The Empty Throne (The Warrior Chronicles, Book 8) Read Online Free PDF

he said lightly, ‘and is she planning to be here as well?’
    I shook my head. ‘She has work in the north.’
    ‘And I thought she would be here for the Witan in two days,’ he said sarcastically.
    ‘Witan?’ I asked.
    ‘It’s none of your business,’ he said tartly. ‘You are not invited.’
    But the Witan, I noted, was to be held on Saint Cuthbert’s feast day and that was surely why Æthelflaed had wanted us to arrive before the great men of Mercia met in council. She was reminding them that she fought their enemies.
    Eardwulf walked to Haki, looked him up and down, then turned back to me. ‘I see you fly the Lord Æthelred’s banner.’
    ‘Of course,’ I said.
    ‘And in the skirmish where you captured this creature,’ he nodded towards Haki, ‘did you fly it there too?’
    ‘Whenever my lady fights for Mercia,’ I said, ‘she flies her husband’s banner.’
    ‘Then the prisoners and the plunder belong to Lord Æthelred,’ Eardwulf said.
    ‘I’m ordered to sell them,’ I said.
    ‘Are you?’ He laughed. ‘Well now you have new orders. They all belong to Lord Æthelred so you will give them to me.’ He gazed at me, daring me to contradict him. I must have looked belligerent because his men half lowered their spears.
    Father Fraomar had reappeared and darted to the side of my horse. ‘No fighting,’ he hissed at me.
    ‘My Lord Uhtred would not dream of drawing a sword against Lord Æthelred’s household warriors,’ Eardwulf said. He beckoned to his men. ‘Take it all inside,’ he ordered, indicating carts, plunder, Haki, and the slaves, ‘and do thank the Lady Æthelflaed,’ he was looking at me again, ‘for her little contribution to her husband’s treasury.’
    I watched his men take the plunder and slaves through the gateway. Eardwulf smiled when it was done, then gave me a mocking smile. ‘And the Lady Æthelflaed,’ he asked, ‘has no desire to attend the Witan?’
    ‘She’s invited?’ I asked.
    ‘Of course not, she’s a woman. But she might be curious about the Witan’s decisions.’
    He was trying to discover whether Æthelflaed would be in Gleawecestre. I half thought of saying I had no idea what she planned, then decided to tell the truth. ‘She won’t be here,’ I said, ‘because she’s busy. She’s making a burh on the Mærse.’
    ‘Oh, a burh on the Mærse!’ he repeated, then laughed.
    The gates closed behind him.
    ‘Bastard,’ I said.
    ‘He had the right,’ Father Fraomar explained, ‘the Lord Æthelred is the husband of the Lady Æthelflaed, so what is hers is his.’
    ‘Æthelred’s an unwiped pig-sucking bastard,’ I said, staring at the closed gates.
    ‘He is the Lord of Mercia,’ Father Fraomar said uneasily. He was a supporter of Æthelflaed, but he sensed that her husband’s death would strip her of both power and influence.
    ‘Whatever the bastard is,’ Sihtric put in, ‘he won’t offer us any ale.’
    ‘Ale is a good idea,’ I growled.
    ‘The redhead at the Wheatsheaf, then?’ he asked, then grinned. ‘Unless you’re going to learn more about farming?’
    I grinned back. My father had given me a farm north of Cirrenceastre, saying I should learn husbandry. ‘A man should know as much about crops, pasture and cattle as his steward knows,’ my father had growled to me, ‘otherwise the bastard will cheat you blind.’ He had been pleased at the number of days I spent at the estate, though I confess I had learned almost nothing about crops, pasture or cattle, but I had learned a great deal about the young widow to whom I had given the farm’s great hall as her home.
    ‘The Wheatsheaf for now,’ I said and kicked Hearding down the street. And tomorrow, I thought, I would ride to my widow.
    The tavern’s sign was a great wooden carving of a wheatsheaf and I rode beneath it into the rain-soaked courtyard and let a servant take the horse. Father Fraomar, I knew, was right. The Lord Æthelred did have the legal right to take