Part 24 (1/2)
aethelred's steward met us in the wide courtyard. If he was aston ished to see aethelflaed he showed no sign of it, but just bowed deeply and welcomed her graciously. Slaves brought us bowls of water so we could wash our hands, while stable boys took our horses. ”My lord is in the hall, lady,” the steward told aethelflaed, and for the first time sounded nervous.
”Is he well?” aethelflaed asked.
”G.o.d be praised, yes,” he answered, and his eyes flicked to me and back to her. ”You've come for the council, perhaps?”
”What council?” aethelflaed asked, taking a woolen cloth from a slave to dry her hands.
”There is trouble from the heathens, lady,” the steward said cautiously, then glanced at me again.
”This is the Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg,” aethelflaed said with apparent carelessness, ”and yes, we've come for the council.”
”I shall tell your husband you are here,” the steward said. He had looked startled when he heard my name and taken a hasty backward step.
”No need for an announcement,” aethelflaed said sharply.
”Your swords?” the steward asked. ”If you please, my lords, your swords?”
”Is anyone else armed in the hall?” I asked.
”The ealdorman's own guards, lord, no one else.”
I hesitated, then gave the steward my two swords. It was usual to wear no weapon in a king's hall, and aethelred evidently saw himself as near enough to a king to demand the same courtesy. It was more than a courtesy, it was a precaution against the slaughter that could follow a drunken feast. I half wondered if I should keep Serpent-Breath, but reckoned the long blade would be a provocation.
I took Osferth, Finan, Father Pyrlig, and Beornoth. My hand was throbbing and red, the flesh so swollen that I thought the simple touch of a knife's edge would split it open like bursting fruit. I kept it hidden beneath my cloak as we went from the sunlight into the shadowed darkness of aethelred's great hall.
If the steward's first response to seeing aethelflaed had been restrained, her husband's was the very opposite. He looked irritated when we first walked into the hall, plainly offended at the inter ruption, then hopeful, because he must have thought Aldhelm had arrived, and then he recognized us and, for a gratifying instant, he appeared terrified. He was sitting in a chair, more of a throne than a chair, that was set on the dais where, normally, the high table would be set for feasting. He wore a thin bronze circlet on his red hair, a circlet that fell just short of a crown. He had a thick gold chain over his embroidered jerkin and a fur-trimmed cloak that had been dyed a deep scarlet. Two men with swords and s.h.i.+elds stood at the back of the dais, while aethelred was flanked by a pair of priests who sat facing four benches set on the rush-strewn floor. Eighteen men occupied the benches and they all turned to stare at us. The priest on aethelred's right was my old enemy, Bishop a.s.ser, and he was looking at me with wide-open eyes and unconcealed surprise. If Alfred had manipulated me into returning, then he had plainly not told a.s.ser.
It was a.s.ser who broke the silence, and that by itself was interesting. This hall belonged to aethelred who was the Ealdorman of Mercia, yet the Welsh bishop thought nothing of a.s.suming authority. It was a sign of Alfred's dominance over Saxon Mercia, a dominance that aethelred secretly detested. He could not wait for Alfred to die so he could turn the circlet into a proper crown, yet he also needed the a.s.sistance that Wess.e.x gave. Bishop a.s.ser, shrewd and waspish, was undoubtedly here to pa.s.s on Alfred's commands, but now he stood and pointed a bony finger at me. ”You!” he said. A pair of hounds had rushed to greet aethelflaed. She soothed them. There was a babble of voices that Bishop a.s.ser overrode. ”You were declared outlaw,” he yapped.
I told him to be silent, but of course he went on protesting, becoming ever more indignant until Father Pyrlig spoke to him in Welsh. I had no idea what Pyrlig said, but it silenced a.s.ser who just spluttered and kept pointing at me. I a.s.sume Father Pyrlig revealed that Alfred had conspired at my return, but that was small consolation to the bishop, who regarded me as a creature sent by his religion's demon, the creature they call Satan. Whatever, he stayed silent as aethelflaed went to the dais and snapped her fingers to a servant who hurried to fetch her a chair. She leaned down to aethelred and gave him a very public kiss on the cheek, but she also whispered something in his ear and I saw him redden. Then she sat next to him and reached for his hand. ”Do sit down, bishop,” she told a.s.ser, then looked gravely at the a.s.sembled lords. ”I bring bad news,” she said. ”The Danes have destroyed the convent at Lecelad. Every dear sister there is dead, as is my dear Lord Aldhelm. I pray for their souls.”
”Amen,” Father Pyrlig roared.
”How did the Lord Aldhelm die?” Bishop a.s.ser asked.
”There will be a time for sad tales when our more urgent business is decided,” aethelflaed said without looking at a.s.ser, ”for the moment I wish to know how we are to defeat the Jarl Haesten.”
The next few moments were confusing. The truth was that none of the a.s.sembled lords knew the extent of Haesten's invasion. At least a dozen messengers had come overnight to Gleawecestre and they had all brought dire tidings of savage and sudden attacks by Danish hors.e.m.e.n, and as I listened to the various reports I realized that Haesten had set out to confuse the Mercians. He must have led two or three thousand men and he had divided them into smaller groups and sent them to harry, plunder, and destroy all across northern Mercia. It was impossible to say where the Danes were because they appeared to be everywhere.
”What do they want?” aethelred asked plaintively.
”He wants to sit where you're sitting,” I answered.
”You have no authority here,” Bishop a.s.ser snarled.
”Bishop,” aethelflaed spoke crisply, ”if you have something useful to say, then please feel free to say it. But if you simply wish to make a nuisance of yourself then go to the church and take your complaints to G.o.d.” That caused an astonished silence. The real authority in the hall belonged to Bishop a.s.ser because he was Alfred's envoy, yet aethelflaed had publicly slapped him down. She met his indignant gaze calmly, and kept her eyes on his until he gave way. Then she turned to the lords. ”The questions we need answered are simple,” she said. ”How many Danes are there? What is their aim? How many men can we a.s.semble to oppose them? And where do we take those men?”
aethelred still seemed stunned by his wife's return. Every lord in the hall must have known of their estrangement, yet here aethelflaed was, calmly holding her husband's hand and no one dared challenge her presence. aethelred himself was so shaken that he allowed her to dominate the council, and she did it well. There was a soft sweetness in aethelflaed's look, but that sweetness disguised a mind as thoughtful as her father's and a will as strong as her mother's. ”Don't all speak at once,” she commanded, raising her voice over the confusion. ”Lord aelfwold,” she smiled at a grim-looking man sitting on the bench closest to the dais, ”your lands have suffered most, it seems, so what is your estimation of the enemy's numbers?”
”Between two and three thousand,” he answered. He shrugged. ”It could be many more, it's hard to tell.”
”Because they ride in small groups?”
”At least a dozen bands,” aelfwold said, ”maybe as many as twenty.”
”And how many men can we lead against them?” she asked the question of her husband, her voice respectful.
”Fifteen hundred,” he said surlily.
”We must have more warriors than that!” aethelflaed said.
”Your father,” aethelred said, and he could not resist saying those two words with derision, ”insists we leave five hundred to protect Lundene.”
”I thought the Lundene garrison was West Saxon,” I put in, and I should have known because I had commanded that garrison for five years.
”Alfred has left three hundred men in Lundene,” Bishop a.s.ser said, forcing cordiality into his voice, ”and the rest have gone to Wintanceaster.”
”Why?”
”Because Haesten sent us a warning,” the bishop said bitterly. He paused, and his weasel face twitched uncontrollably, ”that you and the northern jarls planned an attack on Wess.e.x.” The hatred in his voice was unmistakable. ”Is that true?”
I hesitated. I had not betrayed Ragnar's plans because he was my friend, which meant I had left the discovery of the Northumbrian attack to fate, but Haesten, it seemed, had already sent a warning. He had done it, clearly, to keep West Saxon troops out of Mercia, and it seemed the warning had been successful.
”Well?” aethelred, aware of my discomfort, pressed the attack.
”The Northumbrian jarls have discussed an attack on Wess.e.x,” I said weakly.
”Will it happen?” a.s.ser wanted to know.
”Probably,” I said.
”Probably,” Bishop a.s.ser sneered the word, ”and what is your role, Lord Uhtred?” The derision with which he spoke my name had an edge as sharp as Serpent-Breath. ”To mislead us? To betray us? To slaughter more Christians?” He stood again, sensing his advantage. ”In Christ's name,” he shouted, ”I demand this man's arrest!”
No one moved to take hold of me. aethelred gestured at his two household warriors, but the gesture lacked conviction and neither man moved.
”The Lord Uhtred is here to protect me,” aethelflaed broke the silence.
”You have a nation's warriors to protect you,” a.s.ser said, sweeping his arm to encompa.s.s the men sitting on the benches.
”What need I of a nation's warriors,” aethelflaed asked, ”when I have Lord Uhtred?”
”The Lord Uhtred,” a.s.ser said in his sharp voice, ”cannot be trusted.”
”You'd listen to that Welsh piece of gristle,” I addressed the men on the benches. ”A Welshman saying a Saxon can't be trusted? How many men here have lost friends, sons, or brothers to Welsh treachery? If the Danes are Mercia's worst enemy, then the Welsh are the next worst. We're going to take lessons in loyalty from a Welshman?”
I heard Father Pyrlig mutter behind me, but again he spoke in Welsh. I suspect he was insulting me, but he knew well enough why I had spoken as I did. I was appealing to the deep-seated mistrust that all Mercians felt for the Welsh. Since the beginning of Mercia, deep in the lost times of our ancestors, the Welsh had raided Saxon lands to steal cattle, women, and treasure. They called our land their ”lost land,” and ever in Welsh hearts is a wish to drive the Saxons back across the sea, and so few men in aethelred's hall had any love for their ancestral enemies.
”The Welsh,” a.s.ser shouted, ”are Christians! And now is the time for all Christians to unite against the pagan filth that threatens our faith. Look!” His finger was pointing again. ”The Lord Uhtred wears the symbol of Thor. He is an idolater, a heathen, an enemy of our dear Lord Jesus Christ!”
”He is my friend,” aethelflaed said, ”and I trust him with my life.”