Father Egbert and Tonild looked at each other.
I opened my mouth to speak but stopped when Winston raised his finger to his lips.
“My husband …” Tonild said hesitantly. “My husband knew a great many people, and most of them are here in Oxford right now.”
“Of course,” Winston said, raising his glass to take another sip. “All of the noblemen in the kingdom are present or on their way. So, which of them was he meeting yesterday?”
The widow’s voice turned sharp. “Didn’t we just tell you we don’t know?” Winston glanced quickly at me and then smiled.
“Yes, my lady,” he said. I leaned forward.
“Who accompanied him?” I asked.
Tonild and the priest exchanged looks again. “I … I don’t know …,” Tonild said, trailing off.
“Osfrid left by himself,” Father Egbert said with a courteous smile, but his smile faded when he saw the expression on my face.
“You’re lying,” I said without raising my voice.
Tonild stood up abruptly with an insulted look on her face. “My husband left by himself,” she repeated. I smiled affably.
“That’s hard for me to believe,” I said. I do have some manners after all. I know better than to accuse a Saxon nobleman’s widow of lying. Sadly, however, her face told me that any hope I had had of winning her hand was now dead.
“My lady,” I said, my voice deliberately courteous. “Osfrid was a thane. Show me a thane who walks around without a retinue. Besides, he was an enemy of the king. He wasn’t stupid, was he?”
Her eyes again flamed with rage. “Certainly not,” she exclaimed.
“I thought not,” I continued. “Only a stupid man would walk around without a retinue amidst all his enemies’ housecarls. So, I’m asking you, whom did he go with?”
“Horik,” Tonild admitted, her voice scarcely audible.
“And Horik is …” I said, fishing.
“Horik is Osfrid’s trusted man and the leader of his retinue,” Father Egbert said, standing up and glaring at me. “I presume you’ll want to speak to him next?”
I nodded. We waited in silence while the priest flung the tent flap aside and walked out. Winston looked down at the floor. I allowed my eyes to focus on the place they seemed most drawn, but Tonild did not seem to notice my fascination with her breasts.
A few moments later the priest returned alone. “Horik is not here,” Father Egbert said.
Winston looked at me and I nodded. The devious father had had just enough time to send Horik out of the camp. Winston’s voice nevertheless remained calm.
“Where is he?” Winston demanded.
Father Egbert shrugged and replied calmly, “Soldiers do not routinely keep me apprised of their plans.”
“What does this Horik look like?” Winston still sounded quite calm.
“Look like?” Father Egbert asked, obviously trying to catch Tonild’s eye. “He’s very tall and has red hair that he wears in two braids.”
If we had a look at the many tall Saxon soldiers around camp, we might be able to pick Horik out based on his hair color.
“And you’ll tell him we want to talk to him when you see him?” Winston asked politely.
The priest nodded.
“Thank you,” Winston said and turned to the widow. “When will Osfrid be buried?”
Tonild looked up, her eyes suddenly full of tears. Perhaps her anger had been suppressing her grief, of which she was suddenly reminded. “This afternoon I expect,” she said. “His brother is on his way.”
Winston raised an eyebrow.
“I sent men out to meet Osfrid’s brother Osmund last night,” Tonild said. “We heard he was spending the night in Ramsbury.”
I instinctively took a step forward—it was news to me that Osfrid had a brother. But Winston quickly turned to Father Egbert and asked, “You said Lady Tonild inherits everything?”
Father Egbert nodded and explained, “That is the truth. The thane’s will was quite clear.”
“Hmm.” Winston rubbed his chin. “Are there any other relatives?”
“Just two brothers-in-law from his first marriage,” Egbert said.
“And where are they?” Winston asked.
“Here in Oxford. They both swore fealty to Cnut a long time ago,” Father Egbert said.
Winston closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he gestured for me to follow. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said to Tonild and Father Egbert. He bowed to Tonild, stepped up to the tent’s opening, and flipped the flap aside.
I took a sudden step back, blinded by the sunlight shimmering over the camp. Father Egbert was so close on my heels that I stepped on his feet. To protect himself, he pushed me in the back so that I toppled forward onto Winston.
We both fell out of the tent. I could tell from the guards’ smarmy grins that they were glad to see us go.
Winston walked through the camp without uttering a word. He was tugging on his nose and chewing his lip, clearly lost in thought. I didn’t interrupt, and instead kept an eye out for a soldier with red braids. No luck, of course. Horik was long gone.
Winston and I sat down opposite each other at a rough, unfinished wooden table outside an ale tent on the outskirts of the camp. There was so much commotion all around us that we could only hear each other by leaning way over the table. Our heads were practically touching, but this meant that we could speak freely without any risk of being overheard, which suited us just fine. As we debriefed about the investigation, Winston agreed with me on one point.
“You’re right,” Winston said after a freckly, flat-chested wench had brought us our drinks. “Egbert told Horik to scram.”
We raised our tankards to each other and took a sip. “Ah,” Winston said, setting his tankard back down. “I must admit that I do prefer malted ale to sweet wine. But now the real question is, why is this Horik supposed to steer clear of you and me?”
“In other words,” I said, “who was Osfrid meeting with yesterday?”
“Exactly,” Winston began tugging on his nose again. “Tonild doesn’t seem to want us to find that out, but that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Any guesses?”
I thought it over. “Another woman?”
Winston shook his head. “No, Tonild inherited the estate. As long as the estate remained hers, why would she care whether Osfrid had a woman on the side?”
“But the estate wouldn’t be hers anymore if the other woman had a child,” I said.
Winston considered that for a moment. “I suppose,” he said. “But Tonild could have found men to swear that Osfrid hadn’t fathered the child. No, I think there’s some other reason why they’re not talking.”
I cocked my head, puzzled.
“Like fear,” he suggested.
I shook my head. “Who would they be afraid of?”
He taunted me with a mocking smile. He sat there in silence while I thought so hard that smoke practically came out of my ears. I finally figured it out. “The king!” I exclaimed in a hushed voice.
“Yes, the king. I’ll wager that when we find this Horik, he’ll confirm that there are Saxons in the camp who are doing everything in their power to keep the Witenagemot from proclaiming Cnut king. That’s the only way they have even the slightest chance of preventing Cnut from taking full control of England.”
“And if the king gets wind of the plot, he’ll strike,” I said quietly. “They’re afraid for their lives.”
Winston nodded and added, “And not just their lives.”
When I looked puzzled, he explained, “Whoever Osfrid met with is still alive. But only for as long as the meeting can be kept secret from Cnut.”
Chapter 13
So the king is guilty after all?” I asked after draining my tankard.
“Perhaps, but probably not,” Winston said, grinning at me. “And yet … kings can be hard to figure out. But upon closer reflection, I still don’t think he did it. It’s just not l
ike him.”
This surprised me. “Not like Cnut? Tell that to Tonild’s father, and the ealdormen, and all the other thanes he’s had assassinated.”
Winston nodded. “Exactly. He had them mowed down. There are certain things a king has to do. But why did he do it? What was his goal?”
“God’s grace?” I guessed. I didn’t see what Winston was getting at.
“Priests talk a lot about that, yes,” Winston said. “And I’m sure the good Wulfstan keeps Cnut’s ears full of how he won the kingdom because he enjoys God’s favor. So of course Cnut does everything he can to remain in the Lord’s favor—just ask the monasteries and the Church. A few years ago, the monks at Ely Monastery were cursing Cnut as a battle-crazed Viking marauder. Now that he’s been lavishing them with gifts, they’re falling all over themselves with praise for him.” Winston drank from his tankard. “But don’t you find it odd, Halfdan, that God’s favor never falls to kings until they’ve won, never before. Cnut received God’s favor by winning. But why did he win, if God’s favor didn’t come until afterward?”
What a stupid question. “He was strongest,” I said.
“He had the best soldiers, the best advisers, and the greatest yearning for power, yes,” Winston said, rolling his now-empty tankard between his hands. “So, you see, it is power that makes him king. It’s power he’s after. That’s what he cleaves to. And in the shadow of power is fear. Why do you think all these nobles are flocking into Oxford right now?”
“Well,” I said, “the Vikings are coming for their promised share of the heregeld, which was why they fought, as well as the reason they chose to follow and then hail Cnut.”
“But what about the Saxons, the Angles, the Jutes, and the nobles from the Welsh borderlands?” Winston asked. “What about the Danes who had kept their oaths to Ethelred and Edmund? All the peoples who have been conquered?” Winston paused. “They are coming out of fear of incurring the king’s wrath, because they’ve seen what happens to people who oppose him. King Cnut does his killing in the open. He leaves no doubt that it is his avenging hand striking the blow. By wielding his power in such plain sight, he casts a formidable shadow of fear. The men upon whom that shadow falls scurry toward him, hoping that Cnut’s power will not crush them the next time. That’s why I believe the king when he says he’s innocent in this case—because Osfrid was murdered in secret. But if we’ve guessed correctly, Osfrid did meet with someone working against the king.”
Winston smiled wryly before continuing. “But does Cnut know that? Don’t you think Tonild and Egbert are afraid Cnut will find that out? Isn’t that why they’re so reluctant to talk?”
Winston was making a good deal of sense.
“That all sounds well and good, but we have no proof.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. And Cnut isn’t entirely in the clear yet either,” Winston said, as our waitress, Robin-No-Breast, stopped by the table.
“Yes?” Winston said to her.
“Are you two planning to have anything else to drink? If not, I have to ask you to leave to make room for other patrons,” she said, her voice sounding lethargic from exhaustion.
People were standing all around us. The ale tent was evidently doing well these days.
“Bring us another two tankards,” Winston said, squinting into the sun as he looked up at the wench before she scurried away for more ale.
“We’d better take stock of where we stand,” Winston said, turning back to me. The girl returned and set the sloshing tankards on the table, grumpily taking the coin Winston handed her.
“Maybe Osfrid’s brother did it,” I suggested, wiping ale foam out of my beard.
“Maybe,” Winston replied. “I’m sure many would find displeasure in being left out of their brother’s will.”
“Although in this case that doesn’t really make sense,” I said, scooting in closer to the table as an ale-swilling patron squeezed past behind me. “If Osfrid’s brother had stood to inherit, then he might have had a reason. But Tonild is the heir.”
“I suppose so,” Winston said, nodding slowly. “But he may have had other reasons. We could look into what Osfrid and his brother each inherited from their father. Nothing fosters hatred between two siblings like the unfair distribution of an inheritance.”
“What about Osfrid’s brothers-in-law?” I suggested.
“The brothers of his first wife, who died so long ago? Hardly likely. Although we should probably find out whether Osfrid inherited anything from her and if he shared that inheritance with her brothers. If he did share, they would have no reason to go after him. If he didn’t, well, that’s another matter.”
As I mulled this all over, I remembered what the king had said about the death of Osfrid’s son Oslaf, who had been Cnut’s hostage. “What about Thorkell?”
“Thorkell the Tall? The earl?” Winston looked at me, astonished.
“Well, he’s taken out men before when they’ve opposed Cnut. And it was his stallion that killed the boy. Maybe Osfrid accused him as well as the king?”
“Hmm,” Winston said, tugging on his nose. “Hmm. But he was in the Hall with the king when the murder took place.”
“He’s an earl! He has men for that kind of thing,” I said, scoffing at Winston’s gullibility.
“Good point,” he conceded. “All right, then. If everyone else turns out to be a dud, we won’t rule Thorkell out. Anyone else?”
I had another thought. “Perhaps Tonild herself?”
“The widow?” Winston asked, laughing almost contemptuously. “I just explained to her that her behavior toward Cnut had convinced me of her innocence.”
“Which could have just been what it was meant to do,” I said, raising my voice in my eagerness. Winston slowly lowered the palms of both hands to the table and leaned forward, signaling me to drop my voice to a whisper. I leaned forward as well. “How long were Osfrid and Tonild married?” I said. “Two, three years? And she was still barren. And Osfrid’s other heirs are all dead. His eldest son died at a very young age, and the younger one died at birth. How old was Osfrid?”
Winston shrugged. “Well, you saw him—both quick and dead.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
Winston’s mouth slid open, taken aback. “A little over forty.”
“Well, Osfrid looked to be a little older than you,” I estimated. “Closer to fifty, I’d say. So he was running out of time to line up some heirs. What are a man’s options if his wife is barren?”
Winston nodded in understanding. “Annul the marriage and disown the wife. Yes, you’re right. If he had threatened to do that—or if Tonild was even simply afraid that he might—then that would be a very good motive.”
“And a good reason not to tell us who Osfrid was meeting with yesterday,” I added.
“If he was meeting with the murderer she had hired—yes, indeed,” Winston said and then paused to sip his ale. His furrowed brow and pursed lips carved deep wrinkles into his face.
Finally he looked up. “All right. You go back to camp. Find out as much as you can about this Horik, if he even exists. But also find out what you can about Tonild and Osfrid and their life together.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I had trouble imagining Tonild’s soldiers being especially forthcoming with me.
Winston’s smile went beyond teasing as he replied, “Your eyes have scrutinized the chest of every single woman we’ve passed all day—not to mention ogling as far up their skirts as possible. If women are as fond of you as you are of them, I’m quite certain you’ll be able to locate a scullery maid or a servant girl whom you can charm into gladly supplying you with all you could ever want—in terms of information, I mean.”
I beamed at him and asked, “What are you going to do, then?”
“I’m going to run a couple of errands.”
Fine, if he was going to be all secretive like that … Well, actually it didn’t bother me at all. I stood up and handed my seat to a Viking wh
o had been eyeing it for some time.
The hubbub in the camp had not died down while we’d been talking at the alehouse. Men were pushing and shoving and shouting at each other, and Cnut’s housecarls were strolling all over the camp in small groups. The king clearly wanted to demonstrate that he had things firmly under control.
Instead of heading straight for Tonild’s tent, I ducked left into the row of tents just before it. No one paid any attention to me. There were as many soldiers wandering around in worn clothes as there are rocks in a streambed, and I knew that as long as I didn’t pick any fights, I would be left well enough alone.
I recalled yet another of Harding’s lessons: To avoid confrontation, avoid making eye contact. That’s how to move safely through a crowd of soldiers.
And it worked like a charm.
Tonild’s tent came into view between the two tents to my right. Though the guards were still there, they were simply staring straight ahead, focusing on the area immediately surrounding the tent, and therefore took no notice of me.
The tent flap was closed. Tonild was presumably deep in prayer with her priest, and they’d probably remain there until her brother-in-law arrived.
I turned my back to her tent and headed toward the edge of the camp. The cooking bonfires were blazing out on the grassy meadow. Long worktables lined the cooking area, and lines of servant girls and boys were bent over them, hard at work. Some makeshift canvas awnings had been put up behind the worktables.
I wandered around, trying to eavesdrop. Eventually I thought I heard the name Osfrid, so I moved closer to the two servants, who were slowly turning a skewered sheep over the embers. When I asked whether they were Tonild’s men, they looked at me, shrugged, and shook their heads.
Then it struck me that they might still think of themselves as Osfrid’s men, but when I asked them if they served him, I got the same response. I realized that they’d probably just been discussing the murder, like so many others in Oxford that day.
A few minutes later, a leggy vixen came jogging across the grass. Luck was with me now. Her blonde hair billowed over her bare shoulders, her breasts jiggled gently against her linen top, and a pair of promising lips beckoned in her lovely face.
The King's Hounds (The King's Hounds series Book 1) Page 11
