I crouched opposite him, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear. ‘Well done.’
He stopped his prayers abruptly, opened his eyes, and looked at me. For a moment he seemed almost more scared than when I had spoken harshly. ‘Well done?’ he repeated in a very small voice.
I still whispered. ‘The archbishop wanted me to find out if you could keep a secret.’
‘You spoke to …’ he began, then went silent when I put a finger in front of my lips.
‘Finan mustn’t hear,’ I whispered, ‘he can’t be trusted.’
Ieremias nodded vigorously. ‘He looks treacherous, lord. You can’t trust small men.’
‘And he’s Irish,’ I said.
‘Oh! Well! Yes, lord!’
‘He must believe that I hate you,’ I said, ‘but I’m here for the archbishop! He promised he would replace everything I burned. He promised.’
‘But,’ he said, frowning, then looked down at the hammer that hung on its chain around my neck. ‘You’re not a Christian, lord!’
‘Hush!’ I said, holding my finger before my lips again. I stole a glance at Finan, then lowered my voice even more. ‘Look!’ I lifted Serpent-Breath’s hilt, and there, in the pommel, was a silver cross. It had been given to me years before by Hild, whom I had loved and still did, though she lived now in a convent in Wintanceaster, yet for a time we had been lovers. I had placed the cross into the sword’s hilt out of sentimentality, but now it served me well, as Ieremias stared at it. The silver caught and reflected the brazier’s fire.
‘But,’ Ieremias began again.
‘Sometimes Christ’s work must be done in secret,’ I whispered. ‘Tell me, Ieremias, are the Christians winning the wars in Britain?’
‘Yes, lord,’ he said enthusiastically, ‘God be thanked, the kingdom of God comes north year by year. The pagans are confounded! God’s armies cleanse the land!’
‘And who led those Christian armies?’
He gaped for a second, then, in a very low but surprised voice. ‘You did, lord.’
‘I did,’ I said. And that was true, though I had led those armies only because of my oath to Æthelflaed. I hesitated a moment. My pretence was working, it was reassuring and comforting Ieremias, but now I had to make a guess, and if I was wrong then I could lose his trust. ‘The archbishop,’ I whispered, ‘told me about Lindisfarena.’
‘He did!’ Ieremias was excited and I was relieved. The guess had been right.
‘He wants it to be an island of prayer,’ I said, recalling Hrothweard’s words.
‘That’s what he told me!’ Ieremias said.
‘So he wants you to restore the monastery to its true glory,’ I said.
‘It must be done!’ Ieremias said fiercely. ‘It is a place of power, lord, far greater than Gyruum! A prayer said in Lindisfarena is heard by God! Not by the saints, lord, but by God Himself! With Lindisfarena I can work miracles!’
I hushed him again. It was time for the second guess, but this one was easier. ‘My cousin,’ I said, ‘promised you the island?’
‘He did, lord.’
I knew that Archbishop Hrothweard, who was a man of sense and duty, had never promised Lindisfarena to Ieremias. The island and its ruined monastery were sacred to Christians because it was there that Saint Cuthbert had lived and preached. My cousin had never restored the monastery even though it lay within sight of Bebbanburg’s walls, probably because he feared that a new abbey and its buildings would attract Norse or Danish raiders. Yet now that he was under siege he needed ships to bring his beleaguered garrison food, and Ieremias’s small fleet was harboured just south of Bebbanburg’s land, so making a promise about Lindisfarena would have been an easy way to recruit the mad bishop’s help. ‘What did my cousin promise you?’ I asked. ‘That he would help you rebuild the monastery?’
‘Yes, lord,’ Ieremias said excitedly, ‘he promised we shall make Lindisfarena more glorious than ever!’
I shook my head sadly. ‘The archbishop has learned,’ I whispered, ‘that my cousin has also promised Lindisfarena to the black monks.’
‘To the Benedictines!’ Ieremias was horrified.
‘Because they brought Christianity to the Saxons,’ I explained, ‘and he doesn’t trust you because you’re a Dane.’
‘We’re neither Dane nor Saxon in God’s sight!’ Ieremias protested.
‘I know that,’ I said, ‘and you know that, but my cousin hates the Danes. He’s using you. He wants you to bring him food, but then he will betray you! The black monks are waiting at Contwaraburg, and they will come north when the Scots are gone.’
‘God won’t allow that to happen!’ Ieremias protested.
‘Which is why he sent me,’ I said.
He looked into my eyes and I looked back, not blinking, and I saw the doubt in his gaze. ‘But Lord Æthelhelm …’ he began.
‘Has promised gold to the black monks,’ I interrupted. ‘I thought you knew that. I thought that was why you helped Einar attack him!’
He shook his head. ‘The Lord Uhtred,’ he meant my cousin, ‘wanted food, lord, because there was a fire in his granaries. But he feared because Lord Æthelhelm is bringing so many men, he thinks Lord Æthelhelm means to keep the fortress.’
‘I thought my cousin was going to marry Æthelhelm’s daughter?’
‘Oh, he is, lord.’ He chuckled and his eyes opened wider. ‘Very young and ripe, that one! A consolation for your cousin.’
Consolation for what, I wondered, for losing control of Bebbanburg to Æthelhelm’s men? ‘So Æthelhelm,’ I said, ‘would let my cousin keep Bebbanburg, but will insist on garrisoning it with his own men?’
‘With a whole army, lord! Ready to smite the heathen!’
And that made sense. With Bebbanburg in Æthelhelm’s grasp, Sigtryggr would find Saxon armies to his south and to his north. My cousin had cannily avoided becoming entangled in any of the wars between Saxons and Danes, but Æthelhelm’s price for his rescue was that Bebbanburg was to be part of the crushing of Northumbria. ‘And my cousin didn’t want Æthelhelm’s army in his fortress?’ I asked.
‘He doesn’t want that! Some men, yes, an army? No!’
‘So you said you’d weaken Lord Æthelhelm’s fleet?’
He hesitated. I sensed he wanted to lie, so I growled slightly and he jerked as if surprised. ‘The Scots were already planning to do that, lord,’ he admitted hurriedly.
‘You knew that?’ I asked, and he just nodded. ‘So what does God think of you talking to King Constantin?’ I asked.
‘Lord!’ he protested. ‘I didn’t speak to him!’
‘You did,’ I accused him. ‘How else could you arrange to guide their fleet to Dumnoc? You’ve been talking to both sides. To my cousin and to Constantin.’
‘Not to King Constantin, lord. I swear it on the blessed virgin’s womb.’
‘You spoke to the Lord Domnall then.’
He paused, then nodded. ‘I did,’ he admitted in a low voice.
‘You came to an arrangement,’ I said, ‘a tilskipan.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘You wanted reassurance,’ I said, speaking gently again. ‘My cousin promised to let you have the monastery if you helped him, but what if he lost? That must have worried you.’
‘It did, lord! I prayed!’
‘And God told you to talk to the Scots?’
‘Yes, lord!’
‘And they promised to give you the monastery if you helped them?’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘And you scouted Dumnoc for them?’
He nodded again. ‘Yes, lord.’
‘But why didn’t you join their attack? Why didn’t you fight alongside Einar’s men?’
He looked at me with wide eyes, ‘I am a peacemaker, lord! Blessed are the peacemakers! I told Lord Domnall I could not carry a sword, I’m a bishop! I would help the Scots, lord, but not kill for them. God forbid!’
‘And if you had fought alongside Einar’s ships,’ I sug
gested, ‘then Lord Æthelhelm would know you had betrayed my cousin.’
‘That is true, lord,’ he said. If Ieremias was mad, I thought, then he was subtle mad, clever mad, sinuous as a serpent. He had convinced both the Scots and my cousin that he was on their side, all so he could build his new monastery on Lindisfarena regardless of which side won.
‘Do you really believe,’ I asked him, ‘that my cousin will keep his promise? Or that the Scots will let you build a monastery on their land? Neither can be trusted!’
He looked at me with tears in his eyes. ‘God wants me to build it, lord! He talks to me; He demands it; He expects it of me!’
‘Then you must build it,’ I said feelingly. ‘And the archbishop understands that! Which is why he sent you a message.’
‘A message?’ he asked eagerly.
‘He sends you his blessing and assures you he will be praying daily for your success. He promises he will support your work on Lindisfarena and send you treasures, such treasures! But only if you help me.’ I took his hand and laid it on the silver cross in Serpent-Breath’s hilt. ‘I swear by my soul that this is true and I swear that when I am Lord of Bebbanburg you will be the abbot, the bishop, and the ruler of Lindisfarena.’ I pressed his hand against the pommel. ‘I swear that in the name of the Father—’
‘My Father,’ he interrupted hurriedly.
‘In the name of your Father, and of your brother, and of—’
‘And of the other one,’ he interrupted again. ‘You mustn’t name the other one,’ he told me anxiously, ‘because it makes God jealous. He told me that.’
‘Jealous?’
He nodded vigorously. ‘You see it’s the holy other one,’ he said, stressing the word holy, ‘while my Father and my brother should be holy, even holier, but they’re not. And that’s very wrong!’
‘It is wrong,’ I said soothingly.
‘So Father asked me not to name the other one. Ever.’
‘And your Father will also tell you to trust me,’ I said.
I thought for a heartbeat that I had taken the pretence a step too far because Ieremias did not respond, but just frowned at me. Then he closed his eyes tight and muttered something under his breath. He paused, apparently listening, nodded, muttered again, and then opened his eyes and looked at me with unfeigned happiness. ‘I just asked Him, lord, and He says I can trust you! Praise Him!’
‘Praise Him indeed,’ I said, still holding his hand. ‘So now tell me everything I need to know.’
And in Gyruum’s old church, in the smoke-haunted night, he did.
PART FOUR
The Return to Bebbanburg
Eleven
‘You should have slit his god-damned throat,’ Finan growled next morning, or rather later that night, because I had woken my men in the depths of darkness. The fires that smoked the fish flared up on the foreshore as my men fed them with driftwood, and by the light of the sudden flames they waded into the shallows and heaved armour and weapons into our ships. More fires showed on the hill above, surrounding the feast hall where I had imprisoned all of Ieremias’s men, women, and children. Seven of my guards watched the hall, while two others stood watch over Ieremias who had begged to be allowed to spend the night in his relic-filled cathedral. ‘I would pray, lord,’ he had pleaded, ‘I would pray for your success.’
‘Pray!’ Finan scoffed. ‘You should have let me slit his god-damned throat.’
‘He’s mad, not evil.’
‘He’s cunning and sly, you said so yourself.’
‘He believes in miracles,’ I said. Somehow Dagfinnr the Dane had heard about Christian miracles and had convinced himself that the nailed god would give him the power to work them if only he collected enough relics, and so Ieremias had been born. He blamed his failure to turn water into mulberry ale or to cure blindness on the sad fact that he had been denied ownership of Lindisfarena. ‘It’s a place of power!’ he had told me earnestly. ‘Heaven touches the earth on that island! It is a holy place.’
‘So,’ I now told Finan, ‘he wants to build a new cathedral on Lindisfarena and then he’s going to rule all Britain.’
‘King Ieremias?’ Finan asked scornfully.
‘Not King Ieremias,’ I said, ‘but Pope Ieremias, and he’s going to call his realm the kingdom of heaven. Everyone will live in peace, there’ll be no sickness, no poverty, and the harvest will never fail.’ Ieremias, trusting me, had poured out his ambitions, his words running together in his excitement. ‘There’ll be no lords,’ I went on, ‘and no fortresses, the lion will lie down with the lamb, swords will be forged into ploughshares, there’ll be no more stinging nettles, and a man can take as many wives as he wants.’
‘Sweet Christ, is that all?’
‘And god told him that the miracles will all start at Lindisfarena, so that’s where he’ll build his new Jerusalem. He wants to rename the island. It’s going to be the Blessed Isle.’
‘Bless my buttocks,’ Finan said.
‘And I’m to be Most Holy High Protector of the Blessed Isle.’
‘Why does he need a protector if everyone will live in peace?’
‘Because he says the devil will be roaming about like a roaring lion looking to devour folk.’
‘I thought the lion was sleeping with the lamb? And anyway, what is a lion?’
‘The devil in disguise.’
Finan laughed and shook his head. ‘And you promised to give this idiot the monastery ruins?’
‘I can’t, they belong to the church, but I can give him land on the island. And if he takes the church land too? I won’t stop him.’
‘The church won’t like that.’
‘I don’t give a rat’s turd what the church likes or dislikes,’ I said tartly, ‘and Ieremias is harmless.’
‘He’ll betray you,’ Finan said, ‘like he’s betrayed everyone else.’ For some reason Finan had taken against Ieremias, a dislike that was mutual. I wondered if it was because Finan, a Christian, was offended by the mad bishop’s delusions? I could imagine some Christians thinking that Ieremias mocked them, but I was not so sure. I thought he was sincere, even if he was mad, while Finan just wanted to cut his throat.
But I would not cut his throat, nor any other part of him. I had liked Ieremias. He was earnestly mad and he was passionately mistaken and he was also cunning, as he had proved by his dealings with Æthelhelm, with the Scots, and with my cousin, but all those lies and deceptions had been meant to bring about his miraculous kingdom. He believed the nailed god was on his side, and I was not willing to offend that god, nor any other, not on this day, which would bring the battle I had dreamed of all my life. So I had promised him land on Lindisfarena, then allowed him to offer me his blessing. His scrawny hands had pressed on my skull as he harangued the nailed god with a plea for my victory. He had even offered to come with us. ‘I can summon my Father’s angels to fight on your side,’ he had promised me, but I had persuaded him his prayers would be just as effective if they were made in his own cathedral.
‘You might let him live,’ Finan said grudgingly, ‘but don’t just leave him here!’
‘What can he do?’
‘You’ll just sail away and let him be?’
‘What else?’
‘I don’t trust the bastard.’
‘What can he do?’ I asked again. ‘He can’t warn Bebbanburg that we’re coming. He’d need a fast ship to do that, and he doesn’t have any ships.’
‘He’s a miracle-worker. Perhaps he’ll fly.’
‘He’s a poor, innocent idiot,’ I said, then sent Swithun to recall all the guards who watched Ieremias and his folk in the old monastery. It was time to leave.
Ieremias was indeed a poor innocent idiot, but wasn’t I just as foolish? I was taking a small band of men to capture the impregnable fortress where my cousin’s men waited, where Einar the White waited, and where the Scots waited.
We sailed north.
Four ships. The Eadith, the Hanna, the Stiorra, and
the Guds Moder left Gyruum in the darkness. I was in the Guds Moder now, leaving Gerbruht to helm the Eadith. We rowed downriver towards the sea, and the sound of our oar-blades striking the water was the loudest noise in that still night. Every dip of the oars stirred the black river to a myriad of twinkling lights, and each time the blades lifted they sprinkled a glitter of those lights that were the jewels of Ran the sea-goddess, and I took their sparkling to be a sign of her blessing. Small patches of mist clung to the river, but there was enough moonlight seeping through the thin clouds to show us the Tinan’s dark banks.
We left on the slack water of low tide, but the flood began as we headed towards the sea. For the moment the current was against us, but once past the headlands we would turn north and the tide would help us. Later in the day we would fight the sea’s currents, but I hoped by then a wind would be filling our sails.
But there was no wind as we left the river. There was just the silence of the night through which the four ships ghosted slow under their oar beats, and, as the clouds moved west, beneath a sky drenched with stars. There were stars above us and Ran’s jewels below us and the sea was calm. She is never still, of course. A calm lake can look as smooth as ice, but the sea always moves. You see her breathing, see the slow rise and fall of the great waters, but I have rarely seen a sea as calm as on that starlit, silent night. It was as if the gods held their breath, and even my men were silent. Crews usually chant or sing as they row, or at the least they grumble, but that night no one spoke and no one sang and the Guds Moder seemed to glide through a dark void like Skidblanir, the ship of the gods, sailing noiselessly between the stars.
I looked back as the sea’s hidden current carried us northwards. I was watching the headland of the Tinan for fire. I suspected Constantin, or at least Domnall, had posted men on the river’s northern bank to watch Ieremias’s ships. If there were Scottish scouts on that bank they could not ride to Bebbanburg faster than our ships could sail there, but they might light a warning beacon. I watched, but saw none. I hoped that any Scots who had occupied the southern parts of Bebbanburg’s land would already have retreated, because Sigtryggr’s forces should have crossed the wall by now. He had promised to lead at least a hundred and fifty men north, though he had warned me he was not willing to fight a pitched battle against Domnall. Such a battle would invite a slaughter, and Sigtryggr needed every sword for the Saxon onslaught he knew was coming.
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