showed nothing, then she became conscious of my gaze and turned toward me with a small look of triumph as if she knew I had half expected her to be horrified by the sight of men being disembowelled. “They deserved it?” she asked.
“They deserved it,” I said.
“Good.”
Her brother, I noted, had not watched. He was nervous of me, for which I did not blame him, and doubtless terrified of Ragnar who was bloodied like a butcher, and so Guthred had gone back to the village, leaving us with the dead. Father Beocca had managed to find some of Guthred’s priests and, after talking with them, he limped to us. “It is agreed,” he said, “that we shall present ourselves to the king in the church.” He suddenly became aware of the two severed heads and the sword-slashed bodies. “Dear God, who did that?”
“Ragnar.”
Beocca made the sign of the cross. “The church,” he said, “we’re to meet in the church. Do try to wipe that blood off your mail, Uhtred. We’re an embassy!”
I turned to see a handful of fugitives crossing the hilltops to the west. They would doubtless cross the river higher up and join the horsemen on the far bank, and those horsemen would be wary now. They would send word to Dunholm that enemies had come, and Kjartan would hear of the eagle-wing banner and know that Ragnar was returned from Wessex.
And perhaps, on his high crag, behind his high walls, he would be frightened.
I rode to the church, taking Gisela with me. Beocca hurried after on foot, but he was slow. “Wait for me!” he shouted, “wait for me!”
I did not wait. Instead I spurred the stallion faster and left Beocca far behind.
It was dark in the church. The only illumination came from a small window above the door and from some feeble rushlights burning on the altar that was a trestle table covered by a black cloth. Saint Cuthbert’s coffin, together with the other two chests of relics, stood in front of the altar where Guthred sat on a milking stool flanked by two men and a woman. The Abbot Eadred was one of the men and Father Hrothweard was the other. The woman was young, had a plumply pretty face, and a pregnant belly. I learned later she was Osburh, Guthred’s Saxon queen. She glanced from me to her husband, evidently expecting Guthred to speak, but he was silent. A score of warriors stood on the left side of the church and a larger number of priests and monks on the right. They had been arguing, but all went quiet when I entered.
Gisela held my left arm. Together we walked down the church until we faced Guthred, who seemed incapable of looking at me or speaking to me. He opened his mouth once, but no words came, and he looked past me as if hoping that someone less baleful would come through the church door. “I’m going to marry your sister,” I told him.
He opened his mouth and closed it again.
A monk moved as if to protest my words and was pulled back by a companion and I saw that the gods had been especially good to me that day, for the pair were J?nberht and Ida, the monks who had negotiated my slavery. Then, from the other side of the church, a man did protest. “The Lady Gisela,” he said, “is already married.”
I saw that the speaker was an older man, gray-haired and stout. He was dressed in a short brown tunic with a silver chain about his neck and he jerked his head up belligerently as I walked toward him. “You’re Aidan,” I said. It had been fourteen years since I had been in Bebbanburg, but I recognized Aidan. He had been one of my father’s doorkeepers, charged with keeping unwanted folk out of the great hall, but the silver chain made it clear that he had risen in rank since then. I flicked the chain with my hand. “What are you now, Aidan?” I demanded.
“Steward to the Lord of Bebbanburg,” he said gruffly. He did not recognize me. How could he? I had been nine years old when he last saw me.
“So that makes you my steward,” I said.
“Your steward?” he asked, then he realized who I was and he stepped back to join two young warriors. That step was involuntary, though Aidan was no coward. He had been a good soldier in his day, but meeting me had shocked him. He recovered though, and faced me defiantly. “The Lady Gisela,” he said, “is married.”
“Are you married?” I asked Gisela.
“No,” she said.
“She’s not married,” I told Aidan.
Guthred cleared his throat as if to speak, but then fell silent as Ragnar and his men filed into the church.
“The lady is married,” a voice called from among the priests and monks. I turned to see that it was Brother J?nberht who had spoken. “She is married to the Lord ?lfric,” J?nberht insisted.
“She’s married to ?lfric?” I asked as if I had not heard that news, “she’s married to that whore-born piece of lice-shit?”
Aidan gave one of the warriors beside him a hard nudge, and the man drew his sword. The other did the same, and I smiled at them, then very slowly drew Serpent-Breath.
“This is a house of God!” Abbot Eadred protested. “Put your swords away!”
The two young men hesitated, but when I kept Serpent-Breath drawn they kept their own blades ready, though neither moved to attack me. They knew my reputation and, besides, Serpent-Breath was still sticky with the blood of Kjartan’s men.
“Uhtred!” This time it was Beocca who interrupted me. He burst into the church and pushed past Ragnar’s men. “Uhtred!” he called again.
I turned on him. “This is my business, father,” I said, “and you will leave me to it. You remember Aidan?” Beocca looked confused, then he recognized the steward who had been at Bebbanburg during all the years that Beocca had been my father’s priest. “Aidan wants these two boys to kill me,” I said, “but before they oblige him,” I was looking at the steward again, “tell me how Gisela can be married to a man she’s never met?”
Aidan glanced across at Guthred as if expecting help from the king, but Guthred was still motionless, so Aidan had to confront me alone. “I stood beside her in Lord ?lfric’s place,” he said, “so in the eyes of the church she is married.”
“Did you hump her as well?” I demanded, and the priests and monks hissed their disapproval.
“Of course not,” Aidan said, offended.
“If no one’s ridden her,” I said, “then she’s not married. A mare isn’t broken until she’s saddled and ridden. Have you been ridden?” I asked Gisela.
“Not yet,” she said.
“She is married,” Aidan insisted.
“You stood at the altar in my uncle’s place,” I said, “and you call that a marriage?”
“It is,” Beocca said quietly.
“So if I kill you,” I suggested to Aidan, ignoring Beocca, “she’ll be a widow?”
Aidan pushed one of the warriors toward me and, like a fool, the man came, and Serpent-Breath slashed once, very hard, and his sword was knocked away and my blade was at his belly. “You want your guts strewn across the floor?” I asked him gently. “I am Uhtred,” I said, my voice hard and boastful now, “I am the Lord of Bebbanburg and the man who killed Ubba Lothbrokson beside the sea.” I prodded my blade, driving him back. “I have killed more men than I could count,” I told him, “but don’t let that stop you fighting me. You want to boast that you killed me? That piece of toad-snot, ?lfric, will be pleased if you did. He’ll reward you.” I jabbed again. “Go on,” I said, my anger rising, “try.” He did nothing of the sort. Instead he took another faltering backward step and the other warrior did the same. That was hardly surprising, for Ragnar and Steapa had joined me, and behind them was a bunch of war-Danes who were dressed in mail and carrying axes and swords. I looked at Aidan. “You can crawl back to my uncle,” I said, “and tell him he has lost his bride.”
“Uhtred!” Guthred had at last managed to speak.
I ignored him. Instead I walked across the church to where the priests and monks huddled. Gisela came with me, still holding my arm and I gave her Serpent-Breath to hold, then stopped in front of J?nberht. “You think Gisela is married?” I asked him.
“She is,” he said defiantly. “The bride-price is paid and the union solemnized.”
“Bride-price?” I looked at Gisela. “What did they pay you?”
“We paid them,” she said. “They were given one thousand shillings and Saint Oswald’s arm.”
