‘It will, father.’ He hesitated, his right hand touching his own cross. ‘Can we win?’
I looked into his pale face. Men said he resembled me, though I could not see it. He looked nervous. ‘We can win,’ I said as I sat on a stool.
‘But they outnumber us!’
‘I’ve fought many battles when I was outnumbered,’ I said. ‘It isn’t numbers, it’s fate.’
‘God is on our side,’ he said, though he did not sound certain.
‘That’s good.’ I had sounded sarcastic and regretted it. ‘I liked your sermon.’
‘I was aware you were in the church,’ he frowned, as if unsure that he had preached the truth. He sat on a bench, still frowning. ‘If they win tomorrow …’
‘It will be a slaughter,’ I said. ‘Our men will be trapped against the streams. Some will escape over the bridge, but it’s narrow, and some will scramble through the gully, but most will die.’
‘So why fight here?’
‘Because Anlaf and Constantine believe we can’t win. They’re confident. So we use that confidence to defeat them.’ I paused. ‘It won’t be easy.’
‘You’re not frightened?’
‘Terrified.’ I smiled. ‘Only a fool is not frightened before a battle. But we’ve trained our men, we’ve survived other fights, we know what to do.’
‘So do the enemy.’
‘Of course.’ I sipped the wine. It was sour. ‘You weren’t born when I fought at Ethandun. Anlaf’s grandfather fought Æthelstan’s grandfather there, and we were outnumbered. The Danes were confident, we were desperate.’
‘God won that battle for us.’
‘So Alfred said. Me? I think we knew we would lose our homes and our land if we lost, so we fought with a desperate ferocity. And we won.’
‘And tomorrow will be the same? I pray so.’ He really was frightened and I wondered whether it was better that he had become a priest because he might never have made a warrior. ‘I must have faith,’ he said plaintively.
‘Have faith in our men,’ I said. I heard some singing in the encampment, which surprised me. The men I had spoken with had been brooding on what the next day would bring, too sombre to sing. We had heard no singing from the enemy camp either, but suddenly there was a small group of men making a raucous noise. ‘They’re in good spirits,’ I said.
‘It’s the ale, I suppose?’ he said.
An awkward silence followed. The ragged singing came closer, a dog barked, and the rain made its seething noise on the tent’s roof. ‘I never thanked you,’ I said, ‘for your warning at Burgham. I’d have lost Bebbanburg if you hadn’t spoken.’
For a heartbeat he seemed flustered, not sure what to say. ‘It was Ealdred,’ he finally found his tongue. ‘He wanted to be Lord of the North. He was not a good man.’
‘And I am?’ I asked, smiling.
He did not answer that. He frowned at the singing, which was getting louder, then made the sign of the cross. ‘The king said you told him how we could win the battle?’ he asked, his nervousness plain again.
‘I suggested something.’
‘What?’
‘Something we’re not telling anyone. Suppose Anlaf sends men tonight to take a prisoner? And the prisoner knew?’ I smiled. ‘That would make your god’s job a lot harder if he means us to win.’
‘He does,’ he said, trying to sound firm, ‘tomorrow the Lord will work wonders for us!’
‘Tell that to our troops,’ I said, standing, ‘tell them your god is on our side. Tell them to do their best and be sure that their god will help.’ I poured the wine onto the rugs. Æthelstan, I reckoned, had taken shelter elsewhere and I would return to my men.
My son stood too. ‘Father,’ he said uncertainly, then looked at me with tears in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, but I never could be the son you wanted.’
I was struck by his misery, embarrassed by the raw feeling of regret that we both felt. ‘But you are!’ I said. ‘You are a lord of the church! I’m proud of you!’
‘You are?’ he asked, astonished.
‘Uhtred,’ I said, using the name I had taken from him in anger, ‘I’m sorry too.’ I held out my arms and we embraced. I had never thought to embrace my eldest son again, but I held him close, so close that my hands were scratched by the gold and silver wire embroidered into his robes. I felt tears in my eyes. ‘Be brave,’ I said, still holding him, ‘and when we’ve won you must visit us at Bebbanburg. You can say mass in our chapel.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Be brave and have faith,’ I said, ‘and we can win.’
I left him, cuffing my eyes as I walked away from the tent that glowed from all the candle lanterns inside. I passed campfires where men squatted in the rain, heard the voices of women from inside the shelters. Every whore in northern Mercia had followed the army and for all I knew from Wessex too. The raucous singing was far behind me now. They were drunk, I decided, and I had almost reached the fires of my own men when that singing turned to angry shouting. A scream cut the night. There was the distinctive sound of blades clashing. More shouts. I had no weapon other than a small knife, but I turned and ran towards the commotion. Other men were running with me towards a sudden flare of lurid light. The king’s tent was on fire, the wax-smeared linen blazing bright. The shouting was all around me now. Men were carrying swords, their eyes wide with fear. I saw the guards who had stood at the tent door were dead, their bodies lit by the fierce flames of the burning linen. Æthelstan’s bodyguard, distinctive in their scarlet cloaks were making a cordon around the tent, others were hauling the burning fabric down and away. ‘They’ve gone!’ someone bellowed. ‘They’ve gone!’
A group of Anlaf’s men had somehow crept into the encampment. It had been those men who had been singing, pretending to be drunk. Their hope had been
