'So that we are not slaves in our own land,' I said.
He pondered that for a while. An owl flew low overhead, a sudden surprise of white feathers and the rush of air across stubby wings. It was an omen, I knew, but of what kind?
'Perhaps we are being punished,' Alfred said.
'For what?'
'For taking the land from the Britons?'
That seemed nonsense to me. If Alfred's god wanted to punish him for his ancestors having taken the land from the Britons, then why send the Danes? Why not send the Britons? God could resurrect Arthur and let his people have their revenge, but why send a new people to take the land?
'Do you want Wessex or not?' I asked harshly.
He said nothing for a while, then gave a sad smile. 'In my conscience,' he said, 'I can find no hope for this fight, but as a Christian I must believe we can win it. God will not let us lose.'
'Nor will this,' I said, and I slapped Serpent-Breath's hilt.
'So simple?' he asked.
'Life is simple,' I said. 'Ale, women, sword and reputation. Nothing else matters.'
He shook his head and I knew he was thinking about God and prayer and duty, but he did not argue.
'So if you were I, Uhtred,' he said, 'would you march?'
'You've already made up your mind, lord,' I said, 'so why ask me?'
He nodded. A dog barked in the village and he turned to stare at the cottages and the hall and the church he had made with its tall alder cross.
'Tomorrow,' he said, you will take a hundred horsemen and patrol ahead of the army.'
'Yes, lord.'
'And when we meet the enemy,' he went on, still staring at the cross, 'you will choose fifty or sixty men from the bodyguard. The best you can find. And you will guard my banners.'
He did not say more, but nor did he need to. What he meant was that I was to take the best warriors, the most savage men, the dangerous warriors who loved battle, and I was to lead them in the place where the fight would be hardest, for an enemy loves to capture his foe's banners. It was an honour to be asked and, if the battle was lost, an almost certain death sentence.
'I shall do it gladly, lord,' I said, 'but ask a favour of you in return.'
'If I can,' he said guardedly.
'If you can,' I said, 'don't bury me. Burn my body on a pyre, and put a sword in my hand.'
He hesitated, then nodded, knowing he had agreed to a pagan funeral. 'I never told you,' he said,
'that I am sorry about your son.'
'So am I, lord.'
'But he is with God, Uhtred, he is assuredly with God.'
'So I'm told, lord, so I'm told.'
And next day we marched. Fate is inexorable, and though numbers and reason told us we could not win, we dared not lose and so we marched to Egbert's Stone.
We marched with ceremony. Twenty-three priests and eighteen monks formed our vanguard and chanted a psalm as they led Alfred's forces away from the fort guarding the southern trackway and east towards the heartland of Wessex.
They chanted in Latin so the words meant nothing to me, but Father Pyrlig had been given use of one of Alfred's horses and, dressed in a leather coat and with a great sword strapped to his side and with a stout-shafted hoar spear on one shoulder, he rode alongside me and translated the words.
''God,'' he said, ''you have abandoned me, you have scattered us, you are angry with us, now turn to us again.' That sounds a reasonable request, doesn't it? You've kicked us in the face, so now give us a cuddle, eh?'
'It really means that?'
'Not the bit about kicks and cuddles. That was me.' He grinned at me. 'I do miss war. Isn't that a sin?'
'You've seen war?'
'Seen it? I was a warrior before I joined the church! Pyrlig the Fearless, they called me. I killed four Saxons in a day once. All by myself and I had nothing but a spear. And they had swords and shields, they did. Back home they made a song about me, but mind you, the Britons will sing about anything. I can sing you the song, if you like? It tells how I slaughtered three hundred and ninety-four Saxons in one day, but it's not entirely accurate.'
'So how many did you kill?'
'I told you. Four.' He laughed.
'So how did you learn English?'
'My mother was a Saxon, poor thing. She was taken in a raid on Mercia and became a slave.'
'So why did you stop being a warrior?'
'Because I found God, Uhtred. Or God found me. And I was becoming too proud. Songs about yourself go to
