The two Scottish priests evidently spoke the English tongue because each of them muttered a reproof at me, while Cellach, the king’s son, looked as if he was about to protest, but Constantin was quite unmoved by my insult. ‘But what ruins!’ he said, gesturing his son to silence. ‘What marvellous ruins! Their ruins are greater than our greatest halls!’ He turned towards me with his irritating smile. ‘This morning,’ he said, ‘my men cleared Einar the White from Bebbanburg.’
I said nothing, indeed I was incapable of speech. My first thought was that Einar could no longer supply the fortress with food and that the vast problem of his ships was solved, but then I plunged into renewed despair as I understood that Constantin had not attacked Einar on my behalf. One problem was solved, but only because a much greater obstacle now stood between me and Bebbanburg.
Constantin must have sensed my gloom because he laughed. ‘Cleared him out,’ he said, ‘scoured him from Bebbanburg, sent him scurrying away! Or perhaps the wretched man is dead? I’ll know soon enough. Einar had fewer than two hundred men and I sent over four hundred.’
‘He also had the ramparts of Bebbanburg,’ I pointed out.
‘Of course he didn’t,’ Constantin said scornfully, ‘your cousin wouldn’t let a pack of Norsemen through his gates! He knows they’d never leave. If he had let Einar’s men into the fortress he’d have invited a knife in his back. No, Einar’s men were quartered in the village, and the palisade they were building outside the fort was unfinished. They’ll be gone by now.’
‘Thank you,’ I said sarcastically.
‘For doing your work?’ he asked, smiling, then came to the table and at last sat down and helped himself to some ale and food. ‘Indeed I did do your work,’ he went on. ‘You can’t besiege Bebbanburg till Einar is defeated, and now he is! He was hired to keep you away from the fortress and to supply your cousin with food. Now, I hope, he’s dead, or at least running for his miserable life.’
‘So thank you,’ I said again.
‘But his men have been replaced by my men,’ Constantin said in an even tone. ‘My men are occupying the steadings now, just as they are occupying the village at Bebbanburg. As of this morning, Lord Uhtred, my men have taken all of Bebbanburg’s land.’
I looked into his very blue eyes. ‘I thought you’d come to make peace.’
‘I have!’
‘With seven, eight hundred warriors?’
‘Oh, more,’ he said airily, ‘many more! And you have how many? Two hundred men here? And another thirty-five in Dunholm?’
‘Thirty-seven,’ I said, just to annoy him.
‘And led by a woman!’
‘Eadith is fiercer than most men,’ I said. Eadith was my wife and I had left her in charge of the small garrison that guarded Dunholm. I had also left Sihtric there in case she forgot which end of a sword did the damage.
‘I think you’ll find she’s not fiercer than my men,’ Constantin said, smiling. ‘Peace would be a very good idea for you.’
‘I have a son-in-law,’ I pointed out.
‘Ah, the formidable Sigtryggr, who can put five, six hundred men into the field? Maybe a thousand if the southern jarls support him, which I doubt! And Sigtryggr must keep men on that southern frontier to keep the jarls on his side. If indeed they are on his side. Who knows?’
I said nothing. Constantin was right, of course. Sigtryggr might be king in Eoferwic and call himself King of Northumbria, but many of the most powerful Danes on the Mercian frontier had yet to swear him loyalty. They claimed he had surrendered too much land to make peace with Æthelflaed, though I suspected they were willing to surrender themselves rather than fight in a losing war to preserve Sigtryggr’s kingdom.
‘And it’s not just the jarls,’ Constantin went on, rubbing salt into the wound. ‘I hear the West Saxons are making rude noises there.’
‘Sigtryggr’s at peace with the Saxons,’ I said.
Constantin smiled. That smile was beginning to infuriate me. ‘One result of being a Christian, Lord Uhtred, is that I feel a sympathy, even a fondness, for my fellow Christian kings. We are the Lord’s anointed, His humble servants, whose duty it is to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ across all lands. King Edward of Wessex would love to be remembered as the man who brought the pagan kingdom of Northumbria under the shelter of Christian Wessex! And your son-in-law’s peace treaty is with Mercia, not with Wessex. And many West Saxons say the treaty should never have been concluded! They say it’s time Northumbria was brought into the Christian community. Did you not know that?’
‘Some West Saxons want war,’ I conceded, ‘but not King Edward. Not yet.’
‘Your friend Ealdorman Æthelhelm seeks to persuade him otherwise.’
‘Æthelhelm,’ I said vengefully, ‘is a stinking turd.’
‘But he’s a Christian stinking turd,’ Constantin said, ‘so it’s my religious duty, surely, to encourage him?’
‘Then you’re a stinking turd too,’ I said, and the two Scottish warriors who accompanied Constantin heard my tone and stirred. Neither seemed to speak English, they had their own barbarous tongue, and one growled incomprehensibly.
Constantin raised a hand to calm the two men. ‘Am I right?’ he asked me.
I nodded reluctantly. Ealdorman Æthelhelm, my genial enemy, was the most powerful noble in Wessex, and also King Edward’s father-in-law. And it was no secret that he wanted a quick invasion of Northumbria. He wanted to be remembered as the man who forged Englaland, and whose grandson became the first King of all Englaland. ‘But Æthelhelm,’ I said, ‘does not lead the West Saxon army. King Edward does, and King Edward is younger, which means he can afford to wait.’
‘Perhaps,’ Constantin said, ‘perhaps.’ He sounded amused, as if I was being naive. He leaned across the table to pour more ale into my cup. ‘Let us talk of something else,’ he said, ‘let us talk of the Romans.’
‘The Romans?’ I asked, surprised.
‘The Romans,’ he said warmly, ‘and what a great people they were! They brought the blessings of Christianity to Britain and we should love them for that. And they had philosophers, scholars, historians, and theologians, and we would do well to learn from them. The wisdom of the ancients, Lord Uhtred, should be a light to guide our present! Don’t you agree?’ He waited for me to answer, but I said nothing. ‘And those wise Romans,’ Constantin went on, ‘decided that the frontier between Scotland and the Saxon lands should be this wall.’ He was looking into my eyes as he spoke and I could tell he was amused even though his face was solemn.
‘I hear there’s a Roman wall further north.’
‘A ditch,’ he said dismissively, ‘and it failed. This wall,’ he waved towards the ramparts that were visible through one of the windows, ‘succeeded. I have thought about the matter, I have prayed about it, and it makes sense that this wall should be the dividing line between our peoples. Everything to the north will be Scotland, Alba, and everything to the south can belong to the Saxons, Englaland. There’ll be no more argument about where the frontier lies, every man will be able to see the border clearly marked across our island by this great stone wall! And though it won’t stop our people from cattle-raiding, it will make such raids more difficult! So you see? I am a peacemaker!’ He smiled radiantly at me. ‘I have proposed all this to King Edward.’
‘Edward doesn’t rule in Northumbria.’
‘He will.’
‘And Bebbanburg is mine,’ I said.
‘It was never yours,’ Constantin said harshly. ‘It belonged to your father, and now it belongs to your cousin.’ He suddenly snapped his fingers as if he had