himself, and I learned about that when he spoke softly to Beocca who then spoke up for him. “The ealdorman Ælfric,” the young priest said, “does not believe that a child’s oath is of any significance.”
Had I made an oath? I could not remember doing so, though I had asked for Egbert’s protection, and I was young enough to confuse the two things. Still, it did not much matter. What mattered was that my uncle had usurped Bebbanburg. He was calling himself ealdorman. I stared at him, shocked, and he looked back at me with pure loathing in his face.
“It is our belief,” Ravn said, his blind eyes looking at the roof of the hall that was missing some tiles so that a light rain was spitting through the rafters, “that we would be better served by having our own sworn earl in Bebbanburg, loyal to us, than endure a man whose loyalty we do not know.”
Ælfric could feel the wind changing and he did the obvious thing. He walked to the dais, knelt to Egbert, kissed the king’s outstretched hand, and, as a reward, received a blessing from the archbishop. “I will offer a hundred pieces of silver,” Ælfric said, his allegiance given.
“Two hundred,” Ravn said, “and a force of thirty Danes to garrison Bebbanburg.”
“With my allegiance given,” Ælfric said angrily, “you will have no need of Danes in Bebbanburg.”
So Bebbanburg had not fallen and I doubted it could fall. There was no stronger fortress in all Northumbria, and perhaps in all England.
Egbert had not spoken at all, nor did he, but nor had Ivar and it was plain that the tall, thin, ghost-faced Dane was bored with the whole proceedings for he jerked his head at Ragnar who left my side and went to talk privately with his lord. The rest of us waited awkwardly. Ivar and Ragnar were friends, an unlikely friendship for they were very different men, Ivar all savage silence and grim threat, and Ragnar open and loud, yet Ragnar’s eldest son served Ivar and was even now, at eighteen years old, entrusted with the leadership of some of the Danes left in Ireland who were holding on to Ivar’s lands in that island. It was not unusual for eldest sons to serve another lord, Ragnar had two earl’s sons in his ships’ crews, and both might one day expect to inherit wealth and position if they learned how to fight. So Ragnar and Ivar now talked and Ælfric shuffled his feet and kept looking at me, Beocca prayed, and King Egbert, having nothing else to do, just tried to look regal.
Ivar finally spoke “The boy is not for sale,” he announced.
“Ransom,” Ravn corrected him gently.
Ælfric looked furious. “I came here…” he began, but Ivar interrupted him.
“The boy is not for ransom,” he snarled, then turned and walked from the big chamber. Egbert looked awkward, half rose from his throne, sat again, and Ragnar came and stood beside me.
“You’re mine,” he said softly, “I just bought you.”
“Bought me?”
“My sword’s weight in silver,” he said.
“Why?”
“Perhaps I want to sacrifice you to Odin?” he suggested, then tousled my hair. “We like you, boy,” he said, “we like you enough to keep you. And besides, your uncle didn’t offer enough silver. For five hundred pieces? I’d have sold you for that.” He laughed.
Beocca hurried across the room. “Are you well?” he asked me.
“I’m well,” I said.
“That thing you’re wearing,” he said, meaning Thor’s hammer, and he reached as though to pull it from its thong.
“Touch the boy, priest,” Ragnar said harshly, “and I’ll straighten your crooked eyes before opening you from your gutless belly to your skinny throat.”
Beocca, of course, could not understand what the Dane had said, but he could not mistake the tone and his hand stopped an inch from the hammer. He looked nervous. He lowered his voice so only I could hear him. “Your uncle will kill you,” he whispered.
“Kill me?”
“He wants to be ealdorman. That’s why he wished to
Had I made an oath? I could not remember doing so, though I had asked for Egbert’s protection, and I was young enough to confuse the two things. Still, it did not much matter. What mattered was that my uncle had usurped Bebbanburg. He was calling himself ealdorman. I stared at him, shocked, and he looked back at me with pure loathing in his face.
“It is our belief,” Ravn said, his blind eyes looking at the roof of the hall that was missing some tiles so that a light rain was spitting through the rafters, “that we would be better served by having our own sworn earl in Bebbanburg, loyal to us, than endure a man whose loyalty we do not know.”
Ælfric could feel the wind changing and he did the obvious thing. He walked to the dais, knelt to Egbert, kissed the king’s outstretched hand, and, as a reward, received a blessing from the archbishop. “I will offer a hundred pieces of silver,” Ælfric said, his allegiance given.
“Two hundred,” Ravn said, “and a force of thirty Danes to garrison Bebbanburg.”
“With my allegiance given,” Ælfric said angrily, “you will have no need of Danes in Bebbanburg.”
So Bebbanburg had not fallen and I doubted it could fall. There was no stronger fortress in all Northumbria, and perhaps in all England.
Egbert had not spoken at all, nor did he, but nor had Ivar and it was plain that the tall, thin, ghost-faced Dane was bored with the whole proceedings for he jerked his head at Ragnar who left my side and went to talk privately with his lord. The rest of us waited awkwardly. Ivar and Ragnar were friends, an unlikely friendship for they were very different men, Ivar all savage silence and grim threat, and Ragnar open and loud, yet Ragnar’s eldest son served Ivar and was even now, at eighteen years old, entrusted with the leadership of some of the Danes left in Ireland who were holding on to Ivar’s lands in that island. It was not unusual for eldest sons to serve another lord, Ragnar had two earl’s sons in his ships’ crews, and both might one day expect to inherit wealth and position if they learned how to fight. So Ragnar and Ivar now talked and Ælfric shuffled his feet and kept looking at me, Beocca prayed, and King Egbert, having nothing else to do, just tried to look regal.
Ivar finally spoke “The boy is not for sale,” he announced.
“Ransom,” Ravn corrected him gently.
Ælfric looked furious. “I came here…” he began, but Ivar interrupted him.
“The boy is not for ransom,” he snarled, then turned and walked from the big chamber. Egbert looked awkward, half rose from his throne, sat again, and Ragnar came and stood beside me.
“You’re mine,” he said softly, “I just bought you.”
“Bought me?”
“My sword’s weight in silver,” he said.
“Why?”
“Perhaps I want to sacrifice you to Odin?” he suggested, then tousled my hair. “We like you, boy,” he said, “we like you enough to keep you. And besides, your uncle didn’t offer enough silver. For five hundred pieces? I’d have sold you for that.” He laughed.
Beocca hurried across the room. “Are you well?” he asked me.
“I’m well,” I said.
“That thing you’re wearing,” he said, meaning Thor’s hammer, and he reached as though to pull it from its thong.
“Touch the boy, priest,” Ragnar said harshly, “and I’ll straighten your crooked eyes before opening you from your gutless belly to your skinny throat.”
Beocca, of course, could not understand what the Dane had said, but he could not mistake the tone and his hand stopped an inch from the hammer. He looked nervous. He lowered his voice so only I could hear him. “Your uncle will kill you,” he whispered.
“Kill me?”
“He wants to be ealdorman. That’s why he wished to
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