The Pagan Lord

Six

I had sailed south to convince my cousin that I was returning to southern Britain, but as soon as the smoke of burning Bebbanburg was nothing but a grey smear against the grey clouds I turned eastwards.

I did not know where to go.

To the north was Scotland, inhabited by savages only too glad for a chance to slaughter a Saxon. Beyond them were the Norse settlements, which were full of grim folk in stinking sealskin furs who clung to their rocky islands and, like the Scots, were far more likely to kill than offer a welcome. The Saxon lands lay to the south, but the Christians had made sure I was not wanted in either Wessex or Mercia, and I saw no future in East Anglia and so I turned back towards the lonely Frisian islands.

I did not know where else to go.

I had been tempted to take my cousin’s offer of gold. Gold is always useful. It can buy men, ships, horses and weapons, but I had kept the boy because of instinct. I called the boy to me as we coursed eastwards, driven by a brisk north wind that blew steady and sure. ‘What is your name?’ I asked him.

He looked puzzled and glanced back at his mother, who was watching anxiously. ‘My name is Uhtred,’ he said.

‘No it isn’t,’ I said. ‘Your name is Osbert.’

‘I am Uhtred,’ he insisted bravely.

I hit him hard with my open hand. The blow stung my palm and must have made his ears ring because he staggered and might have gone overboard if Finan had not grabbed and pulled him back. His mother cried out in protest, but I ignored her. ‘Your name is Osbert,’ I said again, and this time he said nothing, just stared at me with tears and obstinacy in his eyes. ‘What is your name?’ I asked him, and still he just looked at me and I could see the temptation in his stubborn face so I drew my hand back again.

‘Osbert,’ he muttered.

‘I can’t hear you!’

‘Osbert,’ he said louder.

‘You hear that!’ I shouted to my crew. ‘This boy’s name is Osbert!’

His mother looked at me, opened her mouth to protest and closed it again.

‘My name is Uhtred,’ I told the boy, ‘and my son’s name is Uhtred, which means there are too many Uhtreds on this boat already so you’re now Osbert. Go back to your mother.’

Finan was crouched in his usual position beside me on the steering platform. The waves were still large and the wind brisk, but not every wave was crested with breaking white and the wind was tamer. The rain had stopped and there were even breaks in the clouds through which shafts of sunlight poured to glitter on patches of the sea. Finan stared out at the water. ‘We could have been counting gold coins, lord,’ he said, ‘and instead we have a woman and a child to guard.’

‘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.

‘Lord Ælfric hoped you’d go to Dunholm before coming to Bebbanburg,’ Ingulfrid said.

‘Hoped it?’

She hesitated, as though fearing she was about to reveal too much, then shrugged. ‘He has an agreement with Brida.’

Why was I surprised? Our enemy’s enemy is our friend, or at least our ally. ‘He hoped she’d kill me?’

‘She promised to poison you,’ Ingulfrid said, ‘and he promised her gold.’

And I was not surprised by that. Brida would never forgive me. She would carry that hatred to her death and, if she could, prolong it by sorcery long past her death. ‘Why tell me that?’ I asked Ingulfrid. ‘Why not encourage me to go to Dunholm?’

‘Because if you went to Dunholm,’ she answered, ‘Brida will keep my son and demand more gold than you ever will. She’s bitter.’

‘And cruel,’ I said, then forgot Brida because the man in the prow was calling out warnings of shallow water. We were feeling our way through a channel that twisted towards a deserted sandbank where dune grass grew. The channel turned west, then north, then east again and the Middelniht touched bottom four times before we reached a stretch of deeper water that curved around the island’s eastern flank. ‘This will do,’ I told Finan, and we rowed a few strokes to run the bows up onto the sand. ‘Home for the moment,’ I told my crew.

This was my new kingdom, my realm, my patch of sea-washed, wind-blown sand on the edge of Frisia, and I would hold it only so long as no stronger enemy decided to swat me like a fly. And that would happen unless I could find more men, but for the moment I just needed to keep my present crew busy and so I sent my son and a dozen men away in Middelniht to scour the nearby sandbanks for driftwood so we could make huts. There was some driftwood already on the island and I watched as Osferth made a shelter for Ingulfrid. My son brought back more wood, enough to make a fire as well as to build shelters, and that night we sang around a great blaze that spewed sparks into the starry sky. ‘You want folk to know we’re here?’ Finan asked me.

‘They know already,’ I said. A couple of boats had slid past us during the day and the news of our presence would be spreading through the islands and along the marshy mainland shore. Thancward, the man who had challenged our presence before, would probably come again, though I doubted he wanted to fight. We would be at peace for a few days, I reckoned.

I could see Finan was worried about me. I had not spoken much all evening, nor joined in the singing. The Irishman had kept glancing at me. I suspected he knew what worried me. It was not my cousin, nor any forces my cousin could muster against me. My concern was broader and deeper than that: it was an inability to see a way ahead. I had no idea what to do, yet I had to do something. I led a crew, I had a ship, we carried swords, and we could not just rot on a beach, yet I did not know where to lead them. I was lost.

‘Are you setting sentries?’ Finan asked deep in the night.

‘I’ll stand guard,’ I said. ‘And make sure the men know that the Lady Ingulfrid is not here for their amusement.’

‘They already know that. Besides, the preacher will kill any man who looks at her.’

I laughed. ‘The preacher’ was Osferth’s nickname. ‘He does seem fascinated,’ I said mildly.

‘Poor bastard’s in love,’ Finan said.

‘About time he was,’ I said, then gently slapped Finan’s shoulder. ‘Sleep, my friend, sleep well.’

I walked the beach in the dark. On this side of the island the waves made feeble slapping sounds, though I could hear the beat and suck of the bigger waves on the western side of the dune. The fire died slowly until it was just smouldering embers, and still I walked. The tide was low and Middelniht was a dark shadow canted on the sand.

I am a hlaford, a lord. A lord must provide for his men. He is their gold-giver, their ring-giver, their silver-lord. He must feed his men, shelter them and enrich them, and in return they serve him and make him a great lord, one whose name is spoken with respect. And my men had a homeless lord, a lord of sand and ashes, a one-ship lord. And I did not know what to do.

The Saxons hated me because I had killed an abbot. The Danes would never trust me, and besides I had killed Sigurd Thorrson’s son and Sigurd, who was friend to Cnut Ranulfson, was sworn to avenge that death. Ragnar, who would have welcomed me as a brother and given me half his wealth, was dead. Æthelflaed loved me, but Æthelflaed loved her church too and did not possess the strength to defend me against the Mercians who followed her estranged husband. She was protected by her brother, Edward of Wessex, and he would probably welcome me, though he would demand a wergild for the death of the priest and force me to make a grovelling apology to his priests. He would not give me land. He might protect me and use me as a warrior, but I would not be a lord.

And I was getting old. I knew that, I could feel it in my bones. I was at an age when men lead armies. When they stood in the rear ranks of the shield wall and left the fighting to the young men at the front. I had grey hairs and a beard streaked white. So I was old, I was hated, I was outcast, and I was lost, yet I had been worse. My uncle had once sold me into slavery and that had been a bad time, except I had met Finan and together we had survived, and Finan had had the pleasure of killing the bastard who had branded us, and I had just been given the joy of killing the bastard who had betrayed me. The Christians talk of the wheel of fortune, a vast wheel that turns constantly and sometimes it lifts us up into the sunlight and at others it drags us down to the shit and mud. And there I was now, in the shit and muck. So perhaps stay here, I thought. A man could do worse than rule a few Frisian islands. I did not doubt I could defeat Thancward, take his surviving men into my service and then forge a small kingdom of sand dunes and seal-shit. I smiled at the thought.

‘Osferth says you really won’t kill my son.’ She spoke from behind me. I turned to see Ingulfrid. She was a shadow against the dune. I said nothing. ‘He says you’re really a kind man.’

I laughed at that. ‘I have made more widows and orphans than most men,’ I said. ‘Is that kind?’

‘He says you’re decent, honourable, and …’ she hesitated, ‘headstrong.’

‘Headstrong is right,’ I said.

‘And now you’re lost,’ she said. She spoke mildly, all the defiance and anger gone from her voice.

‘Lost?’ I asked.

‘You don’t know where to go,’ she said, ‘and you don’t know what to do.’

I smiled because she was right, then watched as she stepped cautiously down the beach. ‘I don’t know where to go,’ I admitted.

She went to the remnants of the fire, crouched there and held her hands towards the dully glowing embers. ‘I’ve felt that way for fifteen years,’ she said bitterly.

‘Then your husband is a fool,’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘So you keep telling me,’ she said, ‘but in truth he’s a clever man, and you did him a favour.’

‘By taking you?’

‘By killing Lord Ælfric.’ She stared into the smouldering timbers, watching the small remnant flames twist, fade and glow again. ‘Now my husband is free to do whatever he wants.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘To be safe in Bebbanburg,’ she said. ‘Not to go to sleep every night wondering where you are. And right now? I suspect he wants his son back. For all his faults he is fond of Uhtred.’

So that, I thought, was why she was talking to me without scorn or bitterness. She wanted to plead for her son. I sat on the far side of the fire and nudged the charred logs with a foot to make the small flames leap up. ‘He won’t be safe in Bebbanburg,’ I said, ‘while Cnut Ranulfson and Sigurd Thorrson live. They want Bebbanburg too, and one day they’ll try to capture it.’

‘But my husband’s priests say that Northumbria is fated to be Christian,’ she said, ‘so the Danes will be defeated. It’s the Christian god’s will.’

‘Are you a Christian?’ I asked.

‘They say I am,’ she said, ‘but I’m not sure. My husband insisted I was baptised and a priest put me in a barrel of water and pushed my head under. My husband laughed when they did that. Then they made me kiss Saint Oswald’s arm. It was dry and yellow.’

Saint Oswald. I had forgotten that new excitement that had been stirred by the abbot I had killed. Saint Oswald. He had been King of Northumbria in the old times. He had lived at Bebbanburg and ruled over all the north until he went to war with Mercia and was defeated in battle by a pagan king. The nailed god did not help him much that day, and his body was chopped to pieces, but because he was a saint as well as a king, people collected the butchered remains and preserved them. I knew that the saint’s left arm had been given to Lord Ælfric, and long before that I had helped escort Oswald’s severed head across the hills of the north.

‘The priests say that if Oswald’s body can be put together,’ Ingulfrid said, ‘then all the Saxon lands will be ruled by one lord. One king.’

‘Priests never stop talking nonsense.’

‘And Æthelred of Mercia begged Lord Ælfric for the arm,’ she went on, ignoring my comment.

That caught my interest. I looked up at her flame-lit face. ‘And what did Ælfric say?’

‘He said he would exchange the arm for your body.’

‘Truly?’

‘Truly.’

I laughed at that, then went silent as I thought. Æthelred wanted to reassemble the dead Oswald? Was that his ambition? To be king of all the Saxons? And did he believe the priestly nonsense that whoever possessed the corpse of Saint Oswald could not be defeated in battle? Legend claimed that most of Oswald’s body had been taken to a monastery in Mercia where the monks had refused to accept the relics because, they claimed, Oswald had been an enemy of their kingdom, but that night, while the corpse lay outside the monastery gates, a great light had pierced the heavens to shine on the body, and the column of light had persuaded the monks to accept the saint’s remains. The monastery had then been conquered by the Danes who had swallowed its lands into Northumbria, and Æthelred wanted to find that dry corpse? If I had ruled that part of Northumbria I would long ago have dug up the corpse, burned it and scattered its ashes to the winds. But presumably Æthelred believed the body still lay in its grave, but to claim the body he needed to fight against the Northumbrian lords. Did he plan a war against Cnut? East Anglia first, then Northumbria? That was madness. ‘You think Æthelred wants to invade Northumbria?’ I asked her.

‘He wants to be King of Mercia,’ Ingulfrid said.

He had always wanted that, but he had never dared defy Alfred, but Alfred had been dead these many years and Edward was king. Æthelred had fretted under Alfred and I could only imagine how he resented being in thrall to the younger Edward. And Æthelred was growing old like me, and he was thinking of his reputation. He did not want to be remembered as the vassal of Wessex, but as the King of Mercia, and the king moreover who had added East Anglia to Mercia’s lands. And why stop there? Why not invade Northumbria and become king of all the northern Saxons? And once he had added East Anglia’s thegns to his army, he would be strong enough to defy Cnut, and the possession of Saint Oswald’s body would convince the northern Christians that their nailed god was on Æthelred’s side and those Christians might well rise against their Danish lords. Æthelred would be remembered as the king who had made Mercia strong again, maybe even as the man who united all the Saxon kingdoms. He would set Britain ablaze to write his name in the chronicles of history.

And the biggest obstacle to that ambition was Cnut Ranulfson, Cnut Longsword, the man who wielded Ice-Spite. And Cnut’s wife and children were missing, presumably held hostage. I asked Ingulfrid if she had heard of their capture.

‘Of course I heard about it,’ she said, ‘all Britain knows of it.’ She paused. ‘Lord Ælfric thought you had taken them.’

‘Whoever took them,’ I said, ‘wanted folk to think that. They rode under my banner, but it wasn’t me.’

She gazed into the tiny flames. ‘Your cousin Æthelred stands to gain most from their capture,’ she said.

She was a clever woman, I realised, clever and subtle. My cousin, I thought, was a fool to despise her. ‘Æthelred didn’t do it,’ I said. ‘He isn’t that brave. He’s scared of Cnut. He wouldn’t risk Cnut’s anger, not yet, not till he’s far stronger.’

‘Someone did,’ she said.

Someone who benefited from Cnut’s inaction. Someone stupid enough to risk Cnut’s savage revenge. Someone clever enough to keep it secret. Someone who would do it on Æthelred’s behalf, presumably for a great reward in gold or land, and someone who would blame me.

And suddenly it was as though dry tinder had been thrown onto the dying embers. The realisation was like a blaze of light, bright as the shaft that had descended from the sky to shine on Oswald’s dismembered corpse. ‘Haesten,’ I said.

‘Haesten,’ Ingulfrid repeated the name as though she had known all along. I stared at her and she gazed back. ‘Who else?’ she asked simply.

‘But Haesten …’ I began, then fell silent.

Yes, Haesten was brave enough to defy Cnut, and treacherous enough to ally himself with Æthelred, but would he really risk Cnut’s revenge? Haesten was no fool. He had survived defeat after defeat, yet he always wriggled free. He had land and men, though not much and not many of either, yet he had them. And if he really had kidnapped Cnut’s wife he risked losing everything, his life chiefly, and that life would not end easily. It would be days of torture.

‘Haesten is everyone’s friend,’ Ingulfrid said softly.

‘Not mine,’ I put in.

‘And everyone’s enemy,’ she went on, ignoring my comment. ‘He survives by swearing loyalty to everyone stronger than himself. He keeps quiet, he lies like a dog on the hearth and he wags his tail when anyone comes close. He swears loyalty to Cnut and to Æthelred, but you know what the Christians say. No man can serve two masters.’

I frowned. ‘He serves Æthelred?’ I shook my head. ‘No, he’s an enemy. He serves Cnut. I know, I met him in Cnut’s hall.’

Ingulfrid smiled secretly, she paused, then asked. ‘Do you trust Haesten?’

‘Of course not.’

‘My father first came to Britain in Haesten’s service,’ she said, ‘and he left him to join Sigtrygg. He says Haesten is as trustworthy as a serpent. If he takes your hand, my father says, you should count your fingers.’

None of that was astonishing. ‘All true,’ I said, ‘but he’s weak, he needs Cnut’s protection.’

‘He does,’ she agrees, ‘but suppose he sent an envoy to Æthelred? A secret envoy?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘And Haesten offers to serve Æthelred,’ she continued, ‘by sending him news and by doing what services he can without arousing Cnut’s suspicion. And in return Æthelred promises not to attack Haesten.’

I thought about it, then nodded. ‘I’ve spent eight years wanting to attack Haesten,’ I said, ‘and Æthelred refuses to give me the men.’ Haesten occupied Ceaster, and that great Roman fortress would have protected Mercia’s northern lands from attacks by the Irish Norse or from the Danes and Norse in Cumbraland, yet Æthelred had refused to countenance an assault. I had thought his refusal was simply to deny me the chance of adding to my reputation, and so I had been forced to let my men just watch Ceaster to make sure Haesten caused no trouble.

Ingulfrid half frowned. She was still looking into the small flames as she spoke. ‘I don’t know if any of what I’m saying is true,’ she said, ‘but I remember hearing about Cnut’s wife and I instantly thought of Haesten. He’s treacherous and clever. He could persuade Æthelred that he is loyal, but Haesten will always serve the stronger man, not the weaker. He will be smiling at Æthelred, but licking Cnut’s backside, and Æthelred thinks Cnut dare not attack because his wife is a hostage, but …’ She paused and raised her head to look straight at me. ‘… just suppose that’s what Cnut and Haesten want Æthelred to think?’

I stared at her as I tried to comprehend what she was suggesting. It made sense. Cnut’s wife and children had never been captured at all, it was just a ruse to make Æthelred feel safe. I thought back to my meeting with Cnut. That would all have been part of the deception. He had seemed angry, but then he had turned friendly, and Haesten had been there, smiling his smirking smile all the time. And why had Cnut never swatted Haesten aside? Ceaster was a fort worth having for it controlled much of the traffic between Britain and Ireland, it lay between Mercia and Northumbria and between the Welsh and the Saxons, yet Cnut had allowed Haesten to keep it. Why? Because Haesten was useful? So was Ingulfrid right, and was Haesten hiding Cnut’s wife and children? And telling Æthelred that he had captured them and was holding them hostage? ‘So Cnut is deceiving Æthelred,’ I said slowly.

‘And if Æthelred feels safe to attack East Anglia?’ she asked me.

‘Then he’ll march,’ I said, ‘and the moment his troops have left Mercia the Danes will attack there.’

‘The Danes will attack Mercia,’ she agreed. ‘It’s probably happening now. Æthelred thinks he’s safe, and he’s been fooled. The Mercian army is in East Anglia, and Cnut and Sigurd are in Mercia, destroying, burning, stealing, raping, killing.’

I watched the fire die. There was grey light over the mainland now, a grey light touching the inner sea with its ghostly shimmer. Dawn, the coming of light, and it was flooding into my thoughts at the same time. ‘It makes sense,’ I said uncertainly.

‘Lord Ælfric had his spies everywhere,’ she said, ‘though he failed to find one in your household. But they were everywhere else and they sent their news to Bebbanburg. The men talked in the high hall and I listened. They never listened to me, but they let me hear. And sometimes my husband tells me things, if he’s not beating me.’

‘He beats you?’

She looked at me as though I was a fool. ‘I’m his wife,’ she said. ‘If I displease him of course he beats me.’

‘I’ve never beaten a woman.’

She smiled at that. ‘Lord Ælfric always said you were a fool.’

‘Maybe I am,’ I said, ‘but he was frightened of me.’

‘He was terrified,’ she agreed, ‘and with every breath he drew he cursed you and prayed for your death.’

And it was Ælfric, not I, who had gone to the Corpse-Ripper. I watched the grey light brighten. ‘Saint Oswald’s arm,’ I said, ‘Bebbanburg still has it?’

She nodded. ‘It’s kept in the chapel, in a silver box, but my husband wants to give it to Æthelred.’

‘To encourage him?’

‘Because Cnut wants him to give it.’

‘Ah,’ I said, understanding. Cnut was encouraging Æthelred to invade East Anglia, and Æthelred would do that if he thought he could gain the magical assistance of Saint Oswald’s body.

‘Bebbanburg is weak,’ Ingulfrid said. ‘The fortress itself isn’t weak. The fortress is hugely strong, and they can raise enough men to defend it against most enemies, but they daren’t provoke a really dangerous enemy. So they stay safe by being agreeable to their neighbours.’

‘Agreeable to the Danes.’

‘To the Danes,’ she said.

‘So your husband is like Haesten,’ I said, ‘he survives by lying low and wagging his tail.’

She hesitated a heartbeat, then nodded. ‘Yes.’

And Bebbanburg did not matter to the Danes. It mattered to me, but it was just an itch to the Danes. They wanted Bebbanburg, of course they did, but they wanted so much more. They wanted the rich fields, the slow rivers and thick woods of Mercia and Wessex. They wanted a country called Daneland. They wanted everything, and, while I was stranded on a Frisian beach, they were probably taking it.

And I thought of Æthelflaed. She was caught in the madness.

I did not know if that was true. At that moment, as the sun blazed the east red, I knew nothing of what happened in Britain. It was all surmise. For all I knew the long peace had continued and I was just imagining chaos, but instinct told me otherwise. And if instinct is not the voice of the gods, what is it?

But why should I care? The Christians had spurned me and burned my estate. They had driven me from Mercia and outlawed me to this barren sand dune. I owed them nothing. If I had any sense, I thought, I should go to Cnut and offer him my sword, and then carry it through all Mercia and all Wessex, carry it clear to the southern coast and crush the pious fools who had spat in my face. I would have the bishops and abbots and priests kneeling to me and begging for my mercy.

And I thought of Æthelflaed.

And knew what I must do.

‘So what do we do?’ Finan greeted me next morning.

‘Food,’ I said, ‘enough for three or four days at sea.’

He stared at me, surprised by the decisiveness in my voice, then nodded. ‘There’s plenty of fish and seal-meat,’ he said.

‘Smoke it,’ I ordered. ‘What about ale?’

‘We’ve enough for a week. We took two barrels out of Reinbôge.’

Poor Blekulf. I had left him, his son and his crewman at Bebbanburg. He wanted to salvage the Reinbôge, but I told him to abandon it. ‘Come with us,’ I had said.

‘Come with you where?’

‘Frisia,’ I had answered, and immediately regretted saying it. I had not been certain that Frisia would be my destination, though I could think of nowhere else to seek refuge. ‘Sooner or later,’ I had tried to cover my stupidity, ‘we’ll go to Frisia. I’m more likely to go to East Anglia first, but you can always get passage on a ship to Frisia from there.’

‘I’ll salvage Reinbôge,’ Blekulf had insisted stubbornly, ‘she’s not stranded too high.’ So he had stayed and I doubted he would have had time to refloat Reinbôge before my cousin’s men found him, nor did I doubt that Blekulf would reveal that I was heading towards Frisia.

We could have sailed that day, or at least the next day if we stocked Middelniht with enough food, but we needed two or three days to recover from the storm. Weapons and mail had got wet and needed to be scoured with sand to grind away the last specks of rust, and so I told Finan we would leave after three nights.

‘And where are we going?’ he asked.

‘To war,’ I said grandly. ‘We’ll give the poets something to sing about. We’ll wear their tongues out with singing! We’re going to war, my friend,’ I slapped Finan’s shoulder, ‘but right now I’m going to sleep. Keep the men busy, tell them they’re going to be heroes!’

The heroes had to work first. There were seals to kill, fish to catch, and wood to collect so that the meat of both, cut into thin strips, could be smoked. Green wood is best for smoking and we had none, so we mixed the parched driftwood with seaweed and lit the fires and let the smoke smear the sky.

Middelniht had to be pampered. I had little enough material to make any repairs, but she needed little, and so we checked all her lines, sewed a rent in her sail, and cleaned her hull at low tide. It was during the same low tides that I took a dozen men and planted withies in the sandbanks. That was hard work. We had to dig holes in sand that was covered by shallow water, and as soon as we dug a pit the water and sand flowed back in. We kept digging, scrabbling with bare hands and broken boards, then thrust a pole as deep as we could before filling the hole with rocks to hold the withy upright. There were no rocks among the dunes and islets, so we used ballast stones from Middelniht, so many that we replaced the stones with sand. She would float a little high, but I reckoned she would be safe. It took two days, but then the withies showed above water even at high tide and, though a handful canted in the current and a couple floated away altogether, the rest showed a path through the treacherous shallows to our island refuge. A path for an enemy to follow.

And an enemy did come. It was not Thancward. He knew we were back, and I saw his ship pass a couple of times, but he wanted no trouble and so ignored us. It was on our last day, a fine summer morning, that the ship arrived. She came just as we were leaving. We had burned the shelters, heaped our dried meat on board Middelniht, and now we hauled the anchor stone, put oars in tholes, and there she was, a ship come to fight.

She came from the west. We had been watching her approach and had seen the high, bright beast-head at her prow. The wind was westerly so she came under sail and as she drew nearer I saw the eagle pattern sewn into the thick sailcloth. A proud ship, a fine ship, and crammed with men whose helmets reflected back the sunlight.

To this day I do not know what ship that was or who commanded her. A Dane, I assume, and perhaps he was a Dane who wanted the reward my cousin promised to any man who killed me. Or perhaps he was just a passing predator who saw an easy capture, but whoever he was he saw our smaller ship and saw that Middelniht was trying to leave the islands, and he saw us row into the landward end of the channel I had marked with the rock-bolstered withies.

And he had me trapped. He was coming fast, driven by the wind in that rope-reinforced eagle-flaunting sail. All he needed to do was sail into the channel and slash his big hull down one of our flanks, snapping our oars, or else crash into us, hull against hull, and release his warriors into Middelniht’s belly where they would overwhelm us. And so they would, for his ship was twice the size of ours and his crew had more than twice our numbers.

I watched him come towards us as we rowed, and he was a fine sight. His dragon head was touched with gold, his eagle sail was woven with scarlet thread, and his banner on the masthead was a furl of sun-touched blue and gold. The water broke white at his prow. His men were mailed, armed, carrying shields and blades. He came for the kill, and he entered the marked channel and he could see we had no escape and I heard the roar of his men as they steeled themselves to our slaughter.

And then she struck.

The withies had led him onto a sandbank, which was why I had placed them so carefully.

She came, she struck, and the mast cracked and broke, so that the sail collapsed onto the bows and with it fell the heavy yard and splintered mast. Men were thrown forward by the impact as the heavy hull ground into the sand. One moment she had been a proud ship hunting prey, and now she was a wreck, her prow lifted by the sand and her hull filled with men struggling to their feet.

And I turned Middelniht’s steering oar so that we left the marked channel for the real channel, circling south around the sandbank where the proud ship was stranded. We rowed slowly, taunting that thwarted enemy, and as we passed her, just out of spear range, I waved a morning greeting to them.

Then we were at sea.

Ingulfrid and her son were close by me, Finan was beside me, my son and my men were at the oars. The sun shone on us, the water sparkled, the oar-blades dipped and we were gone.

Gone to make history.