War of the Wolf. Bernard Cornwell
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no monastery at Hwite,’ Æthelstan said. ‘I’d like to build one, but …’ his voice trailed away.
‘The bastard lied,’ I said vengefully, ‘I should have known!’
‘Known? How?’
‘He said Father Swithred walked south from here. How could he? The bridge was broken. And why send Swithred? You’d have sent a younger man.’
Æthelstan shivered. ‘Why would the monk lie? Maybe he just wanted to summon help.’
‘Summon help,’ I said scornfully. ‘No, the bastard wanted to get me away from Bebbanburg.’
‘So someone can attack it?’
‘No. Bebbanburg won’t fall.’ I had left my son in command, and he had twice as many warriors as he needed to hold that gaunt and forbidding fortress.
‘So someone wants you away from Bebbanburg,’ Æthelstan said firmly, ‘because so long as you’re in Bebbanburg they can’t reach you, but now? Now they can reach you.’
‘Then why let me come here?’ I asked. ‘If they wanted to kill me, then why wait till I’m among friends?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, and neither did I. The monk had lied, but for what reason I could not tell. It was a trap, plainly it was a trap, but who had set it, and why, were mysteries. Æthelstan stamped his feet, then beckoned me to accompany him across the street, where our footsteps made the first marks in the fresh snow. ‘Still,’ he went on, ‘I’m glad you did come.’
‘I didn’t need to.’
‘We were in no real danger,’ he agreed, ‘and my father would have sent relief in the spring.’
‘Would he?’
He ignored the savage disbelief in my voice. ‘Everything has changed in Wessex,’ he said mildly.
‘The new woman?’ I asked caustically, meaning King Edward’s new wife.
‘Who is my mother’s niece.’
That I had not known. What I did know was that King Edward had discarded his second wife and married a younger girl from Cent. The older wife was now in a convent. Edward claimed to be a good Christian, and Christians say that marriage is for life, but a hefty payment of gold or royal land would doubtless persuade the church that their doctrine was wrong, and the king could discard one woman and marry another. ‘So you’re now in favour, lord Prince?’ I asked. ‘You’re the heir again?’
He shook his head. Our footsteps squeaked in the new snow. He was leading me down an alley that would take us to the eastern gate. Two of his guards followed us, but not close enough to hear our conversation. ‘My father is still fond of Ælfweard, I’m told.’
‘Your rival,’ I said bitterly. I despised Ælfweard, Edward’s second son, who was a petulant piece of weasel shit.
‘My half-brother,’ Æthelstan said reprovingly, ‘whom I love.’
‘You do?’ For a moment he did not answer me. We were climbing the Roman steps to the eastern wall, where braziers warmed the sentries. We paused at the top, staring at the encampment of the defeated enemy. ‘You really love that little turd?’ I asked.
‘We are commanded to love one another.’
‘Ælfweard is despicable,’ I said.
‘He might make a good king,’ Æthelstan said quietly.
‘And I’ll be the next Archbishop of Contwaraburg.’
‘That would be interesting,’ he said, amused. I knew he despised Ælfweard as much as I did, but he was saying what it was his familial duty to say. ‘Ælfweard’s mother,’ he went on, ‘is out of favour, but her family is still wealthy, still strong, and they’ve sworn loyalty to the new woman.’
‘They have?’
‘Ælfweard’s uncle is the new ealdorman. He took Edward’s side, and did nothing to help his sister.’
‘Ælfweard’s uncle,’ I said savagely, ‘would whore his own mother to make Ælfweard king.’
‘Probably,’ Æthelstan agreed mildly.
I shivered, and it was not the cold. I shivered because in those words I sensed the trap. I still did not know why I had been lured across Britain, but I suspected I knew who had baited the trap. ‘I’m an old fool,’ I said.
‘And the sun will rise tomorrow.’
‘Lord Prince! Lord Prince!’ an excited voice interrupted us. A small warrior was running along the ramparts to greet us; a warrior small as a child, but dressed in mail, carrying a spear, and wearing a helmet decorated with red and white ribbons.
‘Sister Sunngifu,’ Æthelstan said fondly as the small figure dropped to her knees in front of him. He touched a gloved hand to her helmet and she smiled up at him adoringly. ‘This is the Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg,’ he introduced me, ‘and Sister Sunngifu,’ he was talking to me now, ‘raised a band of fifty women who stand guard on the ramparts to give my warriors a chance to rest and to deceive the enemy of our numbers. The deception worked well!’
Sunngifu moved her gaze to me, offering a dazzling smile. ‘I know the Lord Uhtred, lord Prince,’ she said.
‘Of course you do,’ Æthelstan said, ‘I remember now, you told me.’
Sunngifu was smiling as if she had waited half her life to greet me. I saw she was wearing a nun’s grey habit beneath the mail coat and thick cloak. I reached down and gently lifted the ribbon-decked helmet just enough to see her forehead, and there was the small reddish birthmark, shaped like an apple, the only disfigurement on one of the most beautiful women I have ever known. She was looking up at me with amusement. ‘It’s good to see you again, lord,’ she said humbly.
‘Hello, Mus,’ I said.
The little warrior was Mus, Sunngifu, Sister Gomer, bishop’s widow, whore and troublemaker.
And damn the trap, I was suddenly happy to be in Ceaster.
‘So, you remember Sister Sunngifu?’ Æthelstan asked me. We had left the ramparts and were leaving the city through the eastern gate, going to inspect the sentries who guarded the enemy trapped in the arena. It was cold, snow made the ground treacherous, and Æthelstan must have been tempted to stay in the great hall’s warmth, but he was doing what he knew should be done; sharing his men’s discomfort.
‘Sunngifu is difficult to forget,’ I said. A dozen of Æthelstan’s guards now followed us. Within a quarter mile there were hundreds of defeated enemy, though I expected no trouble from them. They had been cowed, and now sheltered in their makeshift hovels waiting to see what the morning brought. ‘I’m surprised she became a nun,’ I added.
‘She’s not a nun,’ Æthelstan said, ‘she’s a novice when she’s not pretending to be a soldier.’
‘I always thought she’d marry again,’ I went on.
‘Not if she’s called to God’s service.’
I laughed at that. ‘Her beauty is wasted on your god.’
‘Beauty,’ he said stiffly, ‘is the devil’s snare.’
The fires we had placed around the arena lit his face. It was tight, almost angry. He had asked me about Sunngifu, but now it was plain he was uncomfortable talking of her. ‘And how,’ I asked mischievously, ‘is Frigga?’ Frigga was a young girl I had captured near Ceaster some years before and had given to Æthelstan. ‘She’s a beauty, I remember,’ I went on, ‘I almost kept her for myself.’
‘You’re