He smiled. ‘Forgive me, lord, but you are old. You may enjoy the wealth for a season or two, and then your son will inherit, and your son is a Christian.’
‘Which son?’ I demanded sharply.
‘The one you call Uhtred, of course. He’s not here?’
‘I left him in command at Bebbanburg.’
‘I like him!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I always liked him!’
‘You grew up together.’
‘We did, we did! I like both your boys.’
‘I only have one son.’
Æthelstan ignored that. ‘And I can’t imagine your eldest wanting to inherit wealth. Bishop Oswald doesn’t want worldly riches, just God’s grace.’
‘Then he’s a most unusual churchman,’ I snarled.
‘He is, and he’s a good man, lord.’ He paused. ‘I value his counsel.’
‘He hates me.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
I grunted. The less I talked of Bishop Oswald, the better. ‘And what do you get in return for the wealth of Wiltunscir?’ I asked instead.
He hesitated a heartbeat, then, ‘You know what I want.’
‘Bebbanburg.’
He held up both hands. ‘Say nothing, lord! Say nothing now! But yes, I want Bebbanburg.’
I obeyed his command to say nothing, and was glad to obey because my immediate reaction was to refuse angrily. I am a Northumbrian and my life had been dedicated to regaining Bebbanburg, but in the wake of that impulse came other thoughts. He was offering me so much wealth, Benedetta would have the comforts she deserved for ever, and my son would inherit a fortune. Æthelstan must have guessed my confusion because he had held up his hands to silence me. He did not want my impulsive answer, he wanted me to think.
He said as much. ‘Think on it, lord. In two days we break camp. The kings will depart, the monks will return to Dacore, and I shall travel south to Wintanceaster. Tomorrow afternoon we give a great feast, and you must tell me your answer then.’ He stood and stepped towards me, holding out a hand to help me stand. I let him pull me to my feet, and then he gripped my hand in both of his. ‘I owe you much, lord, more perhaps than I can ever pay, and in the time you have left on this earth I would like you close to me, in Wessex, as my adviser, as my counsellor!’ He smiled, unleashing his handsome charm on me. ‘As you once looked after me,’ he said softly, ‘I shall look after you.’
‘Tomorrow,’ I said, and my voice sounded to me like a croak.
‘Tomorrow afternoon, lord!’ He slapped my shoulder. ‘And bring Finan and your pet Norse brothers!’ He strode towards our horses that were held by a servant beyond the old camp’s low earthen wall. He turned suddenly. ‘Make sure you bring your fellows! Finan and the Norsemen!’ He had said nothing about Egil’s men accompanying me despite his order that I should only bring thirty men. It appeared he did not mind. ‘Bring all three!’ he called back. ‘And now, let’s hunt!’
The Christians tell a story of how their devil took the nailed god to the crest of a mountain and showed him the kingdoms of the world. All could be his, the devil promised, if he just knelt and swore fealty. And like the nailed god I had been offered wealth and power. The nailed god refused, but I was no god and I was tempted.
Æthelstan, I realised, was like a man playing tæfl. He was moving his pieces about the squares to capture the tallest piece and so win the game, but by offering me Wiltunscir he was trying to remove me from the playing board altogether. And of course I was tempted. And as we had hunted he had tempted me further by casually saying that I would remain the Lord of Bebbanburg. ‘The fortress and estate are yours forever, lord, so all I’m asking of you is to let me supply the commander and his garrison! And only until we’re sure of peace with the Scots! Once those scoundrels have proved they mean to keep their oath then Bebbanburg will belong to your family for ever! All yours!’ He had given me his dazzling smile, then spurred on.
So I was tempted. I would keep Bebbanburg, but live in Wiltunscir, where I would command land, men, and silver. I would die rich. And as I followed him, watching the hawks stoop on partridges and pigeons, I thought of that casual promise, that he would only hold Bebbanburg until there was peace with the Scots. It had sounded reassuring, but then I remembered that there had never been peace with the Scots and likely never would be. Even when the Scots spoke of peace they were readying for war, and when we spoke the same smooth words to them we were busy forging more spears and binding more shields. It was an enmity without end. Yet Wiltunscir? Rich, plump Wiltunscir? But what a king gave, a king could take away, and I thought of what Hywel had told me, how his successors might not feel bound by the agreement he had made with Æthelstan. And would Æthelstan’s successors feel bound by any agreement he made with me? Would Æthelstan himself? For what need would Æthelstan have of me once he was in possession of Bebbanburg?
Yet he had gripped my hand, looked into my eyes and promised to look after me as I had once looked after him. And I wanted to believe him. Better perhaps to spend my last years among Wiltunscir’s lush pastures and heavy orchards, secure in the knowledge that my son, my second son, would be given his birthright when the Scots bent the knee.
‘Will the Scots ever make peace?’ I asked Finan that night.
‘Will the wolf lie down with the lamb?’
‘We’re lambs?’
‘We’re the wolf pack of Bebbanburg,’ he said proudly.
We were sitting with Egil and his brother, Thorolf, beside a fire. There was a bright half-moon that kept vanishing behind high, fast clouds, while the wind, briskly cold from the east,
