milk, lord,’ Grimric said.
I gave him a coin I could scarce afford to give, but such things are expected of a lord. ‘Buy them ale,’ I told Grimric.
‘That I shall, lord,’ he said, ‘and I knew you’d come! I have to tell them you’re here, of course, but I knew everything would be all right.’
‘All right?’ I asked, puzzled by his words.
‘I knew it would be, lord!’ he grinned, then waved us on. I went to the Two Cranes where the owner knew me. He shouted at his servants to look after our horses, brought us ale and gave us a large chamber at the back of the tavern where the straw was clean.
The landlord was a one-armed man with a beard so long that he tucked its lower end into a wide leather belt. He was named Cynric, had lost his lower left arm fighting for Alfred, and had owned the Two Cranes for over twenty years, and there was not much that went on in Wintanceaster that he did not know about. ‘The churchmen rule,’ he told me.
‘Not Alfred?’
‘Poor bastard’s sick as a drunken dog. It’s a miracle he still lives.’
‘And Edward’s under the thumb of the clergy?’ I asked.
‘The clergy,’ Cynric said, ‘his mother, and the Witan. But he’s not nearly as pious as they think. You heard about the Lady Ecgwynn?’
‘The bishop’s daughter?’
‘That’s the one, and she was a lovely thing, God knows. Just a little girl she was, but so beautiful.’
‘She’s dead?’
‘Died giving birth.’
I stared at him, the implications tumbling in my head. ‘Are you sure?’
‘God’s teeth, I know the woman who midwifed her! Ecgwynn produced twins, a boy called ?thelstan and a girl called Eadgyth, but the poor mother died that same night.’
‘Edward was the father?’ I asked and Cynric nodded. ‘Twin royal bastards,’ I said softly.
Cynric shook his head. ‘But are they bastards?’ He kept his voice low. ‘Edward claims he married her, his father says it wasn’t legal, and his father wins that argument. And they kept the whole thing quiet! God knows they paid the midwife well enough.’
‘The children lived?’
‘They’re in Saint Hedda’s nunnery, with the Lady ?thelflaed.’
I stared into the fire. So the perfect heir had proved as sinful as the next man. And Alfred was sweeping away the fruits of that sin, tucking them into a nunnery in hope no one would notice them. ‘Poor Edward,’ I said.
‘He’s marrying ?lfl?d now,’ Cynric said, ‘which pleases Alfred.’
‘And he already has two children,’ I said in wonderment. ‘That’s a royal mess. You say ?thelflaed is in Saint Hedda’s?’
‘Locked away there,’ Cynric said. He knew of my attachment to ?thelflaed, and his tone suggested she had been locked away to keep her from me.
‘Her husband’s here?’
‘In Alfred’s palace. The whole family is here, even ?thelwold.’
‘?thelwold!’
‘Came here two weeks back, weeping and wailing for his uncle.’
?thelwold was braver than I thought. He had made his alliance with the Danes, yet was brazen enough to come to his dying uncle’s court. ‘Is he still drunk?’ I asked.
‘Not that I know of. He hasn’t been in here. They say he spends his time praying,’ he spoke scornfully, and I laughed. ‘We’re all praying,’ he finished glumly, meaning that everyone worried about what happened when Alfred died.
‘And Saint Hedda’s?’ I asked. ‘Is it still Abbess Hildegyth?’
‘She’s a saint herself, lord, yes she’s still there.’
I took Osferth to Saint Hedda’s. The rain was spitting, making the streets greasy. The convent lay on the northern edge of the town, close by the earthen bank with its high palisade. The only door to the nunnery lay at the end of a long, muddy alley that, just like the last time I had visited, was crowded with beggars who were waiting for the alms and food that the nuns distributed morning and evening. The beggars shuffled out of our way. They were nervous because Osferth and I were both in mail and both carrying swords. Some held out hands or wooden bowls, but I ignored them, puzzled by the presence of three soldiers at the nunnery door. The three wore helmets and carried spears, swords and shields, and as we approached they stepped away from the door to bar our path. ‘You can’t go inside, lord,’ one of them said.
‘You know who I am?’
‘You’re the Lord Uhtred,’ the man said respectfully, ‘and you can’t go inside.’
‘The abbess is an old friend,’ I said, and that was true. Hild was a friend, a saint, and a woman I had loved, but it seemed I was not allowed to visit her. The leader of the three soldiers was a well-set man, not young, but with broad shoulders and a confident face. His sword was sheathed, and I did not doubt he would draw it if I tried to force my way past him, but nor did I doubt that I could beat him down into the mud. Yet there were three of them, and I knew Osferth would not fight against West Saxon soldiers who guarded a convent. I shrugged. ‘You can give the Abbess Hild a message?’ I asked.
‘I can do that, lord.’
‘Tell her Uhtred came to visit her.’
He nodded, and I heard the beggars gasp behind me and turned to see even more soldiers filing up the alley. I recognised their commander, a man called Godric who had served under Weohstan. He led seven helmeted men who, like those guarding the convent, had shields and spears. They were ready for battle. ‘I’m asked to take you to the palace, lord,’ Godric greeted me.
‘You need spears to do that?’
Godric ignored the question, gesturing back down the alley instead. ‘You’ll come?’
‘With pleasure,’ I said, and followed him back through the town. The people in the streets watched us pass in silence. Osferth and I had kept our swords, but we still looked as though we were prisoners under escort and, when we reached the palace gate, a steward insisted we give up those weapons. That was normal. Only the king’s bodyguards were allowed to carry weapons inside the palace precincts and so I handed Serpent-Breath to the stewards, then followed Godric past Alfred’s private chapel to a small low thatched building.
‘You’re asked to wait inside, lord,’ he said, indicating the door.
We waited in a windowless room that was furnished with two benches, a reading desk and a crucifix. Godric’s men stayed outside and, when I tried to leave, spears barred my way. ‘We want food,’ I said, ‘and ale. And a bucket to piss in.’
‘Are we under arrest?’ Osferth asked me after the food and bucket had been brought.
‘It looks that way.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. I ate the bread and hard cheese and then, though the room’s earth floor was damp, I lay down and tried to sleep.
It was dusk before Godric returned. He was still courteous. ‘You’ll come with me, lord,’ he said, and Osferth and I followed him through familiar courtyards to one of the smaller halls where a fire burned bright in the hearth. There were painted leather hangings on the wall, each showing a different West Saxon saint, while at the hall’s high end, at a table spread with a blue-dyed cloth, sat five churchmen. Three were strangers to me, but I recognised the other two and neither was a friend. Bishop Asser, the poisonous Welsh priest who was Alfred’s closest confidant was one, while Bishop Erkenwald was the other. They flanked a thin-shouldered man whose tonsured hair was white above a face as lean as a starving weasel’s. He had a blade for a nose, intelligent eyes and pinched, narrow lips that could not hide his crooked teeth. The two priests at either end of the table were much younger and each had a quill, an ink pot and a sheet of parchment. They were there, it seemed, to take notes.
‘Bishop Erkenwald,’ I greeted him, then looked at Asser, ‘I don’t think I know you.’
‘Take that hammer from his neck,’ Asser said to Godric.
