‘I didn’t want his happiness.’
‘And he’s sworn you’ll die.’
‘I think you once swore the same.’
‘I fulfil my oaths,’ he said.
‘You break oaths like a clumsy child breaks eggs,’ I said scornfully. ‘So who did you bow the knee to? Sigurd?’
‘To Sigurd,’ he admitted, ‘and in return he sent me his son and seven hundred men.’ He gestured towards the horsemen who had accompanied him and I saw the sullen young face of Sigurd Sigurdson scowling at me.
‘So who commands here?’ I asked. ‘You or the boy?’
‘I do,’ Haesten said. ‘My job is to teach him sense.’
‘Sigurd expects you to do that?’ I asked, and Haesten had the grace to laugh. He was looking beyond me, at the tree line, trying to determine how many men I might have brought to reinforce Merewalh. ‘Enough to destroy you,’ I answered his unspoken question.
‘I doubt that,’ he said, ‘or else you wouldn’t be talking, you’d be fighting.’
That was true enough. ‘So what did Sigurd promise you in return for your oath?’ I asked.
‘Mercia,’ came the reply.
It was my turn to laugh. ‘You get Mercia? Who rules Wessex?’
‘Whoever Sigurd and Cnut decide,’ he said airily, then smiled. ‘Maybe you? I think if you grovel, Lord Uhtred, the Jarl Sigurd will forgive you. He’d rather you fought with him than against him.’
‘Tell him I’d rather kill him,’ I said. I gathered my stallion’s reins. ‘How is your wife?’
‘Brunna is well,’ he said, looking surprised that I had asked.
‘Is she still a Christian?’ I asked. Brunna had been baptised, but I suspected the whole ceremony had been a cynical exercise by Haesten to allay Alfred’s suspicions.
‘She believes in the Christian god,’ Haesten said, sounding disgusted. ‘She’s forever wailing to him.’
‘I pray she has a comfortable widowhood,’ I said.
I turned away, but just then a man shouted and I twisted back to see Sigurd Sigurdson spurring towards me. ‘Uhtred!’ he shouted.
I curbed the horse, turned, waited.
‘Fight me,’ he said, dropping from the saddle and drawing his sword.
‘Sigurd!’ Haesten said in warning.
‘I am Sigurd Sigurdson!’ the pup shouted. He was glaring up at me, sword ready.
‘Not now,’ Haesten said.
‘Listen to your nursemaid,’ I told the boy, and that provoked him to swing the blade at me. I parried it with my right foot so that the sword struck the metal of the stirrup.
‘No! Haesten shouted.
Sigurd spat towards me. ‘You’re old, you’re frightened.’ He spat again, then raised his voice. ‘Let men say that Uhtred ran away from Sigurd Sigurdson!’
He was eager, he was young, he was a fool. He was a big enough lad, and his sword was a fine blade, but his ambition outstripped his ability. He wanted to make a reputation and I remembered how I had wanted the same at his age, and how the gods had loved me. Did they love Sigurd Sigurdson? I said nothing, but kicked my feet from the stirrups and swung myself down from the saddle. I drew Serpent-Breath slowly, smiling at the boy and seeing the first shadow of doubt in his belligerent face.
‘Please, no!’ Haesten called. His men had closed up, and so had mine.
I held my arms wide, inviting Sigurd to attack. He hesitated, but he had made the challenge and if he did not fight now then he would look a coward and that thought was unbearable and so he leaped towards me, his blade snake fast, and I parried it, surprised at his speed, then pushed him with my free hand so that he staggered back. He slashed again, a wild stroke, and I parried it again. I was letting him attack, doing nothing except defend myself, and that passivity drove him to a greater fury. He had been taught sword-craft, but he forgot that teaching in his rage. He swung wildly, the blows easy to block, and I heard Haesten’s men calling advice. ‘Use the point!’
‘Fight me!’ he shouted, and swung again.
‘Puppy,’ I said to him, and he was almost weeping in frustration. He sliced the sword at my head, the blade hissing in the summer air and I just leaned back and the point whipped past my eyes and I stepped forward, thrust with my free hand again, only this time I hooked a boot behind his left ankle and he went down like a hamstrung bullock and I thrust Serpent-Breath onto his neck. ‘Grow up before you fight me,’ I told him. He twisted, then went very still as he felt my sword’s point digging into his neck. ‘Today isn’t your day to die, Sigurd Sigurdson,’ I said. ‘Now let go of your sword.’
He made a mewing noise.
‘Let go of your sword,’ I snarled, and this time he obeyed me. ‘Was it your father’s gift?’ I asked him. He said nothing. ‘It isn’t your day to die,’ I told him again, ‘but it is a day I want you to remember. The day you challenged Uhtred of Bebbanburg.’ I held his gaze for a few heartbeats, then slashed Serpent-Breath fast, using my wrist rather than my arm, so that the tip of her blade sliced into his sword hand. He flinched as the blood spurted, then I stepped away, stooped and picked up his sword. ‘Tell his father I spared the pup’s life,’ I told Haesten. I wiped Serpent-Breath’s point on the hem of my cloak, tossed the boy’s sword to Oswi, my servant, than hauled myself back into the saddle. Sigurd Sigurdson was clutching his mangled hand. ‘Give my greetings to your father,’ I told him, then spurred away. I could almost hear Haesten’s sigh of relief that the boy still lived.
Why did I let him live? Because he was not worth killing. I wanted to provoke his father, and the boy’s death would certainly have achieved that, but I did not have the men to fight a war against Sigurd. To do that I needed West Saxon troops. I had to wait until I was ready, until Wessex and Mercia united their forces, and so Sigurd Sigurdson lived.
We did not stay at Ceaster. We did not have enough force to capture the old fort, and the longer we stayed the more likely it was that Sigurd would arrive with overwhelming numbers, and so we left Merewalh to screen the fortress and we went back to ?thelflaed’s estate in the valley of the Temes from where I sent a messenger to Alfred telling him that Haesten had sworn allegiance to Sigurd and that Ceaster was now fully garrisoned. I knew Alfred would be too sick to take much note of that news, but I assumed that Edward, or perhaps the Witan, would want to know. I received no answer. Summer slid into autumn and the silence from Wintanceaster was worrying me. We learned from travellers that the king was weaker than ever, that he scarcely left his bed these days and that his family was in constant attendance. I heard nothing at all from ?thelflaed.
‘He could at least have thanked you for thwarting Eohric,’ Finan grumbled to me one night. He meant Alfred, of course.
‘He was probably disappointed,’ I said.
‘That you lived?’
I smiled at that. ‘That the treaty never happened.’
Finan stared moodily down the hall. The fire in the central hearth was unlit because the evening was warm. My men were quiet at their tables, the dogs sprawled on the rushes. ‘We need silver,’ Finan said bleakly.
‘I know.’
How had I become so poor? I had spent most of my money on that foray north to ?lfadell and Snotengaham. I still had some silver, but nowhere near enough for my ambition, which was to retake Bebbanburg, that great fortress by the sea, and to take it I would need men, ships, weapons, food and time. I needed a fortune, and I was living on borrowed money in a shabby hall on Mercia’s southern edge. I was living on ?thelflaed’s charity, and that seemed to be turning cold because I received no letter from her. I supposed she was under the baleful influence of her family and their busy priests who were ever ready to tell us how to behave. ‘Alfred doesn’t deserve you,’ Finan said.
‘He has other things on his mind,’ I said, ‘like his death.’
‘He wouldn’t be alive now if it wasn’t for you.’
‘For us,’ I said.
‘And what has he done for us?’ Finan demanded. ‘Jesus and his saints, we destroy Alfred’s enemies and he treats us like dog shit.’
I said nothing. A harpist was playing in the hall’s corner, but his music was soft and plangent to match my mood. The light was fading and two servant girls brought rushlights for the table. I watched Ludda slide his hand up
