The Lords of the North (13 page)

'What do we do,' Hild asked me, 'if we get to Eoferwic and find that Ivarr has
returned?'

'We run away, of course.'

She laughed. 'You're happy, aren't you?' she said.

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm away from Alfred,' I said, and I realised that was true.

'Alfred is a good man,' Hild chided me.

'He is,' I answered, 'but do you ever look forward to his company? Do you brew special
ale for him? Do you remember a joke to tell him? Does anyone ever sit by a fire and try him
with riddles? Do we sing with him? All he ever does is worry about what his god wants, and he
makes rules to please his god, and if you do something for him it's never enough because his
wretched god just wants more.'

Hild gave me her customary patient smile when I insulted her cod. 'Alfred wants you
back,' she said.

-He wants my sword,' I said, 'not me.'

'Will you go back?'

'No,' I said firmly, and I tried to see into the future to test that answer, but I did not
know what the spinners who make our fate planned for me. Somehow, with this rabble of men, I
hoped to destroy Kjartan and capture Bebbanburg, and hard sense told me it could not be
done, but hard sense would never have imagined that a freed slave would be accepted as king
by Saxon and Dane alike.

'You'll never go back?' Hild asked, sceptical of my first answer.

'Never,' I said, and I could hear the spinners laughing at me and I feared that fate had
tied me to Alfred and I resented that because it suggested I was not my own master.
Perhaps I was mistletoe too, except I had a duty. I had a bloodfeud to finish.

We followed the Roman roads across the hills. It took us five days, slow going, but we
could go no faster than the monks carrying the saint's corpse on their shoulders. Every night
they said prayers, and every day new folk joined us so that as we marched on the last day across
the flat plain towards Eoferwic we numbered close to five hundred men. Ulf, who now called
himself Earl Ulf, led the march under his banner of an eagle's head. He had come to like
Guthred, and Ulf and I were the king's closest advisors. Eadred was also close, of course,
but Eadred had little to say about matters of war. Like most churchmen he assumed his god
would bring us victory, and that was all he had to contribute. Ulf and I, on the other hand,
had plenty to say and the gist of it was that five hundred half-trained men were not nearly
enough to capture Eoferwic if Egbert had a mind to defend it.

But Egbert was in despair. There is a tale in a Christian holy book about a king who saw
some writing on the wall. I have heard the story a few times, but cannot remember the
details, except that it was a king and there were words on his wall and they frightened him. I
think the Christian god wrote the words, but I am not even sure about that. I could send for my
wife's priest, for I allow her to employ such a creature these days, and I could ask him for
the details, but he would only grovel at my feet and beg that I increase his family's
allowance of fish, ale and firewood, which I do not wish to do, so the details do not matter
now. There was a king, his wall had words on it and they frightened him.

It was Willibald who put that story into my head. He was crying as we entered the city,
crying tears of joy, and when he learned that Egbert would not resist us, he began shouting
that the king had seen the writing on the wall. Over and over he shouted it, and it made no
sense to me at the time, but now I know what he meant. He meant that Egbert knew he had lost
before he had even begun to fight.

Eoferwic had been expecting Ivarr's return and many of its citizens, fearing the Dane's
revenge, had left. Egbert had a bodyguard, of course, but most had deserted him so that now
his household troops only numbered twenty-eight men and not one of them wanted to die for a
king with writing on his wall, and the remaining citizens were in no mood to barricade the
gates or man the wall, and so Guthred's army marched in without meeting any resistance. We
were welcomed. I think the folk of Eoferwic thought we had come to defend them against Ivarr
rather than take the crown from Egbert, but even when they learned that they had a new king they
seemed happy enough. What cheered them most, of course, was the presence of Saint Cuthbert,
and Eadred propped the saint's coffin in the archbishop's church, opened the lid, and the folk
crowded in to see the dead man and say prayers to him.

Wulfhere, the archbishop, was not in the city, but Father Hrothweard was still there and
still preaching madness, and he sided instantly with Eadred. I suppose he had seen the
writing on the wall too, but the only writing I saw were crosses scratched on doorways.
These were supposed to indicate that Christians lived inside, but most of the surviving
Danes also displayed the cross as a protection against plunderers, and Guthred's men
wanted plunder. Eadred had promised them lascivious women and heaps of silver, but now the
abbot strove mightily to protect the city's Christians from Guthred's Danes. There was some
trouble, but not much. Folk had the good sense to offer coins, food and ale rather than be
robbed, and Guthred discovered chests of silver inside the place and he distributed
the money to his army and there was plenty of ale in the taverns, so for the moment the men
of Cumbraland were happy enough.

'What would Alfred do?' Guthred asked me on that first evening in Eoferwic. It was a
question I was getting used to, for somehow Guthred had convinced himself that Alfred was a
king worth emulating. This time he asked me the question about Egbert who had been
discovered in his bedchamber. Egbert had been dragged to the big hall where he went on his
knees to Guthred and swore fealty. It was a strange sight, one king kneeling to another, and
the old Roman hall lit by braziers that filled the upper part with smoke, and behind Egbert
were his courtiers and servants who also knelt and shuffled forward to promise loyalty to
Guthred. Egbert looked old, ill and unhappy while Guthred was a shining young monarch. I had
found Egbert's mail and given it to Guthred who wore the armour because it made him look
regal. He was cheerful with the deposed king, raising him from his knees and kissing him on
both cheeks, then courteously inviting him to sit beside him.

'Kill the old bastard,' Ulf said.

'I am minded to be merciful,' Guthred said regally.

'You're minded to be an idiot,' Ulf retorted. He was in a gloomy mood for Eoferwic had
not yielded a quarter of the plunder he had expected, but he had found twin girls who
pleased him and they kept him from making too many complaints.

When the ceremonies were over, and after Eadred had bellowed an interminable prayer,
Guthred walked with me through the city. I think he wanted to show off his new armour, or
perhaps he just wanted to clear his head from the. smoke fumes in the palace. He drank ale in
every tavern, joking with his men in English and Danish, and he kissed at least fifty girls,
but then he led me on to the ramparts and we walked for a time in silence until we came to the
city's eastern side where I stopped and looked across the field to where the river lay like a
sheet of beaten silver under a half-moon. This is where my father died.' I said.

'Sword in hand?'

'Yes.'

That's good.' he said, forgetting for a moment that he was a Christian. 'But a sad day for
you.'

'It was a good day.' I said, 'I met Earl Ragnar. And I never much liked my father.'

'You didn't?' he sounded surprised. 'Why not?'

'He was a grim beast.' I said. 'Then wanted his approval, and it was grudging.'

'Like you, then.' he said, and it was my turn to be surprised. The?'

'My grim Uhtred.' he said, 'all anger and threat. So tell me what I do about Egbert?'

'What Ulf suggests,' I said, 'of course.'

'Ulf would kill everyone,' Guthred said, 'because then he'd have no problems. What would
Alfred do?'

'It doesn't matter what Alfred would do.'

'Yes it does,' he insisted patiently, 'so tell me.'

There was something about Guthred that always made me tell the truth to him, or mostly tell
the truth, and I was tempted to answer that Alfred would drag the old king out to the market
place and lop off his head, but I knew that was not true. Alfred had spared his traitorous
cousin's life after Ethandun and he had permitted his nephew, Æthelwold, to live when that
nephew had a better claim to the throne than Alfred himself. So I sighed. 'He'd let him live,'
I said, 'but Alfred's a pious fool.'

'No he's not.' Guthred said.

'He's terrified of God's disapproval.' I said.

'That's a sensible thing to be frightened of.' Guthred said.

'Kill Egbert, lord.' I said vehemently. 'If you don't kill him then he'll try to get the
kingdom back. He's got estates south of here. He can raise men. You let him live and he'll take
those men to Ivarr, and Ivarr will want him back on the throne. Egbert's an enemy!'

'He's an old man, and he's not well and he's frightened.' Guthred said patiently.

'So put the bastard out of his misery.'

I urged him. 'I'll do it for you. I've never killed a king.'

'And you'd like to?'

'I'll kill this one for you.' I said. 'He let his Saxons massacre Danes! He's not as
pathetic as you think.'

Guthred gave me a reproachful look. 'I know you, Uhtred.' he said fondly. 'You want to
boast that you're the man who killed Ubba beside the sea and unhorsed Svein of the White Horse
and sent King Egbert of Eoferwic to his cold grave.'

'And killed Kjartan the Cruel,' I said, 'and slaughtered Ælfric, usurper of
Bebbanburg.'

I'm glad I'm not your enemy.' he said lightly, then grimaced. 'The ale is sour here.'

They make it differently.' I explained. 'What does Abbot Eadred tell you to do?'

The same as you and Ulf, of course. Kill Egbert.'

'For once Eadred's right.'

'But Alfred would not kill him.' he said firmly.

'Alfred is king of Wessex,' I said, 'and he's not facing Ivarr, and he doesn't have a
rival like Egbert.'

'But Alfred's a good king.' Guthred insisted.

I kicked the palisade in my frustration. 'Why would you let Egbert live?' I demanded,
'so that folk will like you?'

'I want men to like me.' he said.

They should fear you.' I said vehemently. 'You're a king! You have to be ruthless. You
have to be feared.'

'Is Alfred feared?'

'Yes.' I said, and was surprised to realise I had spoken the truth.

'Because he's ruthless?'

I shook my head. Then fear his displeasure.' I had never realised that before, but it was
suddenly clear to me. Alfred was not ruthless. He was given to mercy, but he was still
feared. I think men recognised that Alfred was under discipline, just as they were under
his rule. Alfred's discipline was fear of his god's

displeasure. He could never escape that. He could never be as good as he wanted, but he
never stopped trying. Me, I had long accepted that I was fallible, but Alfred would never
accept that of himself.

'I would like men to fear my displeasure.' Guthred said mildly.

'Then let me kill Egbert.' I said, and could have saved my breath. Guthred, inspired by his
reverence for Alfred, spared Egbert's life, and in the end he was proved right. He made the
old king go to live in a monastery south of the river and he charged the monks to keep Egbert
confined to the monastery's walls, which they did, and within a year Egbert died of some
disease that wasted him away to a pain-racked scrap of bone and sinew. He was buried in the
big church at Eoferwic, though I saw none of that.

It was high summer by now and every day I feared-to see Ivarr's men coming south, but
instead there came a rumour of a great battle between Ivarr and the Scots. There were always
such rumours, and most are untrue, so I gave it no credence, but Guthred decided to believe
the story and he gave his permission for most of his army to go back to Cumbraland to
gather their harvest. That left us very few troops to garrison Eoferwic. Guthred's
household troops stayed and every morning I made them practise with swords, shields and
spears, and every afternoon made them work to repair Eoferwic's wall that was falling down
in too many places. I thought Guthred a fool to let most of his men go, but he said that without
a harvest his people would starve, and he was quite certain they would return. And again he
was right. They did return. Ulf led them back from Cumbraland and demanded to know how the
gathering army would be employed.

'We march north to settle Kjartan.' Guthred said.

'And Ælfric.' I insisted.

'Of course.' Guthred said.

'How much plunder does Kjartan have?' Ulf wanted to know.

'Vast plunder.' I said, remembering Tekil's tales. I said nothing of the feral dogs
that guarded the silver and gold. 'Kjartan is rich beyond dreams.'

Time to sharpen our swords.' Ulf said.

'And Ælfric has an even bigger hoard.' I added, though I had no idea whether I spoke the
truth.

But I truly believed we could capture Bebbanburg. It had never been taken by an enemy,
but that did not mean it could not be taken. It all depended on Ivarr. If he could be
defeated then Guthred would be the most powerful man in Northumbria and Guthred was my
friend and he, I believed, would not only help me kill Kjartan and so revenge Ragnar the
Elder, but then return me to my lands and to my fortress beside the sea. Those were my dreams
that summer. I thought the future was golden if only I could secure the kingdom for
Guthred, but I had forgotten the malevolence of the three spinners at the world's root.
Father Willibald wanted to return to Wessex, for which I did not blame him. He was a West
Saxon and he disliked Northumbria. I remember one night when we ate a dish of elder, which
is cow's udder pressed and cooked, and I was devouring it and saying that I had not eaten so
well since I was a child, and poor Willibald could not finish a mouthful. He looked as though
he wanted to be sick, and I mocked him for being a weak-spined southerner. Sihtric, who was
my servant now, brought him bread and cheese instead and Hild and I divided his elder
between us. She was a southerner too, but not so choosy as Willibald. It was that night, as he
grimaced at the food, that he told us he wanted to go back to Alfred.