The Last Kingdom Series Books 4-6: Sword Song, The Burning Land, Death of Kings

‘I had orders to give you the city,’ I retorted, ‘so here it is!’ I gestured at the smoke drifting over the scream-filled hill. ‘Your wedding present,’ I said, mocking him with a bow.

‘And not just the city, lord,’ Aldhelm said to Æthelred, ‘but everything in it.’

‘Everything?’ Æthelred asked, as if he could not believe his good fortune.

‘Everything,’ Aldhelm said wolfishly.

‘And if you’re grateful for that,’ I interjected sourly, ‘then thank your wife.’

Æthelred jerked around to stare wide-eyed at me. Something in my words had astonished him for he looked as though I had struck him. There was disbelief on his broad face, and anger, and for a moment he was incapable of speaking. ‘My wife?’ he finally asked.

‘If it had not been for Æthelflaed,’ I explained, ‘we could not have taken the city. Last night she gave me men.’

‘You saw her last night?’ he asked incredulously.

I looked at him, wondering if he was mad. ‘Of course I saw her last night!’ I said. ‘We went back to the island to board the ships! She was there! She shamed your men into coming with me.’

‘And she made Lord Uhtred give her an oath,’ Pyrlig added, ‘an oath to defend your Mercia, Lord Æthelred.’

Æthelred ignored the Welshman. He was still staring at me, but now with an expression of hatred. ‘You boarded my ship?’ he could barely speak for loathing and anger, ‘and saw my wife?’

‘She came ashore,’ I said, ‘with Father Pyrlig.’

I meant nothing by saying that. I had merely reported what had happened and hoped that Æthelred would admire his wife for her initiative, but the moment I spoke I saw I had made a mistake. I thought for a heartbeat that Æthelred was going to hit me, so fierce was the sudden fury on his broad face, but then he controlled himself and turned and walked away. Aldhelm hurried after him and managed to check my cousin’s haste long enough to speak with him. I saw Æthelred make a furious, careless gesture, then Aldhelm turned back to me. ‘You must do what you think best,’ he called, then followed his master through the arch where the Northmen’s shield wall made a passage for them.

‘I always do,’ I said to no one in particular.

‘Do what?’ Father Pyrlig asked, staring at the arch where my cousin had so abruptly vanished.

‘What I think is best,’ I said, then frowned. ‘What happened there?’ I asked Pyrlig.

‘He doesn’t like other men speaking to his wife,’ The Welshman said. ‘I noticed that when I was on the ship with them, coming down the Temes. He’s jealous.’

‘But I’ve known Æthelflaed for ever!’ I exclaimed.

‘He fears you know her only too well,’ Pyrlig said, ‘and it drives him to madness.’

‘But that’s stupid!’ I spoke angrily.

‘It’s jealousy,’ Pyrlig said, ‘and all jealousy is stupid.’

Erik had also watched Æthelred walk away and was as confused as I was. ‘He is your commander?’ the Norseman asked.

‘He’s my cousin,’ I said bitterly.

‘And he’s your commander?’ Erik asked again.

‘The Lord Æthelred commands,’ Pyrlig explained, ‘and the Lord Uhtred disobeys.’

Erik smiled at that. ‘So, Lord Uhtred, do we have an agreement?’ He asked that question in English, hesitating slightly over the words.

‘Your English is good,’ I said, sounding surprised.

He smiled. ‘A Saxon slave taught me.’

‘I hope she was beautiful,’ I said, ‘and yes, we do have an agreement, but with one change.’

Erik bridled, but stayed courteous. ‘One change?’ he asked cautiously.

‘You may take Wave-Tamer,’ I said.

I thought Erik would kiss me. For a heartbeat he did not believe my words, then he saw that I was sincere and he smiled broadly. ‘Lord Uhtred,’ he began.

‘Take her,’ I interrupted him, not wanting his gratitude, ‘just take her and go!’

It had been Aldhelm’s words that had changed my mind. He had been right; everything in the city now belonged to Mercia, and Æthelred was Mercia’s ruler, and my cousin had a lust for anything beautiful and, if he discovered I wanted Wave-Tamer for myself, which I did, he would be sure to take it from me, and so I kept the ship from his grasp by giving it back to the Thurgilson brothers.

Sigefrid was carried to his own ship. The Northmen, stripped of their weapons and valuables, were guarded by my men as they walked to the Wave-Tamer. It took a long time, but at last they were all on board and they shoved away from the quay, and I watched as they rowed downstream towards the small mists that still hovered above the lower reaches of the river.

And somewhere in Wessex the first cuckoo called.

I wrote Alfred a letter. I have always hated writing, and it has been years since I last used a quill. My wife’s priests now scratch letters for me, but they know I can read what they write so they take care to write what I tell them. But on the night of Lundene’s fall, I wrote in my own hand to Alfred. ‘Lundene is yours, lord King,’ I told him, ‘and I am staying here to rebuild its walls.’

Writing even that much exhausted my patience. The quill spluttered, the parchment was uneven and the ink, which I had found in a wooden chest containing plunder evidently stolen from a monastery, spat droplets over the parchment. ‘Now fetch Father Pyrlig,’ I told Sihtric, ‘and Osferth.’

‘Lord,’ Sihtric said nervously.

‘I know,’ I said impatiently, ‘you want to marry your whore. But fetch Father Pyrlig and Osferth first. The whore can wait.’

Pyrlig arrived a moment later and I pushed the letter across the table to him. ‘I want you to go to Alfred,’ I told him, ‘give him that, and tell him what happened here.’

Pyrlig read my message and I saw a small smile flicker on his ugly face, a smile that vanished swiftly so that I would not be offended by his opinion of my handwriting. He said nothing of my short message, but glanced around with surprise as Sihtric brought Osferth into the room.

‘I’m sending Brother Osferth with you,’ I explained to the Welshman.

Osferth stiffened. He hated being called brother. ‘I want to stay here,’ he said, ‘lord.’

‘The king wants you in Wintanceaster,’ I said dismissively, ‘and we obey the king.’ I took the letter back from Pyrlig, dipped the quill in the ink that had faded to a rusty brown, and added more words. ‘Sigefrid,’ I wrote laboriously, ‘was defeated by Osferth, who I would like to keep in my household guard.’

Why did I write that? I did not like Osferth any more than I liked his father, yet he had leaped from the bastion and that had shown courage. Foolish courage, perhaps, but still courage, and if Osferth had not leaped then Lundene might be in Norse or Danish hands to this day. Osferth had earned his place in the shield wall, even if his prospects of surviving there were still desperately low. ‘Father Pyrlig,’ I said to Osferth as I blew on the ink, ‘will tell the king of your actions today, and this letter requests that you be returned to me. But you must leave that decision to Alfred.’

‘He’ll say no,’ Osferth said sullenly.

‘Father Pyrlig will persuade him,’ I said. The Welshman raised an eyebrow in silent question and I gave him the smallest nod to show I spoke the truth. I gave the letter to Sihtric and watched as he folded the parchment, then sealed it with wax. I pressed my badge of the wolf’s head into the seal, then handed the letter to Pyrlig. ‘Tell Alfred the truth about what happened here,’ I said, ‘because he’s going to hear a different version from my cousin. And travel fast!’

Pyrlig smiled. ‘You want us to reach the king before your cousin’s messenger?’

‘Yes,’ I said. That was a lesson I had learned; that the first news is generally the version that is believed. I had no doubt Æthelred would be sending a triumphant message to his father-in-law, and I had no doubt either that in his telling, our part in the victory would be diminished to nothing. Father Pyrlig would ensure that Alfred heard the truth, though whether the king would believe what he heard was another matter.