‘I remember him as an irritating child.’
He laughed at that. ‘You never liked children, did you? Even your own.’
There was a sting in those last three words. ‘I loved my children,’ I said, ‘but I lost three.’ I touched the hammer hanging at my neck.
‘Three?’ he asked.
‘I had a son by my first marriage,’ I explained. ‘He died as a child.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘Then Stiorra died.’
Æthelstan chose not to ask which child was the third, because he understood that I meant Bishop Oswald. And my eldest son was indeed a bishop, appointed to the diocese of Ceaster. He was still sitting to Æthelstan’s left, but the two of us ignored each other. My son had bowed his head in a cold welcome as I climbed to the platform, but I had not responded, not even looked into his eyes. Then, at a moment when Æthelstan was distracted, I had turned to Bishop Oda. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked in a low voice.
Oda had not needed the question explained. He shrugged. ‘The king wanted to surprise you, lord.’ He had looked at me with his grave, clever eyes, his expression unreadable.
‘You mean he wanted to shock me.’
‘I mean he prays for a reconciliation. We all do. Your son is a good man, lord.’
‘He’s not my son.’
The anger and remorse were making me sullen. Æthelstan might have welcomed me profusely, but I still felt I was in a trap. Killing Kolfinn had been easy, but this welcome in a new-built hall was filling me with dread. ‘Prince Edmund shows promise!’ Æthelstan now said enthusiastically. ‘He’s become a good warrior, lord. He wanted to come north with us, but I left him to command in Wintanceaster.’
I grunted in response and stared down into the candle-lit hall where men looked back at me. I knew many of them, but to the younger men I was a stranger, a relic, a name from the past. They had heard of me, they had heard the stories of men killed and armies beaten, and they could see the bright rings on my arms, could see the scars of war on my cheeks, but they could also see the grey beard and the deep lines that marked my face. I was the past and they were the future. I no longer mattered.
Æthelstan glanced up at the shuttered windows. ‘I do believe the sun is trying to shine,’ he said. ‘I hoped to take a ride,’ he went on. ‘You’ll accompany me, lord?’
‘I rode this morning, lord King,’ I said ungraciously.
‘In that rain?’
‘There was a man I needed to kill,’ I said. He just looked at me, his dark eyes sunk in his long face. His enemies had ridiculed him as ‘pretty boy’, but those enemies were dead now, and the pretty boy had outgrown his boyish looks to become a sternly handsome man, even an impressive man. ‘He’s dead now,’ I finished.
I saw a trace of a smile. He knew I was provoking him, but he refused to take offence at my sullen manners. He might have forbidden men to quarrel, had given orders that weapons were not to be carried, yet I had just confessed to a killing and he simply let it pass. ‘We’ll ride,’ he said firmly, ‘and take some hawks, yes?’ He clapped his hands, summoning the attention of everyone in the hall. ‘The sun is out! Shall we hunt?’ He pushed his seat back, prompting the whole hall to stand with him.
We would go hunting.
Neither Bishop Oda nor Bishop Oswald rode with us, which was something of a relief to me. Oda had told me that Æthelstan wanted a reconciliation and I had feared I would be thrust into my eldest son’s company through the afternoon, but instead Æthelstan himself rode with me while most of the company trailed behind. A score of mail-clad warriors escorted us, grim men in scarlet cloaks carrying long spears and mounted on big stallions. ‘You fear an enemy?’ I asked Æthelstan as we left the monastery.
‘I fear no enemies,’ he said cheerfully, ‘because I am well guarded.’
‘So am I,’ I retorted, ‘but last night an archer tried to kill me.’
‘So I heard! And you think they might try to skewer me too?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And you thought it was one of Hywel’s men?’
The question told me he knew I had been in Hywel’s tent the night before. ‘The Welsh use long hunting bows,’ I said, ‘but Hywel swears it was not one of his men.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t! Hywel has no quarrel with you and he’s made peace with me. I trust him.’ He smiled. ‘Have you ever tried to stretch a long hunting bow? I tried once! Dear God, but you have to be strong! I pulled the cord all the way back, but my right arm was trembling with the effort.’ He turned to Ealdred who rode on his left. ‘Have you ever tried to pull one, Lord Ealdred?’
‘No, lord King,’ Ealdred said. He was unhappy at being forced into my company and refused to look at me.
‘You should try!’ Æthelstan said cheerfully. He carried a hooded hawk, which moved its head sharply as we spoke. ‘He’s a tiercel,’ Æthelstan said, lifting his wrist to show me the hawk. ‘Lord Ealdred prefers to fly a female. She’s bigger, of course, but I swear this little bastard is more vicious.’
‘They’re all vicious,’ I said. I carried no bird. If I hunt I like to use a boar spear, but my son, my second son, was fond of flying hawks. I had left him in command of Bebbanburg and I hoped no vicious bastard was trying to take that fortress away from me while I was on the other side of Northumbria.
We had ridden back to the encampment and Æthelstan curbed his horse close to the big stone circle where his tent stood. He pointed to a great boulder that stood gaunt at the entrance. ‘No one can explain those
