his command.’
‘And if they attack us?’ I asked, annoyed.
‘Of course you may defend yourself, but the king does not wish to start a war. Not before he is crowned.’
I growled acceptance of the policy. I supposed it made sense that Edward wanted to be left in peace while he established his authority over his new kingdom, but I doubted the Danes would oblige him. I was certain they wanted war, and would want it before Edward’s coronation.
That ceremony would not take place until the new year, giving time for honoured guests to arrange their travel and so, as the autumn mists turned colder and the days shrank, I went at last to Fagranforda.
That was a blessed place of sweet low hills, slow rivers and rich earth. Alfred had indeed been generous. The steward was a morose Mercian named Fulk who did not welcome a new lord, and no wonder, for he had lived well off the estate’s income, helped in that by the priest who kept the accounts. That priest, Father Cynric, tried to persuade me that the harvests had been poor of late, and that the stumps in the woodland were there because the trees had died of disease rather than been felled for the value of their timber. He laid out the documents that matched the receipts I had brought from the treasury in Wintanceaster, and Father Cynric smiled happily at that coincidence. ‘As I told you, lord,’ he said, ‘we held the estate in sacred trust, as it were, for King Alfred.’ He beamed at me. He was a plump man, full-faced, with a quick smile.
‘And no one ever came from Wessex to examine your accounts?’
‘What need was there?’ he asked, sounding surprised and amused at such a thought. ‘The church teaches us to be honest labourers in the Lord’s vineyard.’
I took all the documents and put them on the hall fire. Father Cynric and Fulk watched in speechless surprise as the parchments scorched, curled, cracked and burned. ‘You’ve been cheating,’ I said, ‘and now it stops.’ Father Cynric opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. ‘Or do I have to hang one of you?’ I asked. ‘Maybe both?’
Finan searched both Fulk’s and Father Cynric’s houses and found some of their hoarded silver, which I used to buy timber and to pay back the steward who had lent me money. I have always loved to build, and Fagranforda needed a new hall, new storehouses and a palisade, all projects for the winter. I sent Finan north to patrol the lands between the Saxons and the Danes, and he took new men with him, men who came to me because they heard I was wealthy and gave silver. Finan sent messages every few days, and they all said that the Danes were surprisingly quiet. I had been certain that Alfred’s death would provoke an attack, but none came. Sigurd, it seemed, was sick, and Cnut had no desire to attack southwards without his friend. I thought it an opportunity for us to attack northwards and said so in a message to Edward, but the suggestion went unanswered. We heard rumours that ?thelwold had gone to Eoferwic.
Gisela’s brother had died and been succeeded as king in Northumbria by a Dane who ruled only because Cnut allowed it. Cnut, for whatever reason, had no wish to be king, but his man occupied the throne and ?thelwold was sent to Eoferwic presumably because it was so far from Wessex and so deep inside Danish land, and was thus a safe place. Cnut must have believed that Edward might send a force to destroy ?thelwold, and so hid his prize behind Eoferwic’s formidable Roman walls.
So ?thelwold cowered, Cnut waited and I built. I made a hall as high as a church with stout beams and a tall palisade. I nailed wolf skulls to the gable, which faced the rising sun, and I hired men to make tables and benches. I had a new steward, a man called Herric who had been wounded in the hip at Beamfleot and could no longer fight, but Herric was energetic and mostly honest. He suggested we build a mill on the stream, a good suggestion.
It was while I was searching for a good place to make the mill that the priest arrived. It was a cold day, as cold as the day on which Father Willibald had found me in Buccingahamm, and the edges of the stream were crackling with thin ice. A wind came cold from the northern uplands, while from the south came a priest. He rode a mule, but scrambled out of the saddle when he came close to me. He was young and even taller than I was. He was skeletally thin, his black robe was filthy and its hems caked with dried mud. His face was long, his nose like a beak, his eyes bright and very green, his fair hair straggly and his chin nonexistent. He had the wispiest, most pathetic beard, which dangled halfway down a long, thin neck around which he wore a large silver cross which was missing one of its arms. ‘You are the great Lord Uhtred?’ he enquired earnestly.
‘I am,’ I said.
‘And I am Father Cuthbert,’ he introduced himself, ‘and so very pleased to meet you. Do I bow?’
‘Grovel, if you like.’
To my surprise he went down on his knees. He bowed his head almost to the frost-whitened grass, then unfolded and stood. ‘There,’ he said, ‘I grovelled. Greetings, lord, from your new chaplain.’
‘My what?’
‘Your chaplain, your own priest,’ he said brightly. ‘It’s my punishment.’
‘I don’t need a chaplain.’
‘I’m sure you don’t, lord. I’m unnecessary, I know. I am not needed, I am a mere blight on the eternal church. Cuthbert the Unnecessary.’ He smiled suddenly as an idea struck him. ‘If I’m ever made into a saint,’ he said, ‘I shall be Saint Cuthbert the Unnecessary! It would distinguish me from the other Saint Cuthbert, would it not? It would, indeed it would!’ He capered a few steps of gangling dance. ‘Saint Cuthbert the Unnecessary!’ he chanted. ‘Patron saint of all useless things. Nevertheless, lord,’ he composed his face into a serious expression, ‘I am your chaplain, a burden upon your purse, and I require food, silver, ale and especially cheese. I’m very fond of cheese. You say you don’t need me, lord, but I am here nonetheless, and at your humble service.’ He bowed again. ‘You wish to say confession? You want me to welcome you back into the bosom of Mother Church?’
‘Who says you’re my chaplain?’ I asked.
‘King Edward. I’m his gift to you.’ He smiled beatifically, then made a sign of the cross towards me. ‘Blessings on you, lord.’
‘Why did Edward send you?’ I asked.
‘I suspect, lord, because he has a sense of humour. Or,’ he frowned, thinking, ‘perhaps because he dislikes me. Except I don’t think he does, in fact he doesn’t dislike me at all, he’s very fond of me, though he believes I need to learn discretion.’
‘You’re indiscreet?’
‘Oh, lord, I am so many things! A scholar, a priest, an eater of cheese, and now I am chaplain to Lord Uhtred, the pagan who slaughters priests. That’s what they tell me. I’d be eternally grateful if you refrained from slaughtering me. May I have a servant, please?’
‘A servant?’
‘To wash things? To do things? To look after me? A maid would be a blessing. Something young with nice breasts?’
I was grinning by then. It was impossible not to like Saint Cuthbert the Unnecessary. ‘Nice breasts?’ I asked sternly.
‘If it pleases you, lord. I was warned you were more likely to slaughter me, to make me into a martyr, but I would much prefer breasts.’
‘Are you really a priest?’ I asked him.
‘Oh indeed, lord, I am. You can ask Bishop Swithwulf! He made me a priest! He laid his hands on me and said all the proper prayers.’
‘Swithwulf of Hrofeceastre?’ I asked.
‘The very same. He’s my father and he hates me!’
‘Your father?’
‘My spiritual father, yes, not my real father. My real father was a stonemason, bless his little hammer, but Bishop Swithwulf educated me and raised me, God bless him, and now he detests me.’
‘Why?’ I asked, already suspecting the answer.
‘I’m not allowed to say, lord.’
‘Say it anyway, you’re indiscreet.’
‘I married King Edward to Bishop Swithwulf’s daughter, lord.’
So the twins who were now in ?thelflaed’s care were legitimate, a fact that would upset Ealdorman ?thelhelm. Edward was pretending otherwise in case the Witan of Wessex decided to offer the throne elsewhere,
