‘The old people put them there,’ I said.
‘Yes, but why?’
‘Because they knew no better, lord King,’ Ealdred said.
Æthelstan frowned slightly as he gazed at the stone. Men had seen us and some wandered towards our horses, only to be shepherded away by the mounted guards. ‘There are so many of them,’ Æthelstan said, talking of the stones, ‘all across the kingdom. Great circles of stone and we don’t know why they were put here.’
‘Pagan superstition,’ Ealdred said dismissively.
‘Your son,’ Æthelstan was speaking to me and he meant my eldest son, ‘would have us pull the stone circles down.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they’re pagan, of course!’
‘Those gods are dead,’ I said, nodding at the stone, ‘they can’t trouble us.’
‘They were never alive, Lord Uhtred, there is only one God!’ Æthelstan waved at the man commanding his escort. ‘Don’t push them back! They mean no harm!’ He was speaking of the men who had come to watch him pass and now he rode towards them, stopped close and spoke to them. I heard them laughing.
He had the gift, I thought. Men liked him. He looked like a king, of course, and that helped, but Æthelstan added his own elegance to the crown. Now, riding to hawk, he wore a simple gold circlet that glinted in the weak sunlight. His horse, a tall grey stallion, was caparisoned with soft leather embossed with golden badges, his spurs were gold, while his long black cloak was hemmed with golden thread. I looked at the men’s faces and saw they were pleased their king had stopped to talk with them. They grinned, they smiled, they laughed at his words. They knew the rumours, who did not? Rumours that said their king refused to marry and preferred the company of young good-looking men, but they did not mind because Æthelstan looked like a king, because he had led them in battle and had proven that he was as brave and as hard a fighter as any of his warriors, and because he liked them. He trusted them. He was joking with them now, and they cheered him.
‘He’s good.’ Ealdred had edged his horse close to mine.
‘He always was,’ I said, still looking at Æthelstan.
There was an awkward pause, then Ealdred cleared his throat. ‘I should apologise to you, lord.’
‘You should?’
‘Last night, lord, I did not know who you were.’
‘Now you do,’ I said curtly, and spurred my horse forward.
I was behaving badly. I knew that, but could not prevent myself. There were too many secrets, too many ambitious men who had their eyes on Northumbria, and I am a Northumbrian. I am Jarl Uhtred of Northumbria, and my ancestors had taken this land from the British and we had held it against them, against the Danes and against the Norsemen. Now, I knew, I must hold it again, but against whom?
I turned my horse, ignoring Ealdred, and saw that Egil was deep in conversation with Ingilmundr, a fellow Norseman, and Ingilmundr saw me looking towards them and bowed his head. I did not respond, but noticed the big golden cross hanging at his chest. Finan joined me. ‘Learned anything?’ he asked quietly.
‘Nothing.’
‘I’ve learned,’ he said quietly, ‘that Ingilmundr has been baptised.’
‘I saw the cross.’
‘You can’t miss it! You could crucify a sheep on that cross. And he says he’ll lead all the Norse of Wirhealum to Ceaster to be baptised too.’
‘Ceaster,’ I said bleakly.
‘Because Bishop Oswald has convinced them of the truth,’ Finan said tonelessly. He knew better than to say the bishop was my son. ‘And perhaps he has?’ Finan added sceptically. I grunted. Pagans did convert, of course, Bishop Oda was proof of that, but I trusted Ingilmundr about as much as I would trust a starving wolf in a sheepfold. ‘Ingilmundr told me,’ Finan went on, ‘that we are all Ænglisc now.’
‘We are?’
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
I laughed, though without much humour, and Æthelstan, coming back to us, heard me. ‘You’re cheerful, Lord Uhtred.’
‘Always in your company, lord King,’ I said sourly.
‘And Finan, my old friend! How are you?’ Æthelstan did not wait for an answer. ‘Let’s ride north! Lord Uhtred, you’ll keep me company?’
We crossed the Eamotum’s ford and pounded north on soggy turf beside the straight Roman road. Æthelstan, once away from the camp, had summoned a servant to take the hawk from his wrist. ‘He doesn’t like to fly in damp weather,’ he explained to me, but I sensed he had not intended to hunt anyway. More mounted men had joined us, all in scarlet cloaks, all in mail, all helmeted and all carrying shields and heavy spears. Groups of them scattered in front of us, scouting the higher ground, making a wide cordon around the king who led me up a slight grassy rise to where ancient turf walls made a crude square. There were low masonry walls at one corner, the old stones thick with weeds and lichen. ‘Probably a Roman camp,’ Æthelstan explained as he dismounted. ‘Walk with me!’
His scarlet-cloaked protectors surrounded the old camp, but only he and I walked the wet turf enclosed by the decayed walls. ‘What did Hywel say last night?’ he asked me without any small talk first.
I was surprised at the abruptness, but gave him a true answer that he was probably pleased to hear. ‘That he’ll keep his treaty with you.’
‘So he will, so he will.’ He paused and half frowned. ‘At least I think he will.’
‘But you were harsh with him, lord King.’
‘Harsh?’ He sounded surprised.
‘He told me he pays twenty-four pounds of gold, three hundred of silver, and ten thousand head of cattle a year.’
‘So he does.’
‘Can’t Christian kings make peace without a price?’
‘It isn’t a price,’ he explained. ‘We are an island under assault. The Norse flood into the Irish Sea, their fleets come with the north wind and their warriors seek our land. Wales is a small land, a vulnerable land, and their coasts have already been assailed. That money, Lord Uhtred, pays for the spears that will
