‘So why give him that chance?’ Æthelstan asked.
‘Because he hasn’t thought beyond that,’ Finan said, still talking quietly and soberly. ‘He knows his plan will work, so he doesn’t need to think of another. He’s drinking ale in some hall on Wirhealum tonight and praying you will give him what he wants, because then he won’t be King of Northumbria, but King of all Britain. That’s all he sees. All he wants.’
There was silence, except for the sound of singing somewhere in Æthelstan’s camp. Prince Edmund, who, until Æthelstan married and had a son, was the next king, broke it. ‘But if we refuse his choice of battleground,’ he said, ‘we can choose our own. Maybe a place that gives us an advantage?’
‘Where, lord Prince?’ Finan asked. I was letting Finan do the talking now because I sensed that Æthelstan was irritated by me. ‘If we don’t arrive at Ceaster in the next five days,’ Finan went on, ‘the bridge over the Dee will be gone. Leof will surrender the city because Anlaf will offer him terms. Then their army will march into Mercia. We’ll pursue, and he’ll still choose a battlefield, only one that gives him an even bigger advantage.’
‘Or we trap him somewhere,’ Æthelstan said.
‘You might, lord King,’ Finan said very patiently, ‘or he might trap you? But I assure you that you have a good chance of destroying him on Wirhealum.’
‘Ha!’ Coenwulf, who was sitting with his fellow ealdormen, snarled. He had been scowling at me. I smiled at him, which succeeded in annoying him even more.
Æthelstan ignored Coenwulf. ‘You say Anlaf commands them? Not Constantine?’
‘Anlaf chose the battlefield,’ I said.
‘And Constantine allowed that?’
‘So it seems, lord King.’
‘Why?’ He asked the question indignantly, as though he was offended by Constantine accepting a lesser role.
Finan still answered for me. ‘Anlaf has the reputation of a warrior, lord King. He has never lost a battle and he’s fought many. Constantine, though a wise king, does not have the same renown.’
‘Never lost a battle!’ Æthelstan repeated. ‘And you think we can beat him at a place of his choosing?’
Finan smiled. ‘We can destroy him, lord King, because we know what he will do. And we will be ready for it, prepared for it.’
‘You make it sound easy,’ Coenwulf put in angrily, ‘yet Anlaf has the numbers, and he’s chosen the field. It’s madness to accept the challenge!’
‘We have to fight him somewhere,’ Finan said patiently, ‘and at least we know what he’ll do at Wirhealum.’
‘You think you know!’
‘And those úlfhéðnar,’ Æthelwyn, another of the ealdormen, spoke for the first time, ‘I worry about them.’ I saw how the others nodded agreement.
‘You’ve not fought them,’ I said, ‘but I have. And they’re killed easily.’
‘Easily!’ Coenwulf bridled at my claim.
‘They believe they’re invulnerable,’ I said, ‘and they attack like madmen. They’re frightening, but catch their first wild blow on your shield then slice a seax into their belly and they go down like any other man. I’ve killed enough of them.’
Æthelstan grimaced at that boast. ‘Whether we fight Anlaf at Wirhealum or somewhere else, we still have to face the úlfhéðnar,’ he said, dismissing Æthelwyn’s objection. He looked into my eyes. ‘Why are you so sure we can win at Wirhealum?’ he asked.
I hesitated, tempted to invent a fantasy that might persuade them. The fantasy would be about the second king called Anlaf, the ruler of Hlymrekr who Anlaf derided as Scabbyhead and who had been forced to bring his men to fight for his conqueror. I wanted to suggest that his men would fight less forcefully, that if we broke them we would break Anlaf’s line, but I did not believe that. The men of Hlymrekr would fight for their lives as fiercely as any other, so instead I looked into Æthelstan’s eyes. ‘Because we’ll break their shield wall, lord King.’
‘How?’ Coenwulf demanded indignantly.
‘The same way I’ve broken other men’s shield walls,’ I retorted derisively.
There was an awkward silence. I had sounded arrogant, but it was an arrogance no man wanted to challenge. I had broken shield walls and they knew it, just as they knew I had fought more battles than any of them. None of them spoke, only looked at Æthelstan, who was frowning at me. I think he suspected that my answer was an evasion. ‘And if we are to fight at Wirhealum,’ he said slowly, ‘I need to make a decision tonight?’
‘If you want to reach Ceaster in time, yes,’ I said.
Æthelstan still looked into my eyes, simply looked. He said nothing, nor did anyone else. I stared back. The decision was his, and he knew that his throne depended on it, just as he knew that Finan had spoken for me earlier, and our confidence intrigued him. ‘Stay, Lord Uhtred,’ he finally spoke. ‘The rest of you get some sleep.’
‘But—’ Æthelwyn began.
‘Go!’ Æthelstan snarled. ‘All of you, go!’
He waited until the others were gone, then poured two beakers of wine. He handed one to me. ‘You met Anlaf,’ he said flatly.
‘I did.’
‘Did he ask you to fight for him?’
‘Of course.’
‘How do I know you didn’t say yes?’
‘Because I took an oath to protect you. I’ve never broken it.’
I was sitting, sipping the wine, which tasted sour to me, while Æthelstan paced up and down the thick rugs. ‘Æthelwyn says I can’t trust you.’
Æthelwyn was one of the newer ealdormen, a man I did not know and who had never stood near me in a shield wall. ‘Ealdred said the same,’ I said brutally, ‘so did Ingilmundr.’
He flinched at that, went on pacing. ‘I wanted to be king,’ he said softly.
‘I made you king.’
He ignored that. ‘I wanted
