The Empty Throne. Bernard Cornwell
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Saint Cuthbert, though it was not till we were inside the city that I discovered why Æthelflaed had thought that date so important. Father Fraomar had spurred ahead to announce our arrival, and the bells of the city’s churches were ringing to greet us, and a small crowd was waiting at the gate’s arch. I unfurled our banners: my own wolf’s head, the flag of Saint Oswald, Æthelred’s white horse, and Æthelflaed’s goose. Haki’s banner was carried by Godric, my servant, who dragged it on the wet road. Our small procession was led by one cart of plunder, then came the child prisoners, then Haki who was tied by rope to the tail of Godric’s horse. The second cart brought up the rear, while my warriors rode on either side of the column. It was a petty display. After Teotanheale we had dragged over twenty wagons of plunder through the city, along with prisoners, captured horses, and a dozen enemy banners, but even my small procession gave the citizens of Gleawecestre something to celebrate and we were cheered all the way from the north gate to the entrance of Æthelred’s palace. A pair of priests hurled horse dung at Haki and the crowds took up the sport as small boys ran alongside jeering at the man.
And there, waiting for us at Æthelred’s gate, was Eardwulf, the commander of Lord Æthelred’s household troops and brother to Eadith, the woman who slept with Lord Æthelred. Eardwulf was clever, handsome, ambitious and effective. He had led Æthelred’s troops against the Welsh and done much damage, and men said he had fought well at Teotanheale. ‘His power,’ my father had told me, ‘comes from between his sister’s thighs, but don’t underestimate him. He’s dangerous.’
The dangerous Eardwulf was in a coat of mail, polished to a bright shine, and wearing a dark blue cloak edged with otter fur. He was bare-headed and his dark hair was oiled sleekly back to be tied by a brown ribbon. His sword, a heavy blade, was scabbarded in soft leather trimmed with gold. He was flanked by a pair of priests and by a half-dozen of his men, all wearing Æthelred’s symbol of the white horse. He smiled when he saw us. I saw his eyes flick towards Æthelflaed’s standard as he sauntered towards us. ‘Going to market, Lord Uhtred?’ he asked.
‘Slaves, armour, swords, spears, axes,’ I said, ‘do you want to buy?’
‘And him?’ He jerked a thumb towards Haki.
I twisted in my saddle. ‘Haki, a Norse chieftain who thought to make himself rich from Mercia.’
‘Are you selling him too?’
‘Hanging him,’ I said, ‘slowly. My lady wanted us to hang him right here.’
‘Your lady?’
‘Yours too,’ I said, knowing that would annoy him, ‘the Lady Æthelflaed.’
If he was annoyed he did not show it, instead he smiled again. ‘She has been busy,’ he said lightly, ‘and is she planning to be here as well?’
I shook my head. ‘She has work in the north.’
‘And I thought she would be here for the Witan in two days,’ he said sarcastically.
‘Witan?’ I asked.
‘It’s none of your business,’ he said tartly. ‘You are not invited.’
But the Witan, I noted, was to be held on Saint Cuthbert’s feast day and that was surely why Æthelflaed had wanted us to arrive before the great men of Mercia met in council. She was reminding them that she fought their enemies.
Eardwulf walked to Haki, looked him up and down, then turned back to me. ‘I see you fly the Lord Æthelred’s banner.’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘And in the skirmish where you captured this creature,’ he nodded towards Haki, ‘did you fly it there too?’
‘Whenever my lady fights for Mercia,’ I said, ‘she flies her husband’s banner.’
‘Then the prisoners and the plunder belong to Lord Æthelred,’ Eardwulf said.
‘I’m ordered to sell them,’ I said.
‘Are you?’ He laughed. ‘Well now you have new orders. They all belong to Lord Æthelred so you will give them to me.’ He gazed at me, daring me to contradict him. I must have looked belligerent because his men half lowered their spears.
Father Fraomar had reappeared and darted to the side of my horse. ‘No fighting,’ he hissed at me.
‘My Lord Uhtred would not dream of drawing a sword against Lord Æthelred’s household warriors,’ Eardwulf said. He beckoned to his men. ‘Take it all inside,’ he ordered, indicating carts, plunder, Haki, and the slaves, ‘and do thank the Lady Æthelflaed,’ he was looking at me again, ‘for her little contribution to her husband’s treasury.’
I watched his men take the plunder and slaves through the gateway. Eardwulf smiled when it was done, then gave me a mocking smile. ‘And the Lady Æthelflaed,’ he asked, ‘has no desire to attend the Witan?’
‘She’s invited?’ I asked.
‘Of course not, she’s a woman. But she might be curious about the Witan’s decisions.’
He was trying to discover whether Æthelflaed would be in Gleawecestre. I half thought of saying I had no idea what she planned, then decided to tell the truth. ‘She won’t be here,’ I said, ‘because she’s busy. She’s making a burh on the Mærse.’
‘Oh, a burh on the Mærse!’ he repeated, then laughed.
The gates closed behind him.
‘Bastard,’ I said.
‘He had the right,’ Father Fraomar explained, ‘the Lord Æthelred is the husband of the Lady Æthelflaed, so what is hers is his.’
‘Æthelred’s an unwiped pig-sucking bastard,’ I said, staring at the closed gates.
‘He is the Lord of Mercia,’ Father Fraomar said uneasily. He was a supporter of Æthelflaed, but he sensed that her husband’s death would strip her of both power and influence.
‘Whatever the bastard is,’ Sihtric put in, ‘he won’t offer us any ale.’
‘Ale is a good idea,’ I growled.
‘The redhead at the Wheatsheaf, then?’ he asked, then grinned. ‘Unless you’re going to learn more about farming?’
I grinned back. My father had given me a farm north of Cirrenceastre, saying I should learn husbandry. ‘A man should know as much about crops, pasture and cattle as his steward knows,’ my father had growled to me, ‘otherwise the bastard will cheat you blind.’ He had been pleased at the number of days I spent at the estate, though I confess I had learned almost nothing about crops, pasture or cattle, but I had learned a great deal about the young widow to whom I had given the farm’s great hall as her home.
‘The Wheatsheaf for now,’ I said and kicked Hearding down the street. And tomorrow, I thought, I would ride to my widow.
The tavern’s sign was a great wooden carving of a wheatsheaf and I rode beneath it into the rain-soaked courtyard and let a servant take the horse. Father Fraomar, I knew, was right. The Lord Æthelred did have the legal right to take whatever belonged to his wife because nothing belonged to her that was not his, yet still Eardwulf’s action had surprised me. Æthelred and Æthelflaed had lived for years in a state of warfare, though it was war without fighting. He had the legal power in Mercia while she had the love of the Mercians. It would have been easy enough for Æthelred to order his wife’s arrest and captivity, but her brother was the King of Wessex, and Mercia only survived because the West Saxons came to its rescue whenever enemies pressed too hard. And so husband and wife hated each other, tolerated each other, and pretended that no feud existed, which was why Æthelflaed took such care to fly her husband’s banner.
I was daydreaming of taking revenge on Eardwulf as I ducked through the tavern’s door. I was dreaming of gutting him or beheading him or listening to his pleas for mercy while I held Raven-Beak at his throat. The bastard, I thought, the snivelling,