War of the Wolf by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, British, Adventure
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

Seven

Osferth was not invited to Tamweorthin. “King Edward,” he had told me stiffly, “would prefer I did not attend.”

“Or even exist?”

“That too,” he admitted with a tight smile.

“Look after Mus,” I told him the night before we left Mameceaster.

“Mus?”

“Sunngifu.”

He grimaced. “She’s a capable woman,” he said distantly.

“And looking for a husband, I think.”

That got no reaction except from Mus, who laughed when I told her. “Oh, I couldn’t marry Lord Osferth,” she said, “it would be like marrying a priest!”

“You were married to a priest,” I reminded her.

“But Leofstan was a gentle and kind man. Lord Osferth is troubled. He doesn’t think God loves him, poor man.” Mus, I thought, was a gentle and kind woman. I gave her the last two of my gold coins.

“You can ride with us,” I suggested.

“To where? Bebbanburg? I don’t think your wife would approve.”

“She wouldn’t,” I agreed.

“I’m happy here,” she said, sounding anything but happy, “and I’ll find a husband.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss me. “Kill Sköll, lord.”

“I shall.”

“I know.”

Mus did not come with us, but Brother Beadwulf and Wynflæd rode with the boys and servants who led our spare horses and who herded the pack animals with their burdens of spears and shields. Wynflæd had gone on her knees to me, begging that she and her husband serve me. “I don’t want to stay here, lord,” she said, meaning Mameceaster.

“Too many sad memories?” I asked her.

“Yes, lord,” she said, and so I agreed.

We left by the southern gate, and once across the river we passed the five bodies still hanging from the branches of a spreading oak. Their eyes were gone, their skin was blackening, and ravens had ripped the flesh down to bone. Immar Hergildson, equipped now with a mail coat, an old helmet, and a sword, forced himself to look at his father. “You have no father now,” I told him. “This is your family,” I gestured toward my men, “and when we have time,” I went on, “we must let your mother know you’re alive.”

“Thank you, lord,” he said, and I reflected that the valley of the three brothers had lost all three of them.

Then I forgot the dead brothers as we rode south through fields showing the first signs of the new year’s crops, beside pastures where fresh-born lambs bleated, and by woods hazed with new leaves. A fat land, I thought, which is why men fought for it. The Romans had captured it, then we Saxons took it, and after us came the Danes, and now the Norse were strengthening their hold on the wilder lands of Cumbraland and casting greedy eyes on these plump fields. I touched Serpent-Breath’s hilt. “They’ll always need us,” I said to Finan.

“They?”

“Whoever needs a sword.”

He chuckled. “Who are we fighting for these days?”

“Sigtryggr, of course.”

“And he’s making peace.”

I shrugged. “We’ll find out,” I said. At the Mercian town of Tamweorthin.

That the Easter meeting of the Witan was to be held at Tamweorthin was proof that the rebellion in Mercia was over.

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