The Last Kingdom Series Books 1–8: The Last Kingdom, The Pale Horseman, The Lords of the North, Sword Song, The Burning Land, Death of Kings, The Pagan Lord, The Empty Throne. Bernard Cornwell
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thought to protect himself,’ Harald said, ‘and sent me to the Tamur.’
The Tamur was the river which divided Wessex from Cornwalum. ‘The Britons are quiet?’ I asked.
‘Their priests are telling them not to fight us.’
‘But priests or no priests,’ I said, ‘they’ll cross the river if the Danes look like winning.’
‘Aren’t they winning already?’ Harald asked bitterly.
‘We’re still free men,’ I said.
He nodded at that. Behind us, in the town, a dog began howling and he turned as if the noise indicated trouble, but the howling stopped with a sharp yelp. He kicked a stone in the road. ‘Svein frightens me,’ he admitted suddenly.
‘He’s a frightening man,’ I agreed.
‘He’s clever,’ Harald said, ‘clever, strong and savage.’
‘A Dane,’ I said drily.
‘A ruthless man,’ Harald went on.
‘He is,’ I agreed, ‘and do you think that after you have fed him, supplied him with horses and given him shelter, he will leave you alone?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘but Odda believes that.’
Then Odda was a fool. He was nursing a wolf cub that would tear him to shreds when it was strong enough. ‘Why didn’t Svein march north to join Guthrum?’ I asked.
‘I wouldn’t know.’
But I knew. Guthrum had been in England for years now. He had tried to take Wessex before, and he had failed, but now, on the very brink of success, he had paused. Guthrum the Unlucky, he was called, and I suspected he had not changed. He was wealthy, led many men, but he was cautious. Svein, though, came from the Norsemen’s settlements in Ireland and was a very different creature. He was younger than Guthrum, less wealthy than Guthrum, and led fewer men, but he was undoubtedly the better warrior. Now, bereft of his ships, he was weakened, but he had persuaded Odda the Younger to give him refuge and he gathered his strength so that when he did meet Guthrum he would not be a defeated leader in need of help, but a spear-Dane of power. Svein, I thought, was a far more dangerous man than Guthrum, and Odda the Younger was only making him more dangerous.
‘Tomorrow,’ I said, ‘we must start raising the fyrd. Those are the king’s orders.’
Harald nodded. I could not see his face in the darkness, but I sensed he was not happy, yet he was a sensible man and must have known that Svein had to be driven out of the shire. ‘I shall send the messages,’ he said, ‘but Odda might stop the fyrd assembling. He’s made his truce with Svein and he won’t want me breaking it. Folk will obey him before they obey me.’
‘And what of his father?’ I asked. ‘Will they obey him?’
‘They will,’ he said, ‘but he’s a sick man. You saw that. It’s a miracle he lives at all.’
‘Maybe because my wife nurses him?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and fell silent. There was something odd in the air now, something unexpressed, a discomfort. ‘Your wife nurses him well,’ he finished awkwardly.
‘He’s her godfather,’ I said.
‘So he is.’
‘It is good to see her,’ I said, not because I meant it, but because it was the proper thing to say and I could think of nothing else. ‘And it will be good to see my son,’ I added with more warmth.
‘Your son,’ Harald said flatly.
‘He’s here, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’ Harald flinched. He turned away to look at the moon and I thought he would say no more, but then he summoned his courage and looked back to me. ‘Your son, Lord Uhtred,’ he said, ‘is in the churchyard.’
It took a few heartbeats for that to make sense, and then it did not make any sense at all, but left me confused. I touched my hammer amulet. ‘In the churchyard?’
‘It is not my place to tell you.’
‘But you will tell me,’ I said, and my voice sounded like Steapa’s growl.
Harald stared at the moon-touched river, silver-white beneath the black trees. ‘Your son died,’ he said. He waited for my response, but I neither moved nor spoke. ‘He choked to death.’
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