Oswin bowed and Nothwulf gave a halfhearted nod of the head. He turned to the bishop. “Your Grace, I’m surprised to see you here. Delighted, but surprised.”
“My Lord Nothwulf,” Ealhstan said. “The heathens have invaded one of my priories, one of the holy places of God. Of course I must be here.”
“Of course,” Nothwulf said. He turned to Cynewise. She, too, was something of a surprise. When he had seen her in Sherborne, sitting on the dais, she had looked like a little girl, frightened and overwhelmed, seated in a grown-up’s chair. But she looked that way no longer. She sat erect, confident, wearing a silk gown which was both elegant and austere, feminine but not soft or compromising. Her face was composed and Nothwulf could read nothing in it. She wore a cape around her shoulders which gave her a vaguely martial look.
“Thank you, Lord Nothwulf, for responding to my summons,” Cynewise said.
Summons? Nothwulf thought, but he did not react to that. Instead he replied, “Of course, sister. How could I not come to your assistance when your need is so great?”
Cynewise took on a thoughtful look. “So great? I’m not so sure…”
“I believe I saw the banner of Devonshire at the north end of the camp,” Nothwulf said before Cynewise could finish the thought. “Has your father come to your aide?”
“My father has come with a few of his men,” Cynewise said. “You know how he loathes the Northmen and will do anything to see them driven off.”
“Indeed,” Nothwulf said. “I’m sure you welcome his experience, having none of your own in such things.” He made a show of looking around. “I would have thought he’d be here, to join us in this conference.”
“He’s not well,” Cynewise said. “He’s taken to his bed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nothwulf said, though he was anything but. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”
“Something he ate,” Cynewise said, waving her hand to dismiss the subject.
“But to more important matters,” the bishop chimed in. “It seems you’re both here, each with an army, and the same thought in mind, which is to drive the Northmen into the sea. Which would be most pleasing to God. Now, surely that would be best done with the two of you fighting side by side?”
Nothwulf looked at the bishop, looked at Cynewise and then back at the bishop. He wondered if Ealhstan was sincere in this, or working with Cynewise on some nefarious trick, but he concluded in that instant that the bishop was not playing tricks. Ealhstan was a clever man, and a manipulative one, but he was not the sort who would put himself in the middle of such a thing as this and play one side against the other. There was too much risk of picking the wrong side, and losing all he had gained.
“Of course, your Grace,” Nothwulf said. He turned to Cynewise who was most certainly playing tricks. “You agree with his Grace?”
Cynewise nodded. “I do,” she said, and Nothwulf could not help but think of the first time he had heard her say that, at her wedding to his brother, seconds before the thegn Werheard had stepped up and killed his brother right at the altar. She had been a frail, weak thing, notably unattractive, and Nothwulf had wondered if she would have substance enough to give birth to Merewald’s heirs. But now she looked very different indeed. Attractive, actually. Quite attractive.
“We have twice the heathens’ numbers, between us,” she said, and Nothwulf pulled his attention back to the moment. “I propose that I march my men to Christchurch and there we’ll join up and launch our attack on the Northmen. We can’t help but grind them into the dirt.”
Nothwulf nodded. “Yes, I believe you’re right,” he said even as he tried to untangle the knot of Cynewise’s real intentions. She couldn’t let him fight the Northmen alone. If he won and she was not there then it would greatly bolster his status among the thegns. Cynewise would find it impossible to carry on as the pretender to the ealdormanship. So she would join him in the fight, and she would look for some way to make him seem the fool. Or die in battle. Either one would suit her needs.
But he was not the only one who could be made to look a fool. Or die. He pulled a chair closer and sat down, unbidden. “Let’s discuss when we might make our attack, and how we might do it,” he said. “But perhaps you should call the thegns who march with you. And your father, if he’s well enough. These are military matters, you know, and not really the sort of things a young woman would understand.”
It was late in the afternoon by the time Nothwulf and his hearth-guard rode back into their camp on the edge of the village of Christchurch. His first thought was not for his own men, but rather the heathens, and his eyes were fixed on their fortifications across the open ground. He could still see their masts rising above the rough wooden walls, and he felt a sense of relief. All of his plans rested on his beating the Northmen in a way that made him look like a proper leader and Cynewise the incompetent slut that she was. But if the Northmen were gone, then all was for naught.
He called Leofric and the other thegns together and told them of his plans. Explained how Cynewise was there with an army about the size of their own, that she would march to Christchurch to join them and together they would crush the heathens under foot.
“Who will lead this fight?” Leofric asked. He was the only one of them who would dare ask such a question, and expect a genuine answer.
“I will, obviously,” Nothwulf said. “The thegns who follow Cynewise, they do so because they think she’ll manage to hold on to the ealdormanship. Not because they see her as a great leader. They certainly would not care to allow a child such as her to lead them in a fight.”
Heads nodded. If any were skeptical they kept it to themselves.
Night came at last and Nothwulf listened to the camp settling down. The dark seemed to smother the sounds made by the hundreds of men and animals, and sleep pushed its way through the tents. Off in the distance, soft, like small waves on the beach, he could hear the Northmen carrying out their nightly pagan ritual of drinking and singing around the fire.
The bastards had much to celebrate, having sacked Christchurch Priory, tricked the English by shifting to their new fortification and, most recently, beating off Nothwulf’s ill-advised attack. They probably felt he was unlikely to try such a thing again. And they were right.
Sleep did not visit Nothwulf. His mind reeled and staggered like a drunken fool, careening off this and that. Cynewise’s army would be there by late the next day. Where would they camp? How would he assert his dominance from the outset? Would her father, Ceorle, be well enough to take part? If so, that was a problem. Nothwulf might be a more experienced leader than Cynewise, but he was not more experienced than Ceorle, and not nearly as powerful or influential with the king.
At last he undressed and slipped into his camp bed, but still sleep stayed clear. His mind turned to Cynewise, moving on its own, like a horse that knows which way it wants to go, regardless of what the rider wishes. He saw her sitting on that ersatz throne, her head slightly tipped back, revealing that long, smooth neck. He thought of how her slim body would feel wrapped in his arms. He thought about how her long legs would feel wrapped around his waist.
Then he thought of something else, an idea that had not occurred to him before, and his eyes flew open, thoughts of Cynewise gone. He toyed with this new thought a bit, explored it from different angles, and the more he looked at it, the more intrigued he became.
And then he was back with Cynewise, and she was on top of him, young and strong and energetic, her long blond hair half covering her face, her eyes closed, her mouth open.
And then he was asleep. And in his dreams he was with Cynewise once again. He could feel her touching him and he saw her in a vast hall that was half filled with down pillows, warm and luxurious.
And then he opened his eyes with a start and he saw that there was in fact a woman touching him, touching his face with gentle fingers. He first thought it was Cynewise, then the fog began to clear from his mind, and the light of the single candle still
burning fell on her face and he saw it was not Cynewise—it was Aelfwyn.
Nothwulf gasped in surprise and scooted back in the bed, pushing himself up to a sitting position as he did. He saw Aelfwyn smile.
“You were never so shy with me in bed before,” she said. Her voice had a quality that was utterly familiar to him, though it seemed like it was from an earlier age. Quite a bit had happened since last he heard it.
“How did you get in here?” he demanded. It was the least important of the many questions he needed to ask, but it was all he could think to say.
“Your guards searched me for weapons,” Aelfwyn said. “They were very thorough, the lecherous bastards. But once they saw I was unarmed they figured you would not be disappointed to see me. Are you?”
Nothwulf ignored the question. His mind was clearing. “You’re here at Cynewise’s command. Like last time. What mischief do you have in mind now?”
“I’m here on my own,” Aelfwyn said. “I learned from your hearth-guard where your camp was. I walked here. Cynewise does not know.”
Nothwulf smiled at that. “I should have you flogged right now for thinking me such a fool as to believe you.”
“You may flog me if you wish,” Aelfwyn said. “You could hardly use me worse than Cynewise has. Making me play the whore for you was the least of it. Actually, I didn’t mind that so much. But she’ll whore me out to another, one less desirable than you, if she needs to. The beatings and the yelling, that I could do without. I will do without.”
Nothwulf was silent as he regarded her. Beautiful, he thought. He had forgotten how beautiful she was. Cynewise’s beauty could show through on occasion, but Aelfwyn radiated it.
No wonder Cynewise hates the little vixen.
“So, what do you want of me?” Nothwulf asked. “I have no doubt you miss rutting with me, but I doubt you would walk miles in the dark just for that.”
“I might,” Aelfwyn said. “But in truth I want nothing from you. I want only to get free of that bitch Cynewise, and I had nowhere to go but to you. So here I am. And I’m willing to be of use to you.”
“I imagine you are,” Nothwulf said. “Just as you’ve been of use to many men, I would suspect.”
“No, not that. By warning you. Cynewise means to betray you. I know it.”
Again Nothwulf was silent, considering this. “How will she betray me?” he asked.
“She’s agreed to join you in fighting the Northmen,” Aelfwyn said. “I know that. She told you that each of you, you and her, will take a fair share of the fighting. But she’s gone to her father and begged him to take her place. Told him she’s just a woman and not able to lead warriors like a man.”
“That’s true enough,” Nothwulf said. “I’m only surprised she’s willing to admit it.”
“She’s admitting nothing,” Aelfwyn said. “She doesn’t believe that. The way she figures it, her father leads an attack on the Northmen, you lead an attack on the Northmen, Cynewise hangs back and lets the two of you and your men get slaughtered. It solves two problems for her.”
Nothwulf frowned. He could see how that might work out well for Cynewise. He knew Ceorle and he knew that if there were armies to be led, the old man would insist on leading them.
“But what if Ceorle and I beat the Northmen?” Nothwulf argued. “What if we’re not killed in the fighting?”
“Cynewise would be happy to see you beat the Northmen, rid her of that problem,” Aelfwyn said. “And she has ways to make certain you two are killed.”
Then another thought came to Nothwulf.
“But Ceorle’s sick. He won’t be able to lead men in battle.”
Aelfwyn waved a hand as if she were shooing a fly. “Whatever Cynewise gave the old man, I’m sure it wasn’t enough to kill him. He’ll be up in a day or so.”
Nothwulf sat up a little straighter. “You’re saying Cynewise poisoned her father?”
“Of course she did,” Aelfwyn replied, and her tone suggested that she thought it a stupid question. “She was sick to death of the old goat, wanted to shut him up for a few days. Let her think and plan in peace.”
Nothwulf shook his head. Not because he didn’t believe Aelfwyn, but because he realized that he did not appreciate the lengths to which Cynewise was willing to go. Such as arranging for the death of her husband of two minutes. And her father.
They were silent again for a moment, then Aelfwyn continued.
“Cynewise doesn’t care a bit about the Northmen. She was going to pay them danegeld to leave. The only thing she cares about is making sure you don’t come off looking like the proper leader. Or, better still, that you’re dead. Like your brother. I don’t think she believed you would be this much trouble for her.”
“If she was going to pay the Northmen to leave, why didn’t she?”
“Because you’re here, you fool! Oswin had one hundred and fifty pounds of silver that he was to deliver to them, but he couldn’t because your army is between him and the heathens.”
“How do you know all this?” Nothwulf asked.
“I’m Cynewise’s lady’s maid! I am always attending her. I hear everything, even though she reckons me just another bit of her furniture, always there but unable to listen or speak. She beats me and she yells at me and she whores me out and she expects me to be loyal as a dog to her.”
Nothwulf frowned again. Aelfwyn sounded sincere enough, but then, she had also sounded sincere back when she was helping implicate him in his brother’s murder.
“Are you not loyal as a dog?” Nothwulf asked. “What cause do I have to believe you?”
Aelfwyn shook her head. “I don’t care if you believe me or not,” she said. “I truly don’t. I’ve said what I want to say, and if you won’t offer me protection I’ll find someone who will. But if you think I’m here by Cynewise’s command, then tell me how Cynewise could benefit by my telling you to be on your guard.”
Nothwulf thought about that. She was right. He could envision no benefit to Cynewise in what Aelfwyn had to say, no reason she might have sent Aelfwyn with that message. Now he felt foolish for having trusted Cynewise even the tiny bit he had.
Then he thought of that other idea, the one that had come to him just as sleep approached and snapped him awake. He felt a sense of relief, like warmth from a fire. Surely God Himself had put that idea in his head, to save him from the snares of Cynewise. He reached out and placed a hand on Aelfwyn’s thigh.
“You’ve done me a great good turn, coming here, warning me thus,” he said. “And you must be cold and worn down from your dangerous trip. Pray, lie beside me and let me warm you up again, and ease your fears.”
Chapter Fourteen
From the saddle we will talk:
let us sit,
and of princely
families discourse,
of those chieftains
who from the gods descend.
The Poetic Edda
The three of them: Odd, Vermund Jurundsson, the overseer of Odd’s farm, and the old shipwright Ari, were leaning on the wagon watching the six men approach from the south. They were on horseback, riding slow. They would be tired, but there was nothing for it. They were Odd’s men and they had been sent to do a job, and now they were coming back and they would be put to a bigger job still.
“So, Halfdan was not so keen on listening to your concerns?” Ari asked. It had been two days since the king’s hunting party, but Ari had been gone searching for suitable timber when Odd returned and they had not spoken until that moment.
“No,” Odd said. “But he’s a clever bastard. I forgot how clever, to my peril. Never refused to see us, even made us feel welcome, but he would not be pinned down for any real talk. I had no satisfaction from him.”
Recounting his meeting with the king made the humiliation rise again like bile in Odd’s throat. “We didn’t speak again while he was hunting. We returned to his hall and the next day Einar informed us Halfdan had gone off south and would not be back for some ti
me.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know,” Odd said. “Not that it matters. He was done talking about it. And I was done being played with.”
“And the others?” Ari asked.
“No happier than I was,” Odd said. “But Halfdan was careful to give no real offense. Amundi and the rest, they figured we could do naught but hope Halfdan heard us and will take care about snatching up property that isn’t his.”
Ari gave a snorting laugh. “You know how a dog is, once it’s killed a chicken and got that taste of blood in its mouth?” he said. “It won’t stop killing. Well, I fear your father’s farm will be Halfdan’s first chicken.”
“Not his first,” Vermund said. “He’s taken land to the south. He’s tasted it. Thorgrim’s farm will just be his first taste in Vik.”
The riders came up the hill toward Odd’s hall, toward the wagon the men were leaning on and the five other wagons behind it, all the wagons Odd owned or could borrow. The one riding at the head of the band was a man named Gnup, strong and reliable, if not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, who assisted Vermund in running the farm. He had a shovel strapped across his saddle, as did the others. He stopped his horse by the wagon and climbed, weary, down from the saddle, and the rest did the same.
“All’s well, Gnup?” Odd asked, and Gnup nodded his large head.
“Done, and it looks well.”
“You look tired. You and your men.”
Gnup nodded again. “It’s the riding, not the digging.”
“I’d think so,” Odd said. Gnup and the others were competent riders, but not much used to it. In truth they would rather have walked, but there was no time for that. They were, however, farmers and good hands with pick and shovel.
“Well, you men eat and rest,” Odd said. “Tomorrow we’re off again. And then the real digging will begin.”
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