‘In Ireland,’ Domnall repeated pointedly.
‘Ireland is a long way off,’ I observed shortly.
Dyfnwal spoke for the first time. ‘A good ship can make the voyage between Strath Clota and Ireland in half a day.’ His voice was toneless and harsh. ‘Less,’ he added.
And what,’ I asked Domnall, ‘does Anlaf Guthfrithson have to do with Ingilmundr?’
‘A year ago,’ Dyfnwal answered instead, his voice still flat, ‘Ingilmundr and Anlaf met on the island called Mön. They met as friends.’
‘They’re both Norsemen,’ I said dismissively.
‘Friends,’ Domnall pointedly repeated Dyfnwal’s last word.
I just looked at him, meeting his gaze. For a moment I did not know what to say. My first instinct was to challenge him, to deny that Æthelstan could possibly be so foolish as to trust Ingilmundr. I wanted to defend the king whom I had raised as a son, loved like a son, and helped to his throne, but I believed Domnall. ‘Go on,’ I said as tonelessly as Dyfnwal.
Domnall leaned back, relaxing, as if he understood that I had received the message he had brought me. ‘There are two possibilities, Lord Uhtred,’ he said. ‘The first is that King Æthelstan is adding Northumbria to his realm. He is creating, what is it called? Englaland?’ he said the word with scorn. ‘And he will give its governance to a friend, to a man he can trust.’
‘Ingilmundr,’ I grunted.
Domnall held up a hand as if to tell me to wait before I spoke. ‘And whoever rules in Northumbria,’ he went on, ‘whether it’s Ingilmundr or another, Æthelstan will want to secure his northern frontier. He will build burhs, he will strengthen the existing burhs, and he will want those burhs held by men who are wholly loyal to him.’
He meant Bebbanburg, of course. ‘King Æthelstan,’ I said, ‘has no reason to doubt my loyalty.’
‘And he will want those men,’ Domnall continued as if I had not spoken, ‘to be Christians.’
I kept silent.
‘The second possibility,’ Domnall poured himself more ale, ‘is that Ingilmundr works to be appointed as the governor of Northumbria and, once secure in Eoferwic and with Æthelstan far away in Wintanceaster, he invites Anlaf Guthfrithson to join him. The Norsemen need a kingdom, why not one called Northumbria?’
I shrugged. ‘Ingilmundr and Anlaf will fight each other like polecats. Only one of them can be king, and neither will give way to the other.’
Domnall nodded as if he accepted my point. ‘Except they’ll share enemies, and shared enemies can make even polecats into unlikely friends.’ He smiled and nodded at Dyfnwal in proof.
Dyfnwal did not smile. ‘Anlaf Guthfrithson has a daughter,’ he said, ‘and she is not married. Nor is Ingilmundr.’ He shrugged as if to suggest he had proven Domnall’s argument.
Yet what was that argument? That Æthelstan wanted Northumbria? He always had. That Æthelstan had sworn not to invade Northumbria while I lived, but had broken the oath? That was true, but Æthelstan had yet to explain himself. That Ingilmundr was an untrustworthy Norseman who had his own designs on Northumbria? So did Constantine. And one great thing stood in their way; Bebbanburg.
I do not claim that Bebbanburg is impregnable. My ancestor had captured the fort centuries before and I had captured it again, but any man, Saxon, Norse or Scot, would find Bebbanburg a challenge. I had strengthened an already formidable fortress, and the only sure way to seize it now was to place a fleet off Bebbanburg’s shore and an army at its gates to stop supplies reaching us and so starve us into surrender. Either that or treachery. ‘What do you want?’ I asked Domnall, wanting this uncomfortable meeting to end.
‘My king,’ Domnall said carefully, ‘is offering you an alliance.’ He held up a hand to stop me speaking. ‘He will swear never to attack you and, more, he will come to your aid if you are attacked.’ He paused, expecting me to respond, but I stayed silent. ‘And he will give you his eldest son as a hostage, Lord Uhtred.’
‘I had his son as a hostage before,’ I said.
‘Prince Cellach sends you greetings. He speaks well of you.’
‘And I of him,’ I said. Cellach had been my hostage years before when Constantine had wanted a truce between Alba and Northumbria. The truce had been kept, and I had kept the young prince for a year and had grown to like him, but now, I thought, he must be middle-aged. ‘And what,’ I asked, ‘does King Constantine want of me?’
‘Cumbria,’ Domnall answered.
I looked at Dyfnwal. ‘Which will belong to Strath Clota?’ I asked. Cumbria bordered the smaller kingdom and I could not imagine that King Owain would want Scottish warriors on his southern border. Neither man answered, so I looked back to Domnall. ‘Just Cumbria?’
‘King Constantine,’ Domnall was speaking very carefully now, ‘wants all the land north of the Tinan and the Hedene.’
I smiled. ‘He wants me to be a Scot?’
‘There are worse things to be,’ Domnall smiled back.
Constantine had made the claim before, asserting that the great wall the Romans had built across Britain, a wall that stretched from the River Tinan in the east to the Hedene in the west, was the natural frontier between the Scots and the Saxons. It was an audacious claim and one I knew that Æthelstan would resist with all his power. It would make Bebbanburg into a Scottish fortress and, unspoken, but clear to me, it would demand that I swear allegiance to Constantine.
Northumbria, I thought, poor Northumbria! She was a small and ill-governed country with a greater nation on either frontier. To the north the Scots, to the south the Saxons, and both wanted her. The Norsemen of Cumbria, which was Northumbria’s western region, would probably prefer the Scots, but the Saxons of eastern Northumbria had learned to fear the Scots, and their best defence was the power of Bebbanburg. ‘And what of Bebbanburg?’ I asked.
‘The king swears it will belong to you and to your heirs for ever.’
‘For ever is
