Death of Kings
Authors: Bernard Cornwell
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Action & Adventure
Death of Kings
Bernard Cornwell
Death of Kings
is for
Anne LeClaire,
Novelist and Friend,
who supplied the first line.
The spelling of place names in Anglo-Saxon England was an uncertain business, with no consistency and no agreement even about the name itself. Thus London was variously rendered as Lundonia, Lundenberg, Lundenne, Lundene, Lundenwic, Lundenceaster and Lundres. Doubtless some readers will prefer other versions of the names listed below, but I have usually employed whichever spelling is cited in either the
Oxford
or the
Cambridge Dictionary of English Place-Names
for the years nearest to AD 900, but even that solution is not foolproof. Hayling Island, in 956, was written as both Heilincigae and Hæglingaiggæ. Nor have I been consistent myself; I should spell England as Englaland, and have preferred the modern form Northumbria to N
rhymbralond to avoid the suggestion that the boundaries of the ancient kingdom coincide with those of the modern county. So this list, like the spellings themselves, is capricious.
Baddan Byrig | Badbury Rings, Dorset |
Beamfleot | Benfleet, Essex |
Bebbanburg | Bamburgh, Northumberland |
Bedanford | Bedford, Bedfordshire |
Blaneford | Blandford Forum, Dorset |
Buccingahamm | Buckingham, Bucks |
Buchestanes | Buxton, Derbyshire |
Ceaster | Chester, Cheshire |
Cent | County of Kent |
Cippanhamm | Chippenham, Wiltshire |
Cirrenceastre | Cirencester, Gloucestershire |
Contwaraburg | Canterbury, Kent |
Cracgelad | Cricklade, Wiltshire |
Cumbraland | Cumberland |
Cyninges Tun | Kingston upon Thames, Greater London |
Cytringan | Kettering, Northants |
Dumnoc | Dunwich, Suffolk |
Dunholm | Durham, County Durham |
Eanulfsbirig | St Neot, Cambridgeshire |
Eleg | Ely, Cambridgeshire |
Eoferwic | York, Yorkshire (called Jorvik by the Danes) |
Exanceaster | Exeter, Devon |
Fagranforda | Fairford, Gloucestershire |
Fearnhamme | Farnham, Surrey |
Fifhidan | Fyfield, Wiltshire |
Fughelness | Foulness Island, Essex |
Gegnesburh | Gainsborough, Lincolnshire |
Gleawecestre | Gloucester, Gloucestershire |
Grantaceaster | Cambridge, Cambridgeshire |
Hothlege, River | Hadleigh Ray, Essex |
Hrofeceastre | Rochester, Kent |
Humbre, River | River Humber |
Huntandon | Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire |
Liccelfeld | Lichfield, Staffordshire |
Lindisfarena | Lindisfarne (Holy Island), Northumberland |
Lundene | London |
Medwæg, River | River Medway, Kent |
Natangrafum | Notgrove, Gloucestershire |
Oxnaforda | Oxford, Oxfordshire |
Ratumacos | Rouen, Normandy, France |
Rochecestre | Wroxeter, Shropshire |
Sæfern | River Severn |
Sarisberie | Salisbury, Wiltshire |
Sceaftesburi | Shaftesbury, Dorset |
Sceobyrig | Shoebury, Essex |
Scrobbesburh | Shrewsbury, Shropshire |
Snotengaham | Nottingham, Nottinghamshire |
Sumorsæte | Somerset |
Temes, River | River Thames |
Thornsæta | Dorset |
Tofeceaster | Towcester, Northamptonshire |
Trente, River | River Trent |
Turcandene | Turkdean, Gloucestershire |
Tweoxnam | Christchurch, Dorset |
Westune | Whitchurch, Shropshire |
Wiltunscir | Wiltshire |
Wimburnan | Wimborne, Dorset |
Wintanceaster | Winchester, Hampshire |
Wygraceaster | Worcester, Worcestershire |
Contents
The Sorceress
Death of a King
Angels
Death in Winter
The Sorceress
‘Every day is ordinary,’ Father Willibald said, ‘until it isn’t.’ He smiled happily, as though he had just said something he thought I would find significant, then looked disappointed when I said nothing. ‘Every day,’ he started again.
‘I heard your drivelling,’ I snarled.
‘Until it isn’t,’ he finished weakly. I liked Willibald, even if he was a priest. He had been one of my childhood tutors and now I counted him as a friend. He was gentle, earnest, and if the meek ever do inherit the earth then Willibald will be rich beyond measure.
And every day is ordinary until something changes, and that cold Sunday morning had seemed as ordinary as any until the fools tried to kill me. It was so cold. There had been rain during the week, but on that morning the puddles froze and a hard frost whitened the grass. Father Willibald had arrived soon after sunrise and discovered me in the meadow. ‘We couldn’t find your estate last night,’ he explained his early appearance, shivering, ‘so we stayed at Saint Rumwold’s monastery,’ he gestured vaguely southwards. ‘It was cold there,’ he added.
‘They’re mean bastards, those monks,’ I said. I was supposed to deliver a weekly cartload of firewood to Saint Rumwold’s, but that was a duty I ignored. The monks could cut their own timber. ‘Who was Rumwold?’ I asked Willibald. I knew the answer, but wanted to drag Willibald through the thorns.
