“Amen,” Father Pyrlig roared.
“How did the Lord Aldhelm die?” Bishop Asser asked.
“There will be a time for sad tales when our more urgent business is decided,” ?thelfl?d said without looking at Asser, “for the moment I wish to know how we are to defeat the Jarl Haesten.”
The next few moments were confusing. The truth was that none of the assembled lords knew the extent of Haesten’s invasion. At least a dozen messengers had come overnight to Gleawecestre and they had all brought dire tidings of savage and sudden attacks by Danish horsemen, and as I listened to the various reports I realized that Haesten had set out to confuse the Mercians. He must have led two or three thousand men and he had divided them into smaller groups and sent them to harry, plunder, and destroy all across northern Mercia. It was impossible to say where the Danes were because they appeared to be everywhere.
“What do they want?” ?thelred asked plaintively.
“He wants to sit where you’re sitting,” I answered.
“You have no authority here,” Bishop Asser snarled.
“Bishop,” ?thelfl?d spoke crisply, “if you have something useful to say, then please feel free to say it. But if you simply wish to make a nuisance of yourself then go to the church and take your complaints to God.” That caused an astonished silence. The real authority in the hall belonged to Bishop Asser because he was Alfred’s envoy, yet ?thelflaed had publicly slapped him down. She met his indignant gaze calmly, and kept her eyes on his until he gave way. Then she turned to the lords. “The questions we need answered are simple,” she said. “How many Danes are there? What is their aim? How many men can we assemble to oppose them? And where do we take those men?”
?thelred still seemed stunned by his wife’s return. Every lord in the hall must have known of their estrangement, yet here ?thelfl?d was, calmly holding her husband’s hand and no one dared challenge her presence. ?thelred himself was so shaken that he allowed her to dominate the council, and she did it well. There was a soft sweetness in ?thelfl?d’s look, but that sweetness disguised a mind as thoughtful as her father’s and a will as strong as her mother’s. “Don’t all speak at once,” she commanded, raising her voice over the confusion. “Lord ?lfwold,” she smiled at a grim-looking man sitting on the bench closest to the dais, “your lands have suffered most, it seems, so what is your estimation of the enemy’s numbers?”
“Between two and three thousand,” he answered. He shrugged. “It could be many more, it’s hard to tell.”
“Because they ride in small groups?”
“At least a dozen bands,” ?lfwold said, “maybe as many as twenty.”
“And how many men can we lead against them?” she asked the question of her husband, her voice respectful.
“Fifteen hundred,” he said surlily.
“We must have more warriors than that!” ?thelfl?d said.
“Your father,” ?thelred said, and he could not resist saying those two words with derision, “insists we leave five hundred to protect Lundene.”
“I thought the Lundene garrison was West Saxon,” I put in, and I should have known because I had commanded that garrison for five years.
“Alfred has left three hundred men in Lundene,” Bishop Asser said, forcing cordiality into his voice, “and the rest have gone to Wintanceaster.”
“Why?”
“Because Haesten sent us a warning,” the bishop said bitterly. He paused, and his weasel face twitched uncontrollably, “that you and the northern jarls planned an attack on Wessex.” The hatred in his voice was unmistakable. “Is that true?”
I hesitated. I had not betrayed Ragnar’s plans because he was my friend, which meant I had left the discovery of the Northumbrian attack to fate, but Haesten, it seemed, had already sent a warning. He had done it, clearly, to keep West Saxon troops out of Mercia, and it seemed the warning had been successful.
“Well?” ?thelred, aware of my discomfort, pressed the attack.
“The Northumbrian jarls have discussed an attack on Wessex,” I said weakly.
“Will it happen?” Asser wanted to know.
“Probably,” I said.
“Probably,” Bishop Asser sneered the word, “and what is your role, Lord Uhtred?” The derision with which he spoke my name had an edge as sharp as Serpent-Breath. “To mislead us? To betray us? To slaughter more Christians?” He stood again, sensing his advantage. “In Christ’s name,” he shouted, “I demand this man’s arrest!”
No one moved to take hold of me. ?thelred gestured at his two household warriors, but the gesture lacked conviction and neither man moved.
“The Lord Uhtred is here to protect me,” ?thelfl?d broke the silence.
“You have a nation’s warriors to protect you,” Asser said, sweeping his arm to encompass the men sitting on the benches.
“What need I of a nation’s warriors,” ?thelfl?d asked, “when I have Lord Uhtred?”
“The Lord Uhtred,” Asser said in his sharp voice, “cannot be trusted.”
“You’d listen to that Welsh piece of gristle,” I addressed the men on the benches. “A Welshman saying a Saxon can’t be trusted? How many men here have lost friends, sons, or brothers to Welsh treachery? If the Danes are Mercia’s worst enemy, then the Welsh are the next worst. We’re going to take lessons in loyalty from a Welshman?”
I heard Father Pyrlig mutter behind me, but again he spoke in Welsh. I suspect he was insulting me, but he knew well enough why I had spoken as I did. I was appealing to the deep-seated mistrust that all Mercians felt for the Welsh. Since the beginning of Mercia, deep in the lost times of our ancestors, the Welsh had raided Saxon lands to steal cattle, women, and treasure. They called our land their “lost land,” and ever in Welsh hearts is a wish to drive the Saxons back across the sea, and so few men in ?thelred’s hall had any love for their ancestral enemies.
“The Welsh,” Asser shouted, “are Christians! And now is the time for all Christians to unite against the pagan filth that threatens our faith. Look!” His finger was pointing again. “The Lord Uhtred wears the symbol of Thor. He is an idolater, a heathen, an enemy of our dear Lord Jesus Christ!”
“He is my friend,” ?thelfl?d said, “and I trust him with my life.”
“He is an idolater,” Asser repeated, evidently thinking that was the worst he could say of me. “He betrayed his sworn oath! He killed a saint! He is an enemy of all that we hold most dear, he is the…” His voice died away.
He had gone silent because I had climbed the dais and pushed him hard in the chest so that he was forced to sit down. Now I leaned on the chair’s arms and looked into his eyes. “You want martyrdom?” I asked. He took a deep breath to reply, then thought better of saying anything. I smiled into his furious face and patted his sallow cheek before turning back to the benches. “I am here to fight for the Lady ?thelfl?d, and she is here to fight for Mercia. If any of you believe Mercia will suffer because of my help then I am sure she will relieve me of my oath and I will depart.”
No one seemed to want my departure. The men in the hall were embarrassed, but ?lfwold, who had already suffered from Haesten’s invasion, returned the discussion to its proper place. “We don’t have the men to face Haesten,” he said unhappily, “not without West Saxon help.”
“And that help is not coming,” I said, “isn’t that true, bishop?” Asser nodded. He was too angry to speak. “There will be an attack on Wessex,” I said, “and Alfred will need his army to meet that attack, so we must cope with Haesten on our own.”
“How?” ?lfwold asked. “Haesten’s men are everywhere and nowhere! We send an army to find them and they’ll just ride around us.”
“You retreat into your burhs,” I said. “Haesten isn’t equipped to besiege fortified towns. The fyrd protects the burhs, and you take your cattle and silver behind those walls. Let Haesten burn as many villages as he likes, he can’t capture a properly defended burh.”
“So we just let him ravage Mercia while we cower behind walls?” ?lfwold asked.
“Of course not,” I said.
