of his heir, but of course it was the one thing that preyed on his mind in those last days. Alfred had dedicated his life to the preservation of Wessex, and he desperately wanted reassurance that all his achievements would not be thrown away by his successor, and so deep was that worry that he could not let the subject alone. He wanted that reassurance so badly.
‘You leave him with good counsel, lord,’ I said, not because I believed it, but because he wanted to hear it. Many men of the Witan were indeed good counsellors, but there were too many churchmen like Plegmund, whose advice I would never trust.
‘And a king can reject all counsel,’ Alfred said, ‘because in the end it is always the king’s decision, it is the king’s responsibility, it is the king who is wise or foolish. And if the king is foolish, what will happen to the kingdom?’
‘You worry, lord,’ I said, ‘because Edward did what all young men do.’
‘He is not like other young men,’ Alfred said sternly, ‘but born to privilege and duty.’
‘And a girl’s smile,’ I said, ‘can erode duty faster than flame melts frost.’
He stared at me. ‘So you know?’ he said, after a long while.
‘Yes, lord, I know.’
Alfred sighed. ‘He said it was passion, that it was love. Kings don’t marry for love, Lord Uhtred, they marry to make their kingdom safe. And she wasn’t right,’ he said firmly, ‘she was brazen! She was shameless!’
‘Then I wish I’d known her, lord,’ I said, and Alfred laughed, though the effort hurt him and the laugh turned to a groan. Osferth had no idea what we talked about and I gave him the slightest shake of my head to show that he should not ask, and then I thought of the words that would give Alfred the reassurance he wanted. ‘At Beamfleot, lord,’ I said, ‘I stood beside Edward in a shield wall and a man cannot hide his character in a shield wall, and I learned that your son is a good man. I promise you, he is a man to be proud of,’ I hesitated, then nodded at Osferth, ‘as are all your sons.’
I saw the king’s hand tighten on Osferth’s fingers. ‘Osferth is a good man,’ Alfred said, ‘and I am proud of him.’ Alfred patted his bastard son’s hand and looked back to me. ‘And what else will happen?’ he asked.
‘?thelwold will make an attempt to take the throne,’ I said.
‘He swears not.’
‘He swears easily, lord. You should have cut his throat twenty years ago.’
‘People said the same about you, Lord Uhtred.’
‘Maybe you should have taken their advice, lord?’
His mouth showed the ghost of a smile. ‘?thelwold is a sorry creature,’ he said, ‘without discipline or sense. He’s not a danger, just a reminder of our fallibility.’
‘He’s talked to Sigurd,’ I said, ‘and he has disaffected allies in both Cent and Mercia. That’s why I came to Wintanceaster, lord, to warn you of this.’
Alfred gazed at me for a long time, then sighed. ‘He’s always dreamed of being king,’ he said.
‘Time to kill him and his dream, lord,’ I said firmly. ‘Give me the word and I’ll rid you of him.’
Alfred shook his head. ‘He’s my brother’s son,’ Alfred said, ‘and a weak man. I don’t want my family’s blood on my hands when I stand before God at the judgement seat.’
‘So you let him live?’
‘He’s too weak to be dangerous. No one in Wessex will support him.’
‘Very few will, lord,’ I said, ‘so he’ll go back to Sigurd and Cnut. They will invade Mercia and then Wessex. There will be battles.’ I hesitated. ‘And in those battles, lord, Cnut, Sigurd and ?thelwold will die, but Edward and Wessex will be safe.’
He considered that glib statement for a moment, then sighed. ‘And Mercia? Not every man in Mercia loves Wessex.’
‘The Mercian lords must choose sides, lord,’ I said. ‘Those who support Wessex will be on the winning side, the others will be dead. Mercia will be ruled by Edward.’
I had told him what he wanted to hear, but also what I believed. Strange, that. I had been left confused by ?lfadell’s predictions, yet when I was asked to foretell the future I had no hesitation.
‘How can you be so sure?’ Alfred asked. ‘Did the witch ?lfadell tell you all that?’
‘No, lord. She told me the very opposite, but she was only telling me what Jarl Cnut wanted her to say.’
‘The gift of prophecy,’ Alfred said sternly, ‘would not be given to a pagan.’
‘Yet you ask me to tell the future, lord?’ I asked mischievously, and was rewarded by another grimace that was intended as a smile.
‘So how can you be sure?’ Alfred asked.
‘We’ve learned how to fight the Northmen, lord,’ I said, ‘but they haven’t learned how to fight us. When you have burhs, then the defender has all the advantages. They will attack, we will defend, they will lose, we shall win.’
‘You make it sound simple,’ Alfred said.
‘Battle is simple, lord, maybe that’s why I’m good at it.’
‘I have been wrong about you, Lord Uhtred.’
‘No, lord.’
‘No?’
‘I love the Danes, lord.’
‘But you are the sword of the Saxons?’
‘Wyrd bi
ful 
r?d, lord,’ I said.
He closed his eyes momentarily. He lay so still that for a few heartbeats I feared he was dying, but then he opened his eyes again and frowned towards the smoke-blackened rafters. He tried to suppress a moan, but it escaped anyway and I saw the pain pass across his face. ‘That is so hard,’ he said.
‘There are potions that help with pain, lord,’ I said helplessly.
He shook his head slowly. ‘Not pain, Lord Uhtred. We are born to pain. No, fate is difficult. Is all ordained? Foreknowledge is not fate, and we may choose our paths, yet fate says we may not choose them. So if fate is real, do we have choice?’ I said nothing, letting him puzzle that unanswerable question for himself. He looked at me. ‘What would you have your fate be?’ he asked.
‘I would recapture Bebbanburg, lord, and when I find myself on my deathbed I want it to be in Bebbanburg’s high hall with the sound of her sea filling my ears.’
‘And I have Brother John filling my ears,’ Alfred said, amused. ‘He tells them they must open their mouths like hungry little birds, and they do.’ He put his right hand back on Osferth’s hand. ‘They want me to be a hungry little bird. They feed me thin gruel, Lord Uhtred, and insist that I eat, but I don’t want to eat.’ He sighed. ‘My son,’ he meant Osferth, ‘tells me you are a poor man. Why? Did you not capture a fortune at Dunholm?’
‘I did, lord.’
‘You wasted it?’
‘I wasted it in your service, lord, on men, mail and weapons. On guarding the frontier of Mercia. On equipping an army to defeat Haesten.’
‘
‘Your scriptures, lord?’
‘A wise Roman, Lord Uhtred, who said that money is the sinews of war.’
‘He knew what he was talking about, lord.’
Alfred closed his eyes and I could see the pain cross his face again. His mouth tightened as he suppressed a groan. The smell in the room grew ranker. ‘There is a lump in my belly,’ he said, ‘like a stone.’ He paused and again tried to stifle a groan. A single tear escaped. ‘I watch the candle clocks,’ he said, ‘and wonder how many bands will burn before,’ he hesitated. ‘I measure my life by inches. You will come back tomorrow, Lord Uhtred.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘I have given my,’ he paused, then patted Osferth’s hand, ‘my son,’ he said, ‘a charge.’ He opened his eyes and looked at me. ‘My son is charged with converting you to the true faith.’
‘Yes, lord,’ I said, not knowing what else to say. I saw the tears on Osferth’s face.
Alfred looked at the great leather panel that showed the crucifixion. ‘Do you notice anything strange about that painting?’ he asked me.
I stared at it. Jesus hung from the cross, blood streaked, the sinews in his arms stretching against the dark
