food.”
Ragnar smiled at that, stepped forward, and, still smiling, swung HeartBreaker so that her blade half severed the man’s head. I jumped back, not in alarm, but because I did not want my tunic spattered with his blood. “One less mouth to feed,” Ragnar said cheerfully. “Now ask the others how much food there is.”
The graybearded man was now red bearded and he was choking and twitching as he died. His struggles slowly ended and then he just lay, dying, his eyes gazing reprovingly into mine. None of his companions tried to help him; they were too frightened. “How much food do you have?” I demanded.
“There is food, lord,” one of the monks said.
“How much?” I demanded again.
“Enough.”
“He says there’s enough,” I told Ragnar.
“A sword,” Ragnar said, “is a great tool for discovering the truth. What about the monk’s church? How much silver does it have?”
The monk gabbled that we could look for ourselves, that we could take whatever we found, that it was all ours, anything we found was ours, all was ours. I translated these panicked statements and Ragnar again smiled. “He’s not telling the truth, is he?”
“Isn’t he?” I asked.
“He wants me to look because he knows I won’t find, and that means they’ve hidden their treasure or had it taken away. Ask him if they’ve hidden their silver.”
I did and the monk reddened. “We are a poor church,” he said, “with little treasure,” and he stared wideeyed as I translated his answer. Then he tried to get up and run as Ragnar stepped forward, but he tripped over his robe and HeartBreaker pierced his spine so that he jerked like a landed fish as he died. There was silver, of course, and it was buried. Another of the monks told us so, and Ragnar sighed as he cleaned his sword on the dead monk’s robe. “They’re such fools,” he said plaintively. “They’d live if they answered truthfully the first time.”
“But suppose there wasn’t any treasure?” I asked him.
“Then they’d tell the truth and die,” Ragnar said, and found that funny. “But what’s the point of a monk except to hoard treasure for us Danes? They’re ants who hoard silver. Find the ants’ nest, dig, and a man’s rich.” He stepped over his victims. At first I was shocked by the ease with which he would kill a defenseless man, but Ragnar had no respect for folk who cringed and lied. He appreciated an enemy who fought, who showed spirit, but men who were weakly sly like the ones he killed at Gegnesburh’s gate were beneath his contempt, no better than animals.
We emptied Gegnesburh of food, then made the monks dig up their treasure. It was not much: two silver mass cups, three silver plates, a bronze crucifix with a silver Christ, a bone carving of angels climbing a ladder, and a bag of silver pennies. Ragnar distributed the coins among his men, then hacked the silver plates and cups to pieces with an ax and shared out the scraps. He had no use for the bone carving so shattered it with his sword. “A weird religion,” he said. “They worship just one god?”
“One god,” I said, “but he’s divided into three.”
He liked that. “A clever trick,” he said, “but not useful. This triple god has a mother, doesn’t he?”
“Mary,” I said, following him as he explored the monastery in search of more plunder.
“I wonder if her baby came out in three bits,” he said. “So what’s this god’s name?”
“Don’t know.” I knew he had a name because Beocca had told me, but I could not remember it. “The three together are the trinity,” I went on, “but that’s not god’s name. Usually they just call him god.”
“Like giving a dog the name dog,” Ragnar declared, then laughed. “So who’s Jesus?”
“One of the three.”
“The one who died, yes? And he came back to life?”
“Yes,” I said, suddenly fearful that the Christian god was watching me, readying a dreadful punishment for my sins.
“Gods can do that,” Ragnar said airily. “They die, come back to life. They’re gods.” He looked at me, sensing my fear, and ruffled my hair. “Don’t you worry, Uhtred, the Christian god doesn’t have power here.”
“He doesn’t?”
“Of course not!” He was searching a shed at the back of the monastery and found a decent sickle that he tucked into his belt. “Gods fight each other! Everyone knows that. Look at our gods! The Aesir and Vanir fought like cats before they made friends.” The Aesir and the Vanir were the two families of Danish gods who now shared Asgard, though at one time they had been the bitterest of enemies. “Gods fight,”
Ragnar went on earnestly, “and some win, some lose. The Christian god is losing. Otherwise why would we be here? Why would we be winning? The gods reward us if we give them respect, but the Christian god doesn’t help his people, does he? They weep rivers of tears for him, they pray to him, they give him their silver, and we come along and slaughter them! Their god is pathetic. If he had any real power then we wouldn’t be here, would we?”
It seemed an unassailable logic to me. What was the point of worshipping a god if he did not help you? And it was incontrovertible that the worshippers of Odin and Thor were winning, and I surreptitiously touched the hammer of Thor hanging from my neck as we returned to theWindViper. We left Gegnesburh ravaged, its folk weeping and its storehouses emptied, and we rowed on down the wide river, the belly of our boat piled with grain, bread, salted meat, and smoked fish. Later, much later, I learned that ?lswith, King Alfred’s wife, had come from Gegnesburh. Her father, the man who had failed to fight us, was ealdorman there and she had grown up in the town and always lamented that, after she had left, the Danes had sacked the place. God, she always declared, would have his revenge on the pagans who had ravaged her hometown, and it seemed wise not to tell her that I had been one of the ravagers.
We ended the voyage at a town called Snotengaham, which means the Home of Snot’s people, and it was a much greater place than Gegnesburh, but its garrison had fled and those people who remained welcomed the Danes with piles of food and heaps of silver. There would have been time for a horseman to reach Snotengaham with news of Gegnesburh’s dead, and the Danes were always happy for such messengers to spread fear of their coming, and so the larger town, with its walls, fell without a fight. Some ships’ crews were ordered to man the walls, while others raided the countryside. The first thing they sought was more horses, and when the war bands were mounted they ranged farther afield, stealing, burning, and harrowing the land. “We shall stay here,” Ragnar told me.
“All summer?”
“Till the world ends, Uhtred. This is Danish land now.” At winter’s end Ivar and Ubba had sent three ships back to the Danish homeland to encourage more settlers, and those new ships began arriving in ones and twos, bringing men, women, and children. The newcomers were allowed to take whatever houses they wished, except for those few that belonged to the Mercian leaders who had bent the knee to Ivar and Ubba. One of those was the bishop, a young man called ?thelbrid, who preached to his congregations that God had sent the Danes. He never said why God had done this, and perhaps he did not know, but the sermons meant that his wife and children lived and his house was safe and his church was allowed to retain one silver mass cup, though Ivar insisted that the bishop’s twin sons be held as hostages in case the Christian god changed his mind about the Danes. Ragnar, like the other Danish leaders, constantly rode out into the country to bring back food and he liked me to go with him, for I could translate for him, and as the days passed we heard more and more stories of a great Mercian army gathering to the south, at Ledecestre, which Ragnar said was the greatest fortress in Mercia. It had been made by the Romans, who built better than any man could build now, and Burghred, Mercia’s king, was assembling his forces there, and that was why Ragnar was so intent on gathering food. “They’ll besiege us,” he said, “but we’ll win and then Ledecestre will be ours and so will Mercia.” He spoke very calmly, as though there could be no possibility of defeat. Rorik stayed in the town while I rode with his father. That was because Rorik was sick again, struck by cramping pains in his belly so severe that he was sometimes reduced to helpless tears. He vomited in the night, was pale, and the only relief came from a brew of herbs made for him by an old woman who was a servant of the bishop. Ragnar worried about Rorik, yet he was pleased that his son and I were such good friends. Rorik did not question his father’s fondness for me, nor was he jealous. In time, he knew, Ragnar planned to take me back to Bebbanburg and I would be given my patrimony and he assumed I would stay his friend and so Bebbanburg would
