brought me my own helmet, the one with the gilt-bronze circlet, and a tunic edged with red embroidery, and a pair of shoes. It felt strange to walk in shoes again. “Tidy your hair, boy,” he said, then remembered he had the helmet that he pushed onto my tousled head. “Don’t tidy your hair,” he said, grinning.
“Where are we going?” I asked him.
“To hear a lot of words, boy. To waste our time. You look like a Frankish whore in that robe.”
“That bad?”
“That’s good, lad! They have great whores in Frankia: plump, pretty, and cheap. Come on.” He led me from the river. The city was busy, the shops full, the streets crowded with pack mules. A herd of small, dark-fleeced sheep was being driven to slaughter, and they were the only obstruction that did not part to make way for Ragnar whose reputation ensured respect, but that reputation was not grim for I saw how the Danes grinned when he greeted them. He might be called Jarl Ragnar, Earl Ragnar, but he was hugely popular, a jester and fighter who blew through fear as though it were a cobweb. He took me to the palace, which was only a large house, part built by the Romans in stone and part made more recently in wood and thatch. It was in the Roman part, in a vast room with stone pillars and lime-washed walls, that my uncle waited and with him was Father Beocca and a dozen warriors, all of whom I knew, and all of whom had stayed to defend Bebbanburg while my father rode to war.
Beocca’s crossed eyes widened when he saw me. I must have looked very different for I was long haired, sun darkened, skinny, taller, and wilder. Then there was the hammer amulet about my neck, which he saw for he pointed to his own crucifix, then at my hammer and looked very disapproving. Ælfric and his men scowled at me as though I had let them down, but no one spoke, partly because Ivar’s own guards, all of them tall men, and all of them in mail and helmets and armed with long-shafted war axes, stood across the head of the room where a simple chair, which now counted as Northumbria’s throne, stood on a wooden platform.
King Egbert arrived, and with him was Ivar the Boneless and a dozen men, including Ravn who, I had learned, was a counselor to Ivar and his brother. With Ravn was a tall man, white haired and with a long white beard. He was wearing long robes embroidered with crosses and winged angels and I later discovered this was Wulfhere, the Archbishop of Eoferwic who, like Egbert, had given his allegiance to the Danes. The king sat, looking uncomfortable, and then the discussion began.
They were not there just to discuss me. They talked about which Northumbrian lords were to be trusted, which were to be attacked, what lands were to be granted to Ivar and Ubba, what tribute the Northumbrians must pay, how many horses were to be brought to Eoferwic, how much food was to be given to the army, which ealdormen were to yield hostages, and I sat, bored, until my name was mentioned. I perked up then and heard my uncle propose that I should be ransomed. That was the gist of it, but nothing is ever simple when a score of men decide to argue. For a long time they wrangled over my price, the Danes demanding an impossible payment of three hundred pieces of silver, and Ælfric not wanting to budge from a grudging offer of fifty. I said nothing, but just sat on the broken Roman tiles at the edge of the hall and listened. Three hundred became two hundred and seventy-five, fifty became sixty, and so it went on, the numbers edging closer, but still wide apart, and then Ravn, who had been silent, spoke for the first time. “The earl Uhtred,” he said in Danish, and that was the first time I heard myself described as an earl, which was a Danish rank, “has given his allegiance to King Egbert. In that he has an advantage over you, Ælfric.”
The words were translated and I saw Ælfric’s anger when he was given no title. But nor did he have a title, except the one he had granted to
“Where are we going?” I asked him.
“To hear a lot of words, boy. To waste our time. You look like a Frankish whore in that robe.”
“That bad?”
“That’s good, lad! They have great whores in Frankia: plump, pretty, and cheap. Come on.” He led me from the river. The city was busy, the shops full, the streets crowded with pack mules. A herd of small, dark-fleeced sheep was being driven to slaughter, and they were the only obstruction that did not part to make way for Ragnar whose reputation ensured respect, but that reputation was not grim for I saw how the Danes grinned when he greeted them. He might be called Jarl Ragnar, Earl Ragnar, but he was hugely popular, a jester and fighter who blew through fear as though it were a cobweb. He took me to the palace, which was only a large house, part built by the Romans in stone and part made more recently in wood and thatch. It was in the Roman part, in a vast room with stone pillars and lime-washed walls, that my uncle waited and with him was Father Beocca and a dozen warriors, all of whom I knew, and all of whom had stayed to defend Bebbanburg while my father rode to war.
Beocca’s crossed eyes widened when he saw me. I must have looked very different for I was long haired, sun darkened, skinny, taller, and wilder. Then there was the hammer amulet about my neck, which he saw for he pointed to his own crucifix, then at my hammer and looked very disapproving. Ælfric and his men scowled at me as though I had let them down, but no one spoke, partly because Ivar’s own guards, all of them tall men, and all of them in mail and helmets and armed with long-shafted war axes, stood across the head of the room where a simple chair, which now counted as Northumbria’s throne, stood on a wooden platform.
King Egbert arrived, and with him was Ivar the Boneless and a dozen men, including Ravn who, I had learned, was a counselor to Ivar and his brother. With Ravn was a tall man, white haired and with a long white beard. He was wearing long robes embroidered with crosses and winged angels and I later discovered this was Wulfhere, the Archbishop of Eoferwic who, like Egbert, had given his allegiance to the Danes. The king sat, looking uncomfortable, and then the discussion began.
They were not there just to discuss me. They talked about which Northumbrian lords were to be trusted, which were to be attacked, what lands were to be granted to Ivar and Ubba, what tribute the Northumbrians must pay, how many horses were to be brought to Eoferwic, how much food was to be given to the army, which ealdormen were to yield hostages, and I sat, bored, until my name was mentioned. I perked up then and heard my uncle propose that I should be ransomed. That was the gist of it, but nothing is ever simple when a score of men decide to argue. For a long time they wrangled over my price, the Danes demanding an impossible payment of three hundred pieces of silver, and Ælfric not wanting to budge from a grudging offer of fifty. I said nothing, but just sat on the broken Roman tiles at the edge of the hall and listened. Three hundred became two hundred and seventy-five, fifty became sixty, and so it went on, the numbers edging closer, but still wide apart, and then Ravn, who had been silent, spoke for the first time. “The earl Uhtred,” he said in Danish, and that was the first time I heard myself described as an earl, which was a Danish rank, “has given his allegiance to King Egbert. In that he has an advantage over you, Ælfric.”
The words were translated and I saw Ælfric’s anger when he was given no title. But nor did he have a title, except the one he had granted to
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