Weland yelped. It was an odd, small sound from such a big man, and the damage being done to him seemed trivial after the hammering he had already taken, but Steapa had at last remembered that Wayland the Smith had been lamed by Nidung, and his twisting of the Dane’s foot was aggravating an ancient injury. Weland tried to pull away, but lost his balance and fell again, and Steapa, breathing thick and spitting blood, crawled toward him and began hitting again. He was hitting blindly, his hammer fists thumping on arms, chest, and head. Weland responded by trying to gouge out Steapa’s eyes, but the Saxon snapped at the groping hand with his teeth and I distinctly heard the crunch as he bit off Weland’s small finger. Weland twitched away, Steapa spat the finger out and dropped his huge hands onto the Dane’s neck. He started to squeeze and Weland, choking for breath, began to jerk and flap like a banked trout.
“Enough!” Erik called.
No one moved. Weland’s eyes were widening while Steapa, blood blinded and teeth bared, had his hands around the Dane’s neck. Steapa was making mewing noises, then grunting as he tried to drive his fingers into the Dane’s gullet.
“Enough!” Sigefrid roared.
Steapa’s blood dripped onto Weland’s face as the Saxon throttled the Dane. I could hear Steapa growling and knew he would never stop until the huge man was dead and so I pushed past one of the horizontal spears that held the spectators back. “Stop!” I shouted at Steapa, and when he ignored me I drew Wasp-Sting and slapped the flat of her short blade hard across his bloodied skull. “Stop!” I shouted again.
He snarled at me and I thought, for an instant, he was going to attack me, but then sense came to his half-closed eyes and he let go of Weland’s neck and stared up at me. “I won,” he said angrily. “Tell me I won!”
“Oh, you won,” I said.
Steapa got to his feet. He stood unsteadily, then he braced himself
on spread legs and punched both arms into the summer air. “I won!” he shouted.
Weland was still gasping for breath. He tried to stand, but fell back again.
I turned to Sigefrid. “The Saxon won,” I said, “and the priest lives.”
“The priest lives,” it was Erik who answered. Haesten was grinning, Sigefrid looked amused, and Weland was making a grating noise as he tried to breathe.
“Then make your offer,” Sigefrid said to me, “for Alfred’s bitch.”
And the haggling could begin.
S
igefrid was carried from the wagon platform by four men who struggled to lift his chair and lower it safely to the ground. He shot me a resentful scowl, as if I were to blame for his crippled condition, which, I suppose, I was. The four men carried the chair to his hall and Haesten, who had neither greeted me nor even acknowledged my presence other than by smiling slyly, gestured that we should follow.
“Steapa needs help,” I said.
“A woman will mop his blood,” Haesten said carelessly, then laughed suddenly. “So you discovered Bjorn was an illusion?”
“A good one,” I acknowledged grudgingly.
“He’s dead now,” Haesten said, with as much feeling as if he spoke of a hound that had died. “He caught a fever about two weeks after you saw him. And now he can’t come from his grave anymore, the bastard!” Haesten wore a gold chain now, a rope of thick links that hung heavy on his broad chest. I remembered him as a young man, he had been scarce more than a boy when I had rescued him, but now I saw the adult in Haesten and I did not like what I saw. His eyes were friendly enough, but they had a guarded quality as if, behind them, was a soul ready to strike like a snake. He punched my arm familiarly. “You know this royal Saxon bitch is going to cost you a lot of silver?”
“If Alfred decides he wants her back,” I said airily, “then I suppose he might pay something.”
Haesten laughed at that. “And if he doesn’t want her back? We’ll take her around Britain, around Frankia and back to our homeland, and we’ll strip her naked and strap her to a frame with her legs open, and let everyone come and see the King of Wessex’s daughter. You want that for her, Lord Uhtred?”
“You want me for an enemy, Earl Haesten?” I asked.
“I think we’re enemies already,” Haesten said, for once allowing the truth to show, but he immediately smiled as if to prove he was not serious. “Folk will pay good silver to see the daughter of the King of Wessex, don’t you think? And men will pay gold to enjoy her.” He laughed. “I think your Alfred will want to prevent that humiliation.”
He was right, of course, though I dared not acknowledge it. “Has she been harmed?” I asked.
“Erik won’t let us near her!” Haesten said, evidently amused. “No, she’s unscratched. If you’re selling a sow you don’t beat her with a holly stick, do you?”
“True,” I said. Beating a pig with a stick made from a branch of holly left bruises so deep that the beast’s compacted flesh could never be properly salt-cured. Haesten’s entourage waited nearby and among them I recognized Eilaf the Red, the man whose hall had been used to show me Bjorn, and he gave me a small bow. I ignored the courtesy.
“We’d best go in,” Haesten said, gesturing toward Sigefrid’s hall, “and see how much gold we can squeeze out of Wessex.”
“I must see Steapa first,” I said, though by the time I found Steapa he was surrounded by Saxon women slaves, who were using a lanolin salve on his cuts and bruises. He did not need me and so I followed Haesten into the hall.
A ring of stools and benches had been placed around the hall’s central hearth. Willibald and I were given two of the lowest stools, while Sigefrid glared at us from his chair on the far side of the empty hearth. Haesten and Erik took their places on either side of the cripple, then other men, all of them with lavish arm rings, filled the circle. These, I
knew, were the more important Northmen, the ones who had brought two or more ships, and the men who, if Sigefrid succeeded in conquering Wessex, would be rewarded with rich grants of land. Their followers crowded at the hall’s edges where women distributed horns of ale. “Make your offer,” Sigefrid commanded me abruptly.
“She is a daughter, not a son,” I said, “so Alfred is not minded to pay a great sum. Three hundred pounds of silver would seem adequate.”
Sigefrid stared at me for a long while, then stared around the hall where the men watched and listened. “Did I hear a Saxon fart?” he demanded, and was rewarded with laughter. He sniffed ostentatiously, then wrinkled his nose, while the spectators erupted into a chorus of farting noises. Then Sigefrid slammed a huge fist onto the arm of his chair and the hall went immediately silent. “You insult me,” he said, and I saw the anger in his eyes. “If Alfred is minded to offer so little, then I am minded to bring the girl here now and make you watch while we tup her. Why shouldn’t I!” He struggled in the chair as if he wanted to get to his feet, then slumped back. “Is that what you want, you Saxon fart? You want to see her raped?”
The anger, I thought, had been feigned. Just as I had to try and diminish Æthelflaed’s value, so Sigefrid had to exaggerate the threat to her, but I had noticed a flicker of disgust on Erik’s face when Sigefrid suggested rape, and that disgust had been aimed at his brother, not at me. I kept my voice calm. “The king,” I said, “gave me some discretion to increase his offer.”
“Oh, what a surprise!” Sigefrid said sarcastically, “so let me discover the limits of your discretion. We wish to be given ten thousand pounds of silver and five thousand pounds of gold.” He paused, wanting a response from me, but I kept silent. “And the money,” Sigefrid finally went on, “is to be brought here by Alfred himself. He is to pay it in person.”
That was a long day, a very long day, lubricated by ale, mead, and birch wine, and the negotiations were punctuated by threats, anger, and insults. I drank little, just some ale, but Sigefrid and his captains drank
heavily and that, perhaps, is why they yielded more than I expected. The truth is they wanted money; they wanted a boatload of silver and gold so they could hire more men and more weapons and so begin their conquest of Wessex. I had made a rough estimate of the numbers in that high fort and reckoned Sigefrid could assemble an army of about three thousand men, and that was nowhere near sufficient to invade Wessex. He needed five or six thousand men, and even that many might not be sufficient, but if he could raise eight thousand warriors then he would win. With such an army he could conquer Wessex and become the crippled king of her fertile fields, and to get those extra warriors he needed silver, and if he did not receive the ransom then even the men he now possessed would quickly melt away in search of other lords who could give them bright gold and shining silver.
By midafternoon they had settled for three thousand pounds of silver and five hundred pounds of gold. They still insisted Alfred deliver the money in person, but I resolutely refused that demand, even going so far as to stand and pluck Father Willibald’s arm, telling him we were leaving because we could reach no agreement. Many of the spectators were bored, and more than a few were drunk, and they growled with anger when they saw me stand so that, for a moment, I thought we would be attacked, but then Haesten intervened.
“What about the bitch’s husband?” he asked.
“What about him?” I asked, turning back as the hall slowly quietened.
“Doesn’t her husband call himself the Lord of Mercia?” Haesten inquired, mocking the title with laughter. “So let the Lord of Mercia bring the money.”
“And let him beg me for his wife,” Sigefrid added, “on his knees.”
“Agreed,” I said, surprising them by the ease of my surrender to their suggestion.
Sigefrid frowned, suspecting I had given in much too easily. “Agreed?” he asked, not sure he had heard me correctly.
“Agreed,” I said, sitting again. “The Lord of Mercia will deliver the ransom and he will go on his knees to you.” Sigefrid was still suspi
cious. “The Lord of Mercia is my cousin,” I explained, “and I hate the little bastard,” and at that even Sigefrid laughed.
“The money is to be here before the full moon,” he said, then pointed a blunt finger at me, “and you come the day before to tell me the silver and gold is on its way. You will fly a green branch at your masthead as a signal you come in peace.”
He wanted the full day’s warning of the ransom’s arrival so he could assemble as many men as possible to witness his triumph, and so I agreed to come the day before the treasure ship sailed, but explained that he could not expect that to happen soon because such a vast sum would take time to collect. Sigefrid growled at that, but I hurried on, assuring him that Alfred was a man who kept his word and that, by the next full moon, as large a down payment as could be assembled would be brought to Beamfleot. Æthelflaed was to be released then, I insisted, and the rest of the silver and gold would arrive before the following full moon. They haggled over those demands, but by now the bored men in the hall were getting restless and angry, so Sigefrid yielded the point that the ransom could be paid in two parts, and I yielded that Æthelflaed would not be freed until the second part had been delivered. “And I wish to see the Lady Æthelflaed now,” I said, making my last demand.
Sigefrid waved a careless hand. “Why not? Erik will take you.” Erik had hardly spoken all day. Like me he had stayed sober, and had neither joined in the insults nor the laughter. Instead he had sat, serious and withdrawn, his watchful eyes going from his brother to me. “You will eat with us tonight,” Sigefrid said. He smiled suddenly, showing some of the charm I had felt when I had first met him in Lundene. “We shall celebrate our agreement with a feast,” he went on, “and your men at Thunresleam will also be fed. You can talk to the girl now! Go with my brother.”
Erik led Father Willibald and me toward a smaller hall that was guarded by a dozen men in long mail coats, all of them carrying shields and weapons. It was plainly the place where Æthelflaed was being held captive and it lay close to the seaward rampart of the
camp. Erik did not speak as we walked, indeed he seemed almost oblivious of my company, keeping his eyes fixed so firmly on the ground at his feet that I had to steer him around some trestles on which men were shaping new oars. The long curling wood-shavings peeled off and smelled oddly sweet in the late afternoon warmth. Erik stopped just beyond the trestles and turned on me with a frown. “Did you mean what you said today?” he demanded angrily.
“I said a lot today,” I answered cautiously.
“About King Alfred not wanting to pay much for the Lady Æthelflaed? Because she’s a girl?”
“Sons are worth more than daughters,” I said truthfully enough.
“Or were you just bargaining?” he asked fiercely.
I hesitated. It struck me as a strange question because Erik was surely clever enough to have seen through that feeble attempt to lower Æthelflaed’s value, but there was real passion in his voice and I sensed he needed to hear the truth. Besides, nothing I said now could change the arrangements I had made with Sigefrid. The two of us had drunk the scot-ale to show that we had reached agreement, we had spat on our hands and touched palms, then sworn on a hammer amulet to keep faith with each other. That agreement was made, and that meant I could now tell the truth to Erik. “Of course I was bargaining,” I said. “Æthelflaed is dear to her father, very dear. He’s suffering because of all this.”
“I thought you had to be bargaining,” Erik said, sounding wistful. He turned and stared across the wide estuary of the Temes. A dragon ship was sliding on the flooding tide toward the creek, her oar-blades rising and falling to catch and reflect the settling sun with every lazy stroke. “How much would the king have paid for his daughter?” he asked.
“Whatever was necessary,” I said.
“Truly?” He sounded eager now. “He set no limit?”
“He told me,” I answered truthfully, “to pay whatever was necessary to take Æthelflaed home.”
“To her husband,” he said flatly.
“To her husband,” I agreed.
“Who should die,” Erik said, and he shuddered uncontrollably, a swift shudder, but something that told me he had a touch of his brother’s anger in his soul.
“When the Lord Æthelred comes with the gold and silver,” I warned Erik, “then you cannot touch him. He will come under a banner of truce.”
“He hits her! Is that true?” The question was abrupt.
“Yes,” I said.
Erik stared at me for a heartbeat and I could see him struggling to control that sudden burst of anger. He nodded and turned. “This way,” he said, leading me toward the smaller hall. The hall’s guards, I noticed, were all older men, and I guessed they were trusted not just to guard Æthelflaed, but not to molest her either. “She has not been harmed,” Erik said, perhaps reading my thoughts.
“So I’ve been assured.”
“She has three of her own maids here,” Erik went on, “and I gave her two Danish girls, both nice girls. And I put these guards on the house.”
“Men you trust,” I said.
“My men,” he said warmly, “and yes, trustworthy.” He held out a hand to check me. “I’ll bring her out here to meet you,” he explained, “because she likes being in the open air.”
I waited while Father Willibald looked nervously back at the Northmen who watched us from outside Sigefrid’s hall. “Why are we meeting her out here?” he asked.
“Because Erik says she likes being in the fresh air,” I explained.
“But will they kill me if I give her the sacrament here?”
“Because they think you’re doing Christian magic?” I asked. “I doubt it, father.” I watched as Erik pulled aside the leather curtain that served as the hall’s door. He had said something to the guards first, and those warriors now moved to each side, leaving an open space between the building’s facade and the fort’s walls. Those ramparts were a thick bank of earth, only some three feet high, but I knew their farther side would fall a much greater depth. The bank was topped by a palisade of stout oak logs that had been sharpened into points. I could
not imagine climbing the hill from the creek and then trying to cross that formidable wall. But nor could I envisage attacking from the fort’s landward side, climbing in the open down to the ditch, wall, and palisade that protected this place. It was a good camp, not impregnable, but its capture would be unimaginably expensive in men’s lives.
“She lives,” Father Willibald breathed, and I looked back to the hall to see Æthelflaed ducking under the leather curtain that was being held aside by an unseen hand. She looked smaller and younger than ever and, though her pregnancy had at last begun to show, she still looked lissom. Lissom and vulnerable, I thought, and then she saw me, and a smile came to her face. Father Willibald started toward her, but I held him back by gripping his shoulder. Something in Æthelflaed’s demeanor made me detain him. I had half expected Æthelflaed to run to me in relief, but instead she hesitated by the door and the smile she had offered me was merely dutiful. She was pleased to see me, that was certain, but there was a wariness in her eyes until she turned to watch Erik follow her through the curtain. He gestured that she should greet me, and only then, when she had received his encouragement, did she come toward me.