Death of Kings_ A Novel - Bernard Cornwell [73]
‘And I go with you, lord King,’ I said.
‘Why?’ Æthelred blurted the question before he had the sense or time to think what he was asking. The king and the ealdormen looked embarrassed.
I let the question hang till its echo had faded, then smiled. ‘To protect the honour of the king’s sister, of course,’ I said, and I was still laughing when we rode out.
It took time, it always takes time. Horses had to be saddled, mail donned and banners fetched, and while the royal housecarls readied themselves I went with Osferth to Saint Hedda’s where Abbess Hildegyth was in tears. ‘He said she was wanted at the church,’ she explained to me, ‘that the family was praying together for her father’s soul.’
‘You did nothing wrong,’ I told her.
‘But he’s taken her!’
‘He won’t hurt her,’ I reassured her.
‘But…’ her voice faded, and I knew she was remembering the shame of being raped by the Danes so many years before.
‘She’s Alfred’s daughter,’ I said, ‘and he wants her help, not her enmity. Her support gives him legitimacy.’
‘She’s still a hostage,’ Hild said.
‘Yes, but we’ll get her back.’
‘How?’
I touched Serpent-Breath’s hilt, showing Hild the silver cross embedded in the pommel, a cross she had given me so long ago. ‘With this,’ I said, meaning the sword, not the cross.
‘You shouldn’t wear a sword in a nunnery,’ she said with mock sternness.
‘There are many things I shouldn’t do in a nunnery,’ I told her, ‘but I did most of them anyway.’
She sighed. ‘What does Æthelwold hope to gain?’
Osferth answered. ‘He hopes to persuade her that he should be the king. And he hopes she will persuade Lord Uhtred to support him.’ He glanced at me and, at that moment, looked astonishingly like his father. ‘I’ve no doubt,’ he went on drily, ‘he’ll offer to make it possible for the Lord Uhtred and the Lady Æthelflaed to marry, and will probably hold out the throne of Mercia as an enticement. He doesn’t just want the Lady Æthelflaed’s support, he wants Lord Uhtred’s too.’
I had not thought of that and it took me by surprise. There had been a time when Æthelwold and I had been friends, but that was long ago when we were both young and a shared resentment of Alfred had brought us together. Æthelwold’s resentment had soured into hatred, while mine had turned into reluctant admiration, and so we were friends no longer. ‘He’s a fool,’ I said, ‘and he always was a fool.’
‘A desperate fool,’ Osferth added, ‘but a fool who knows this is his last chance to gain the throne.’
‘He’ll not have my help,’ I promised Hild.
‘Just bring her back,’ Hild said, and we rode to do just that.
A small army went westwards. At its heart was Steapa and the king’s bodyguard, and every warrior in Wintanceaster who possessed a horse joined in. It was a bright day, the sky clearing of the clouds that had brought so much rain. Our route took us across the wild lands of southern Wessex where the deer and wild ponies ranged across forest and moor and where the hoof-prints of Æthelwold’s band were easy to follow because the ground was so damp. Edward rode a little behind the vanguard, and with him was a standard-bearer flying the white dragon banner. Edward’s priest, Father Coenwulf, his black skirts draped on his horse’s rump, kept pace with the king, as did two ealdormen, Æthelnoth and Æthelhelm. Æthelred came too, he could hardly avoid an expedition to rescue his wife, but he and his followers stayed with the rearguard, well away from where Edward and I rode, and I remember thinking that we were too many, that a half-dozen men were enough to cope with a fool like Æthelwold.
Other men joined us, leaving their halls to follow the king’s standard, and by the time we left the moorland we must have numbered over three hundred horsemen. Steapa had sent scouts ahead, but they sent no news back, which suggested Æthelwold was waiting behind his hall’s palisade. At one point I spurred my horse off the road