Sword of Kings. Bernard Cornwell

uttered one word to that, then kicked a table. A Roman jug of blue glass fell and shattered, causing one of his wolfhounds to whine. He pointed a finger at me. ‘You must not go. I forbid it!’

      ‘Do you break your oaths, lord King?’ I asked.

      He snarled again, paced angrily on the tiled floor, then turned on me again. ‘When Edward dies,’ he said, ‘the Saxons will start fighting amongst themselves. True?’

      ‘Probably true,’ I said.

      ‘Then let them fight!’ Sigtryggr said. ‘Pray that the bastards kill each other! It’s none of our business. While they’re fighting each other they can’t fight us!’

      ‘And if Ælfweard wins,’ I pointed out, ‘he will attack us anyway.’

      ‘You think Æthelstan won’t? You think he won’t lead an army across our frontier?’

      ‘He promised not to. Not while I live.’

      ‘And that can’t be long,’ Sigtryggr said, making it sound like a threat.

      ‘And you’re married to his twin sister,’ I retorted.

      ‘You think that will stop him?’ Sigtryggr glared at me. He had first been married to my daughter, who had died defending Eoferwic, and after her death King Edward had forced the marriage between Sigtryggr and Eadgyth, threatening invasion if Sigtryggr refused, and Sigtryggr, assailed by other enemies, accepted. Edward claimed the marriage was a symbol of peace between the Saxon kingdoms and Norse-ruled Northumbria, but only a fool did not recognise that the real reason for the marriage was to place a Saxon Christian queen in what was enemy country. If Sigtryggr died then his son, my grandson, would be too young to rule, and the Danes and Norse would never accept the pious Eadgyth as their ruler, and in her stead they would place one of their own on Northumbria’s throne and thus give the Saxon kingdoms a reason to invade. They would claim they came to restore Eadgyth to her proper place, and so Northumbria, my country, would be swallowed by Wessex.

      And all that was true. Yet still I would travel south.

      I took an oath, not just to Æthelstan, but to Æthelflaed who had been King Alfred’s daughter and once my lover. I swore to protect Æthelstan and I swore to kill his enemies when Edward died. And if a man breaks an oath he has no honour. We might have much in this life. We might be born to wealth, to land, to success, and I had been given all those things, but when we die we go to the afterlife with nothing except reputation, and a man without honour has no reputation. I would keep my oath.

      ‘How many men are you taking?’ Sigtryggr asked me.

      ‘Just forty.’

      ‘Just forty!’ he echoed scornfully. ‘And what if Constantin of Scotland invades?’

      ‘He won’t. He’s too busy fighting Owain of Strath Clota.’

      ‘And the Norse in the west?’ he demanded.

      ‘We defeated them last year.’

      ‘And they have new leaders, there are more ships arriving!’

      ‘Then we’ll defeat them next year,’ I said.

      He sat again, and two of his wolfhounds came to be petted. ‘My younger brother came from Ireland,’ he said.

      ‘Brother?’ I asked. I had known Sigtryggr had a brother, but he had rarely been mentioned and I had thought he had stayed in Ireland.

      ‘Guthfrith,’ he said the name sourly. ‘He expects me to clothe and feed him.’

      I looked around the big chamber where men watched us. ‘He’s here?’

      ‘Probably in a whorehouse. You’re going south then?’ he asked grumpily. He looked old, I thought, yet he was younger than me. His once handsome face with its missing eye was creased, his hair was grey and lank, his beard thin. I had not seen his new queen in the palace, reports said that she spent much of her time in a convent she had established in the city. She had given Sigtryggr no child.

      ‘We’re going south,’ I confirmed.

      ‘Where the worst of the trouble comes from. But don’t travel through Lindcolne,’ he sounded unhappy.

      ‘No?’

      ‘There’s a report of the plague there.’

      Finan, standing beside me, crossed himself. ‘I’ll avoid Lindcolne,’ I said, raising my voice slightly. There were a dozen servants and household warriors within earshot and I wanted them to hear what I said. ‘We’ll take the western road through Mameceaster.’

      ‘Then come back soon,’ Sigtryggr said, ‘and come back alive.’

      He meant that, he just didn’t sound as if he meant it. We left next day.

      I had no intention of going south by any road, but I had wanted any listeners in Sigtryggr’s court to repeat my words. Æthelhelm had his spies in Sigtryggr’s court, and I wanted him watching the Roman roads that led south from Northumbria to Wessex.

      I had ridden to Eoferwic, knowing it was my duty to speak with Sigtryggr, but while we rode, Berg had taken Spearhafoc down the coast to a small harbour on the Humbre’s northern bank where he would be waiting for us.

      Early on the morning after my meeting with Sigtryggr, and feeling sour with the ale and wine of the night before, I led my five men out of the city. We rode south, but once out of sight of Eoferwic’s ramparts we turned eastwards and that evening we found Spearhafoc, manned by a crew of forty, riding at anchor on a falling tide. Next morning I sent six men to take our horses back to Bebbanburg while the rest of us took Spearhafoc to sea.

      Æthelhelm would hear that we had been in Eoferwic and would be told that we had left the city by the southern gate. He would probably assume I was heading for Mercia to join Æthelstan, but he would be puzzled that I travelled with only five companions. I wanted him to be nervous and to be watching all the wrong places.

      In the meantime I had told no one, not Eadith, not my son, not even Finan, what we were doing. Eadith and Finan had expected me to travel south on the news of Edward’s death, but, though the king still lived, I had left in a hurry. ‘What did that priest tell you?’ Finan asked as Spearhafoc coasted south under the summer wind.

      ‘He told me that I needed to go south.’

      ‘And what,’ Finan asked, ‘are we doing when we get there?’

      ‘I wish I knew.’

      He laughed at that. ‘Forty of us,’ he said, nodding at Spearhafoc’s crowded belly, ‘invading Wessex?’

      ‘More than forty,’ I said, then fell silent. I stared at the sun-glossed sea as it slid past Spearhafoc’s sleek hull. We could not have wished for a better day. We had a wind to drive us and a sea to carry us, and that sea was rippled by dazzling light, broken only by small frills of foam curling at the wave crests. That weather should have been a good omen, but I was assailed by unease. I had launched this voyage impulsively, seizing what I thought was an opportunity, but now the doubts were nagging me. I touched Thor’s hammer hanging at my neck. ‘The priest,’ I said to Finan, ‘brought me a message from Eadgifu.’

      For a moment he looked puzzled, then recognised the name. ‘Lavender tits!’

      I half smiled, remembering that I had once told Finan that Eadgifu’s breasts smelled of lavender. Eadith had told me that many women infused lavender into lanolin and smeared it on their cleavage. ‘Eadgifu has tits that smell like lavender,’ I confirmed to Finan, ‘and she asks for our help.’

      Finan stared at me. ‘Christ on his cross!’ he finally said. ‘What in God’s name are we doing?’

      ‘Going to find Eadgifu, of course,’ I said.

      He still stared at me. ‘Why us?’

      ‘Who else