The Lords of the North (28 page)

'Kjartan certainly would.' I said.

'And I doubt your uncle is strong enough to defeat Kjartan and Ivarr,' Alfred said, 'even
if he were willing to ally himself with Guthred. No,' he paused, thinking, 'the only
solution is for Guthred to make his peace with the pagans. That is my advice to him.' He
spoke the last few words directly to Beocca. Beocca looked pleased. 'Wise advice, lord,' he
said, 'praise be to God.'

'And speaking of pagans,' Alfred glanced at me, 'what will the Earl Ragnar do if I
release him?'

'He won't fight for Ivarr.' I said firmly.

'You can be sure of that?'

'Ragnar hates Kjartan,' I said, 'and if Kjartan is allied to Ivarr then Ragnar will hate
both men. Yes, lord, I can be sure of that.'

'So if I release Ragnar,' Alfred asked, 'and allow him to go north with you, he will not
turn against Guthred?'

'He'll fight Kjartan,' I said, 'but what he will think of Guthred I don't know.'

Alfred considered that answer, then nodded. 'If he is opposed to Kjartan,' he said,
'that should be sufficient.' He turned and smiled at Beocca. 'Your embassy, father, is to
preach peace to Guthred. You will advise him to be a Dane among the Danes and a Christian among
the Saxons.'

'Yes, of course, lord.' Beocca said, but it was plain he was thoroughly confused. Alfred
talked peace, but was sending warriors, for he knew there could not be peace while Ivarr and
Kjartan lived. He dared not make such a pronouncement publicly, or else the northern Danes
would accuse Wessex of interfering in Northumbrian affairs. They would resent that, and
their resentment would add strength to Ivarr's cause. And Alfred wanted Guthred on
Northumbria's throne because Guthred was a Christian, and a Christian Northumbria was more
likely to welcome a Saxon army when it came, if it came. Ivarr and Kjartan would make
Northumbria into a pagan stronghold if they could, and Alfred wanted to prevent that.
Beocca, therefore, was to preach peace and conciliation, but Steapa, Ragnar and I would
carry swords. We were his dogs of war and Alfred knew full well that Beocca could not control
us.

He dreamed, Alfred did, and his dreams encompassed all the isle of Britain. And I was once
again to be his sworn man, and that was not what I had wanted, but he was sending me north, to
Gisela, and that I did want and so I knelt to him, placed my hands between his, swore the oath
and thus lost my freedom. Then Ragnar was summoned and he also knelt and was granted his
freedom. And next day we all rode north.

Gisela was already married.

I heard that from Wulfhere, Archbishop of Eoferwic, and he should have known because he
had performed the ceremony in his big church. It seemed I had arrived five days too late and
when I heard the news I felt a despair like that which had caused my tears in Haithabu. Gisela
was married. It was autumn when we reached Northumbria. Peregrine falcons patrolled the
sky, stooping on the newly arrived woodcock or on the gulls that flocked in the rain-drowned
furrows. It had been a fine autumn so far, but the rains arrived from the west as we
travelled north through Mercia. There were ten of us; Ragnar and Brida, Steapa and myself
and Father Beocca who had charge of three servants who led the packhorses carrying our
shields, armour, changes of clothing and the gifts Alfred was sending to Guthred. Ragnar led
two men who had shared his exile. All of us were mounted on fine horses that Alfred had
given us and we should have made good time, but Beocca slowed us. He hated being on
horseback and even though we padded his mare's saddle with two thick fleeces he was still
crippled by soreness. He had spent the journey rehearsing the speech with which he would
greet Guthred, practising and practising the words until we were all bored by them. We had
encountered no trouble in Mercia, for Ragnar's presence ensured that we were welcome in
Danish halls. There was still a Saxon king in northern Mercia, Ceolwulf was his name,
but we did not meet him and it was plain that the real power lay with the great Danish lords.
We crossed the border into Northumbria under a pelting rainstorm and it was still raining
as we rode into Eoferwic.

And there I learned that Gisela was married. Not only married, but gone from Eoferwic with
her brother. 'I solemnised the marriage,' Wulfhere, the archbishop, told us. He was
spooning barley soup into his mouth and long dribbles hung in glutinous loops in his white
beard. The silly girl wept all through the ceremony, and she wouldn't take the mass, but it
makes no difference. She's still married.'

I was horrified. Five days, that was all. Fate is inexorable. 'I thought she'd gone to a
nunnery,' I said, as if that made any difference. 'She lived in a nunnery,' Wulfhere
said, 'but putting a cat into a stable doesn't make it a horse, does it? She was hiding
herself away! It was a waste of a perfectly good womb! She's been spoiled, that's her
trouble. Allowed to live in a nunnery where she never said a prayer. She needed the strap,
that one. A good thrashing, that's what I'd have given her. Still, she's not in the nunnery
now. Guthred pulled her out and married her off.'

'To whom?' Beocca asked.

'Lord Ælfric, of course.'

'Ælfric came to Eoferwic?' I asked, astonished, for my uncle was as reluctant to leave
Bebbanburg as Kjartan was to quit the safety of Dunholm.

'He didn't come,' Wulfhere said. 'He sent a score of men and one of those stood in for Lord
Ælfric. It was a proxy wedding. Quite legal.'

'It is,' Beocca said.

'So where is she?' I asked.

'Gone north.' Wulfhere waved his horn spoon. 'They've all gone. Her brother's taken her to
Bebbanburg. Abbot Eadred's with them, and he's taken Saint Cuthbert's corpse, of course. And
that awful man Hrothweard went as well. Can't stand Hrothweard. He was the idiot who
persuaded Guthred to impose the tithe on the Danes. I told Guthred it was foolishness, but
Hrothweard claimed to have got his orders directly from Saint Cuthbert, so nothing I could
say had the slightest effect. Now the Danes are probably gathering their forces, so it's
going to be war.'

'War?' I asked. 'Has Guthred declared war on the Danes?' It sounded unlikely.

'Of course not! But they've got to stop him.' Wulfhere used the sleeve of his robe to mop up
his beard.

'Stop him from doing what?' Ragnar asked.

'Reaching Bebbanburg, of course, what else? The day Guthred delivers his sister and
Saint Cuthbert to Bebbanburg is the day Ælfric gives him two hundred spearmen. But the
Danes aren't going to stand for that! They more or less put up with Guthred, but only because
he's too weak to order them about, but if he gets a couple of hundred prime spearmen from
Ælfric, the Danes will squash him like a louse. I should think Ivarr is already gathering
troops to stop the nonsense.'

They've taken the blessed Saint Cuthbert with them?' Beocca asked. The archbishop frowned
at Beocca. 'You're an odd ambassador.' he said.

'Odd, lord?'

'Can't look straight, can you? Alfred must be hard up for men if he sends an ugly thing like
you. There used to be a priest in Bebbanburg with a squint. That was years ago, back in old
Lord Uhtred's day.'

That was me.' Beocca said eagerly.

'Don't be a fool, of course it wasn't. The fellow I'm talking about was young and
red-haired. Take all the chairs, you brainless idiot!' he turned on a servant, 'all six of
them. And bring me more bread.' Wulfhere was planning to escape before war broke out between
Guthred and the Danes and his courtyard was busy with wagons, oxen and packhorses because
the treasures of his big church were being packed up so they could be taken to some place that
offered safety. 'King Guthred took Saint Cuthbert,' the archbishop said, because that's
Ælfric's price. He wants the corpse as well as the womb. I just hope he remembers which one to
poke.'

My uncle, I realised, was making his bid for power. Guthred was weak, but he did possess
the great treasure of Cuthbert's corpse and if Ælfric could gain possession of the saint
then he would become the guardian of all Northumbria's Christians. He would also make a small
fortune from the pennies of pilgrims.

'What he's doing,' I said, 'is remaking Bernicia. He'll call himself king before too
long.'

Wulfhere looked at me as though I was not a complete fool. 'You're right,' he said, 'and his
two hundred spearmen will stay with Guthred for a month, that's all. Then they'll go home and
the Danes will roast Guthred over a fire. I warned him! I told him a dead saint was worth more
than two hundred spearmen, but he's desperate. And if you want to see him, you'd best go
north.' Wulfhere had received us because we were Alfred's ambassadors, but he had offered
us neither food nor shelter and he plainly wanted to see the back of us as soon as decently
possible. 'Go north,' he reiterated, 'and you might find the silly man alive.'

We went back to the tavern where Steapa and Brida waited and I cursed the three spinners
who had let me come so close, and then denied me. Gisela had been gone four days, which was more
than enough time to reach Bebbanburg, and her brother's desperate bid for Ælfric's support
had probably stirred the Danes to revolt. Not that I cared about the anger of the Danes. I was
only thinking of Gisela.

'We have to go north,' Beocca said, 'and find the king.'

'You step inside Bebbanburg,' I told him, 'and Ælfric will kill you.' Beocca, when he
fled Bebbanburg, had taken all the parchments that proved I was the rightful lord, and
Ælfric knew and resented that.

'Ælfric won't kill a priest,' Beocca said, 'not if he cares for his soul. And I'm an
ambassador! He can't kill an ambassador.'

'So long as he's safe inside Bebbanburg,' Ragnar put in, 'he can do whatever he
likes.'

'Maybe Guthred didn't reach Bebbanburg,' Steapa said, and I was so surprised that he had
spoken at all that I did not really pay attention. Nor, it seemed, did anyone else, for
none of us responded. 'If they don't want the girl married,' Steapa went on, 'they'll stop
him.'

They?' Ragnar asked.

The Danes, lord.' Steapa said.

'And Guthred will be travelling slowly.' Brida added.

'He will?' I asked.

'You said he's taken Cuthbert's corpse with him.'

Hope stirred in me. Steapa and Brida were right. Guthred might be intent on reaching
Bebbanburg, but he could travel no faster than the corpse could be carried, and the Danes
would want to stop him. 'He could be dead by now.' I said.

'Only one way to find out.' Ragnar said.

We rode next dawn, taking the Roman road north, and we rode as fast we could. So far we had
coddled Alfred's horses, but now we drove them hard, though we were still slowed by Beocca.
Then, as the morning wore on, the rains came again. Gentle at first, but soon hard enough to
make the ground treacherous. The wind rose, and it was in our faces. Thunder sounded far off
and the rain fell with a new intensity and we were all spattered by mud, we were all cold and
all soaked. The trees thrashed, shedding their last leaves into the bitter wind. It was a day
to be inside a hall, beside a vast fire. We found the first bodies beside the road. They were
two men who lay naked with their wounds washed bloodless by the rain. One of the dead men had a
broken sickle beside him. Another three corpses were a half-mile to the north, and two of
them had wooden crosses about their necks which meant they were Saxons. Beocca made the sign
of the cross over their bodies. Lightning whipped the hills to the west, then Ragnar pointed
ahead and I saw, through the hammering rain, a settlement beside the road. There were a few
low houses, what might have been a church, and a high-ridged hall within a wooden
palisade.

There was a score of horses tied to the hall's palisade and, as we appeared from the storm,
a dozen men ran from the gate with swords and spears. They mounted and galloped down the
road

towards us, but slowed when they saw the arm rings Ragnar and I wore. 'Are you Danes?'
Ragnar shouted.

'We're Danes!' They lowered their swords and turned their horses to escort us.

'Have you seen any Saxons?' one of them asked Ragnar

'Only dead ones.'

We stabled the horses in one of the houses, pulling down part of the roof to enlarge the
door so the horses could be taken inside There was a Saxon family there and they shrank from
us. The woman whimpered and held her hands towards us in mute prayer. 'My daughter's ill,'
she said.

The girl lay in a dark corner, shivering. She did not look ill so much as terrified. 'How
old is she?' I asked.

'Eleven years, lord, I think,' the girl's mother answered.

'She was raped?' I asked.

'By four men, lord,' she said.

'She's safe now.' I said, and I gave them coins to pay for the damage to the roof and we left
Alfred's servants and Ragnar's two men to guard the horses, then joined the Danes in the big
hall where a fire burned fierce in the central hearth. The men about the flames made room for
us, though they were confused that we travelled with a Christian priest. They looked at the
bedraggled Beocca suspiciously, but Ragnar was so obviously a Dane that they said
nothing, and his arm rings, like mine, indicated that he was a Dane of the highest rank. The
men's leader must have been impressed by Ragnar for he half bowed. 'I am Hakon,' he said, 'of
Onhripum.'

'Ragnar Ragnarson,' Ragnar introduced himself. He introduced neither Steapa nor
myself, though he did nod towards Brida. 'And this is my woman.'

Hakon knew of Ragnar, which was not surprising for Ragnar's name was famous in the hills
to the west of Onhripum. 'You were a hostage in Wessex, lord?' he asked.

'No longer,' Ragnar said shortly.

'Welcome home, lord,' Hakon said.

Ale was brought to us, and bread and cheese and apples. 'The dead we saw on the road,'
Ragnar asked, 'that was your work?'

'Saxons, lord. We're to stop them gathering.' 'You certainly stopped those men
gathering,' Ragnar said, revoking a smile from Hakon. 'Whose orders?' Ragnar asked. 'The
Earl Ivarr, lord. He's summoned us. And if we find Saxons weapons we're to kill them.' Ragnar
mischievously jerked his head at Steapa.