The Last Kingdom Series Books 1–8: The Last Kingdom, The Pale Horseman, The Lords of the North, Sword Song, The Burning Land, Death of Kings, The Pagan Lord, The Empty Throne. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ the name of the Father,’ Alfred broke the silence.

      ‘And of the Son,’ the monk said, and he spoke English with an accent and I recognised the voice of the Ass.

      ‘And of the Holy Ghost,’ Alfred concluded, ‘amen.’

      ‘Amen,’ Asser echoed, and both men stood, their faces suffused with the joy of devout Christians who have said their prayers well, and Alfred blinked as though he were surprised to see me, though he must have heard Beocca’s knocking and the sound of the door opening and closing.

      ‘I trust you slept well, Uhtred?’ he said.

      ‘I trust you did, lord.’

      ‘The pains kept me awake,’ Alfred said, touching his belly, then he went to one side of the room and hauled open a big pair of wooden shutters, flooding the chapel with a wan, misty light. The window looked onto a courtyard and I was aware of men out there. The king shivered, for it was freezing in the chapel. ‘It is Saint Cedd’s feast day,’ he told me.

      I said nothing.

      ‘You have heard of Saint Cedd?’ he asked me and, when my silence betrayed ignorance, he smiled indulgently. ‘He was an East Anglian, am I not right, brother?’

      ‘The most blessed Cedd was indeed an East Angle, lord,’ Asser confirmed.

      ‘And his mission was in Lundene,’ Alfred went on, ‘but he concluded his days at Lindisfarena. You must know that house, Uhtred?’

      ‘I know it, lord,’ I said. The island was a short ride from Bebbanburg and not so long before I had ridden to its monastery with Earl Ragnar and watched the monks die beneath Danish swords. ‘I know it well,’ I added.

      ‘So Cedd is famous in your homeland?’

      ‘I’ve not heard of him, lord.’

      ‘I think of him as a symbol,’ Alfred said, ‘a man who was born in East Anglia, did his life’s work in Mercia and died in Northumbria.’ He brought his long, pale hands together so that the fingers embraced. ‘The Saxons of England, Uhtred, gathered together before God.’

      ‘And united in joyful prayer with the Britons,’ Asser added piously.

      ‘I beseech Almighty God for that happy outcome,’ the king said, smiling at me, and by now I recognised what he was saying. He stood there, looking so humble, with no crown, no great necklace, no arm rings, nothing but a small garnet brooch holding the cloak at his neck, and he spoke of a happy outcome, but what he was really seeing was the Saxon people gathered under one king. A king of Wessex. Alfred’s piety hid a monstrous ambition.

      ‘We must learn from the saints,’ Alfred told me. ‘Their lives are a guide to the darkness that surrounds us, and Saint Cedd’s holy example teaches that we must be united, so I am loathe to shed Saxon blood on Saint Cedd’s feast day.’

      ‘There need be no bloodshed, lord,’ I said.

      ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ Alfred interjected.

      ‘If the charges against me are retracted.’

      The smile went from his face and he walked to the window and stared into the misty courtyard and I looked where he looked and saw that a small display was being mounted for my benefit. Steapa was being armoured. Two men were dropping a massive mail coat over his wide shoulders, while a third stood by with an outsized shield and a monstrous sword.

      ‘I talked with Steapa last night,’ the king said, turning from the window, ‘and he told me there was a mist when Svein attacked at Cynuit. A morning mist like this one.’ He waved at the whiteness sifting into the chapel.

      ‘I wouldn’t know, lord,’ I said.

      ‘So it is possible,’ the king went on, ‘that Steapa was mistaken when he thought he saw you.’ I almost smiled. The king knew Steapa had lied, though he would not say as much. ‘Father Willibald also spoke to the crew of the Eftwyrd,’ the king went on, ‘and not one of them confirmed Steapa’s tale.’

      The crew was still in Hamtun, so Willibald’s report must have come from there and that meant the king had known I was innocent of the slaughter at Cynuit even before I was charged. ‘So I was falsely arraigned?’ I said harshly.

      ‘You were accused,’ the king corrected me, ‘and accusations must be proven or refuted.’

      ‘Or withdrawn.’

      ‘I can withdraw the charges,’ Alfred agreed. Steapa, outside the window, was making sure his mail coat was seated comfortably by swinging his great sword. And it was great. It was huge, a hammer of a blade. Then the king half-closed the shutter, hiding Steapa. ‘I can withdraw the accusation about Cynuit,’ he said, ‘but I do not think Brother Asser lied to us.’

      ‘I have a queen,’ I said, ‘who says he does.’

      ‘A shadow queen,’ Asser hissed, ‘a pagan! A sorceress!’ He looked at Alfred. ‘She is evil, lord,’ he said, ‘a witch! Maleficos non patieris vivere!’

      ‘Thou shalt not permit a witch to live,’ Alfred translated for my benefit. ‘That is God’s commandment, Uhtred, from the holy scriptures.’

      ‘Your answer to the truth,’ I sneered, ‘is to threaten a woman with death?’

      Alfred flinched at that. ‘Brother Asser is a good Christian,’ he said vehemently, ‘and he tells the truth. You went to war without my orders. You used my ship, my men, and you behaved treacherously! You are the liar, Uhtred, and you are the cheat!’ He spoke angrily, but managed to control his anger. ‘It is my belief,’ he went on, ‘that you have paid your debt to the church with goods stolen from other good Christians.’

      ‘Not true,’ I said harshly. I had paid the debt with goods stolen from a Dane.

      ‘So resume the debt,’ the king said, ‘and we shall have no death on this blessed day of Saint Cedd.’

      I was being offered life. Alfred waited for my response, smiling. He was sure I would accept his offer because to him it seemed reasonable. He had no love for warriors, weapons and killing. Fate decreed that he must spend his reign fighting, but it was not to his taste. He wanted to civilise Wessex, to give it piety and order, and two men fighting to the death on a winter’s morning was not his idea of a well-run kingdom.

      But I hated Alfred. I hated him for humiliating me at Exanceaster when he had made me wear a penitent’s robe and crawl on my knees. Nor did I think of him as my king. He was a West Saxon and I was a Northumbrian, and I reckoned so long as he was king then Wessex had small chance of surviving. He believed God would protect him from the Danes, while I believed they had to be defeated by swords. I also had an idea how to defeat Steapa, just an idea, and I had no wish to take on a debt I had already paid, and I was young and I was foolish and I was arrogant and I was never able to resist a stupid impulse. ‘Everything I have said is the truth,’ I lied, ‘and I would defend that truth with my sword.’

      Alfred flinched from my tone. ‘Are you saying Brother Asser lied?’ he demanded.

      ‘He twists truth,’ I said, ‘like a woman wrings a hen’s neck.’

      The СКАЧАТЬ