‘Of course it will,’ I said. Æthelhelm had assembled a massive army and he needed to feed it, and the easiest way to do that was to march into Mercia and steal whatever food could be found. For the moment his troops would be surviving on the supplies they had discovered in Lundene’s storehouses and on what food they had brought with them, but hunger would come soon enough. Doubtless Æthelhelm still hoped that Æthelstan would assault Lundene and that he could slaughter the Mercians beneath the city walls, but if Æthelstan did not oblige him then he would be forced to leave the city and seek to destroy the enemy in battle. And the West Saxons, I reflected bitterly, must be confident. They had the bigger army, much the bigger army, and that army would march soon.
‘The signal,’ Father Oda went on, ‘will be the ringing of the city bells. When they sound, the troops must assemble at the old fort.’
‘Ready to march,’ I grunted.
‘Ready to march,’ Oda confirmed. ‘But it is an unhappy army.’
‘Unhappy?’
‘The East Anglians are treated as serfs by the West Saxons, and the Christians are unhappy too.’
I snorted a humourless laugh. ‘Why?’
‘Because the archbishop,’ Oda began, then stopped.
‘Athelm?’
‘They say he’s a prisoner in the palace here. An honoured one, perhaps.’ He paused, frowning. ‘But still they dared lay hands on Christ’s servant!’
I had long suspected that Athelm, the Archbishop of Contwaraburg, was an opponent of Æthelhelm and his family, even though Athelm was himself a distant cousin to the ealdorman. Perhaps that kinship explained his hostility, an hostility born of knowing Æthelhelm and his nephew only too well. ‘They won’t dare kill the archbishop,’ I said.
‘Of course they will,’ Oda said brusquely. ‘They’ll say he’s sick,’ and once again he made the sign of the cross, ‘then claim he died of a fever. Who is to know? But it won’t happen yet. They need him to place the helmet on the boy’s head.’ Ælfweard would not be properly king until that ceremony was performed, and Æthelhelm would surely insist that Archbishop Athelm lifted the gem-encrusted helmet of Wessex. Any lesser bishop would be seen as a poor substitute, calling into question Ælfweard’s legitimacy.
‘Has the Witan met?’ I asked. Ælfweard needed the Witan’s approval before he could receive the royal helmet.
Oda shrugged. ‘Who can tell? Maybe? But my suspicion is that Æthelhelm is waiting until the Witan of all three kingdoms can meet. He wants to proclaim Ælfweard as the king of all the Saxons.’ He turned, frowning, as sudden loud voices sounded from the sentries, but it was only the arrival of two girls. Whores, I assumed, from one of the river taverns. ‘Æthelhelm has the support of the West Saxon lords, of course,’ Oda went on, ‘and the East Anglians are too frightened to oppose him, but to get the Mercian support he needs to crush Æthelstan. Once that’s done he’ll kill the Mercian lords who defied him and appoint new men to their estates. Then Æthelhelm’s family will rule all Englaland.’
‘Not Northumbria,’ I growled.
‘And how will you oppose his invasion? You can raise three thousand warriors?’
‘Not even half that number,’ I admitted.
‘And he’ll probably come with more than three thousand,’ Oda said, ‘and what will you do then? You think your walls at Bebbanburg can defy that army?’
‘It won’t happen,’ I said.
‘No?’
‘Because tomorrow I kill Æthelhelm,’ I said.
‘Not tonight?’
‘Tomorrow,’ I said firmly. Oda lifted a quizzical eyebrow, but said nothing. ‘Tomorrow,’ I explained, ‘is when Heorstan’s men would have told Æthelhelm to expect us. He expects me to try to force an entry through one of the northern gates, so they’ll be watching from the northern ramparts.’
‘Meaning they’ll be awake and alert,’ Oda pointed out.
‘As they will be tonight, too,’ I said. Night is when evil stirs, when spirits and shadow-walkers haunt the world, and when a man’s fear of death is felt most keenly. Æthelhelm and Ælfweard would be deep in the palace, and their red-cloaked guards would be all around them. No stranger would be permitted through the palace archways except perhaps those who brought an urgent message, and even they would be disarmed beyond the gates. The corridors and great hall would be full of household warriors, both Æthelhelm’s and the royal guards. We might just succeed in breaking through one gate, but would then find ourselves in a maze of passages and courtyards swarming with enemies. Come morning, when the dawn chased the evil spirits back to their lairs, the palace gates would open and Æthelhelm would surely want to watch from the northern wall. It was there, I thought, that I would have to find him.
‘And how will you kill him tomorrow?’ Oda asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, nor did I. In truth my only plan was to wait for an opportunity, and that was no plan at all. It was not a cold night, but still, thinking of what I had promised to do next day, I shivered.
The dawn came early, a summer dawn with another cloudless sky smeared only by the city’s smoke. I had slept badly. We had unrolled the barge’s sail and laid it on the deck, set sentries, and then I had worried through the short night. My ribs hurt, my shoulders ached, my skin was sore. I must have dozed, but I was still tired when the sunrise brought a freshening south-west wind, and I took that wind as a sign from the gods.
Back in Werlameceaster my plan had seemed possible. Not likely, perhaps, but possible. I had thought that if Æthelhelm’s men were watching for me from Lundene’s
