“Does the Bishop of Exanceaster still keep the whores busy?” I asked.
“Uhtred, Uhtred!” Willibald chided me, “I know you only say these things to shock me!”
“I also tell the truth,” I said, which I did. “There was a redheaded one,” I went on, “who he really liked. The story was that he liked her to dress in his robes and then…”
“We have all sinned,” Willibald interrupted me hurriedly, “and fallen short of God’s expectations.”
“You too? Was she redheaded?” I asked, then laughed at his discomfort. “It’s good to see you, father. So what brings you from Exanceaster to Lundene?”
“The king, God bless him, wanted the company of old friends,” Willibald said, then shook his head. “He is in a bad way, Uhtred, a bad way. Do not, I pray you, say anything to upset him. He needs prayers!”
“He needs a new son-in-law,” I said sourly.
“The Lord ?thelred is a faithful servant of God,” Willibald said, “and a noble warrior! Perhaps he does not have your reputation yet, but his name inspires fear among our enemies.”
“It does?” I asked. “What are they frightened of? That they might die laughing if he attacks them again?”
“Lord Uhtred!” he chided me again.
I laughed, then followed Willibald into the pillared hall where thegns, priests, and ealdormen gathered. This was not an official witanegemot, that royal council of great men that met twice a year to advise the king, but almost every man present was in the Witan. They had traveled from all across Wessex, while others had come from southern Mercia, all summoned to Lundene so that whatever Alfred decided would have the support of both kingdoms. ?thelred was already inside, meeting no one’s eye and slumped in a chair below the dais where Alfred would preside. Men avoided ?thelred, all except Aldhelm who crouched beside his chair and whispered in his ear.
Alfred arrived, accompanied by Erkenwald and Brother Asser. I had never seen the king look so haggard. He had one hand clutched to his belly, suggesting that his sickness was bad, but I do not think that was what gave his face the deep lines and the wan, almost hopeless look. His hair was thinning and, for the first time, I saw him as an old man. He was thirty-six years old that year. He took his chair on the dais, waved a hand to show that men might be seated, but said nothing. It was left to Bishop Erkenwald to say a brief prayer, then ask for any man who had a suggestion to speak up.
They talked, and they talked and then they talked some more. The mystery that gripped them was why no message had come from the camp at Beamfleot. A spy had reported to Alfred that his daughter lived, even that she was being treated with respect as Erkenwald had surmised, but no messenger had come from Sigefrid. “He wants us to be the supplicant,” Bishop Erkenwald suggested, and no one had a better idea. It was pointed out that ?thelflaed was being held prisoner on territory that belonged to King ?thelstan of East Anglia, and surely that Christianized Dane would help? Bishop Erkenwald said a delegation had already traveled to meet the king.
“Guthrum won’t fight,” I said, making my first contribution.
“King ?thelstan,” Bishop Erkenwald said, stressing Guthrum’s Christian name, “is proving a constant ally. He will, I am sure, offer us succor.”
“He won’t fight,” I said again.
Alfred waved a weary hand toward me, indicating he wanted to hear what I had to say.
“Guthrum is old,” I said, “and he doesn’t want war. Nor can he take on the men near Beamfleot. They get stronger every day. If Guthrum fights them, then he might well lose, and if he loses then Sigefrid will be king in East Anglia.” No one liked that thought, but nor could they argue with it. Sigefrid, despite the wound that Osferth had given him, was becoming ever more powerful and already had enough followers to challenge Guthrum’s forces.
“I would not want King ?thelstan to fight,” Alfred said unhappily, “for any war will risk my daughter’s life. We must, instead, contemplate the necessity of a ransom.”
There was silence as the men in the room imagined the vast sum that would be needed. Some, the wealthiest, avoided Alfred’s gaze, while all, I am sure, were wondering where they could hide their wealth before Alfred’s tax-collectors and troops came to visit. Bishop Erkenwald broke the silence by observing, with regret, that the church was impoverished or else he would have been happy to contribute. “What small sums we have,” he said, “are dedicated to the work of God.”
“They are, indeed,” a fat abbot whose chest gleamed with three silver crosses agreed.
“And the Lady ?thelflaed is now a Mercian,” a thegn from Wiltunscir growled, “so the Mercians must carry the greater burden.”
“She is my daughter,” Alfred said quietly, “and I will, of course, contribute all I can afford.”
“But how much will we need?” Father Pyrlig inquired energetically. “We need to know that first, lord King, and that means someone must travel to meet the pagans. If they will not talk to us, then we must talk to them. As the good bishop says,” and here Pyrlig bowed gravely in Erkenwald’s direction, “they want us to be the supplicants.”
“They wish to humiliate us,” a man growled.
“They do indeed!” Father Pyrlig agreed. “So we must send a delegation to suffer that humiliation.”
“You would go to Beamfleot?” Alfred asked Pyrlig hopefully.
The Welshman shook his head. “Lord King,” he said, “those pagans have cause to hate me. I am not the man to send. The Lord Uhtred, though,” Pyrlig indicated me, “did Erik Thurgilson a favor.”
“What favor?” Brother Asser demanded quickly.
“I warned him about the treachery of Welsh monks,” I said, and there was a rustle of laughter as Alfred shot me a disapproving look. “I let him take his own ship from Lundene,” I explained.
“A favor,” Asser retorted, “that has enabled this unhappy situation to occur. If you had killed the Thurgilsons as you should have, then we would not be here.”
“What brought us here,” I said, “was the stupidity of lingering in the Sture. If you collect a fat flock you don’t leave it grazing beside a wolf’s den.”
“Enough!” Alfred said harshly. ?thelred was shuddering with anger. He had not spoken a word so far, but now he turned in his chair and pointed at me. He opened his mouth and I waited for his angry retort, but instead he twisted away and vomited. It was sudden and violent, his stomach voiding itself in a thick, stinking rush. He was jerking as his vomit splashed noisily on the dais. Alfred, appalled, just watched. Aldhelm stepped hastily away. Some of the priests made the sign of the cross. No one spoke or moved to help him. The vomiting appeared to have ceased, but then he twitched again and another spate poured from his mouth. ?thelred spat the last remnants out, wiped his lips on his sleeve, and leaned back in his chair with closed eyes and a pale face.
Alfred had watched his son-in-law’s sudden attack, but now turned back to the room and said nothing of what had happened. A servant hovered at the edge of the room, plainly tempted to go to ?thelred’s assistance, but was frightened of trespassing on the dais. ?thelred was groaning slightly, one hand held across his belly. Aldhelm was staring at the pool of vomit as though he had never seen such a thing.
“Lord Uhtred,” the king broke the embarrassed silence.
“Lord King,” I answered, bowing.
Alfred frowned at me. “There are those, Lord Uhtred, who say you are too friendly with the Northmen?”
“I gave you an oath, lord King,” I said harshly, “and I renewed that oath to Father Pyrlig and then again to your daughter. If the men who say I am too friendly with the Northmen wish to accuse me of breaking that triple oath then I will meet them at sword’s length in any place they wish. And they will face a sword that has killed more Northmen than I can count.”
That brought silence. Pyrlig smiled slyly. Not one man there wanted to fight me, and the only one who might have beaten me, Steapa, was grinning, though Steapa’s grin was a deathly rictus that could have frightened a demon back into its lair.
The king sighed as if my display of anger had been tiresome. “Will Sigefrid talk to you?” he asked.
“The Earl Sigefrid hates me, lord King.”
“But will he talk to you?” Alfred insisted.
“Either that or kill me,” I said, “but his brother likes me, and Haesten is in debt to me so, yes, I think they’ll talk.”
“You must also send a skilled negotiator, lord King,” Erkenwald said unctuously, “a man who will not be tempted to do further favors to pagans. I would suggest my treasurer? He is a most subtle man.”
“He’s also a priest,” I said, “and Sigefrid hates priests. He also has a burning ambition to watch a priest being
