The Flame Bearer

‘Not while I live.’

‘Is there a fly buzzing in here?’ he asked. ‘I heard something. Or was it you speaking?’

I looked into his eyes. ‘You see the priest over there?’ I jerked my head towards Father Eadig.

Constantin was puzzled, but nodded. ‘I’m surprised, pleased, that you have a priest for company.’

‘A priest who spoiled your plans, lord King,’ I said.

‘My plans?’

‘Your men killed his escort, but Father Eadig got away. If he hadn’t reached me I’d still be at Ætgefrin.’

‘Wherever that is,’ Constantin said lightly.

‘The hill your scouts have been watching this past week and more,’ I said, realising at last who the mysterious and skilful watchers had been. Constantin gave a very slight nod, acknowledging that his men had indeed been haunting us. ‘And you’d have attacked me there,’ I went on, ‘why else would you be here instead of at Bebbanburg? You wanted to destroy me, but now you find me behind stone walls and killing me will be much more difficult.’ That was all true. If Constantin had caught me in open country his forces would have chopped my men into pieces, but he would pay a high price if he tried to assault Weallbyrig’s ramparts.

He seemed amused by the truth I had spoken. ‘And why, Lord Uhtred, would I want to kill you?’

‘Because he’s the one enemy you fear,’ Finan answered for me.

I saw the momentary grimace on Constantin’s face. Then he stood, and there were no more smiles. ‘This fort,’ he said harshly, ‘is now my property. All the land to the north is my kingdom. I give you till sundown today to leave my fort and my frontier, which means that you, Lord Uhtred, will go south.’

Constantin had come to my land with an army. My cousin had been reinforced by Einar the White’s ships. I had fewer than two hundred men, so what choice did I have?

I touched Thor’s hammer and made a silent vow. I would take Bebbanburg despite my cousin, despite Einar, and despite Constantin. It would take longer, it would be hard, but I would do it.

Then I went south.

PART TWO (#ud45bd374-b5df-51a0-a1ec-0dc0d7ffff4b)

The Trap (#ud45bd374-b5df-51a0-a1ec-0dc0d7ffff4b)

Three (#ulink_83a4cac1-510a-5021-bcd9-8b80f9bff7bd)

We arrived at Eoferwic, or Jorvik as the Danes and Norse call it, on the next Sunday, and were greeted by the ringing of church bells. Brida, who had been my lover before she became my enemy, had tried to eradicate Christianity in Eoferwic. She had murdered the old archbishop, slaughtered many of his priests, and burned the churches, but Sigtryggr, the new ruler in the city, did not care what god any man or woman worshipped so long as they paid their taxes and kept the peace, and so the new Christian shrines had sprung up like mushrooms after rain. There was also a new archbishop, Hrothweard, a West Saxon who was reputed to be a decent enough man. We arrived around midday under a bright sun, the first sun we had seen since we had ridden from Ætgefrin. We rode to the palace, close by the rebuilt cathedral, but there I was told that Sigtryggr had gone to Lindcolne with his forces. ‘But the queen is here?’ I asked the elderly doorkeeper as I dismounted.

‘She rode with her husband, lord.’

I grunted disapprovingly, though my daughter’s taste for danger did not surprise me, indeed it would have astonished me if she had not ridden south with Sigtryggr. ‘And the children?’

‘Gone to Lindcolne too, lord.’

I flinched from the aches in my bones. ‘So who’s in charge here?’

‘Boldar Gunnarson, lord.’

I knew Boldar as a reliable, experienced warrior. I also thought of him as old, though in truth he might have been a year or two younger than I was and, like me, he had been scarred by war. He had been left with a limp thanks to a Saxon spear that had torn up his right calf, and he had lost an eye to a Mercian arrow, and those wounds had taught him caution. ‘There’s no news of the war,’ he told me, ‘but of course it could be another week before we hear anything.’

‘Is there really war?’ I asked him.

‘There are Saxons on our territory, lord,’ he said carefully, ‘and I don’t suppose they’ve come here to dance with us.’ He had been left with a scanty garrison to defend Eoferwic, and if there really was a West Saxon army rampaging in southern Northumbria then he had best hope it never reached the city’s Roman ramparts, just as he had best pray to the gods that Constantin did not decide to cross the wall and march south. ‘Will you be staying here, lord?’ he asked, doubtless hoping my men would stiffen his diminished garrison.

‘We’ll leave in the morning,’ I told him. I would have gone sooner, but our horses needed rest and I needed news. Boldar had no real idea what happened to the south, so Finan suggested we talked to the new archbishop. ‘Monks are always writing to each other,’ he said, ‘monks and priests. They know more about what’s going on than most kings! And they say Archbishop Hrothweard’s a good man.’

‘I don’t trust him.’

‘You’ve never met him!’

‘He’s a Christian,’ I said, ‘and so are the West Saxons. So who would he rather have on the throne here? A Christian or Sigtryggr? No, you go and talk to him. Wave your crucifix at him and try not to fart.’

My son and I walked east, leaving the city through one of the massive gates and following a lane to the river bank where a row of buildings edged a long wharf used by trading ships that came from every port of the North Sea. Here a man could buy a ship or timber, cordage or pitch, sailcloth or slaves. There were three taverns, the largest of which was the Duck, which sold ale, food, and whores, and it was there that we sat at a table just outside the door. ‘Nice to see the sun again,’ Olla, the tavern’s owner, greeted me.

‘Be nicer still to see some ale,’ I said.

Olla grinned, ‘And it’s good to see you, lord. Just ale? I’ve a pretty little thing just arrived from Frisia?’

‘Just ale.’

‘She won’t know what she’s missing,’ he said, then went to fetch the ale while we leaned against the tavern’s outside wall. The sun was warm, its reflections sparkling on the river where swans paddled slowly upstream. A big trading ship was tied up nearby and three naked slaves were cleaning her. ‘She’s for sale,’ Olla said when he brought the ale.

‘Looks heavy.’

‘She’s a pig of a boat. You wanting to buy, lord?’

‘Not her, maybe something leaner?’

‘Prices have gone up,’ Olla said, ‘better to wait till there’s snow on the ground.’ He sat on a stool at the table’s end. ‘You want food? The wife’s made a nice fish stew and the bread’s fresh baked.’

‘I’m hungry,’ my son said.

‘For fish or Frisians?’ I asked.

‘Both, but fish first.’

Olla rapped the table and waited until a pretty young girl came from the tavern. ‘Three bowls of the stew, darling,’ he said, ‘and two of the new loaves. And a jug of ale, some butter, and wipe your nose.’ He waited till she had darted back indoors. ‘You got any lively young warriors that need a wife, lord?’ he asked.

‘Plenty,’ I said, ‘including this lump,’ I gestured at my son.

‘She’s my daughter,’ he said, nodding at the door where the girl had vanished, ‘and a handful. I found her trying to sell her younger brother to Haruld yesterday.’ Haruld was the slave-dealer three buildings upriver.

‘I hope she got a good price,’ I said.

‘Oh, she’d have driven a hard bargain, that one. Fleas don’t grow old on her. Hanna!’ he shouted, ‘Hanna!’

‘Father?’ The girl peered around the door.

‘How old are you?’