king.”
“If this does not work you can call on the gods later,” said Eadfrith. “For now, let Paulinus work alone. It does not do to have two commanders in battle nor two priests in prayer. The gods will not know which to listen to.”
Coifi slouched down into a ragged pile of black feathers. Paulinus, finishing his prayers, filled a cup with the hot, flavoured wine.
“Help me get him to drink,” he said.
Osfrith and Eadfrith lifted their father up. He moaned and shifted in their grasp, but the fierce strength that had sustained him through his years seemed gone; they had no need to exert themselves in order to hold him steady or to open the king’s mouth.
“You must drink this,” said Paulinus, holding the cup to Edwin’s lips. “It will help against the poison.”
Edwin’s gaze, which had been rolling wildly around the room, slowly focused on Paulinus.
“Baby?” he asked.
“A – a beautiful baby boy,” Paulinus said, his thin face flushing red as he spoke.
“A son,” whispered Edwin.
“You didn’t tell us,” Osfrith hissed, but Paulinus did not look at the prince.
“Drink, lord, and see your son.” The priest tilted the cup. At first the wine rolled from Edwin’s lips, but the strong scent seemed to prick at his nose and the back of his throat. The king’s mouth began to work, and the next sip made its way to the back of his mouth and down his throat. The priest gave more, and a little more, and the supporting princes could see their father’s throat working as he swallowed the wine.
Edwin choked, coughing out the next sip, and his sons leaned him forward, so he might better clear his lungs. The first hint of colour appeared on his pale lips.
“It’s working,” said Osfrith.
But Paulinus shook his head. “Not yet. He must drink this all, or the poison will return.” So, slowly, sip by sip, Paulinus gave Edwin, king of Northumbria, the cup of wine. By its end, much colour had returned to Edwin’s face, and the cold sweat that had plastered his hair to his scalp was drying.
“Lie him down and let him rest,” Paulinus said to Osfrith and Eadfrith.
Edwin gripped Paulinus’s arm. “My wife?”
The priest blushed furiously once more, but his voice was low and steady. “She is well, lord.”
The king fell back on the bed and closed his eyes, but the men watching could see that he slept a healing sleep and the poisonous delirium no longer gripped him.
“He can sleep now,” said Paulinus, “but he must be watched.”
“And guarded,” added Osfrith. “I will remain until he wakes.”
“I too, brother,” said Eadfrith. “Or at least we will keep watch in turns. But first…” Eadfrith took Paulinus’s arm and drew him over towards the door. “Why did you not tell us the queen had given birth to a son?”
The priest glanced furtively past Eadfrith to where the king lay sleeping. “Ah, please to come outside.” He lowered his voice. “Where he cannot hear.”
A puzzled Eadfrith signalled for his brother to follow. Outside, and although the noise of the great hall masked their conversation, the priest gestured the princes closer.
“I do not know if the queen gives birth or not,” he said.
“But – but you said she’d had a son,” said Osfrith.
“Your father, he was this close,” Paulinus held his thumb and forefinger so near they were all but touching, “this close to death. Then he asked me if his wife has baby yet.” Paulinus made a moue with his lips. “I do not know; all day we have prayed for the queen, but I have heard nothing. So when the king asked me, is his baby born, I, may God forgive me, told him he has a son, so he will come back and not die. What man wouldn’t want to see his son?”
“So you don’t know whether it is a son or a daughter?” asked Eadfrith.
“No, I do not know,” said Paulinus.
“What if it’s a girl?” asked Osfrith.
“I hope the king will not remember what I said. If he does,” Paulinus shrugged, “he already has two sons.”
“We should find out,” Eadfrith said, turning to his brother.
“You go,” said Osfrith. “I’ll stay with Father.”
“I also,” said Paulinus. He glanced back into the room, where Coifi still squatted blackly in the corner. “I do not trust your priest. When the king wakes, maybe he will try to say his gods helped the king. They did nothing.”
*
Eadfrith returned, beaming.
“Good news?” asked Osfrith, getting
up. “Though in truth I am not quite sure what good news is here.”
Eadfrith’s grin grew broader. “Yes, I think it is good news in this case, brother. And amusing too, for us at least, though mayhap not for the priest here.” The young man smiled at Paulinus. “It’s a girl,” he said.
“The queen?” asked Paulinus.
“She is well.”
“Thank God,” Paulinus said fervently.
“She is weary, I was told, but well. The midwife said that for a first labour Æthelburh did not suffer too much. I did not say about what happened to Father.”
Paulinus blew air through his teeth in relief. “God heard our prayers.”
Eadfrith laughed. “You sound surprised.”
“Relieved.”
“But I thought your god answered your prayers?”
“Oh yes, he answers our prayers, but not always in the way we wish. For instance, ten years ago I prayed to God to remove me from my bishop, who was an angry and difficult man, and God sent me here!” Paulinus shrugged. “God answered my prayer, but I hoped for a nice parish near Ravenna where I can grow my vines and instead he sent me here, where it is so dark no vines will grow and I must wear wool drawers to stop my legs freezing!” At this point, and somewhat to the alarm of the two young men, Paulinus drew up the hem of his robe to reveal the long woollen tubes that encased his legs. His secret revealed, Paulinus took the opportunity to scratch his legs.
“They are warm, but so itchy.”
“What is so itchy?”
The voice was weak but clear. The three men spun around, only to find Coifi already by the king, one hand upon Edwin’s brow while the other weaved his bone rattle above him.
“The king wakes,” Coifi said.
“Father.” Eadfrith ran to the king, taking Coifi’s place at the bedside. A pale Osfrith, struck dumb with relief, stood silent and still.
“What is so itchy?” Edwin repeated, struggling to sit up a little. Eadfrith gestured for his brother to help, and together they lifted him.
“My, er, drawers,” said Paulinus.
Edwin raised an eyebrow.
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