The Flame Bearer (The Last Kingdom Series, Book 10) (7 page)

‘The Romans?’ I asked, surprised.

‘The Romans,’ he said warmly, ‘and what a great people they were! They brought the blessings of Christianity to Britain and we should love them for that. And they had philosophers, scholars, historians, and theologians, and we would do well to learn from them. The wisdom of the ancients, Lord Uhtred, should be a light to guide our present! Don’t you agree?’ He waited for me to answer, but I said nothing. ‘And those wise Romans,’ Constantin went on, ‘decided that the frontier between Scotland and the Saxon lands should be this wall.’ He was looking into my eyes as he spoke and I could tell he was amused even though his face was solemn.

‘I hear there’s a Roman wall further north.’

‘A ditch,’ he said dismissively, ‘and it failed. This wall,’ he waved towards the ramparts that were visible through one of the windows, ‘succeeded. I have thought about the matter, I have prayed about it, and it makes sense that this wall should be the dividing line between our peoples. Everything to the north will be Scotland, Alba, and everything to the south can belong to the Saxons, Englaland. There’ll be no more argument about where the frontier lies, every man will be able to see the border clearly marked across our island by this great stone wall! And though it won’t stop our people from cattle-raiding, it will make such raids more difficult! So you see? I am a peacemaker!’ He smiled radiantly at me. ‘I have proposed all this to King Edward.’

‘Edward doesn’t rule in Northumbria.’

‘He will.’

‘And Bebbanburg is mine,’ I said.

‘It was never yours,’ Constantin said harshly. ‘It belonged to your father, and now it belongs to your cousin.’ He suddenly snapped his fingers as if he had remembered something. ‘Did you poison his son?’

‘Of course not!’

He smiled. ‘It was well done if you did.’

‘I did not,’ I said angrily. We had captured my cousin’s son, a mere boy, and I had let Osferth, one of my trusted men, look after both him and his mother, who had been taken captive with her son. Mother and son had both died of a plague the year before, but inevitably men said that I had poisoned them. ‘He died of the sweating fever,’ I said, ‘and so did thousands of others in Wessex.’

‘Of course I believe you,’ Constantin said carelessly, ‘but your cousin is now in need of a wife!’

I shrugged. ‘Some poor woman will marry him.’

‘I have a daughter,’ Constantin said musingly, ‘perhaps I should offer the girl?’

‘She’ll be a cheaper price than you’ll pay trying to cross his ramparts.’

‘You think I fear Bebbanburg’s walls?’

‘You should,’ I said.

‘You planned to cross those ramparts,’ Constantin said, and there was no amusement in his manner any more, ‘and do you believe I am less willing and less able than you?’

‘So your peace,’ I said bitterly, ‘is conquest.’

‘Yes,’ he said bluntly, ‘it is. But we are merely moving the frontier back to where the Romans so wisely placed it.’ He paused, enjoying my discomfiture. ‘Bebbanburg, Lord Uhtred,’ he went on, ‘and all its lands are mine.’

‘Not while I live.’

‘Is there a fly buzzing in here?’ he asked. ‘I heard something. Or was it you speaking?’

I looked into his eyes. ‘You see the priest over there?’ I jerked my head towards Father Eadig.

Constantin was puzzled, but nodded. ‘I’m surprised, pleased, that you have a priest for company.’

‘A priest who spoiled your plans, lord King,’ I said.

‘My plans?’

‘Your men killed his escort, but Father Eadig got away. If he hadn’t reached me I’d still be at Ætgefrin.’

‘Wherever that is,’ Constantin said lightly.

‘The hill your scouts have been watching this past week and more,’ I said, realising at last who the mysterious and skilful watchers had been. Constantin gave a very slight nod, acknowledging that his men had indeed been haunting us. ‘And you’d have attacked me there,’ I went on, ‘why else would you be here instead of at Bebbanburg? You wanted to destroy me, but now you find me behind stone walls and killing me will be much more difficult.’ That was all true. If Constantin had caught me in open country his forces would have chopped my men into pieces, but he would pay a high price if he tried to assault Weallbyrig’s ramparts.

He seemed amused by the truth I had spoken. ‘And why, Lord Uhtred, would I want to kill you?’

‘Because he’s the one enemy you fear,’ Finan answered for me.

I saw the momentary grimace on Constantin’s face. Then he stood, and there were no more smiles. ‘This fort,’ he said harshly, ‘is now my property. All the land to the north is my kingdom. I give you till sundown today to leave my fort and my frontier, which means that you, Lord Uhtred, will go south.’

Constantin had come to my land with an army. My cousin had been reinforced by Einar the White’s ships. I had fewer than two hundred men, so what choice did I have?

I touched Thor’s hammer and made a silent vow. I would take Bebbanburg despite my cousin, despite Einar, and despite Constantin. It would take longer, it would be hard, but I would do it.

Then I went south.

PART TWO

The Trap

Three

We arrived at Eoferwic, or Jorvik as the Danes and Norse call it, on the next Sunday, and were greeted by the ringing of church bells. Brida, who had been my lover before she became my enemy, had tried to eradicate Christianity in Eoferwic. She had murdered the old archbishop, slaughtered many of his priests, and burned the churches, but Sigtryggr, the new ruler in the city, did not care what god any man or woman worshipped so long as they paid their taxes and kept the peace, and so the new Christian shrines had sprung up like mushrooms after rain. There was also a new archbishop, Hrothweard, a West Saxon who was reputed to be a decent enough man. We arrived around midday under a bright sun, the first sun we had seen since we had ridden from Ætgefrin. We rode to the palace, close by the rebuilt cathedral, but there I was told that Sigtryggr had gone to Lindcolne with his forces. ‘But the queen is here?’ I asked the elderly doorkeeper as I dismounted.

‘She rode with her husband, lord.’

I grunted disapprovingly, though my daughter’s taste for danger did not surprise me, indeed it would have astonished me if she had not ridden south with Sigtryggr. ‘And the children?’

‘Gone to Lindcolne too, lord.’

I flinched from the aches in my bones. ‘So who’s in charge here?’

‘Boldar Gunnarson, lord.’

I knew Boldar as a reliable, experienced warrior. I also thought of him as old, though in truth he might have been a year or two younger than I was and, like me, he had been scarred by war. He had been left with a limp thanks to a Saxon spear that had torn up his right calf, and he had lost an eye to a Mercian arrow, and those wounds had taught him caution. ‘There’s no news of the war,’ he told me, ‘but of course it could be another week before we hear anything.’

‘Is there really war?’ I asked him.

‘There are Saxons on our territory, lord,’ he said carefully, ‘and I don’t suppose they’ve come here to dance with us.’ He had been left with a scanty garrison to defend Eoferwic, and if there really was a West Saxon army rampaging in southern Northumbria then he had best hope it never reached the city’s Roman ramparts, just as he had best pray to the gods that Constantin did not decide to cross the wall and march south. ‘Will you be staying here, lord?’ he asked, doubtless hoping my men would stiffen his diminished garrison.

‘We’ll leave in the morning,’ I told him. I would have gone sooner, but our horses needed rest and I needed news. Boldar had no real idea what happened to the south, so Finan suggested we talked to the new archbishop. ‘Monks are always writing to each other,’ he said, ‘monks and priests. They know more about what’s going on than most kings! And they say Archbishop Hrothweard’s a good man.’

‘I don’t trust him.’

‘You’ve never met him!’

‘He’s a Christian,’ I said, ‘and so are the West Saxons. So who would he rather have on the throne here? A Christian or Sigtryggr? No, you go and talk to him. Wave your crucifix at him and try not to fart.’

My son and I walked east, leaving the city through one of the massive gates and following a lane to the river bank where a row of buildings edged a long wharf used by trading ships that came from every port of the North Sea. Here a man could buy a ship or timber, cordage or pitch, sailcloth or slaves. There were three taverns, the largest of which was the Duck, which sold ale, food, and whores, and it was there that we sat at a table just outside the door. ‘Nice to see the sun again,’ Olla, the tavern’s owner, greeted me.

‘Be nicer still to see some ale,’ I said.

Olla grinned, ‘And it’s good to see you, lord. Just ale? I’ve a pretty little thing just arrived from Frisia?’

‘Just ale.’

‘She won’t know what she’s missing,’ he said, then went to fetch the ale while we leaned against the tavern’s outside wall. The sun was warm, its reflections sparkling on the river where swans paddled slowly upstream. A big trading ship was tied up nearby and three naked slaves were cleaning her. ‘She’s for sale,’ Olla said when he brought the ale.

‘Looks heavy.’

‘She’s a pig of a boat. You wanting to buy, lord?’

‘Not her, maybe something leaner?’

‘Prices have gone up,’ Olla said, ‘better to wait till there’s snow on the ground.’ He sat on a stool at the table’s end. ‘You want food? The wife’s made a nice fish stew and the bread’s fresh baked.’

‘I’m hungry,’ my son said.

‘For fish or Frisians?’ I asked.

‘Both, but fish first.’

Olla rapped the table and waited until a pretty young girl came from the tavern. ‘Three bowls of the stew, darling,’ he said, ‘and two of the new loaves. And a jug of ale, some butter, and wipe your nose.’ He waited till she had darted back indoors. ‘You got any lively young warriors that need a wife, lord?’ he asked.

‘Plenty,’ I said, ‘including this lump,’ I gestured at my son.

‘She’s my daughter,’ he said, nodding at the door where the girl had vanished, ‘and a handful. I found her trying to sell her younger brother to Haruld yesterday.’ Haruld was the slave-dealer three buildings upriver.

‘I hope she got a good price,’ I said.

‘Oh, she’d have driven a hard bargain, that one. Fleas don’t grow old on her. Hanna!’ he shouted, ‘Hanna!’

‘Father?’ The girl peered around the door.

‘How old are you?’

‘Twelve, father.’

‘See?’ he looked at me, ‘ready for marriage.’ He reached down and scratched a sleeping dog between the ears. ‘And you, lord?’

‘I’m already married.’

Olla grinned. ‘Been a while since you drank my ale. So what brings you here?’

‘I was hoping you’d tell me.’

He nodded. ‘Hornecastre.’

‘Hornecastre,’ I confirmed. ‘I don’t know the place.’

‘Nothing much there,’ he said, ‘except an old fort.’

‘Roman?’ I guessed.

‘What else? The West Saxons rule up to the Gewasc now,’ he sounded gloomy, ‘and for some reason they’ve sent men further north to Hornecastre. They planted themselves in the old fort and as far as I know they’re still there.’

‘How many?’

‘Enough. Maybe three hundred? Four?’ That sounded like a formidable war-band, but even four hundred men would have a hard time assaulting Lindcolne’s stone walls.

‘I was told we were at war,’ I said bitterly. ‘Four hundred men sitting in a fort might be a nuisance, but it’s hardly the end of Northumbria.’

‘I doubt they’re there to pick daisies,’ Olla said. ‘They’re West Saxons and they’re on our land. King Sigtryggr can’t just leave them there.’

‘True.’ I poured myself more ale. ‘Do you know who leads them?’

‘Brunulf.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘He’s a West Saxon,’ Olla said. He got his news from folk who drank in his tavern, many of them sailors whose ships traded up and down the coast, but he knew of Brunulf because of a Danish family who had been ejected from their steading just north of the old fort and who had sheltered in the Duck for a night on their way north to lodge with relatives. ‘He didn’t kill any of them, lord.’

‘Brunulf didn’t?’

‘They said he was courteous! But the whole village had to leave. Of course they lost their livestock.’

‘And their homes.’

‘And their homes, lord, but not one of them was so much as scratched! Not a child taken as a slave, not a woman raped, nothing.’

‘Gentle invaders,’ I said.

‘So your son-in-law,’ Olla went on, ‘took over four hundred men south, but I hear he wants to be gentle too. He’d rather talk the bastards out of Hornecastre than start a war.’

‘So he’s become sensible?’

‘Your daughter is, lord. She’s the one who insists we don’t prod the wasps’ nest.’

‘And here’s your daughter,’ I said, as Hanna brought a tray laden with bowls and jugs.

‘Put it there, darling,’ Olla said, tapping the table top.

‘So how much did Haruld offer you for your brother?’ I asked her.

‘Three shillings, lord.’ She was bright-eyed, brown-haired, with an infectiously cheeky grin.

‘Why did you want to sell him?’