The Pagan Lord (18 page)

‘Hardly a child,’ I said, ‘almost a man.’

‘He’s a thing worth gold, whatever he is.’

‘You think I should have ransomed him?’

‘You tell me, lord.’

I thought about it. I had kept the boy on instinct and was still not sure why I had done that. ‘As far as the world is concerned,’ I said, ‘he’s the heir to Bebbanburg, and that makes him valuable.’

‘It does.’

‘Not just to his father,’ I said, ‘but to his father’s enemies.’

‘And they are?’

‘The Danes, I suppose,’ I said vaguely, because I was still not sure why I had kept the boy.

‘Strange, isn’t it?’ Finan went on, ‘Cnut Ranulfson’s wife and children are hostages somewhere, and now we have those two. It’s the season for capturing wives and children, I suppose?’ He sounded amused.

And who, I wondered, had taken Cnut Ranulfson’s family? I told myself it was none of my business, that I had been thrown out of Saxon Britain, but the question still gnawed at me. The obvious answer was that the Saxons had made the capture to keep Cnut quiet while they attacked either the Danish lords of northern Mercia or the enfeebled kingdom of East Anglia, but Æthelflaed had heard nothing. She had spies in both her husband’s household and in her brother’s court, and she would surely have known if either Æthelred or Edward had taken Cnut’s wife, yet those spies had told her nothing. And I did not believe Edward of Wessex would send men to capture Cnut’s family. He was too nervous of Danish unrest and too much under the influence of timorous priests. Æthelred? It was possible that his new woman and her belligerent brother had taken the risk, but Æthelflaed would surely have learned of it if they had. So who had taken them?

Finan was still staring at me, wanting an answer. I offered him a question instead. ‘So who is our most dangerous enemy?’

‘Your cousin.’

‘If I’d taken the gold,’ I said and I was explaining to myself as much as to Finan, ‘he’d still send men to kill us. He’d want the gold back. But he’ll be cautious so long as we hold his wife and child.’

‘That’s true,’ he allowed.

‘And the price won’t go down just because we wait for payment,’ I said. ‘My cousin will pay next month or next year.’

‘Unless he takes a new wife,’ Finan said sceptically, ‘because he won’t pay much for her.’ He nodded towards Ingulfrid who was huddled just forward of the steering platform. She still wore Ælfric’s cloak and was clutching her son protectively.

‘He didn’t sound fond of her,’ I said, amused.

‘He has another woman to keep his bed warm,’ Finan suggested, ‘and this one is just his wife.’

‘Just?’ I asked.

‘He didn’t marry her for love,’ Finan said, ‘or if he did the edge went off that blade long ago. He probably married her for her land, or for her father’s alliance.’

And she was Danish. That interested me. Bebbanburg was a small patch of Saxon land in a Danish kingdom and the Danes would dearly love to take it. Yet a Danish wife suggested that my cousin had a Danish ally. ‘My lady,’ I called to her. She looked up at me, but said nothing. ‘Come here,’ I ordered her, ‘and you can bring Osbert.’

She bridled, whether at my giving her a command or calling her son by another name, and for a brief instant I thought she would disobey, then she climbed to her feet and, holding her son by the hand, came aft. She staggered as the ship heaved on a wave and I held out an arm which she grasped, then looked disgusted as if she had gripped a piece of slimy filth. She let go and put her free hand against the stern post. ‘Who’s your father?’ I asked her.

She hesitated, weighing the danger of such a question and, evidently finding none, shrugged. ‘Hoskuld Leifson,’ she said.

I had never heard of him. ‘Who does he serve?’ I asked.

‘Sigtrygg.’

‘Sweet Jesus,’ Finan exclaimed, ‘the fellow who was in Dyflin?’

‘He was,’ she said with some bitterness.

Sigtrygg was a Norseman, a warrior, and he had carved a kingdom for himself in Ireland, but Ireland is never an easy place for outsiders and the last I had heard was that the self-styled King of Ireland had been kicked back across the sea to Britain. ‘So you’re Norse?’ I asked her.

‘I’m Danish,’ she said.

‘So where’s Sigtrygg now?’ I asked.

‘The last I heard he was in Cumbraland.’

‘He’s in Cumbraland,’ Osferth confirmed. He had followed Ingulfrid up to the steering platform, which struck me as strange. Osferth liked his own company and rarely joined me at the ship’s stern.

‘So what does your father do for Sigtrygg?’ I asked Ingulfrid.

‘He commands the house-warriors.’

‘So tell me,’ I asked, ‘why did Ælfric marry his son to a Dane who served Sigtrygg?’

‘Why not?’ she retorted, still with bitterness in her voice.

‘Did he marry you so he’d have a refuge in Ireland if he lost Bebbanburg?’ I suggested.

‘Bebbanburg will never be lost,’ she said. ‘It can’t be captured.’

‘I almost captured it.’

‘Almost isn’t enough, is it?’

‘No,’ I conceded, ‘it is not. So why the marriage, my lady?’

‘Why do you think?’ she spat back at me.

Because Bebbanburg ruled a small patch of land surrounded by enemies, and the marriage had brought an alliance with a man who shared those enemies. Sigtrygg was ambitious, he wanted a kingdom, and if it could not be in Ireland then he would hack it out of British land. He was not strong enough to attack Wessex, Wales would be as troublesome to him as Ireland, and Scotland was even worse, so he was looking at Northumbria. That meant his enemies were Cnut Ranulfson and Sigurd Thorrson, so had it been Sigtrygg who captured Cnut’s wife? It was a possibility, but Sigtrygg must have been very confident of his ability to withstand an attack by Cnut if he had dared to do that. For the moment he was safe enough in Cumbraland. That was a wild place of mountains, rain and lakes, and Cnut was evidently content to let Sigtrygg rule over those barren wastes. And Sigtrygg? He doubtless wanted land that Cnut ruled, but the Norseman was no fool and was unlikely to provoke a war he must inevitably lose.

I leaned on the steering oar. The
Middelniht
was sailing fast and the loom of the steering oar was quivering in my hands, always a sign that a ship is happy. The clouds were being blown ragged as they were scoured away southwards and the
Middelniht
suddenly sailed into a patch of sunlight. I smiled. There are few things so exhilarating as a good ship in a good wind.

‘What’s the stench?’ Ingulfrid asked indignantly.

‘Probably Finan,’ I said.

‘It’s Lord Uhtred,’ Finan said at the same moment.

‘It’s the sail,’ Osferth explained to her. ‘It’s smeared with cod oil and mutton fat.’

She looked appalled. ‘Cod oil and mutton fat?’

‘It does stink,’ I allowed.

‘And it attracts the flies,’ Finan added.

‘So why do it then?’

‘Because it catches the wind better,’ I said. She grimaced. ‘Are you not used to ships, my lady?’

‘No. And I think I hate them.’

‘Why?’

She looked at me, said nothing for a few heartbeats, then scowled. ‘Why do you think? I’m the only woman on board.’

I was about to reassure her that she was safe, then understood what she was saying. It was easy for men, we just pissed overboard, taking care never to face upwind, but Ingulfrid could hardly do the same. ‘Eldgrim!’ I called. ‘Put a bucket under the steering platform and rig a curtain!’ I looked back to her. ‘It’s a little cramped under there, but you’ll be hidden.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Osferth interrupted hastily. He waved Eldgrim away and busied himself with two cloaks that would hang like curtains over the dank, dark space beneath our feet. Finan looked at me, twitched his head towards Osferth and grinned. I pretended not to notice. ‘There, my lady,’ Osferth said in his most solemn tone, ‘and I’ll stand guard to make sure no one disturbs you.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, and Osferth bowed to her. Finan made a choking noise.

Osbert tried to stay with his mother when she climbed down from the platform. ‘Stay here, boy,’ I said. ‘I’ll teach you to steer a ship.’

Ingulfrid ducked out of sight.
Middelniht
soared on, happy in this wind and in these seas. I gave the boy the steering oar and showed him how to anticipate the ship’s motion, and let him feel the power of the sea in that long oar-loom. ‘Don’t over correct,’ I told him, ‘it slows the boat. Treat her like a good horse. Be gentle and she’ll know what to do.’

‘Why teach him if you’re going to kill him?’ his mother asked when she reappeared. I watched her climb back to the steering platform. The wind caught loose strands of her hair and whipped them across her face. ‘Well?’ she demanded sharply. ‘Why teach him?’ Her anger gave her a stern, sharp beauty.

‘Because it’s a skill every man should have,’ I said.

‘So he’ll live to be a man?’ she asked defiantly.

‘I don’t kill children, my lady,’ I said gently, ‘but I didn’t really want your husband to know that.’

‘So what will you do with him?’

‘He won’t hurt him, my lady,’ Osferth put in.

‘Then what will he do with him?’ she demanded.

‘I’ll sell him,’ I said.

‘As a slave?’

‘I suspect your husband will pay more than any slaver. Or perhaps your husband’s enemies will pay?’

‘There are plenty of those,’ she said, ‘but you’re chief among them.’

‘And the least dangerous,’ I said, amused. I nodded towards my crew. ‘These are all the men I have.’

‘And yet you still attacked Bebbanburg,’ she said, and I could not tell from her tone whether she thought me a complete fool or had a reluctant admiration for my having dared to make the assault.

‘And almost succeeded,’ I said wistfully, ‘though I confess I’d probably be dead by now if you hadn’t taken your son to see his new horse being shod.’ I offered her a bow. ‘I owe my life to you, my lady, I thank you.’

‘You owe it to my son,’ she said, the bitterness back in her voice, ‘I’m worth nothing, but Uhtred?’

‘Osbert, you mean?’

‘I mean Uhtred,’ she said defiantly, ‘and he’s the heir to Bebbanburg.’

‘Not while my son lives,’ I said.

‘But your son must first take Bebbanburg,’ she retorted, ‘and he won’t. So my Uhtred is the heir.’

‘You heard my uncle,’ I said harshly. ‘Your husband can make another heir.’

‘Oh, he can,’ she said savagely, ‘he spawns bastards like a dog makes puppies. He prefers to make bastards, but he’s proud of Uhtred.’

The sudden savagery in her voice had surprised me, as had her admission about her husband. She stared at me belligerently, and I thought what a fine face she had, hard-boned and strong-jawed, but a face softened by generous lips and pale blue eyes that, like the sea, were flecked by silver. Osferth evidently thought the same because he had hardly taken his eyes from her since he had joined us. ‘Then your husband is a fool,’ I said.

‘A fool,’ Osferth echoed.

‘He likes his women fat and dark,’ she said.

Her son had been listening and now frowned unhappily at his mother’s bitter words. I grinned at the boy. ‘Fat, dark, fair or thin,’ I told him, ‘they’re all women, and all to be cherished.’

‘Cherished?’ he repeated the word.

‘Five things make a man happy,’ I told him, ‘a good ship, a good sword, a good hound, a good horse, and a woman.’

‘Not a good woman?’ Finan asked, amused.

‘They’re all good,’ I said, ‘except when they’re not, and then they’re better than good.’

‘Dear God,’ Osferth said in a pained voice.

‘Praise God,’ Finan said.

‘So your husband,’ I looked back to Ingulfrid, ‘will want his son back?’

‘Of course he will.’

‘And so pursue us?’

‘He’ll pay someone to find you.’

‘Because he’s a coward and won’t come himself?’

‘Because the Lord Ælfric’s law was that the Lord of Bebbanburg doesn’t leave the fortress unless the heir stays behind. One of them must always be within the walls.’

‘Because it’s easy to kill one of them outside the walls,’ I said, ‘but almost impossible to kill a man when he’s safe inside?’

She nodded. ‘So unless he’s changed his father’s law then he’ll send other men to kill you.’

‘Many have tried, lady,’ I said gently.

‘He has gold,’ she said, ‘he can afford to send many men.’

‘He’ll need to,’ Finan said drily.

Next day we came to the islands. The sea was calm now, the sun bright and the wind so gentle that we were forced to row. We went very cautiously with a man standing in the bows probing the water’s depth with an oar.

‘Where are we?’ Ingulfrid asked.

‘The Frisian Islands,’ I told her.

‘You think you can hide here?’

I shook my head. ‘There’s nowhere to hide, lady. Your husband will know what choices I have, and he’ll know this is one of them.’

‘Dunholm,’ she said.

I looked at her sharply. ‘Dunholm?’

‘He knows Ragnar was your friend.’

I did not respond. Ragnar had been more than a friend, he had been a brother. His father had raised me and if fate had decreed differently then I would have stayed with Ragnar and fought beside him to the end of time, but the three Norns make our destiny, and Ragnar had stayed as a lord in the north and I had gone south to join the Saxons. He had been sick, and news of his death had come the previous winter. That had not surprised me even though it saddened me. He had become fat and short of breath, lazy and lame, yet he had died with a sword in his hand, placed there by Brida, his woman, as he lay dying. So he would go to Valhalla, where, for all time, or at least until the final chaos overwhelms us, he would be the old Ragnar, strong and lively, full of laughter, generous and brave. ‘Lord Ælfric knew you were an outcast,’ Ingulfrid went on, ‘and that you had too few men to attack Bebbanburg, so he thought you’d go to Dunholm.’

‘Without Ragnar?’ I asked, then shook my head. ‘Without Ragnar there’s nothing for me at Dunholm.’

‘Ragnar’s woman,’ she suggested, ‘and his sons?’

I smiled. ‘Brida hates me.’

‘You fear her?’

I laughed at that, though in truth I did fear Brida. She had been my lover once, and now she was my enemy, and a grudge, for Brida, was like an itch that never went away. She would scratch the itch until it became a sore, and gouge the sore to suppurating blood and pus. She hated me because I had not fought for the Danes against the Saxons and it did not matter that she was a Saxon herself. Brida was all passion.