‘Is there a king here?’
The question seemed to confuse him. ‘No,’ he managed to say.
‘No, lord,’ I snarled.
‘No, lord.’
‘Then it isn’t a king’s hall tonight, is it? We keep our weapons. Open the doors.’
He hesitated again, then relented and the high doors creaked open on their ancient iron hinges and I led my men into the lantern-lit corridor beyond. We passed the stairs where, so often, I had climbed to meet Æthelflaed, and that memory was as sharp and painful as the recollection of Gisela on the river terrace. Where were they now? I wondered. Did Gisela wait for me in Asgard, the home of the gods? Did Æthelflaed watch me from her Christian heaven? I have known many wise men, but none who could answer those questions.
We walked through a courtyard where a wooden chapel stood above the remnants of a Roman pool, then through a broken arch into a passage made of thin Roman bricks. ‘You can put your swords in their scabbards,’ I told my men, then pushed open the crude wooden door that had replaced some piece of Roman magnificence. The feasting hall beyond was lit by a myriad rushlights and candles, but there were only a dozen men seated about the one table. They looked alarmed as we entered, then stood, not in welcome but to give themselves space to draw their swords. ‘Who are you?’ a man demanded.
I had no chance to answer because another man answered for me. ‘He is the Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg.’ It was a tall, stern priest who had spoken and who now offered me a slight bow. ‘It is good to see you again, lord. Welcome.’
‘Father Oda,’ I said. ‘It’s a surprise to see you.’
‘A surprise, lord?’
‘I thought you were in Mameceaster.’
‘I was, and now I am here.’ His words were touched by a Danish accent. His parents had come as invaders to East Anglia, but the son had converted to Christianity and now served Æthelstan. ‘And I am surprised to see you too, lord,’ he went on, ‘but glad of it. Now come,’ he gestured me towards the table, ‘there’s wine.’
‘I came to see Bedwin.’
Father Oda indicated the man at the head of the table who had challenged us when we entered and who now walked towards us. He was a tall man, dark haired, with a long face and long moustaches that hung down to the ornate silver cross at his breast. ‘I am Bedwin,’ he said, sounding anxious. Two wolfhounds growled when he spoke, but quieted at a gesture from him. He stopped some paces away, his face still showing puzzlement at our arrival, an expression that swiftly changed to resentment. Did he think I had come to usurp his place as commander of the city? ‘We were not told of your coming, lord,’ he said, and it was almost a reproof.
‘I came to see King Æthelstan.’
‘Who is in Gleawecestre,’ Bedwin said, almost as if he was ordering me to go across Britain.
‘You say there’s wine, father?’ I asked Oda.
‘Which needs drinking,’ the priest answered.
I gestured for my men to follow me, then sat on the bench and allowed Oda to pour me a generous beaker. ‘This,’ I held a hand towards Benedetta, ‘is one of Queen Eadgifu’s attendants. She’s come to collect some of the queen’s robes. I’m sure she would like some wine too.’
‘Queen Eadgifu?’ Bedwin asked as if he had never heard of her.
‘Who is here in Lundene,’ I said, ‘with her children. She’d like to use her old chambers in this palace.’
‘Queen Eadgifu!’ Bedwin sounded angry. ‘What is she doing here? She should be with her husband’s corpse!’
I drank the wine, which was much better than the swill I had drunk earlier. ‘She fled from Mercia,’ I said patiently, ‘because Lord Æthelhelm threatened her life and those of her children. I rescued her from his forces and she now seeks the protection of King Æthelstan.’ That was not quite true, Eadgifu trusted Æthelstan almost as little as she trusted Æthelhelm, but Bedwin did not need to know that.
‘Then she must travel to Gleawecestre,’ Bedwin said indignantly. ‘There’s no room for her here!’
‘Merewalh might have a different opinion,’ I suggested.
‘Merewalh has gone north,’ Bedwin said.
‘To Werlameceaster, I hear?’
Bedwin nodded, then frowned as Father Oda refilled my beaker. It was Father Oda who answered me, his voice smooth. ‘We had a report that an East Anglian army was coming, lord,’ he explained, ‘and Merewalh thought the danger sufficient to take most of his men to Werlameceaster.’
‘Leaving Lundene almost defenceless,’ I said unhappily.
‘Indeed, lord,’ Father Oda spoke calmly, but could not hide his disapproval of what Merewalh had chosen to do. ‘But Merewalh will return when he has dissuaded the East Anglians.’
‘When he’s beaten the shit out of them, you mean?’
‘No, lord. Dissuaded them. King Æthelstan insists that we do not begin the fighting. Lord Æthelhelm must kill first. King Æthelstan will not have the blood of fellow Christians on his hands unless he is attacked.’
‘Yet he captured Lundene! Are you telling me there was no fighting?’
Bedwin answered. ‘The West Saxons abandoned the city.’
I stared at Bedwin with astonishment. ‘They abandoned it?’ It seemed unbelievable to me. Lundene was Britain’s largest city, it was the fortress that joined East Anglia to Wessex, it was the place where a king could earn a small fortune in fees and taxes, and Æthelhelm had simply given it up?
Father Oda again offered an explanation. ‘We came, lord, they numbered fewer than two hundred men, they asked for a flag of truce, we described in some detail what fate awaited them if they insisted on defending the city and, seeing the sense of our proposals, they left.’
‘Some stayed,’ I said.
‘No, lord,’ Bedwin insisted. ‘They left.’
‘Waormund is here,’ I said. ‘I fought him not two hours ago.’
‘Waormund!’ Bedwin
