Sword Song by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Sagas, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780061379741
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

I wrote Alfred a letter. I have always hated writing, and it has been years since I last used a quill. My wife’s priests now scratch letters for me, but they know I can read what they write so they take care to write what I tell them. But on the night of Lundene’s fall, I wrote in my own hand to Alfred. “Lundene is yours, lord King,” I told him, “and I am staying here to rebuild its walls.”

Writing even that much exhausted my patience. The quill spluttered, the parchment was uneven, and the ink, which I had found in a wooden chest containing plunder evidently stolen from a monastery, spat droplets over the parchment. “Now fetch Father Pyrlig,” I told Sihtric, “and Osferth.”

“Lord,” Sihtric said nervously.

“I know,” I said impatiently, “you want to marry your whore. But fetch Father Pyrlig and Osferth first. The whore can wait.”

Pyrlig arrived a moment later and I pushed the letter across the table to him. “I want you to go to Alfred,” I told him, “give him that, and tell him what happened here.”

Pyrlig read my message and I saw a small smile flicker on his ugly face, a smile that vanished swiftly so that I would not be offended by his opinion of my handwriting. He said nothing of my short message, but glanced around with surprise as Sihtric brought Osferth into the room.

“I’m sending Brother Osferth with you,” I explained to the Welshman.

Osferth stiffened. He hated being called brother. “I want to stay here,” he said, “lord.”

“The king wants you in Wintanceaster,” I said dismissively, “and we obey the king.” I took the letter back from Pyrlig, dipped the quill in the ink that had faded to a rusty brown, and added more words. “Sigefrid,” I wrote laboriously, “was defeated by Osferth, who I would like to keep in my household guard.”

Why did I write that? I did not like Osferth any more than I liked his father, yet he had leaped from the bastion and that had shown courage. Foolish courage, perhaps, but still courage, and if Osferth had not leaped then Lundene might be in Norse or Danish hands to this day. Osferth had earned his place in the shield wall, even if his prospects of surviving there were still desperately low. “Father Pyrlig,” I said to Osferth as I blew on the ink, “will tell the king of your actions today, and this letter requests that you be returned to me. But you must leave that decision to Alfred.”

“He’ll say no,” Osferth said sullenly.

“Father Pyrlig will persuade him,” I said. The Welshman raised an eyebrow in silent question and I gave him the smallest nod to show I spoke the truth. I gave the letter to Sihtric and watched as he folded the parchment, then sealed it with wax. I pressed my badge of the wolf’s head into the seal, then handed the letter to Pyrlig. “Tell Alfred the truth about what happened here,” I said, “because he’s going to hear a different version from my cousin.

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