The Pagan Lord. Bernard Cornwell
Читать онлайн книгу.
from the two of us. The hall was large enough to hold all Cnut’s warriors and my men, while at the farther end, a long way from the fire and close to the main door, two tables had been provided for cripples and beggars. ‘They get what’s left over,’ Cnut explained.
The cripples and beggars ate well because Cnut gave us a feast that night. There were haunches of roasted horse, platters of beans and onions, fat trout and perch, newly baked bread, and big helpings of the blood puddings I liked so much, all served with ale that was surprisingly good. He served the first horn to me himself, then stared morosely to where my men mixed with his. ‘I don’t use this hall much,’ he said, ‘it’s too close to you stinking Saxons.’
‘Maybe I should burn it for you?’ I suggested.
‘Because I burned your hall?’ That thought seemed to cheer him. ‘Burning your hall was a revenge for Sea Slaughterer,’ he said, grinning. Sea Slaughterer had been his prized ship, and I had turned her into a scorched wreck. ‘You bastard,’ he said, and touched his ale-horn to mine. ‘So what happened to your other son? Did he die?’
‘He became a Christian priest, so, as far as I’m concerned, yes he died.’
He laughed at that, then pointed to Uhtred, ‘And that one?’
‘Is a warrior,’ I said.
‘He looks like you. Let’s hope he doesn’t fight like you. Who’s the other boy?’
‘Æthelstan,’ I said, ‘King Edward’s son.’
Cnut frowned at me. ‘You bring him here? Why shouldn’t I hold the little bastard as a hostage?’
‘Because he is a bastard,’ I said.
‘Ah,’ he said, understanding, ‘so he won’t be King of Wessex?’
‘Edward has other sons.’
‘I hope my son holds onto my lands,’ Cnut said, ‘and perhaps he will. He’s a good boy. But the strongest should rule, Lord Uhtred, not the one who slides out from between a queen’s legs.’
‘The queen might think differently.’
‘Who cares what wives think?’ He spoke carelessly, but I suspected he lied. He did want his son to inherit his lands and fortune. We all do, and I felt a shiver of rage at the thought of Father Judas. But at least I had a second son, a good son, while Cnut had only one, and the boy was missing. Cnut cut into a haunch of horsemeat and held a generous portion towards me. ‘Why don’t your men eat horse?’ he asked. He had noticed how many had left the meat untouched.
‘Their god won’t allow it,’ I said.
He looked at me as if judging whether I made a joke. ‘Truly?’
‘Truly. They have a supreme wizard in Rome,’ I explained, ‘a man called the pope, and he said Christians aren’t permitted to eat horse.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we sacrifice horses to Odin and Thor and eat the meat. So they won’t.’
‘All the more for us,’ Cnut said. ‘A pity their god doesn’t teach them to leave women alone.’ He laughed. He had always been fond of jokes and surprised me by telling one now. ‘You know why farts smell?’
‘I don’t.’
‘So the deaf can enjoy them too.’ He laughed again and I wondered why a man who was so bitter about his missing wife and children could be so light-hearted. And perhaps he read my thoughts because he suddenly looked serious. ‘So who took my wife and children?’
‘I don’t know.’
He tapped the table with his fingertips. ‘My enemies,’ he said after a few heartbeats, ‘are all the Saxons, the Norse in Ireland, and the Scots. So it’s one of those.’
‘Why not another Dane?’
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ he said confidently. ‘And I think they were Saxons.’
‘Why?’
‘Someone heard them speaking. She said they spoke your foul tongue.’
‘There are Saxons serving the Norse,’ I said.
‘Not many. So who took them?’
‘Someone who’ll use them as hostages,’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘Not me.’
‘For some reason,’ he said, ‘I believe you. Maybe I’m getting old and gullible, but I’m sorry I burned your hall and blinded your priest.’
‘Cnut Longsword apologises?’ I asked in mock astonishment.
‘I must be getting old,’ he said.
‘You stole my horses too.’
‘I’ll keep those.’ He stabbed a knife into a hunk of cheese, cut off a lump, then gazed down the hall, which was lit by a great central hearth round which a dozen dogs slept. ‘Why haven’t you taken Bebbanburg?’ he asked.
‘Why haven’t you?’
He acknowledged that with a curt nod. Like all the northern Danes he lusted after Bebbanburg, and I knew he must have wondered how it could be captured. He shrugged. ‘I’d need four hundred men,’ he said.
‘You have four hundred. I don’t.’
‘And even then they’ll die crossing that neck of land.’
‘And if I’m to capture it,’ I told him, ‘I’d have to lead four hundred men through your land, through Sigurd Thorrson’s land, and then face my uncle’s men on that neck.’
‘Your uncle is old. I hear he’s sick.’
‘Good.’
‘His son will hold it. Better him than you.’
‘Better?’
‘He’s not the warrior you are,’ Cnut said. He gave the compliment grudgingly, not looking at me as he spoke. ‘If I do you a favour,’ he went on, still gazing at the great fire in the hearth, ‘will you do one for me?’
‘Probably,’ I said cautiously.
He slapped the table, startling four hounds who had been sleeping beneath the board, then beckoned to one of his men. The man stood; Cnut pointed at the hall door and the man obediently went into the night. ‘Find out who took my wife and children,’ Cnut said.
‘If it’s a Saxon,’ I said, ‘I can probably do that.’
‘Do it,’ he said harshly, ‘and perhaps help me get them back.’ He paused, his pale eyes staring down the hall. ‘I hear your daughter’s pretty?’
‘I think so.’
‘Marry her to my son.’
‘Stiorra must be ten years older than Cnut Cnutson.’
‘So? He’s not marrying her for love, you idiot, but for an alliance. You and I, Lord Uhtred, we could take this whole island.’
‘What would I do with this whole island?’
He half smiled. ‘You’re on that bitch’s leash, aren’t you?’
‘Bitch?’
‘Æthelflaed,’ he said curtly.
‘And who holds Cnut Longsword’s leash?’ I asked.
He laughed at that, but did not answer. Instead he jerked his head towards the hall door. ‘And there’s your other bitch. She wasn’t harmed.’
The man dispatched by Cnut had fetched Sigunn, who stopped just inside the door and looked around warily, then saw me on Cnut’s dais. She ran up the hall, round the