Death of Kings_ A Novel - Bernard Cornwell [102]
‘Horses?’ Swithwulf asked, puzzled, then realised why I had asked the unexpected question. ‘They send them to market in Frankia. We breed good horses here.’
‘You do?’
‘Ealdorman Sigelf does,’ he said.
‘And Sigelf rules here,’ I said, ‘and his son talks to the Danes.’
The bishop shuddered. ‘So you say,’ he said cautiously.
I turned to him. ‘And his son was in love with your daughter,’ I said, ‘and for that reason hates Edward.’
‘Dear God,’ Swithwulf said quietly and made the sign of the cross. There were tears in his eyes. ‘She was a silly girl, a silly girl, but joyous.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
He blinked away the tears. ‘And you look after my grandchildren?’
‘They’re in my care, yes.’
‘I hear the boy is sickly,’ he sounded anxious.
‘That’s just a rumour,’ I reassured him. ‘They’re both healthy, but it’s better for their health if Ealdorman Æthelhelm believes the contrary.’
‘Æthelhelm’s not a bad man,’ the bishop said grudgingly.
‘But he’d still cut your grandchildren’s throats if he had the chance.’
Swithwulf nodded. ‘What colour do they have?’
‘The boy’s dark like his father, the girl is fair.’
‘Like my daughter,’ he said in a whisper.
‘Who married the ætheling of Wessex,’ I said, ‘who now denies it. And Sigebriht, her rejected lover, went to the Danes out of hatred for Edward.’
‘Yes,’ the bishop said quietly.
‘But then swore an oath to Edward when Æthelwold fled north.’
Swithwulf nodded. ‘I heard.’
‘Can he be trusted?’
The directness of the question unsettled Swithwulf. He frowned and shifted uncomfortably, then gazed through a window to where crows where loud on the grass. ‘I would not trust him,’ he said softly.
‘I couldn’t hear you, bishop.’
‘I would not trust him,’ he said more loudly.
‘But his father is ealdorman here, not Sigebriht.’
‘Sigelf is a difficult man,’ the bishop said, his voice low again, ‘but not a fool.’ He looked at me with unhappy appeal. ‘I’ll deny this conversation,’ he said.
‘Have you heard us having a conversation?’ I asked Finan.
‘Not a word,’ he said.
We stayed that night in Hrofeceastre and next day went back to Lundene on the flooding tide. There was a chill on the water, the first taste of autumn coming, and I rousted my men from the new town’s taverns and saddled horses. I was deliberately staying away from Fagranforda because it was so close to Natangrafum and so I took my small troop south and west along familiar roads until we reached Wintanceaster.
Edward was surprised and pleased to see me. He knew I had not been in Fagranforda for most of the summer so did not ask me about the twins, instead telling me that his sister had sent news of them. ‘They’re well,’ he said. He invited me to a feast. ‘We don’t serve my father’s food,’ he assured me.
‘That’s a blessing, lord,’ I said. Alfred had ever served insipid meals of weak broths and limp vegetables, while Edward, at least, knew the virtues of meat. His new wife was there, plump and pregnant, while her father, Ealdorman Æthelhelm, was plainly Edward’s most trusted counsellor. There were fewer priests than in Alfred’s day, but at least a dozen were at the feast, including my old friend Willibald.
Æthelhelm greeted me jovially. ‘We feared you’d be provoking the Danes,’ he said.
‘Who? Me?’
‘They’re quiet,’ Æthelhelm said, ‘and best not to wake them.’
Edward looked at me. ‘Would you wake them?’ he asked.
‘What I would do, lord,’ I told him, ‘is send a hundred of your best warriors to Cent. Then I’d send another two or three hundred to Mercia and build burhs there.’
‘Cent?’ Æthelhelm asked.
‘Cent is restless,’ I said.
‘They’ve always been troublesome,’ Æthelhelm said dismissively, ‘but they hate the Danes as much as the rest of us.’
‘The Centish fyrd must protect Cent,’ Edward said.
‘And Lord