consorting with our king’s enemies, that you have conspired with them, that you have eaten their bread and taken their salt. Worse, you have admitted to slaying the holy Abbot Deorlaf and two of his brethren and…’
‘The holy Abbot Deorlaf,’ I interrupted him, ‘was in league with the witch ?lfadell, and the holy Abbot Deorlaf wished to kill me. What was I supposed to do? Turn the other cheek?’
‘You will be silent!’ Plegmund said.
I took two steps forward and ground out the burning rushes with my boot. One of Godric’s soldiers, thinking I was about to attack the clergymen, had drawn back his spear and I turned and looked at him. Just looked. He reddened and, very slowly, the spear went down. ‘I have fought your king’s enemies,’ I said, still gazing at the spearman, but then turning towards Plegmund, ‘as Bishop Erkenwald well knows. While other men cowered behind burh walls I was leading your king’s army. I stood in the shield wall. I cut down foemen, I reddened the soil with the blood of your enemies, I burned ships, I took the fort at Beamfleot.’
‘And you wear the hammer!’ Asser’s voice was shrill. He was pointing at my amulet with a shaking finger, ‘it is the symbol of our enemies, the very sign of those who would torture Christ again, and you wear it even in the court of our king!’
‘What did your mother do?’ I asked. ‘Fart like a mare? And there you were?’
‘Enough,’ Plegmund said tiredly.
It was not hard to guess who had dripped poison in their ears; my cousin ?thelred. He was the titular Lord of Mercia, the closest thing that country had to a king, yet every man knew that he was a puppy on a West Saxon leash. He wanted that leash cut, and when Alfred died he would doubtless look for a crown. And for a new wife, the old being ?thelflaed who had added horns to his leash. A leashed and horned puppy who wanted revenge, and wanted me dead because he knew there were too many men in Mercia who would follow me rather than him.
‘It is our duty to decide your fate,’ Plegmund said.
‘The Norns do that,’ I said, ‘at Yggdrasil’s root.’
‘Heathen,’ Asser hissed.
‘The kingdom must be protected,’ the archbishop went on, ignoring both of us, ‘it must have the shield of faith and the sword of righteousness, and there is no place in God’s kingdom for a man of no faith, a man who could turn against us at any moment. Uhtred of Bebbanburg, I must tell you…’
But whatever he was about to tell me went untold because the door at the hall’s end creaked open. ‘The king wants to see him,’ a familiar voice said.
I turned to see Steapa standing there. Good Steapa, commander of Alfred’s household troops, a peasant slave who had risen to become a great warrior, a man daft as a barrel of loam and strong as an ox, a friend, a man as true as any I have known. ‘The king,’ he said in his stolid voice.
‘But…’ Plegmund began.
‘The king wants me, you snaggle-toothed bastard,’ I told him, then looked at the spearman who had threatened me. ‘If you ever point a blade at me again,’ I promised him, ‘I’ll rip your belly open and feed your entrails to my dogs.’
The Norns were probably laughing, and I went to see the king.
PART TWO
Death of a King
Six
Alfred lay swathed in woollen blankets and propped against a great cushion. Osferth sat on the bed, his hand held by his father. The king’s other hand lay on a bejewelled book, I assumed a gospel book. Just outside the room, in a long passageway, Brother John and four members of his choir were singing a doleful chant. The room stank, despite the herbs scattered on the floor and the great candles that burned in tall wooden sticks. Some of them were Alfred’s prized candle clocks, their bands marking the hours as the king’s life leaked away. Two priests stood against one wall of Alfred’s chamber, while opposite them was a great panel of leather on which the crucifixion was painted.
Steapa pushed me into the room and shut the door on me.
Alfred looked dead already. Indeed, I might have thought him a corpse if he had not pulled his hand away from Osferth, who was in tears. The king’s long face was pale as fleece, with sunken eyes, sunken cheeks and dark shadows. His hair had thinned and gone white. His gums had pulled back from his remaining teeth, his unshaven chin was stained with spittle, while the hand on the book was mere skin-covered bones on which a great ruby shone, the ring too big now for his skeletal finger. His breath was shallow, though his voice was remarkably strong. ‘Behold the sword of the Saxons,’ he greeted me.
‘I see your son has a loose tongue, lord King,’ I said. I went onto one knee until he feebly gestured for me to stand.
He looked at me from his pillow and I looked at him and the monks chanted beyond the door and a candle guttered to spew a thick twist of smoke. ‘I’m dying, Lord Uhtred,’ Alfred said.
‘Yes, lord.’
‘And you look healthy as a bullock,’ he said with a grimace that was meant to be a smile. ‘You always had the capacity to irritate me, didn’t you? It isn’t tactful to look healthy in front of a dying king, but I rejoice for you.’ His left hand stroked the gospel book. ‘Tell me what will happen when I’m dead,’ he commanded me.
‘Your son Edward will rule, lord.’
He gazed at me and I saw the intelligence in those sunken eyes. ‘Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear,’ he said with a touch of his old asperity, ‘but what you believe.’
‘Your son Edward will rule, lord,’ I repeated.
He nodded slowly, believing me. ‘He’s a good son,’ Alfred said, almost as if he were trying to persuade himself of that.
‘He fought well at Beamfleot. You would have been proud of him, lord.’
Alfred nodded tiredly. ‘So much is expected of a king,’ he said. ‘He must be brave in battle, wise in council, just in judgement.’
‘You have been all those things, lord,’ I said, not flattering him, but telling the truth.
‘I tried,’ he said, ‘God knows I did try.’ He closed his eyes and was silent for so long that I wondered if he had fallen asleep and whether I should leave, but then his eyes opened and he gazed at the smoke-darkened ceiling. Somewhere deep in the palace a hound barked shrilly, then suddenly stopped. Alfred frowned in thought, then turned his head to look at me. ‘You spent time with Edward last summer,’ he said.
‘I did, lord.’
‘Is he wise?’
‘He’s clever, lord,’ I said.
‘Many folk are clever, Lord Uhtred, but very few are wise.’
‘Men learn wisdom through experience, lord,’ I said.
‘Some do,’ Alfred said tartly, ‘but will Edward learn?’ I shrugged because it was not a question I could answer. ‘I worry,’ Alfred said, ‘that his passions will rule him.’
I glanced at Osferth. ‘As yours ruled you, lord, once.’
‘
‘All have sinned,’ Osferth translated and received a smile from his father.
‘I worry that he is headstrong,’ Alfred said, talking of Edward again. I was surprised that he talked so openly
