The prisoner was called Hroi. His lord, whom we had killed in the battle, had been called Thurkil and he served Guthrum, who was in East Anglia where he now called himself king of that country. ‘Does he still wear the bone in his hair?’ I asked.
‘Yes, lord,’ Hroi said. He did not call me lord because I was an Ealdorman, for he did not know that. He called me lord because he did not want me to kill him when the questioning was done.
Hroi did not think Guthrum would attack this year. ‘He waits for Halfdan,’ he told me.
‘And Halfdan’s where?’
‘In Ireland, lord.’
‘Avenging Ivar?’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘You know Kjartan?’
‘I know three men so called, lord.’
‘Kjartan of Northumbria,’ I said, ‘father of Sven.’
‘Earl Kjartan, you mean?’
‘He calls himself Earl now?’ I asked.
‘Yes, lord, and he is still in Northumbria.’
‘And Ragnar? Son of Ragnar the Fearless?’
‘Earl Ragnar is with Guthrum, lord, in East Anglia. He has four boats.’
We chained Hroi and sent him under guard to Wintanceaster for Alfred liked to talk with Danish prisoners. I do not know what happened to him. He was probably hanged or beheaded, for Alfred did not extend Christian mercy to pagan pirates.
And I thought of Ragnar the Younger, Earl Ragnar now, and wondered if I would meet his boats on the Wessex coast, and wondered too whether Hroi had lied and that Guthrum would invade that summer. I thought he would, for there was much fighting across the island of Britain. The Danes of Mercia had attacked the Britons in north Wales, I never did discover why, and other Danish bands raided across the West Saxon frontier, and I suspected those raids were meant to discover West Saxon weaknesses before Guthrum launched his Great Army, but no army came and, as the summer reached its height, Alfred felt safe enough to leave his forces in North Wessex to visit the fleet.
His arrival coincided with news that seven Danish ships had been seen off Heilincigae, an island which lay in shallow waters not far to Hamtun’s east, and the news was confirmed when we saw smoke rising from a pillaged settlement. Only half our ships were in Hamtun, the others were at sea, and one of the six in port, the Evangelista, was on the hard having her bottom scraped. Hacca was nowhere near Hamtun, gone to his brother’s house probably, and he would doubtless be annoyed that he had missed the king’s visit, but Alfred had given us no warning of his arrival, probably because he wanted to see us as we really were, rather than as we would have been had we known he was coming. As soon as he heard about the Danes off Heilincigae he ordered us all to sea and boarded Heahengel along with two of his guards and three priests, one of whom was Beocca who came to stand beside the steering oar.
‘You’ve got bigger, Uhtred,’ he said to me, almost reproachfully. I was a good head taller than him now, and much broader in the chest.
‘If you rowed, father,’ I said, ‘you’d get bigger.’
He giggled. ‘I can’t imagine myself rowing,’ he said, then pointed at my steering oar. ‘Is that difficult to manage?’ he asked.
I let him take it and suggested he turned the boat slightly to the steorbord and his crossed eyes widened in astonishment as he tried to push the oar and the water fought against him. ‘It needs strength,’ I said, taking the oar back.
‘You’re happy, aren’t you?’ He made it sound like an accusation.
‘I am, yes.’
‘You weren’t meant to be,’ he said.
‘No?’
‘Alfred thought this experience would humble you.’
I stared at the king who was up in the bows with Leofric, and I remembered the king’s honeyed words about me having something to teach these crews, and I realised he had known I had nothing to contribute, yet he had still given me the helmet and armour. That, I assumed, was so I would give him a year of my life in which he hoped Leofric would knock the arrogance out of my bumptious youthfulness. ‘Didn’t work, did it?’ I said, grinning.
‘He said you must be broken like a horse.’
‘But I’m not a horse, father, I’m a lord of Northumbria. What did he think? That after a year I’d be a meek Christian ready to do his bidding?’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’
‘It’s a bad thing,’ I said. ‘He needs proper men to fight the Danes, not praying lickspittles.’
Beocca sighed, then made the sign of the cross because poor Father Willibald was feeding the gulls with his vomit. ‘It’s time you were married, Uhtred,’ Beocca said sternly.
I looked at him in astonishment. ‘Married! Why do you say that?’
‘You’re old enough,’ Beocca said.
‘So are you,’ I retorted, ‘and you’re not married, so why should I be?’
‘I live in hope,’ Beocca said. Poor man, he had a squint, a palsied hand and a face like a sick weasel, which really did not make him a great favourite with women. ‘But there is a young woman in Defnascir you should look at,’ he told me enthusiastically, ‘a very well born young lady! A charming creature, and,’ he paused, evidently having run out of the girl’s qualities, or else because he could not invent any new ones, ‘her father was the shire reeve, rest his soul. A lovely girl. Mildrith, she’s called.’ He smiled at me expectantly.
‘A reeve’s daughter,’ I said flatly. ‘The king’s reeve? The shire reeve?’
‘Her father was reeve of southern Defnascir,’ Beocca said, sliding the man down the social ladder, ‘but he left Mildrith property. A fair piece of land near Exanceaster.’
‘A reeve’s daughter,’ I repeated, ‘not an Ealdorman’s daughter?’
‘She’s sixteen, I believe,’ Beocca said, gazing at the shingled beach sliding away to our east.
‘Sixteen,’ I said scathingly, ‘and unmarried, which suggests she has a face like a bag of maggots.’
‘That is hardly relevant,’ he said crossly.
‘You don’t have to sleep with her,’ I said, ‘and no doubt she’s pious?’
‘She is a devoted Christian, I’m happy to say.’
‘You’ve seen her?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but Alfred has talked of her.’
‘This is Alfred’s idea?’
‘He likes to see his men settled, to have their roots in the land.’
‘I’m not his man, father. I’m Uhtred of Bebbanburg, and the lords of Bebbanburg don’t marry pious maggot-faced bitches of low birth.’
‘You should meet her,’ he persisted, frowning at me. ‘Marriage is a wonderful thing, Uhtred, ordained by God for our happiness.’
‘How would you know?’
‘It is,’ he insisted weakly.
‘I’m already happy,’ I said. ‘I hump Brida and I kill Danes. Find another man for Mildrith. Why don’t you marry her? Good God, father, you must be near thirty! If you don’t marry soon you’ll go to your grave a virgin. Are you a virgin?’
He blushed, but did not answer because Leofric came back to the steering deck with a black scowl. He never looked happy, but he appeared grimmer than ever at that moment