Saxons and there, beside the guttering candle-clocks, I gave my services to a king I disliked. “But might I ask, lord,” I went on, “why Guthred needs advice?”
“Because Ivarr Ivarson tires of him,” Alfred said, “and Ivarr would have another, more compliant, man on Northumbria’s throne.”
“Or take the throne for himself?” I suggested.
“Ivarr, I think, does not want a king’s heavy responsibilities,” Alfred said. “He wants power, he wants money, he wants warriors, and he wants another man to do the hard work of enforcing the laws on the Saxons and raising taxes from the Saxons. And he will choose a Saxon to do that.” That made sense. It was how the Danes usually governed their conquered Saxons. “And Ivarr,” Alfred went on, “no longer wants Guthred.”
“Why not, lord?”
“Because King Guthred,” Alfred said, “attempts to impose his law equally on Danes and Saxons alike.”
I remembered Guthred’s hope that he would be a just king. “Is that bad?” I asked.
“It is foolishness,” Alfred said, “when he decrees that every man, whether pagan or Christian, must donate his tithe to the church.”
Offa had mentioned that church tax and it was, indeed, a foolish imposition. The tithe was a tenth of everything a man grew, reared or made, and the pagan Danes would never accept such a law. “I thought you would approve, lord,” I said mischievously.
“I approve of tithing, of course,” Alfred said wearily, “but a tithe should be given with a willing heart.”
“
“‘God approves a cheerful giver,’” Alfred provided the translation, “but when a land is half pagan and half Christian you do not encourage unity by offending the more powerful half. Guthred must be a Dane to the Danes and a Christian to the Christians. That is my advice to him.”
“If the Danes rebel,” I asked, “does Guthred have the power to defeat them?”
“He has the Saxon fyrd, what’s left of it, and some Danish Christians, but too few of those, alas. My estimate is that he can raise six hundred spears, but fewer than half of those will be reliable in battle.”
“And Ivarr?” I asked.
“Nearer a thousand. And if Kjartan joins him then he will have far more. And Kjartan is encouraging Ivarr.”
“Kjartan,” I said “doesn’t leave Dunholm.”
“He doesn’t need to leave Dunholm,” Alfred said, “he needs only to send two hundred men to assist Ivarr. And Kjartan, I am told, has a particular hatred of Guthred.”
“That’s because Guthred pissed all over his son,” I said.
“He did what?” The king stared at me.
“Washed his hair with piss,” I said. “I was there.”
“Dear God,” Alfred said, plainly thinking that every man north of the Humber was a barbarian.
“So what Guthred must do now,” I said, “is destroy Ivarr and Kjartan?”
“That is Guthred’s business,” Alfred said distantly.
“He must make peace with them,” Beocca said, frowning at me.
“Peace is always desirable,” Alfred said, though without much enthusiasm.
“If we are to send missionaries to the Northumbrian Danes, lord,” Beocca urged, “then we must have peace.”
“As I said,” Alfred retorted, “peace is desirable.” Again he spoke without fervor and that, I thought, was his real message. He knew there could not be peace.
I remembered what Offa, the dog-dancing man, had told me about marrying Gisela to my uncle. “Guthred could persuade my uncle to support him,” I suggested.
Alfred gave me a speculative look. “Would you approve of that, Lord Uhtred?”
“?lfric is a usurper,” I said. “He swore to recognize me as heir to Bebbanburg and broke that oath. No, lord, I would not approve.”
Alfred peered at his candles that guttered away, smearing the whitewashed wall with their smoke. “This one,” he said, “burns too fast.” He licked his fingers, pinched out the flame, and put the dead candle in a basket with a dozen other rejects. “It is greatly to be wished,” he said, still examining his candles, “that a Christian king reigns in Northumbria. It is even desirable that it should be Guthred. He is a Dane, and if we are to win the Danes to a knowledge and love of Christ then we need Danish kings who are Christians. What we do not need is Kjartan and Ivarr making war on the Christians. They would destroy the church if they could.”
“Kjartan certainly would,” I said.
“And I doubt your uncle is strong enough to defeat Kjartan and Ivarr,” Alfred said, “even if he were willing to ally himself with Guthred. No,” he paused, thinking, “the only solution is for Guthred to make his peace with the pagans. That is my advice to him.” He spoke the last few words directly to Beocca.
Beocca looked pleased. “Wise advice, lord,” he said, “praise be to God.”
“And speaking of pagans,” Alfred glanced at me, “what will the Earl Ragnar do if I release him?”
“He won’t fight for Ivarr,” I said firmly.
“You can be sure of that?”
“Ragnar hates Kjartan,” I said, “and if Kjartan is allied to Ivarr then Ragnar will hate both men. Yes, lord, I can be sure of that.”
“So if I release Ragnar,” Alfred asked, “and allow him to go north with you, he will not turn against Guthred?”
“He’ll fight Kjartan,” I said, “but what he will think of Guthred I don’t know.”
Alfred considered that answer, then nodded. “If he is opposed to Kjartan,” he said, “that should be sufficient.” He turned and smiled at Beocca. “Your embassy, father, is to preach peace to Guthred. You will advise him to be a Dane among the Danes and a Christian among the Saxons.”
“Yes, of course, lord,” Beocca said, but it was plain he was thoroughly confused. Alfred talked peace, but was sending warriors, for he knew there could not be peace while Ivarr and Kjartan lived. He dared not make such a pronouncement publicly, or else the northern Danes would accuse Wessex of interfering in Northumbrian affairs. They would resent that, and their resentment would add strength to Ivarr’s cause. And Alfred wanted Guthred on Northumbria’s throne because Guthred was a Christian, and a Christian Northumbria was more likely to welcome a Saxon army when it came, if it came. Ivarr and Kjartan would make Northumbria into a pagan stronghold if they could, and Alfred wanted to prevent that. Beocca, therefore, was to preach peace and conciliation, but Steapa, Ragnar, and I would carry swords. We were his dogs of war and Alfred knew full well that Beocca could not control us.
He dreamed, Alfred did, and his dreams encompassed all the isle of Britain.
And I was once again to be his sworn man, and that was not what I had wanted, but he was sending me north, to Gisela, and that I did want and so I knelt to him, placed my hands between his, swore the oath and thus lost my freedom. Then Ragnar was summoned and he also knelt and was granted his freedom.
And next day we all rode north.
Gisela was already married.
I heard that from Wulfhere, Archbishop of Eoferwic, and he should have known because he had performed the ceremony in his big church. It seemed I had arrived five days too late and when I heard the news I felt a despair like that which had caused my tears in Haithabu. Gisela was married.
It was autumn when we reached Northumbria. Peregrine falcons patrolled the sky, stooping on the newly arrived woodcock or on the gulls that flocked in the rain-drowned furrows. It had been a fine autumn so far, but the rains arrived from the west as we traveled north through Mercia. There were ten of us; Ragnar and Brida, Steapa and myself, and Father Beocca who had charge of three servants who led the packhorses carrying our shields, armor, changes of clothing, and the gifts Alfred was sending to Guthred. Ragnar led two men who had shared his exile. All of us were mounted on fine horses that Alfred had given us and we should have made good time, but Beocca slowed us. He hated being on horseback and even though we padded his mare’s saddle with two thick fleeces he was still crippled by soreness. He had spent the journey rehearsing the speech with which he would greet Guthred, practicing and practicing the words until we were all bored by them. We had encountered no trouble
