Part 28 (2/2)

”I hear he is recovered from his illness,” I said.

”For which G.o.d be praised,” Coenwulf put in.

”Amen,” Edward said.

But Alfred could not live long. He was already an old man, well past forty years, and now he was looking to the future. He was doing what he always did, arranging things, tidying things, trying to impose order on a kingdom beset by enemies. He believed his baleful G.o.d would punish Wess.e.x if it were not a G.o.dly kingdom, and so he was trying to force aethelflaed back to her husband, or else, I guessed, to a nunnery. There could be no visible sin in Alfred's family, and that thought inspired me. I looked at Edward again. ”Do you know Osferth?” I asked cheerfully. He blushed at that and Father Coenwulf glared as if warning me to take that subject no further. ”You haven't met?” I asked Edward in pretended innocence, then called to Osferth. ”Wait for us!”

Father Coenwulf tried to turn Edward's horse away, but I caught hold of the bridle and forced the aetheling to catch up with his half-brother. ”Tell me,” I said to Osferth, ”how you would make the Mercians fight.”

Osferth frowned at the question, wondering just what lay behind it. He glanced at Edward, but did not acknowledge his half-brother, though the resemblance between them was startling. They both had Alfred's long face, hollow cheeks, and thin lips. Osferth's face was harder, but he had lived harder too. His father, ashamed of his own b.a.s.t.a.r.d, had tried to make Osferth a priest, but Osferth had turned himself into a warrior, a trade to which he brought his father's intelligence. ”The Mercians can fight as well as anyone,” Osferth said cautiously. He knew I was playing some game and was trying to detect it and so, unseen by either Edward or Coenwulf who both rode on my left, I cupped a hand to indicate a breast and Osferth, despite having inherited his father's almost complete lack of humor, had to resist an amused smile. ”They need leaders.h.i.+p,” he said confidently.

”Then we thank G.o.d for the Lord aethelred,” Father Coenwulf said, refusing to look directly at Osferth.

”The Lord aethelred,” I said savagely, ”couldn't lead a wet wh.o.r.e to a dry bed.”

”But the Lady aethelflaed is much loved in Mercia,” Osferth said, now playing his part to perfection. ”We saw that at Fearnhamme. It was the Lady aethelflaed who inspired the Mercians.”

”You'll need the Mercians,” I told Edward. ”If you become king,” I went on, stressing the ”if” to keep him unbalanced, ”the Mercians will protect your northern frontier. And the Mercians don't love Wess.e.x. They may fight for you, but they don't love you. They were a proud country once, and they don't like being told what to do by Wess.e.x. But they do love one West Saxon. And you'd shut her up in a convent?”

”She is a married...” Father Coenwulf began.

”Oh, shut your mouth,” I snapped at him. ”Your king used his daughter to bring me south, and here I am, and I'll stay here so long as aethelflaed asks. But don't think I'm here for you, or for your G.o.d, or for your king. If you have plans for aethelflaed then you had better count me as a part of them.”

Edward was too embarra.s.sed to meet my eyes. Father Coenwulf was angry, but dared not speak, while Osferth grinned at me. Father Heahberht had listened to the conversation with a shocked expression, but now found his timid voice. ”The hall is that way, lords,” he said, pointing, and we turned down a track rutted by cart wheels and I saw a reed-thatched roof showing between some heavy-leaved elm trees. I kicked ahead of Edward, to see that Thorstein's home was built on a low ridge above the river. There was a village beyond the hall, its small houses straggling along the bank where dozens of fires smoked. ”They dry herring here?” I asked the priest.

”And they make salt, lord.”

”Is there a palisade?”

”Yes, lord.”

The palisade was unmanned and the gates lay open. Thorstein had taken his warriors with Haesten, leaving only a handful of older men to protect his family and lands, and those men knew better than to put up a fight they must lose. Instead a steward welcomed us with a bowl of water. Thorstein's gray-haired wife watched from the hall door, but when I turned to her she stepped back into the shadows and the door slammed shut.

The palisade enclosed the hall, three barns, a cattle shed, and a pair of elm-timbered slipways where the two s.h.i.+ps had been hauled high above the tideline. They were trading s.h.i.+ps, their fat bellies patched pale where carpenters were nailing new oak strakes. ”Your master is a s.h.i.+pbuilder?” I asked the steward.

”They've always built s.h.i.+ps here, lord,” he said humbly, meaning that Thorstein had stolen the s.h.i.+pyard from a Saxon.

I turned on Osferth. ”Make sure the women aren't molested,” I ordered, ”and find a wagon and draft horses.” I looked back to the steward. ”We need ale and food.”

”Yes, lord.”

There was a long low building beside the slipways and I went to it. Sparrows quarreled beneath the thatch. Once inside I had to let my eyes adjust to the gloom, but then I saw what I was seeking. Masts and spars and sails. I ordered my men to carry all the spars and sails out to the wagon, then walked to the shed's open end to watch the river swirl past. The tide was falling, exposing long steep slicks of mud.

”Why spars and sails?” Edward asked from behind me. He was alone. ”The steward brought mead,” he said awkwardly. He was frightened of me, but he was making a great effort to be friendly.

”Tell me,” I said, ”what happened when you tried to capture Torneie.”

”Torneie?” Edward sounded confused.

”You attacked Harald on his island,” I said, ”and you failed. I want to know why.” I had heard the story from Offa, the dog-man who carried his news between the kingdoms, but I had not asked anyone who was there. All I knew was that the a.s.sault on Harald's fugitives had ended in defeat and with a great loss of men.

He frowned. ”It was...” He stopped, shaking his head, perhaps remembering the men floundering through the mud to Harald's palisade. ”We never got close,” he said bitterly.

”Why not?”

He frowned. ”There were stakes in the river. The mud was thick.”

”You think Beamfleot will be any easier?” I demanded, and saw the answer on his face. ”So who led the attack on Torneie?” I asked.

”aethelred and I,” he said.

”You led?” I asked pointedly. ”You were in front?”

He stared at me, bit his lower lip, then looked embarra.s.sed. ”No.”

”Your father made certain you were protected?” I asked, and he nodded. ”What about Lord aethelred?” I went on, ”did he lead?”

”He's a brave man,” Edward said defiantly.

”You haven't answered me.”

”He went with his men,” Edward said evasively, ”but thank G.o.d he escaped the rout.”

”So why should you be King of Wess.e.x?” I asked him brutally.

”I,” he said, then ran out of words and just looked at me with a pained expression. He had come into the shed trying to be friendly and I was raking him over.

”Because your father's the king?” I suggested. ”In the past we've chosen the best man to be king, not the one who happened to come from between the legs of a king's wife.” He frowned, offended and uncertain, voiceless. ”Tell me why I shouldn't make Osferth king,” I said harshly. ”He's Alfred's eldest son.”

”If there is no rule to the succession,” he said carefully, ”then the death of a king will lead to chaos.”

”Rules,” I sneered, ”how you love rules. So because Osferth's mother was a servant he can't be king?”

”No,” Edward found the courage to answer, ”he can't.”

”Luckily for you,” I said, ”he doesn't want to be king. At least I don't think he does. But you do?” I waited and eventually he responded with an almost imperceptible nod. ”And you have the advantage,” I went on, ”of having been born between a pair of royal legs, but you still need to prove you deserve the kings.h.i.+p.” He stared at me, saying nothing. ”You want to be king,” I went on, ”so you must show you deserve it. You lead. You do what you didn't do at Torneie, what my cousin didn't do either. You go first into the attack. You can't expect men to die for you unless they see you're willing to die for them.”

He nodded to that. ”Beamfleot?” he asked, unable to disguise his fear at the prospect of that a.s.sault.

”You want to be king?” I asked. ”Then you lead the a.s.sault. Now come with me, and I'll show you how.”

I took him outside and led him to the top of the river bank. The tide was almost out, leaving a slippery slope of gleaming mud at least twelve feet high. ”How,” I asked him, ”do we get up a slope like that?”

He did not answer, but just frowned as though considering the problem and then, to his utter astonishment, I shoved him hard over the edge. He cried aloud as he lost his footing, then he slipped and floundered on his royal a.r.s.e all the way down to the water where at last he managed to stand unsteadily. He was mud-smeared and indignant. Father Coenwulf evidently thought I was trying to drown the aetheling, for he rushed to my side where he stared down at the prince. ”Draw your sword,” I told Edward, ”and climb that bank.”

He drew his sword and took some tentative steps, but the slick mud defeated him so that he slithered back every time. ”Try harder,” I snarled. ”Try really hard! There are Danes at the top of the bank and you have to kill them. So climb!”

<script>