‘Vinegar,’ Egil agreed.
‘Æthelstan won’t be pleased,’ Finan put in.
‘He didn’t want the wine,’ I said, ‘why should he care?’
‘He won’t be pleased if you stay in Bebbanburg.’
‘What can he do?’ I asked.
‘Besiege you?’ Egil suggested uncertainly.
‘He has enough men,’ Thorolf growled.
‘And ships,’ his brother added. For the last two years we had been hearing how Æthelstan was building new and better ships. His grandfather, Alfred, had built a navy, but his ships had been heavy and slow, while Æthelstan, we had heard, was making ships that even a Norseman might admire.
Finan stared up at the sparks whirling in the wind. ‘I can’t believe he’d besiege you, lord. You gave him his throne!’
‘He no longer needs me.’
‘He owes you!’
‘And he has Bishop Oswald spewing hatred into his ear,’ I said.
‘The best thing to do with bishops,’ Thorold said savagely, ‘is to gut them like summer salmon.’
No one spoke for a moment, then Finan poked the fire with a branch. ‘So what will you do?’
‘I don’t know. Truly, I don’t know.’
Egil sipped the wine again. ‘I wouldn’t clean my mail with this goat’s piss,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Did you give an answer to King Constantine?’ he asked. ‘Didn’t he expect to hear from you?’
‘I’ve nothing to say to him,’ I said curtly. Constantine might expect an answer, but I reckoned my silence would be answer enough.
‘And Æthelstan didn’t ask you about it?’
‘Why should he?’ I asked.
‘Because he knows about it,’ Egil said. ‘He knows the Scots visited you at Bebbanburg.’
I stared at him through the flames. ‘He knows?’
‘Ingilmundr told me. He asked if you’d accepted Constantine’s offer.’
There comes a moment in battle when you know you have it all wrong, that the enemy has out-thought you and is about to outfight you. It is a sinking feeling of horror and I felt it at that moment. I still stared at Egil, my mind trying to take in what he was telling me. ‘I thought of saying something,’ I admitted, ‘but he didn’t ask so I didn’t speak.’
‘Well, he knows!’ Egil said grimly.
I cursed. I had thought of telling Æthelstan about the Scottish envoys, but had decided to keep silent. Better to say nothing, I had thought, than poke that sleeping polecat. ‘And you said what to Ingilmundr?’ I asked Egil.
‘I said I knew nothing about it!’
I had been a fool. So Æthelstan, all the time he was offering me wealth, knew that Constantine had made me an offer and I had not mentioned it. I should have known that Æthelstan’s spies riddled Constantine’s court, just as the Scottish king had his spies among Æthelstan’s men. So what was Æthelstan thinking now? That I had deliberately deceived him? And if I was to tell him now that I would not surrender Bebbanburg to him then he would surely believe I was planning to give my allegiance to Constantine instead.
I heard the chanting of monks and saw the same small group as the previous night, again led by the man with the lantern who walked solemn and slow, around the encampment. ‘I like that sound,’ I said.
‘You’re a secret Christian,’ Finan said with a grin.
‘I was baptised,’ I said, ‘three times.’
‘That’s against church law. Once is enough.’
‘None worked. I almost drowned the second time.’
‘Pity you weren’t!’ Finan said, still grinning. ‘You’d have gone straight to heaven! You’d be sitting on a cloud now, playing a harp.’
I said nothing because the chanting monks had turned south towards the Welsh encampment, but one of them had left the group furtively and was coming towards us. I held up a hand to silence my companions and nodded towards the hooded monk who seemed to be coming straight towards our fire.
He was. His hood was deep, so deep that I could not see his face as he paced towards us. His dark brown robe was belted with rope, a silver cross hung at his breast, and his hands were clasped in front of him as though he prayed. He did not greet us, did not ask if his company was welcome, but just sat opposite me between Finan and Egil. He had drawn the hood further forward so I still could not see his face. ‘Please join us,’ I said sarcastically.
The monk said nothing. The chanting faded away to the south and the wind blew sparks high.
‘Wine, brother?’ Finan asked. ‘Or there’s ale?’
He shook his head in answer. I caught a glimpse of firelight reflected from his eyes, nothing more.
‘Come to preach to us?’ Thorolf asked sourly.
‘I have come,’ he said, ‘to tell you to leave Burgham.’
I held my breath against the anger welling in me. This was no monk, our visitor was a bishop and I knew his voice. It was Bishop Oswald, my son. Finan recognised the voice too, because he glanced at me before turning back to Oswald. ‘You don’t like our company, bishop?’ he asked mildly.
‘All Christians are welcome here.’
‘But not your pagan father?’ I asked bitterly. ‘Who put your friend and king on his throne?’
‘I am loyal to my king,’ he said very calmly, ‘though my first duty is always to God.’
I was about to say something sharp, but Finan laid his hand on my knee in warning. ‘You have a godly duty now?’ the Irishman asked.
Oswald was silent for a few heartbeats. I still could not see his face, but sensed he was staring at me. ‘Have you made an agreement with Constantine?’ he finally asked.
‘He has not,’ Finan said firmly.
Oswald waited, wanting my answer. ‘No,’ I said, ‘nor will I.’
‘The king fears you have.’
‘Then you can reassure him,’ I said.
Again Oswald hesitated, then for the first time since he joined us, he sounded uncertain. ‘He cannot know I
