Oathbreaker (The King's Hounds series)

by Martin Jensen

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But put them together and you have a picture. And I remember when Godfrid interrupted the conversation between Turold and Edmund that first night here. I interpreted Wulfgar’s surprise, like my own, as being due to the voice of a man I hadn’t noticed. But that’s where I was wrong. He was surprised because he had suddenly heard the voice of the man he’d been pursuing for the last two years.”

  “So Wulfgar didn’t know his quarry was here?” Winston asked.

  I thought it over.

  “Maybe,” I said, “but if so, he must have looked around for him and not found him. Then he was surprised to suddenly hear his voice. Also, think about Ulf’s sword.”

  “Ulf’s sword?” Winston asked, looking up.

  “When we asked him… in the church,” I added, thinking back. “We asked if he had been taking revenge when he took this sword from Eadwulf.”

  “He said no,” Winston said in surprise, thinking back. “Or actually, he shook his head.”

  “He did,” I said. “But first he hesitated. And not for the reason we thought. We assumed he hesitated because it didn’t have anything to do with revenge. Well, it did, but it turns out it wasn’t about getting revenge against Eadwulf. No, Ulf hesitated because the sword he carried had belonged to Jarl Uhtred, who was double-crossed and murdered in Wiheal two years ago.”

  “Uhtred?” Winston eyed me keenly. “But the sword says Eadwulf.”

  “Yes, it does. And who was the first ealdorman of Northumbria?”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Alfilda turn her head. Then she looked back out the window again. Winston sat up and watched me, his brow furrowed.

  “I’m sure you’re about to tell me it was Eadwulf.”

  “You’re quite right,” I said, outright grinning at him. “I heard many songs about the noble Eadwulf growing up. At my father’s estate we used to eat to the sounds of heroic epic poems: songs about my own family, but also other people’s—kings, ealdormen, and powerful thanes. That was how we learned to navigate the family tree, to know who we were tied to through blood and marriage, to whom we had sworn allegiance from olden times, and who were our enemies. And yes, Eadwulf—which means Powerful Wolf—was the first high reeve of the House of Bamburgh, a dynasty whose seat was Bamburgh Castle. The most recent scion of that family, Uhtred, was slain through treachery on the king’s orders.”

  I could see that Winston was almost convinced.

  “And what about the names?” Winston asked.

  “Yes,” I said. I glanced over at Alfilda, but she made no move to take over, so I continued. “What Alfilda realized in the abbot’s chamber is something I should have seen ages ago: Ulf and Wulfgar. Ulf means Wolf in Danish, and Wulfgar means Wolf’s Protector or Wolf’s Spear in Saxon. So Wulfgar is Ulf’s protector, the Powerful Wolf’s Spear. In other words, it’s up to him to strike back on behalf of Eadwulf’s family.”

  “But,” Winston objected. “Wulfgar and Ulf slept in a room with several other spearmen. And none of those other spearmen have sworn any oath of allegiance to Wulfgar. He’s just their paid leader. Why would the spearmen keep quiet about Ulf and Wulfgar leaving the room in the middle of the night to walk over to the church and murder a monk?”

  I laughed out loud.

  “Because they were asleep,” I said. “We have Wulfgar’s word on that. They were staggering around drunk and slept the deep sleep of drunken men. I can’t tell you if he contributed to their inebriation with a friendly keg of ale or not, but their drunkenness certainly suited his purposes.”

  “I’m not completely convinced,” Winston said, “but at any rate we’ll have to talk to the spearmen who stayed with them.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door. We opened it to find Ælfgar’s slender form.

  “You don’t want to speak to me or the monastic farts?” Ælfgar asked, eying Winston. “You still suspect me?”

  I glared at Winston, who didn’t say anything, so I was forced to respond: “We have considered many suspects.”

  Ælfgar nodded angrily, but then he seemed to digest what I’d said.

  “Considered?” he asked, noting the past tense.

  “Yes,” Winston said, getting up off the bed. “We need to go speak to Wulfgar now.”

  “He and Ulf just went into the church,” Alfilda announced, turning away from the window.

  I swore aloud. Hadn’t Edmund said something about them wanting to leave?

  “Into the church,” Winston murmured. “Actually, that might not be the worst place to have our conversation.”

  Chapter 33

  Leaving the guesthouse, Winston and Alfilda started across the lawn toward the church. Ælfgar held out his hand and stopped me in the doorway.

  “You need to speak to Wulfgar?” he asked.

  I was far more concerned with the procession of men I saw in the grass between us and the church. Abbot Turold was in the lead, followed by Brother Edgar. Behind them came a half-dozen monks with their heads bent and their hands folded. They were on their way to church, I realized, presumably to bury the dead.

  I watched Winston walk up to Turold and take him by the arm. They spoke together for a few moments, and then Turold turned to Edgar and gave a quiet order. Edgar then turned to the other brethren, who looked at each other in puzzlement before withdrawing back to the monastery hall.

  Turold and Edgar remained where they were. Turold said something urgently to Winston, who listened with his head cocked. Then Winston gestured with his hand and proceeded toward the church with Alfilda at his side and the two monks following close behind him.

  “You need to speak to Wulfgar?” Ælfgar repeated.

  “Follow me,” I said. It seemed like Jarl Leofwine’s man had as much right as the head of the monastery to witness the case being solved.

  So six of us entered the church through the westwork to meet Ulf and Wulfgar, who were walking back down the aisle holding their sword belts. Both had apparently decided to show the proper respect for the abbot’s wishes by waiting to put their belts on, probably until after they exited the gate.

  It must have been clear that our entry was not the beginning of a funeral procession, because as soon as they spotted us, both abandoned any attempt to show respect for the church or monastery. They took a step apart from each other and stopped. Each held his sword sheath in his left hand so the hilt was centered by his waist and the sword could be drawn quickly.

  I bit my lip at the sight and glanced at the altar behind them, realizing it was way too far for me to dream of making it to my weapon. Ælfgar had the same thought, judging from the way I saw him first tense and then relax his muscles.

  We stood only a few steps from the two soldiers. The bier, from which a nauseating stench billowed, was off to the side behind them. Winston was to my left and had pushed Alfilda behind him to shield her with his body. Turold and Edgar stood to Alfilda’s left, breathing with their hands over their noses. Ælfgar and I stepped forward. Wulfgar stood just in front of me, with Ulf to his left, facing Ælfgar.

  Wulfgar watched us calmly, seemingly relaxed, but I could see the muscles in his right forearm quivering with tension. The tongueless Ulf kept his head bent slightly like a bull considering charging.

  I gave Winston a questioning look. He shook his head imperceptibly and took a half step forward.

  “Are you leaving?” Winston asked the men.

  “Prior Edmund would like to return home to Peterborough,” Wulfgar said, his voice calm.

  “I’m part of the prior’s retinue, and I was not informed,” Winston replied.

  Wulfgar shrugged as if to imply that the prior must not think Winston was all that important. Wulfgar was simply obeying orders.

  “But of course I suppose I could receive word any time,” Winston continued, watching Ulf. “So, you’re riding together?”

  “Edmund decided, at Simon’s suggestion, to accept Ulf as one of his soldiers,” Wulfgar said. His voice didn’t so much as
quiver.

  “Ah, Simon, right. He’s really showing quite a bit of support for this tongueless soldier,” Winston said, looking straight at Wulfgar. “At your request, perhaps?”

  The response was yet another shrug.

  Ulf pushed his left foot forward a little. Starting position for a swordfight. I heard Ælfgar inhale abruptly and signaled to him with my eyes. He nodded in response. We were both ready.

  “What’s your name?” Winston asked.

  I guess Alfilda and I must have convinced him after all. He had obviously decided to put an end to this farce.

  “Wulfgar,” the soldier said, still standing with his feet at ease.

  “Not the name you gave us,” Winston said, shaking his head, “the one your father gave you.”

  Wulfgar looked to his left and his eyes locked on to Ulf’s. Ulf drew his hilt out half a hand’s width. This caused Ælfgar to bend his knees, but when Ulf allowed his blade to slide back into his sheath again with a clang, Ælfgar relaxed again.

  Ulf’s gesture seemed meant to give Wulfgar permission to answer the question.

  “My name,” Wulfgar said calmly, “is Ealdred. My father was Ælfred. I was a Northumbrian thane and Jarl Uhtred’s sworn man.”

  “Uhtred, who was killed by Thurbrand,” Winston stated.

  “Uhtred, who took the king at his dishonest word and was then cut down, unarmed, along with his thanes, my peers,” Ealdred said, his voice trembling now.

  Winston lowered his head and said, “Truly a dishonest act. And Ulf?”

  “Is Ulf, Uhtred’s man.”

  “And you both survived.”

  Wulfgar—Ealdred—winced.

  “My master sent me to do an errand before he rode the final leg to the hall where he was murdered.”

  “So you weren’t in Wiheal?” Winston asked.

  He shook his head in response.

  “And Ulf?”

  “Ulf didn’t follow the jarl into the hall. At Uhtred’s command, Ulf took up position outside with his sword at the ready. If there was any sign of treachery, he was to kill one of the Danish prisoners.”

  I could picture it. Both sides had provided hostages to assure their good faith—hostages who would guarantee with their lives that no treachery would take place. Two groups of men whose fates would rest in the hands of others.

  “We’ve heard what happened there,” Winston began.

  Ealdred shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that said, Who hasn’t?

  “Inside the hall,” Winston continued. “But outside? Did you kill your hostage, Ulf?”

  We all looked at the soldier, who looked down in silence. His face blushed with shame.

  “As soon as the doors to the hall closed behind the last of Uhtred’s men, those nithings struck against our hostages.” Ealdred’s voice was hoarse with suppressed hatred. “Ulf had no chance to strike. Instead he was clubbed on the back of the head with a spear staff and fell to his knees. He wasn’t knocked unconscious, but he was stunned and had to watch helplessly as his sword was taken from his hand and his comrades’ heads were chopped off with axes. The bastards had hung up their swords, but their axes lay hidden in the grass.”

  “And his tongue?” Winston asked.

  Ealdred glanced at Ulf, who calmly nodded.

  “Ulf tried, dazed as he was, to get to his feet and help his companions, but then he was completely knocked out by an ax, which must have been turned the wrong way, because he was hit by the butt end. When he came to, the whole thing had been over for a long time. Everyone from our side had been killed, and Thurbrand’s bloodthirst slaked. He had Ulf’s tongue torn out so he couldn’t tell anyone about the atrocity.”

  “But we all heard what happened,” Ælfgar said, adding his voice to the conversation for the first time.

  Ealdred nodded harshly and said, “Everyone knew that the king had guaranteed Uhtred safe passage, so Thurbrand decided to broadcast news of the killings himself—with the rumor that our companions had grabbed their weapons first.”

  “And Ulf couldn’t contradict that,” Winston surmised.

  “Oh yes,” Ealdred said with a bitter smile. “Ulf knows his runes.”

  Winston had once explained to me that the reason men write things down is to remember our past. Turns out it also makes lies harder to conceal.

  “Some of the men who participated in this atrocity,” Ealdred continued, “did not see it as the act of treachery it was but boasted that they’d wiped out a powerful enemy.”

  “And Erik?” Winston asked.

  “Was the ratbag who gave Uhtred the king’s word and then vouched for it with his own oath,” Ealdred said, and spat on the church floor.

  “Therefore the hand?” Winston said.

  “The nithing hand that swore the deceitful oath, yes.”

  A silence came over all of us. Winston seemed reluctant—with a reluctance I shared—to bring these men to justice. They had merely taken revenge for one of the cruelest acts of treachery the world had known. And in our land, we’d seen quite a few in recent years.

  “So you decided to avenge your master.” Ælfgar stated a fact we had all understood. “Why not go after the king? Or Thurbrand, who wielded the sword that day?”

  “The king set the trap,” Ealdred said, “as kings do, but he didn’t force Uhtred to stick his head into it through dishonorable perjury. And Thurbrand?” He bared his teeth. “His time will come. Uhtred’s brother and sons will find him and his family. But I was there when Erik swore his oath, and it was only because Uhtred trusted that man’s oath that he gave me leave to return home to take care of another matter.” So it was Erik’s fault that Ealdred had not fallen at his master’s side.

  I thought it was about time to remind them of my presence. “So you went looking for Erik?” I asked.

  “And found him,” Ealdred said. “Always protected by at least a dozen soldiers, never unarmed, and never alone. He was impossible to get close to.”

  “Instead you sent him a message,” I said.

  Ealdred looked up at me, surprised.

  “A pewter plate engraved with the words Erik Nithing,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said, his mouth hanging open slightly. “He kept that? Yes, I let him know that he could hide behind armed men, but we knew where to find him, and one day we would strike. But he ran, that bastard, and hid here.”

  “No,” Turold said.

  We all turned to look at him.

  He continued: “He wasn’t running away from you. He was running from himself. Godfrid—forgive me that I still call him by that name—repented his sin even before he received your message. That was just what drove him the last bit of the way. He realized that he deserved death for his betrayal, but he so fervently wanted to die having atoned with God. He had already decided to come here; he just became more driven.”

  Turold broke off and swallowed before continuing. “Yes, I am revealing things that were confided to me in the confessional, but the man who said them is dead, and I owe it to his memory to tell you that he regretted his part in this act.

  “He knew you were on his heels, and he prayed sincerely to the Lord for a sign that he was forgiven. Truth be told, he occasionally forgot why he was here, particularly when his nobleman’s sensibilities were provoked, and our agreement was that I would remind him of that when necessary.”

  To my surprise, I saw Winston smile.

  “By sending him over to the church?” Winston asked.

  “Yes,” Turold continued eagerly. “Like the other night. Of course I never stated the actual reason I was sending him, as that would have given him away. But, believe me, his final hours were spent in prayer. Not to be guided in how he should behave toward the Benedictines, but in honestly pleading for forgiveness.”

  I was glad that Simon wasn’t here to point out that Godfrid had actually spent that time sleeping.

  Turold watched Ulf and Ealdred for a moment and then said, “He died at peace with the Lord.”


  “But not with me.” Ealdred’s lip twitched.

  “You killed him with your master’s sword,” I pointed out, wanting to get back to the case.

  “Which Ulf took with him from Wiheal, yes. And which he has guarded constantly since. I swallowed my pride and became leader of the Benedictines’ spearmen because I thought it would be easier for a common soldier to get close to Erik once we finally found him. I figured a rich monastery like Peterborough would have plenty of business throughout the land, which proved to be correct, because I’ve traveled widely with them and always kept my eyes and ears open for any news of Erik the Nithing.”

  “How did you find him?” Winston asked. He went to take a step forward but was stopped by Ulf, who placed his right hand on his sword hilt.

  “Ulf found him,” Ealdred said. “He was traveling around like I was, just on his own, and he reached Jarl Leofwine’s estate the same day the jarl’s son returned home. The convenient thing about being mute is that people think you’re blind and deaf, too, so they speak freely around him.

  “Eadwin talked about what he’d learned. The men who heard told others, and so it reached Ulf’s ears. He came and found me, and you know the rest.”

  “Not quite,” Alfilda said. She had stepped forward to stand next to Winston and remained there, although he was trying to push her back behind him again. “He must have recognized you.”

  “Recognized Ulf?” There was no joy in Ealdred’s laughter. “Like a powerful Danish thane would even notice a simple soldier!”

  “But if you traveled with Uhtred, he must have seen you at some point before Wiheal,” Alfilda said, brushing aside Winston’s hand.

  “Oh yes,” Ealdred said. “He saw me as a Northumbrian thane with a trimmed beard and fancy clothing. If he saw me again in the monks’ hall the other day, he saw a man in common soldier’s clothes and a Saxon mustache. No, he didn’t recognize me, not even when we came looking for him here.”

  Turold moaned suddenly and exclaimed, “Oh no! I sent him to his death.”

  “No, Father Abbot. His death was his own doing,” Ealdred said, glancing over at the bier, and then suddenly laughing wryly. “If anyone helped us, it was Simon, who came up with the idea that Ulf should share quarters with me and some of my men. That saved us from having to go visit each other. While my men stumbled around dead drunk, we agreed to strike right away. But in any case, Turold, he was going to be dead before we left the monastery, I can assure you of that.”