LITMIR.BIZ

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I said, ‘and when we think the Danes aren’t watching, we go to the south coast and find a ship.’

      ‘How do we hide?’ he asked. ‘They know we’re here. And they’re on both sides of the swamp.’ The marshman had told us that a Danish fleet had landed at Cynuit, which lay at the swamp’s western edge. That fleet, I assumed, was led by Svein and he would surely be wondering how to find Alfred. The king, I reckoned, was doomed, and his family too. If Æthelflaed was lucky she would be raised by a Danish family, as I had been, but more probably they would all be killed so that no Saxon could ever again claim the crown of Wessex. ‘And the Danes will be watching the south coast,’ Alfred went on.

      ‘They will,’ I agreed.

      He looked out at the marsh where the night wind rippled the waters, shaking the long reflection of a winter moon. ‘The Danes can’t have taken all Wessex,’ he said, then flinched because Edward was coughing so painfully.

      ‘Probably not,’ I agreed.

      ‘If we could find men,’ he said, then fell silent.

      ‘What would we do with men?’ I asked.

      ‘Attack the fleet,’ he said, pointing west. ‘Get rid of Svein, if it is Svein at Cynuit, then hold the hills of Defnascir. Gain one victory and more men will come. We get stronger and one day we can face Guthrum.’

      I thought about it. He had spoken dully, as if he did not really believe in the words he had said, but I thought they made a perverse kind of sense. There were men in Wessex, men who were leaderless, but they were men who wanted a leader, men who would fight, and perhaps we could secure the swamp, then defeat Svein, then capture Defnascir, and so, piece by piece, take back Wessex. Then I thought about it more closely and reckoned it was a dream. The Danes had won. We were fugitives.

      Alfred was stroking his daughter’s golden hair. ‘The Danes will hunt us here, won’t they?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Can you defend us?’

      ‘Just me and Leofric?’

      ‘You’re a warrior, aren’t you? Men tell me it was really you who defeated Ubba.’

      ‘You knew I killed Ubba?’ I asked.

      ‘Can you defend us?’

      I would not be deflected. ‘Did you know I won your victory at Cynuit?’ I demanded.

      ‘Yes,’ he said simply.

      ‘And my reward was to crawl to your altar? To be humiliated?’ My anger made my voice too loud and Æthelflaed opened her eyes and stared at me.

      ‘I have made mistakes,’ Alfred said, ‘and when this is all over, and when God returns Wessex to the West Saxons, I shall do the same. I shall put on the penitent’s robe and submit myself to God.’

      I wanted to kill the pious bastard then, but Æthelflaed was watching me with her big eyes. She had not moved, so her father did not know she was awake, but I did, so instead of giving my anger a loose rein I cut it off abruptly. ‘You’ll find that penitence helps,’ I said.

      He brightened at that. ‘It helped you?’ he asked.

      ‘It gave me anger,’ I said, ‘and it taught me to hate. And anger is good. Hatred is good.’

      ‘You don’t mean that,’ he said.

      I half drew Serpent-Breath and little Æthelflaed’s eyes grew wider. ‘This kills,’ I said, letting the sword slide back into its fleece-lined scabbard, ‘but anger and hate are what gives it the strength to kill. Go into battle without anger and hate and you’ll be dead. You need all the blades, anger and hate you can muster if we’re to survive.’

      ‘But can you do it?’ he asked. ‘Can you defend us here? Long enough to evade the Danes while we decide what to do?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said. I had no idea whether I spoke the truth, indeed I doubted that I did, but I had a warrior’s pride so gave a warrior’s answer. Æthelflaed had not taken her eyes from me. She was only six, but I swear she understood all that we talked about.

      ‘So I give you charge of that task,’ Alfred said. ‘Here and now I appoint you as the defender of my family. Do you accept that responsibility?’

      I was an arrogant brute. Still am. He was challenging me, of course, and he knew what he was doing even if I did not. I just bridled. ‘Of course I accept it,’ I said, ‘yes.’

      ‘Yes what?’ he asked.

      I hesitated, but he had flattered me, given me a warrior’s responsibility and so I gave him what he wanted and what I had been determined not to give to him. ‘Yes, lord,’ I said.

      He held out his hand. I knew he wanted more now. I had never meant to grant him this wish, but I had called him ‘lord’ and so I knelt to him and, across Æthelflaed’s body, I took his hand in both mine.

      ‘Say it,’ he demanded, and he put the crucifix that hung about his neck between our hands.

      ‘I swear to be your man,’ I said, looking into his pale eyes, ‘until your family is safe.’

      He hesitated. I had given him the oath, but I had qualified it. I had let him know that I would not remain his man for ever, but he accepted my terms. He should have kissed me on both cheeks, but that would have disturbed Æthelflaed and so he raised my right hand and kissed the knuckles, then kissed the crucifix. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

      The truth, of course, was that Alfred was finished, but, with the perversity and arrogance of foolish youth, I had just given him my oath and promised to fight for him.

      And all, I think, because a six-year-old stared at me. And she had hair of gold.

       Seven

      The kingdom of Wessex was now a swamp and, for a few days, it possessed a king, a bishop, four priests, two soldiers, the king’s pregnant wife, two nurses, a whore, two children, one of whom was sick, and Iseult.

      Three of the four priests left the swamp first. Alfred was suffering, struck by the fever and belly pains that so often afflicted him, and he seemed incapable of rousing himself to any decision so I gathered the three youngest priests, told them they were useless mouths we could not afford to feed, and ordered them to leave the swamp and discover what was happening on dry ground. ‘Find soldiers,’ I told them, ‘and say the king wants them to come here.’ Two of the priests begged to be spared the mission, claiming they were scholars incapable of surviving the winter or of confronting the Danes or of enduring discomfort or of doing any real work, and Alewold, the Bishop of Exanceaster, supported them, saying that their joint prayers were needed to keep the king healthy and safe, so I reminded the bishop that Eanflæd was present.

      ‘Eanflæd?’ He blinked at me as though he had never heard the name.

      ‘The whore,’ I said, ‘from Cippanhamm.’ He still looked ignorant. ‘Cippanhamm,’ I went on, ‘where you and she rutted in the Corncrake tavern and she says …’

      ‘The priests will travel,’ he said hastily.

      ‘Of course they will,’ I said, ‘but they’ll leave their silver here.’

      ‘Silver?’

      The priests had been carrying Alewold’s hoard which included the great pyx I had given him to settle Mildrith’s debts. That hoard was my next weapon. I took it all and displayed it to the marshmen. There would be silver, I said, for the food they gave us and the fuel they brought us and the punts they provided and the news they told us, news of the Danes on the swamp’s far side. I wanted the marshmen on our side, and the sight of the silver encouraged them, but Bishop Alewold immediately ran to Alfred and complained that I had stolen from the

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