‘And some bones,’ Finan added, ‘but no demons.’
‘But it’s time,’ I said, ‘that the graves are filled with gold and haunted by demons.’
I would set a trap. I would offer Guthfrith gold, more gold than he had ever dreamed of, and I would give Ealdred what he wanted, a killing. Because I would kill first and I would kill ruthlessly, but for the trap to work it must be well laid and had to be kept secret.
It took much of the winter to prepare. The older, rougher pieces like the stone-beaten cup and a brutal-looking torque were left alone, as were the ingots, but some of the others, like the candlesticks and some Roman dishes, were hammered into shapeless lumps. Æthelstan had demanded twenty-four pounds of gold from Hywel as part of his tribute, and by the time our work was finished we had over a hundred pounds of gold stored in a stout wooden chest. We did that work in secret, only Finan and my son helping, so that no word about gold could leak from Bebbanburg.
Ealdred’s goading never stopped, though it was sporadic. Horsemen would come at dawn to burn granaries or barns, and to drive away the livestock. Still they killed no one, nor took slaves, and their victims told us that the raiders were always Northmen. They spoke Danish or Norse, they wore hammers, they carried plain shields. The raids cost me silver, but did no great harm. Buildings could be replaced, grain was sent from Bebbanburg, as were cattle and sheep. We still sent men to ride our southern border, but I gave orders that none was to cross onto Guthfrith’s land. It was war without death, even without fighting, and to my thinking it was pointless.
‘Then why are they doing it?’ Benedetta asked angrily.
‘Because Æthelstan wants it,’ was all I could say.
‘You gave him the throne! It is unjust!’
I smiled at her indignation. ‘Greed overcomes gratitude.’
‘You are his friend!’
‘No, I’m a power in his kingdom, and he must show that he’s a greater power.’
‘Write to him! Tell him you are loyal!’
‘He wouldn’t believe me. Besides, it’s become a pissing contest.’
‘Ouff! You men!’
‘And he’s king, he has to win.’
‘Then piss on him! Do it properly!’
‘I will,’ I said grimly and, to make that happen, in the late winter when snow still lay in the shadowed hollows on the higher ground, I rode south with Finan, Egil and a dozen men. We took tracks through the hills rather than ride the Roman road, and we took shelter in taverns or small steadings. We claimed to be searching for land and maybe the folk believed us, maybe not, but we wore no finery, flaunted no gold, carried plain swords and took care to conceal our names. We paid for our shelter with hacksilver. It took us four days to reach the Devil’s Valley and it was just as I remembered it.
The valley was high in the hills. Those hills climbed steeply to the east, west and north, but at the southern end was a lip that fell away to a deeper river valley where a Roman road ran straight from east to west. There were straggly pines in the high valley, and a stream that still had ice at its margins. The three burial mounds were in a straight line at the valley’s centre, their grass white with frost. There were deep scars in the mounds showing where we had dug so many years before and where, doubtless, the villagers from the river valley had dug since. The tall stone that had stood at the southern end of the mounds had fallen and lay in the thin turf.
‘Summer pasture,’ Egil kicked at the grass as we walked towards the valley’s lip. ‘Not much good for anything else.’
‘It’s good as a place to find gold,’ I said. We stopped at the valley’s southern edge where a cold wind stirred our cloaks. The stream tumbled over the lip to join the river that glinted far beneath us in the winter sunlight. ‘That must be the Tesa,’ I pointed at the river. ‘The border of my land.’
‘So this valley is yours?’
‘Mine. Everything to the river bank is mine.’
‘And beyond?’
‘Guthfrith’s,’ I said, ‘or perhaps Ealdred’s. Not mine, anyway.’
Egil gazed into the wider valley. From our high place we could clearly see the road, a village, and an earth track going from the settlement to the Tesa’s northern bank, and another track leading away from the opposite bank, a clear sign that the Tesa could be forded. ‘Where does the road go?’ he asked.
I pointed east. ‘It joins the Great Road somewhere over there, then down to Eoferwic.’
‘How far?’
‘Two days on horseback, three if you’re not in a hurry.’
‘Then this,’ Egil said, ‘would be a fine place for a fort.’ He swept a hand around the ground where we stood. ‘It has water, and from here you can see an enemy coming.’
‘For a poet,’ I said slowly, ‘and a Norseman, you have a brilliant mind.’
He grinned, unsure of what I was saying. ‘I’m a warrior too.’
‘You are, my friend. A fort!’ I looked down the slope and saw a sheep track that ran downhill at a steep angle. ‘How long would it take to reach that village on horseback?’ I pointed to the settlement by the river where smoke rose gently. ‘Not long?’
‘Not long.’
‘Finan!’ I called, and when he joined us I pointed to the village. ‘Is that a church I see there?’
Finan, who had the best eyesight of any man I have ever known, glanced downhill. ‘It has a cross on the gable. What else could it be?’
I had been wondering how we were to reveal the gold we would bury in the graves, but Egil’s suggestion had given me the answer. ‘Come spring,’ I said, ‘we will build a fort here.’ I pointed at the feeble pines. ‘Start the palisade with those trunks. Buy more timber from the
