Bernard Cornwell - The Empty Throne

And then the bishop sprang his surprise, and the serpent’s mouth opened to show the long curved fangs. ‘It is the Lord Æthelred’s pleasure,’ he said, ‘that his dear daughter should marry Eardwulf.’

There was a gasp in the hall, a murmur, and then silence again. I could see men frowning, more in perplexity than disapproval. Eardwulf, by marrying Ælfwynn, was joining Æthelred’s family. He might not be nobly born, but no one could deny his wife’s royal lineage. Ælfwynn was King Alfred’s granddaughter, King Edward’s niece. The open thighs of Eardwulf’s sister had given him command of Æthelred’s household warriors, but now Ælfwynn could spread her legs to lift him higher still. Clever, I thought. A few men started to speak, their voices a low grumble in the big hall, but then came another surprise: Æthelred himself spoke.

‘It is my pleasure,’ Æthelred said, then paused to gulp in a breath. His voice had been weak and men hushed each other in the hall to hear him. ‘It is my pleasure,’ he said again, his words halting and slurred, ‘that my daughter Ælfwynn should marry my Lord Eardwulf.’

Lord, I thought? Lord Eardwulf? I stared in amazement at Æthelred. He seemed to be smiling. I looked at Æthelhelm. What did Wessex gain from the marriage? Maybe, I thought, it was simply that no Mercian ealdorman could marry Ælfwynn and so inherit Æthelred’s power, thus leaving the throne open for Edward, but what was to stop Eardwulf himself aspiring to the throne? Yet Æthelhelm was smiling and nodding his approval, then he crossed the hall and held his arms out to embrace Eardwulf. There could be no plainer signal than that. King Edward of Wessex wanted his niece to marry Eardwulf. But why?

Father Penda scuttled past, heading for the door. He glanced at me, and Osferth stiffened, expecting another assault from the young priest, but Penda kept walking. ‘Go after that priest,’ I told my son.

‘Father?’

‘He’s gone for a piss. Piss beside him. Go!’

‘I don’t need a …’

‘Go and piss!’

Uhtred went and I watched Æthelhelm lead Eardwulf onto the dais. The younger man looked handsome, confident, and strong. He knelt to Æthelred, who reached out a hand. Eardwulf kissed the hand and Æthelred said something, but too low for any of us to hear. Bishop Wulfheard stooped to listen, then straightened and turned to the hall. ‘It is the pleasure of our dear Lord Æthelred,’ he announced, ‘that his daughter be married on the feast of Saint Æthelwold.’

Some of the priests began stamping their feet and the rest of the hall followed. ‘When is Saint Æthelwold’s Day?’ I asked Osferth.

‘There are two Æthelwolds,’ he said pedantically, ‘and you should know that, lord, as they both come from near Bebbanburg.’

‘When?’ I snarled.

‘The nearest is in three days, lord. But Bishop Æthelwold’s feast day was last month.’

Three days? Far too soon for Æthelflaed to interfere. Her daughter Ælfwynn would be married to an enemy before she even knew about it. That enemy was still kneeling to Æthelred while the Witan cheered him. Just minutes before they had been scornful of Eardwulf because of his low birth, but they could see which way the wind blew, and it blew strong from the south, from Wessex. Eardwulf was at least a Mercian, and so Mercia would be spared the indignity of begging a West Saxon to lead them.

Then my son came back into the church and bent to my ear. He whispered to me.

And I understood at last why Æthelhelm approved of the marriage and why I had been invited to the Witan.

I should have known, or I should have guessed. This meeting of the Witan was not just about Mercia’s future but about the fate of kings.

I told Uhtred what he must do, then I stood. I stood laboriously and slowly, letting the pain show on my face. ‘My lords,’ I shouted, and that hurt so much. ‘My lords!’ I shouted again, letting the pain rip at me.

They turned to look at me. Every man in the room knew what was about to happen, indeed Æthelhelm and the bishop had feared this would happen, which is why they had hoped to silence me with flattery. Now they knew the flattery had failed because I was going to protest. I was going to argue that Æthelflaed should have a say in her daughter’s fate. I was going to challenge Æthelred and Æthelhelm, and now they waited for that challenge in silence. Æthelred was staring at me, so was Æthelhelm. The bishop’s mouth hung open.

But, to their relief, I said nothing.

I just fell to the floor.

There was commotion. I was shaking and moaning. Men ran to kneel at my side and Finan bellowed at them to give me room. He also shouted to my son, telling him to come to me, but Uhtred had gone to do my bidding. Father Penda pushed through the crowd and, seeing me stricken, loudly announced that this was God’s righteous judgement on me, and even Bishop Wulfheard frowned at that. ‘Silence, man!’

‘The heathen is struck down,’ Father Penda said, trying too hard to earn his gold.

‘Lord? Lord!’ Finan was rubbing my right hand.

‘Sword,’ I said faintly, then louder, ‘sword!’

‘Not in the hall,’ some fool insisted.

‘No swords in the hall,’ Eardwulf said sternly.

So Finan and four other men carried me outside and laid me on the grass. A thin rain was falling as Sihtric brought me Serpent-Breath and closed my right hand about her hilt. ‘Paganism!’ Father Penda hissed.

‘Does he live?’ the bishop asked, bending down to peer at me.

‘Not for long,’ Finan said.

‘Carry him to shelter,’ the bishop said.

‘Home,’ I muttered, ‘take me home. Finan! Take me home!’

‘I’ll take you home, lord,’ Finan said.

Æthelhelm arrived, driving the crowd apart like a bull scattering sheep. ‘Lord Uhtred!’ he exclaimed, kneeling beside me. ‘What happened?’

Osferth made the sign of the cross. ‘He can’t hear you, lord.’

‘I can,’ I said. ‘Take me home.’

‘Home?’ Æthelhelm asked. He sounded anxious.

‘Home to the hills,’ I said, ‘I want to die on the hills.’

‘There’s a convent nearby,’ Æthelhelm was holding my right hand, tightening my grip on Serpent-Breath. ‘They can minister to you there, Lord Uhtred.’

‘The hills,’ I said, sounding weak, ‘just take me to the hills.’

‘It’s pagan nonsense,’ Father Penda said scornfully.

‘If Lord Uhtred wants to go to the hills,’ Æthelhelm said firmly, ‘then he must go!’ Men muttered as they watched me. My death took away Æthelflaed’s strongest supporter, and doubtless they were wondering what would happen to her lands and mine when Eardwulf became Mercia’s lord. It was raining harder and I moaned. It was not all pretence.

‘You’ll catch cold, lord bishop,’ Father Penda said.

‘And we still have much to discuss,’ Wulfheard said, straightening. ‘Send us news,’ he said to Finan.

‘It is God’s judgement,’ Penda insisted as he walked away.

‘It is indeed!’ Wulfheard said heavily. ‘And let it be a lesson to all the heathen.’ He made the sign of the cross, then followed Penda towards the hall.

‘You will let us know what happens?’ Æthelhelm asked Finan.

‘Of course, lord. Pray for him.’

‘With all my might.’

I waited to make certain that everyone from the Witan had retreated from the rain, then looked up at Finan. ‘Uhtred’s bringing a wagon,’ I said. ‘Get me in it. Then we go east, all of us. Sihtric?’

‘Lord?’

‘Find our men. Look in the taverns. Get them ready to travel. Go!’

‘Lord?’ Finan asked, puzzled by my sudden energy.

‘I’m dying,’ I explained, then winked at him.

‘You are?’