The Last Kingdom Series Books 4-6: Sword Song, The Burning Land, Death of Kings. Bernard Cornwell
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unfaithful,’ the bishop spoke louder, his grating voice repeated by the echo, ‘he shall bring her before the priest! And he shall bring an offering!’ He stared pointedly at Æthelred who was dressed in a pale green cloak over a full coat of mail. He even wore his swords, something most priests would never allow in a church. ‘An offering!’ the bishop repeated.
Æthelred started as if he had been woken from a half-sleep. He fumbled in a pouch hanging from his sword belt and produced a small bag that he held towards the bishop. ‘Barley,’ he said.
‘As the Lord God commanded it,’ Erkenwald responded, but did not take the offered barley.
‘And silver,’ Æthelred added, hurriedly taking a second bag from his pouch.
Erkenwald took the two offerings and laid them in front of the crucifix. He bowed to the bright-gleaming image of his nailed god, then picked up the big book again. ‘This is the word of the Lord,’ he said fiercely, ‘that we take holy water in an earthen vessel, and of the dust that is on the floor of the tabernacle the priest shall take, and he shall put that dust in the water.’
The book was put back on the altar as a priest offered the bishop a crude pottery cup that evidently held holy water, for Erkenwald bowed to it, then stooped to the floor and scraped up a handful of dirt and dust. He poured the dirt into the water, then placed the cup on the altar before taking up the book again.
‘I charge thee, woman,’ he said savagely, looking from the book to Æthelflaed, ‘if no man hath lain with thee, and if thou hast not gone aside to uncleanness with another man instead of thy husband, then be thou free of the curse of this bitter water!’
‘Amen,’ one of the priests said.
‘The word of the Lord!’ another said.
‘But if thou hast gone aside to another man,’ Erkenwald spat the words as he read them, ‘and be defiled, then the Lord shall make thy thigh to rot and thy belly to swell.’ He put the book back on the altar. ‘Speak, woman.’
Æthelflaed just stared at the bishop. She said nothing. Her eyes were wide with fear.
‘Speak, woman!’ The bishop snarled. ‘You know what words you must say! So say them!’
Æthelflaed seemed too frightened to speak. Aldhelm whispered something to Æthelred who nodded, but did nothing. Aldhelm whispered again, and again Æthelred nodded, and this time Aldhelm took a pace forward and hit Æthelfaed. It was not a hard blow, just a slap around the head, but it was enough to force me to take an involuntary step forward. Gisela snatched my arm, checking me. ‘Speak, woman,’ Aldhelm ordered Æthelflaed.
‘Amen,’ Æthelflaed managed to whisper, ‘amen.’
Gisela’s hand was still on my arm. I patted her fingers as a signal that I was calm. I was angry, I was astonished, but I was calm. I stroked Gisela’s hand, then dropped my fingers to Serpent-Breath’s hilt.
Æthelflaed had evidently spoken the right words because Bishop Erkenwald took the earthen cup from the altar. He raised it high in front of the crucifix, as if showing it to his god, then he carefully poured a little of its dust-fouled water into a silver chalice. He held the pottery cup high again, then ceremoniously offered it to Æthelflaed. ‘Drink the bitter water,’ he ordered her.
Æthelflaed hesitated, then saw Aldhelm’s mailed arm ready to strike her again and so she obediently reached for the cup. She took it, held it poised by her mouth for a brief moment, then closed her eyes, screwed up her face and drank the contents. The men watched intently, making certain she drained the cup. The candle flames flickered in a draught from the smoke-hole in the roof and somewhere in the city a dog suddenly howled. Gisela was clutching my arm now, her fingers tight as claws.
Erkenwald took the cup and, when he was satisfied that it was empty, nodded to Æthelred. ‘She drank it,’ the bishop confirmed. Æthelflaed’s face glistened where her tears reflected the wavering light from the altar on which, I now saw, was a quill pen, a pot of ink and a piece of parchment. ‘What I do now,’ Erkenwald said solemnly, ‘is in accordance with the word of God.’
‘Amen,’ the priests said. Æthelred was watching his wife as if he expected her flesh to start rotting before his eyes, while Æthelflaed herself was trembling so much that I thought she might collapse.
‘God commands me to write the curses down,’ the bishop announced, then bent to the altar. The quill scratched for a long time. Æthelred was still staring intently at Æthelflaed. The priests also watched her as the bishop scratched on. ‘And having written the curses,’ Erkenwald said, capping the ink pot, ‘I wipe them out according to the commands of Almighty God, our Father in heaven.’
‘Hear the word of the Lord,’ a priest said.
‘Praise his name,’ another said.
Erkenwald picked up the silver chalice into which he had poured a small amount of the dirty water and dribbled the contents onto the newly written words. He scrubbed at the ink with a finger, then held up the parchment to show that the writing had been smeared into oblivion. ‘It is done,’ he said pompously, then nodded at the grey-haired woman. ‘Do your duty!’ he commanded her.
The old, bitter-faced woman stepped to Æthelflaed’s side. The girl shrank away, but Aldhelm seized her by the shoulders. Æthelflaed shrieked in terror, and Aldhelm’s response was to cuff her hard around the head. I thought Æthelred must respond to that assault on his wife by another man, but he evidently approved for he did nothing except watch as Aldhelm took Æthelflaed by her shoulders again. He held her motionless as the old woman stooped to seize the hem of Æthelflaed’s linen shift. ‘No!’ Æthelflaed protested in a wailing, despairing voice.
‘Show her to us!’ Erkenwald snapped. ‘Show us her thighs and her belly!’
The woman obediently lifted the shift to reveal Æthelflaed’s thighs.
‘Enough!’ I shouted that word.
The woman froze. The priests were stooping to gaze at Æthelflaed’s bare legs and waiting for the dress to be lifted to reveal her belly. Aldhelm still held her by the shoulders, while the bishop was gaping towards the shadows at the church door from where I had spoken. ‘Who is that?’ Erkenwald demanded.
‘You evil bastards,’ I said as I walked forward, my steps echoing from the stone walls, ‘you filthy earslings.’ I remember my anger from that night, a cold and savage fury that had driven me to intervene without thinking of the consequences. My wife’s priests all preach that anger is a sin, but a warrior who does not have anger is no true warrior. Anger is a spur, it is a goad, it overcomes fear to make a man fight, and I would fight for Æthelflaed that night. ‘She is a king’s daughter,’ I snarled, ‘so drop the dress!’
‘You will do as God tells you,’ Erkenwald snarled at the woman, but she dared neither drop the hem nor raise it further.
I pushed my way through the stooping priests, kicking one in the arse so hard that he pitched forward onto the dais at the bishop’s feet. Erkenwald had seized his staff, its silver finial curved like a shepherd’s crook, and he swung it towards me, but checked his swing when he saw my eyes. I drew Serpent-Breath, her long steel scraping and hissing on the scabbard’s throat. ‘You want to die?’ I asked Erkenwald, and he heard the menace in my voice and his shepherd’s staff slowly went down. ‘Drop the dress,’ I told the woman. She hesitated. ‘Drop it, you filthy bitch-hag,’ I snarled, then sensed the bishop had moved and whipped Serpent-Breath around so that her blade shimmered just beneath his throat. ‘One word, bishop,’ I said, ‘just one word, and you meet your god here and now. Gisela!’ I called, and Gisela came to the altar. ‘Take the hag,’ I told her, ‘and take Æthelflaed, and see whether her belly has swollen or whether her thighs have rotted. Do it in decent privacy. And you!’ I turned the blade so that it pointed at Aldhelm’s scarred face, ‘take your hands off King Alfred’s daughter, or I will hang you from Lundene’s bridge and the birds will peck out your eyes and eat your tongue.’ He let go of Æthelflaed.
‘You