The Lords of the North by Bernard Cornwell

don't give us any trouble. And, of course, we'll have to keep those

rascals in Strath Clota from being a nuisance.'
    'Of course we must.' I said.
    'They killed my father, see? And made me a slave!' He grinned. Hardicnut, Guthred's father,

had been a Danish earl who made his home at Cair Ligualid which was the chief town in

Cumbraland. Hardicnut had called himself king of Northumbria, which was pretentious, but

strange things happen west of the hills and a man there can claim to be king of the moon if he

wants because no one outside of Cumbraland will take the slightest bit of notice.

Hardicnut had posed no threat to the greater lords around Eoferwic, indeed he posed small

threat to anyone, for Cumbraland was a sad and savage place, forever being raided by the

Norsemen from Ireland or by the wild horrors from Strath Clota whose king, Eochaid, called

himself king of Scotland, a title disputed by Æd who was now fighting Ivarr.
    Of the insolence of the Scots, my father used to say, there is no end. He had cause to say

that, for the Scots claimed much of Bebbanburg's land and until the Danes came our family was

forever fighting against the northern tribes. I had been taught as a child that there were

many tribes in Scotland, but the two tribes closest to Northumbria were the Scots themselves,

of whom Aed was now king, and the savages of Strath Clota who lived on the western shore and

never came near Bebbanburg. They raided Cumbraland instead and Hardicnut had decided to

punish them and so led a small army north into their hills where Eochaid of Strath Clota

ambushed him and then destroyed him. Guthred had marched with his father and had been

captured and, for two years now, had been a slave.
    'Why didn't they kill you?' I asked.
    'Eochaid should have killed me,' he admitted cheerfully, 'but he didn't know who I was at

first, and by the time he found out he wasn't really in a killing mood. So he kicked me a few

times, then said I would be his slave. He liked to watch me empty his shit-pail. I was a

household slave, see? It was another insult.'
    'Being a household slave?'
    'Woman's work,' Guthred explained, 'but that meant I spent my time with the girls. I rather

liked it.'
    'So how did you escape Eochaid?'
    'I didn't. Gelgill bought me. He paid a lot for me!' He said this proudly.
    'And Gelgill was going to sell you to Kjartan?' I asked.
    'Oh no! He was going to sell me to the priests from Cair Ligualid!' he nodded towards the

seven churchmen who had been rescued with him. 'They'd agreed the price before, you see, but

Gelgill wanted more money and then they all met Sven, and of course Sven wouldn't let the sale

happen. He wanted me back in Dunholm and Gelgill would have done anything for Sven and his

father, so we were all doomed until you came along.'
    Some of this made sense and, by talking to the seven churchmen and questioning Guthred

further, I managed to piece the rest of the story together. Gelgill, known on both sides of

the border as a slave-trader, had purchased Guthred from Eochaid and had paid a vast price,

not because Guthred was worth it, but because the priests had hired Gelgill to make the trade.

'Two hundred pieces of silver, eight bullocks, two sacks of malt and a silver-mounted horn.

That was my price.' Guthred told me cheerfully.
    'Gelgill paid that much?' I was astonished.
    'He didn't. The priests did. Gelgill just negotiated the sale.'
    'The priests paid for you?'
    They must have emptied Cumbraland of silver.' Guthred said proudly.
    'And Eochaid agreed to sell you?'
    'For that price? Of course he did! Why wouldn't he?'
    'He killed your father. Your duty is to kill him. He knows that.'
    'He rather liked me.' Guthred said, and I found that believable because Guthred was so very

likeable. He faced each day as though it would bring nothing but happiness, and in his

company life somehow seemed brighter. 'He still made me empty his shit-pail,' Guthred