Sword Song Read Online Free PDF Page B

already knew what had been discussed on that night of cold wind and hard rain. “There are men,” hewent on, still staring at the Mercian bank, “who would like to be King of Mercia.” He paused and I was certain he knew everything that Æthelwold had said to me, but then he betrayed his ignorance. “My nephew Æthelwold?” he suggested.
    I gave a burst of laughter that was made too loud by my relief. “Æthelwold!” I said. “He doesn’t want to be King of Mercia! He wants your throne, lord.”
    “He told you that?” he asked sharply.
    “Of course he told me that,” I said. “He tells everyone that!”
    “Is that why he came to see you?” Alfred asked, unable to hide his curiosity any longer.
    “He came to buy a horse, lord,” I lied. “He wants my stallion, Smoca, and I told him no.” Smoca’s hide was an unusual mix of gray and black, thus his name, Smoke, and he had won every race he had ever run in his life and, better, was not afraid of men, shields, weapons, or noise. I could have sold Smoca to any warrior in Britain.
    “And he talked of wanting to be king?” Alfred asked suspiciously.
    “Of course he did.”
    “You didn’t tell me at the time,” he said reproachfully.
    “If I told you every time Æthelwold talked treason,” I said, “you’d never cease to hear from me. What I tell you now is that you should slice his head off.”
    “He is my nephew,” Alfred said stiffly, “and has royal blood.”
    “He still has a removable head,” I insisted.
    He waved a petulant hand as if my idea were risible. “I thought of making him king in Mercia,” he said, “but he would lose the throne.”
    “He would,” I agreed.
    “He’s weak,” Alfred said scornfully, “and Mercia needs a strong ruler. Someone to frighten the Danes.” I confess at that moment I thought he meant me and I was ready to thank him, even fall to my knees and take his hand, but then he enlightened me. “Your cousin, I think.”
    “Æthelred!” I asked, unable to hide my scorn. My cousin was a bumptious little prick, full of his own importance, but he was alsoclose to Alfred. So close that he was going to marry Alfred’s elder daughter.
    “He can be ealdorman in Mercia,” Alfred said, “and rule with my blessing.” In other words my miserable cousin would govern Mercia on Alfred’s leash and, if I am truthful, that was a better solution for Alfred than letting someone like me take Mercia’s throne. Æthelred, married to Æthelflaed, was more likely to be Alfred’s man, and Mercia, or at least that part of it south of Wæclingastræt, would be like a province of Wessex.
    “If my cousin,” I said, “is to be Lord of Mercia, then he’ll be Lord of Lundene?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then he has a problem, lord,” I said, and I confess I spoke with some pleasure at the prospect of my pompous cousin having to deal with a thousand rogues commanded by Norse earls. “A fleet of thirty-one ships arrived in Lundene two days ago,” I went on. “The Earls Sigefrid and Erik Thurgilson command them. Haesten of Beamfleot is an ally. So far as I know, lord, Lundene now belongs to Norsemen and Danes.”
    For a moment Alfred said nothing, but just stared at the swan-haunted floodwaters. He looked paler than ever. His jaw clenched. “You sound pleased,” he said bitterly.
    “I do not mean to, lord,” I said.
    “How in God’s name can that happen?” he demanded angrily. He turned and gazed at the burh’s walls. “The Thurgilson brothers were in Frankia,” he said. I might never have heard of Sigefrid and Erik, but Alfred made it his business to know where the Viking bands were roving.
    “They’re in Lundene now,” I said remorselessly.
    He fell silent again, and I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that the Temes is our road to other kingdoms, to the rest of the world, and if the Danes and the Norse block the Temes, then Wessex was cut off from much of the world’s trade. Of course there were other