The Empty Throne

‘Latin, lord, and the lives of the holy fathers and, of course, his letters.’

‘Is Latin useful?’

‘Of course, lord! It’s the language of our holy scripture.’

I grunted. I was sitting, which was a relief. Finan had put all our prisoners into a room across the courtyard and I just had my family, Father Creoda, and Æthelstan in the room where the naked girls ran across the floor. The wide chamber was Æthelflaed’s favourite. ‘So you heard there were armed men here?’ I asked Æthelstan.

‘I did, lord.’

‘And you had the sense to stay in the smithy?’

‘Godwulf told me to stay, lord.’

Good for the smith, I thought, then looked at Stiorra. ‘And you?’

‘Me, father?’

‘Brice’s men came here, what did you do?’

‘I welcomed them, father,’ she spoke very softly, ‘I thought they came from King Edward.’

‘So why did the priest hit you?’

‘He wanted to know where Æthelstan was, and I wouldn’t tell him.’

‘You knew?’

She looked at Æthelstan and smiled. ‘I knew.’

‘And you said you didn’t know? Why?’

‘Because I didn’t like them.’

‘And they didn’t believe you?’

She nodded. ‘And Father Aldwyn became angry,’ she said.

‘They searched the schoolroom and the church,’ Father Creoda put in.

‘And when they couldn’t find him,’ my daughter went on, ‘Father Aldwyn called me a lying bitch and said he would find the truth.’

‘A lying bitch?’ I asked. She nodded. A servant had repaired her dress with one of Æthelflaed’s brooches and wiped the blood from her face, but her lip was swollen and disfigured by a scab. ‘Did he knock a tooth out?’