‘Your brother?’ I asked, surprised.
‘I was born a twin,’ she told me, ‘and my brother came first and then, as I was born, he died. He went to the shadow world and he speaks to me of what he sees there.’
‘What does he see?’
‘He sees your king.’
‘Alfred,’ I said sourly, ‘is that good or bad?’
‘I don’t know. The dreams are shadowy.’
She was no Christian. Instead she believed that every place and every thing had its own god or goddess; a nymph for a stream, a dryad for a wood, a spirit for a tree, a god for the fire and another for the sea. The Christian god, like Thor or Odin, was just one more deity among this unseen throng of powers, and her dreams, she said, were like eavesdropping on the gods. One day, as she rode beside me on the hills above the empty sea, she suddenly said that Alfred would give me power.
‘He hates me,’ I told her, ‘he’ll give me nothing.’
‘He will give you power,’ she said flatly. I stared at her and she gazed to where the clouds met the waves. Her black hair was unbound and the sea wind stirred it. ‘My brother told me,’ she said. ‘Alfred will give you power and you will take back your northern home and your woman will be a creature of gold.’
‘My woman?’
She looked at me and there was sadness in her face. ‘There,’ she said, ‘now you know,’ and she kicked back her heels and made the horse run along the ridge top, her hair streaming, her eyes wet with tears. I wanted to know more, but she said she had told me what she had dreamed and I must be content.
At summer’s end we drove the swine into the forests to feed on the fallen beechnuts and acorns. I bought bags of salt because the killing time was coming and the meat of our pigs and cattle would have to be salted into barrels to feed us through the winter. Some of that food would come from the men who rented land at the edge of the estate, and I visited them all so they would know I expected payment of wheat, barley and livestock, and, to show them what would happen if they tried to cheat me, I bought a dozen good swords from a smith in Exanceaster. I gave the swords to my men, and in the shortening days we practised with them. Mildrith might not believe war was coming, but I did not think God had changed Danish hearts.
The late autumn brought heavy rain and the shire-reeve to Oxton. The reeve was called Harald and he was charged with keeping the peace of Defnascir, and he came on horseback and with him were six other horsemen, all in mail coats and helmets, and all with swords or spears. I waited for him in the hall, making him dismount and come into the smoky shadows. He came cautiously, expecting an ambush, then his eyes became accustomed to the gloom and he saw me standing by the central hearth. ‘You are summoned to the shire court,’ he told me.
His men had followed Harald into the hall. ‘You bring swords into my house?’ I asked.
Harald looked around the hall and he saw my men armed with their spears and axes. I had seen the horsemen approaching and summoned my men and ordered them to arm themselves.
Harald had the reputation of being a decent man, sensible and fair, and he knew how weapons in a hall could lead to slaughter. ‘You will wait outside,’ he told his men, and I gestured for my men to put their weapons down. ‘You are summoned …’ Harald began again.
‘I heard you,’ I said.
‘There is a debt to be paid,’ he said, ‘and a man’s death to make good.’
I said nothing. One of my hounds growled softly and I put a hand into its fur to silence it.
‘The court will meet on All Saints’ Day,’ Harald said, ‘at the cathedral.’
‘I shall be there,’ I said.
He took off his helmet to reveal a balding pate fringed with brown hair. He was at least ten years older than I, a big man, with two fingers missing from his shield hand. He limped slightly as he walked towards me. I calmed the hounds, waited.
‘I was at Cynuit,’ he said to me, speaking softly.
‘So was I,’ I said, ‘though men pretend I was not.’
‘I know what you did,’ he said.
‘So do I.’
He ignored my surliness. He was showing me sympathy, though I was too proud to show I appreciated it. ‘The ealdorman has sent men,’ he warned me, ‘to take this place once judgment is given.’
There was a gasp behind me and I realised Mildrith had come into the hall. Harald bowed to her.
‘The hall will be taken?’ Mildrith asked.
‘If the debt is not paid,’ Harald said, ‘the land will be given to the church.’ He stared up at the newly hewn rafters as if wondering why I would build a hall on land doomed to be given to God.
Mildrith came to stand beside me. She was plainly distressed by Harald’s summons, but she made a great effort to compose herself. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘about your wife.’
A flicker of pain crossed Harald’s face as he made the sign of the cross. ‘She was sick a long time, lady. It was merciful of God, I think, to take her.’
I had not known he was a widower, nor did I care much. ‘She was a good woman,’ Mildrith said.
‘She was,’ Harald said.
‘And I pray for her.’
‘I thank you for that,’ Harald said.
‘As I pray for Odda the Elder,’ Mildrith went on.
‘God be praised, he lives,’ Harald made the sign of the cross again. ‘But he is feeble and in pain.’ He touched his scalp showing where Odda the Elder had been wounded.
‘So who is the judge?’ I asked harshly, interrupting the two.
‘The bishop,’ Harald said.
‘Not the ealdorman?’
‘He is at Cippanhamm.’
Mildrith insisted on giving Harald and his men ale and food. She and Harald talked a long time, sharing news of neighbours and family. They were both from Defnascir and I was not, and so I knew few of the folk they talked about, but I pricked up my ears when Harald said that Odda the Younger was marrying a girl from Mercia. ‘She’s in exile here,’ he said, ‘with her family.’
‘Well born?’ Mildrith asked.
‘Exceedingly,’ Harald said.
‘I wish them much joy,’ Mildrith said with evident sincerity. She was happy that day, warmed by Harald’s company, though when he had gone she chided me for being churlish. ‘Harald is a good man,’ she insisted, ‘a kind man. He would have given you advice. He would have helped you!’
I ignored her, but two days later I went into Exanceaster with Iseult and all my men. Including Haesten I now had eighteen warriors and I had armed them, given them shields and leather coats, and I led them through the market that always accompanied the court’s sittings. There were stiltwalkers and jugglers, a man who ate fire, and a dancing bear. There were singers, harpists, storytellers, beggars, and pens of sheep, goats, cattle, pigs, geese, ducks and hens. There were fine cheeses, smoked fish, bladders of lard, pots of honey, trays of apples and baskets of pears. Iseult, who had not been to Exanceaster before, was amazed at the size of the city, and the life of it, and the seething closeness of its houses, and I saw folk make the sign of the cross when they saw her for they had heard of the shadow queen held at Oxton and they knew her for a foreigner and a pagan.
Beggars crowded at the bishop’s gate. There was a crippled woman with a blind child, men who had lost arms or legs in the wars, a score of them, and I threw them