'And I pray for her.'
'I thank you for that,' Harald said.
'As I pray for Odda the Elder,' Mildrith went on.
'God be praised, he lives,' Harald made the sign of the cross again. 'But he is feeble and in pain.' He touched his scalp showing where Odda the Elder had been wounded.
'So who is the judge?' I asked harshly, interrupting the two.
'The bishop,' Harald said.
'Not the ealdorman?'
'He is at Cippanhamm.'
Mildrith insisted on giving Harald and his men ale and food. She and Harald talked a long time, sharing news of neighbours and family. They were both from Difnascir and I was not, and so I knew few of the folk they talked about, but I pricked up my ears when Harald said that Odda the Younger was marrying a girl from Mercia. 'She's in exile here,' he said, 'with her family.'
'Well born?' Mildrith asked.
'Exceedingly,' Harald said.
'I wish them much joy,' Mildrith said with evident sincerity.
She was happy that day, warmed by Harald's company, though when he had gone she chided me for being churlish. 'Harald is a good man,' she insisted, 'a kind man. He would have given you advice.
He would have helped you!'
I ignored her, but two days later I went into Exanceaster with Iseult and all my men. Including Haesten I now had eighteen warriors and I had armed them, given them shields and leather coats, and I led them through the market that always accompanied the court's sittings.
There were stilt-walkers and jugglers, a man who ate fire, and a dancing bear. There were singers, harpists, storytellers, beggars, and pens of sheep, goats, cattle, pigs, geese, ducks and hens. There were fine cheeses, smoked fish, bladders of lard, pots of honey, trays of apples and baskets of pears.
Iseult, who had not been to Exanceaster before, was amazed at the size of the city, and the life of it, and the seething closeness of its houses, and I saw folk make the sign of the cross when they saw her for they had heard of the shadow queen held at Oxton and they knew her for a foreigner and a pagan.
Beggars crowded at the bishop's gate. There was a crippled woman with a blind child, men who had lost arms or legs in the wars, a score of them, and I threw them some pence, then, because I was on horseback, ducked under the archway of the courtyard beside the cathedral where a dozen chained felons were awaiting their fate. A group of young monks, nervous of the chained men, were plaiting beehives, while a score of armed men were clustered around three fires. They eyed my followers suspiciously as a young priest, his hands flapping, hurried across the puddles.
'Weapons are not to be brought into the precinct!' he told me sternly.
'They've got weapons,' I nodded at the men warming themselves by the flames.
'They are the reeve's men.'
'Then the sooner you deal with my business,' I said, 'the sooner my weapons will be gone.'
He looked up at me, his face anxious. 'Your business?'
'… is with the bishop.'
'The bishop is at prayer,' the priest said reprovingly, as though I should have known that. 'And he cannot see every man who comes here. You can’t talk to him.'
I smiled and raised my voice a little. 'In Cippanhamm, two years ago,' I said, 'your bishop was friends with Eanflaed. She has red hair and works her trade out of the Corncrake tavern. Her trade is whoring.'
The priest's hands were flapping again in an attempt to persuade me to lower my voice.
'I've been with Eanflaed,' I said, 'and she told me about the bishop. She said ...'
The monks had stopped making beehives and were listening, but the priest cut me off by half shouting. 'The bishop might have a moment free.'
'Then tell him I'm here,' I said pleasantly.
'You are Uhtred of Oxton?' he asked.
'No,' I said. 'I am the Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg.
'Yes, lord.'
'Sometimes known as Uhtredaerwe,' I added mischievously. Uhtred the Wicked.
'Yes, lord,' the priest said again and hurried away.
The bishop was called Alewold and he was really the bishop of Cridianton, but that place had not been thought as safe as Exanceaster and so for years the bishops of Cridianton had lived in the larger town which, as Guthrum had shown, was not the wisest decision. Guthrum's Danes had pillaged the cathedral and the bishop's house, which was still scantily furnished and I discovered Alewold sitting behind a table that looked as if it had once belonged to a butcher, for its hefty top was scored with knife cuts and stained with old blood. He looked at me indignantly. 'You should not be here,' he said.
'Why not?'
'You have business before the court tomorrow.'
