That was a good suggestion for there was nothing Alfred loved so dearly as a holy relic, but there was nothing much to be had in Eoferwic. The archbishop’s church possessed many treasures, including the sponge on which Jesus had been given wine to drink as he died and it also had the halter from Balaam’s ass, though who Balaam was I did not know, and why his ass was holy was even more of a mystery. The church possessed a dozen such things, but the archbishop had carried them away with him and no one was certain where Wulfhere was. I assumed he had joined Ivarr. Hrothweard said he had a seed from a sycamore tree mentioned in the gospel book, but when we opened the silver box in which the seed was kept there was nothing but dust. In the end I suggested that we drew two of Saint Oswald’s three teeth. Eadred bridled at that, then decided that the idea was not so bad after all, so pliers were fetched and the small chest opened and one of the monks tugged out two of the dead king’s yellow peg-like teeth and they were placed in a beautiful silver pot that Egbert had used to store smoked oysters.
The embassy left on a late August morning. Guthred took Willibald aside and gave him a last message for Alfred, assuring Alfred that though he, Guthred, was a Dane he was also a Christian, and begging that should Northumbria be threatened by enemies that Alfred should send warriors to fight for God’s land. That was pissing into the wind, I thought, for Wessex had enemies enough without worrying about Northumbria’s fate.
I also took Willibald aside. I was sorry he was going, for I liked him, and he was a good man, but I could see he was impatient to see Wessex again. “You will do something for me, father,” I said.
“If it is possible,” he said cautiously.
“Give the king my greetings,” I said.
Willibald looked relieved as if he had expected my favor to be a great deal more burdensome, which it was, as he would find out. “The king will want to know when you will return, lord,” he said.
“In good time,” I answered, though the only reason I now had for visiting Wessex was to retrieve the hoard I had hidden at Fifhaden. I regretted burying that treasure now, for in truth I never wanted to see Wessex again. “I want you to find Earl Ragnar,” I told Willibald.
His eyes widened. “The hostage?” he asked.
“Find him,” I said, “and give him a message from me.”
“If I can,” he said, still cautious.
I gripped his shoulders to make him pay attention and he grimaced from the strength of my hands. “You will find him,” I said threateningly, “and you will give him a message. Tell him I am going north to kill Kjartan. And tell him his sister lives. Tell him I will do all I can to find her and keep her safe. Tell him I swear that on my life. And tell him to come here as soon as he is freed.” I made him repeat it, and I made him swear on his crucifix that he would deliver the message and he was reluctant to make such an oath, but he was frightened of my anger and so he gripped the little cross and made the solemn promise.
And then he went.
And we had an army again, for the harvest was gathered, and it was time to strike north.
Guthred went north for three reasons. The first was Ivarr who had to be defeated, and the second was Kjartan whose presence in Northumbria was like a foul wound and the third was ?lfric who had to submit to Guthred’s authority. Ivarr was the most dangerous and he would surely defeat us if he brought his army south. Kjartan was less dangerous, but he had to be destroyed for there could be no peace in Northumbria while he lived. ?lfric was the least dangerous. “Your uncle is king in Bebbanburg,” Guthred told me as we marched north.
“Does he call himself that?” I asked, angry.
“No, no! He’s got too much sense. But in effect that’s what he is. Kjartan’s land is a barrier, isn’t it? So Eoferwic’s rule doesn’t stretch past Dunholm.”
“We used to be kings in Bebbanburg,” I said.
“You did?” Guthred was surprised. “Kings of Northumbria?”
“Of Bernicia,” I said. Guthred had never heard the name. “It was all of northern Northumbria,” I said, “and everything around Eoferwic was the kingdom of Deira.”
“They joined together?” Guthred asked.
“We killed their last king,” I said, “but that was years ago. Back before Christianity came.”
“So you have a claim to the kingship here?” he asked and, to my astonishment, there was suspicion in his voice. I stared at him and he blushed. “But you do?” he said, trying to sound as if he did not care what I answered.
I laughed at him. “Lord King,” I said, “if you restore me to Bebbanburg I shall kneel to you and swear you and your heirs lifelong fealty.”
“Heirs!” he said brightly. “Have you seen Osburh?”
“I’ve seen Osburh,” I said. She was Egbert’s niece, a Saxon girl, and she had been living in the palace when we took Eoferwic. She was fourteen, dark-haired and had a plump, pretty face.
“If I marry her,” Guthred asked me, “will Hild be her companion?”
“Ask her,” I said, jerking my head to where Hild followed us. I had thought Hild might return to Wessex with Father Willibald, but she had said she was not ready to face Alfred yet and I could not blame her for that and so I had not pressed her. “I think she’d be honored to be your wife’s companion,” I told Guthred.
We camped that first night at Onhripum where a small monastery gave Guthred, Eadred, and the host of clergymen shelter. Our army was close to six hundred men now, and almost half of them were mounted, and our campfires lit the fields all about the monastery. As commander of the household troops I camped closest to the buildings and my young men, who now numbered forty, and most of whom possessed mail coats plundered from Eoferwic, slept close to the monastery’s gate.
I stood guard with Clapa and two Saxons for the first part of the night. Sihtric was with me. I called him my servant, but he was learning to use a sword and shield and I reckoned he would make a useful soldier in a year or two. “You have the heads safe?” I asked him.
“You can smell them!” Clapa protested.
“No worse than you smell, Clapa,” I retorted.
“They’re safe, lord,” Sihtric said.
“I should have eight heads,” I said, and put my fingers around Sihtric’s throat. “Pretty skinny neck, Sihtric.”
“But it’s a tough neck, lord,” he said.
Just then the monastery door opened and Gisela, cloaked in black, slipped through. “You should be asleep, lady,” I chided her.
“I can’t sleep. I want to walk.” She stared defiantly at me. Her lips were slightly apart and the firelight glinted off her teeth and reflected from her wide eyes.
“Where do you want to walk?” I asked.
She shrugged, still looking at me, and I thought of Hild sleeping in the monastery.
“I’ll leave you in charge, Clapa,” I said, “and if Ivarr comes, kill the bastard.”
“Yes, lord.”
I heard the guards sniggering as we walked away. I quietened them with a growl, then led Gisela toward the trees east of the monastery for it was dark there. She reached out and took my hand. She said nothing, content to walk close beside me. “Aren’t you frightened of the night?” I asked her.
“Not with you.”
“When I was a child,” I said, “I made myself into a sceadugengan.”
“What’s a sceadugengan?” The word was Saxon and unfamiliar to her.
“A shadow-walker,” I told her. “A creature that stalks the dark.” An owl hooted quite close by and her fingers instinctively tightened on mine.
We stopped under some wind-rustled beech trees. Some small light came through the leaves, cast by the campfires, and I tilted her face up and looked down at her. She was tall, but still a head shorter than me. She let herself be examined, then closed her eyes as I drew a gentle finger down her long nose. “I…” I said, then stopped.
“Yes,” she said, as if she knew what I had been about to say.
I made myself turn away from her. “I cannot make Hild unhappy.”
“She told me,” Gisela said, “that she would have gone back to Wessex with Father Willibald, but she wants to
