The Bone Thief (34 page)

‘You show me.’

Wulfgar held it out to him, and he looked inside.

‘More bones,’ Garmund said then. ‘All right. They look old, right enough. But where’s your proof?’

‘Proof?’ Wulfgar poured outrage into his voice. ‘You’re looking for the bones of a saint. I give you the bones we were taking from his grave. What more could you possibly want?’ Wulfgar took a step towards him.

Garmund held up a warning hand.

‘Watch it,’ he said. ‘King Edward wants proof, I’m going to bring him proof.’

‘For the sake of God, Garmund, I’m not armed. Look at me. I’m trying to help you. I’ll give you everything we’ve got.’

Garmund narrowed his eyes.

‘Don’t you dare hold out on me.’

Putting the sack down gently, Wulfgar got down on the tiles and brought out the tenderly wrapped fragments of wood.

‘Look at these. These were found with the bones.’

Garmund stood over him, watching him lift out the incised scraps of coffin. ‘Read them to me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘What do you mean? You’re the
scholar
, aren’t you?’ Garmund loaded the word with contempt. ‘Of course you can.’

Wulfgar sighed.
Wuffa, do my Latin for me or I’ll break your arm
…

‘No, I can’t, not just like that. Look how damaged the wood is. I can’t read them, not without a lot of work. But the Bishop of Winchester’s scholars will be able to. Ask my uncle.’

‘Your uncle?’ Garmund spat.

‘I know he never approved of you being taught at the King’s school.’ Wulfgar sighed profoundly. ‘But he’d be glad to help with something as marvellous as this.’ Still kneeling, he closed his eyes. ‘Proof doesn’t get better. From here, you’ll have to fall back on faith. Just as we’ve had to. These are the bones we were planning to take to Gloucester. But I suppose St Oswald would rather be in Winchester, for some reason best known to him and God.’ The bitterness in his voice sounded convincing even to himself. ‘What’s Edward going to do with him? Put him in the big new church he’s said to be planning?’

‘That’s none of your business, Litter-runt.’ Garmund showed his teeth. ‘Well, if this is the best you can do …’ He nodded to one of his men, who picked up the two sacks gingerly and took them out into the bright courtyard.

‘Be careful!’

‘Oh, we will be, runt. My career depends on those bags.’

I’ve done it, Wulfgar thought. He looked round at the others. Ednoth gaped at him, truculent and outraged. Ronan was shaking his head sadly and staring at the floor. Wulfgar wished there was some way of explaining what he had done straight away. He knew that Ronan and Ednoth thought he had given the saint to Garmund, but there was no help for it: they would have to go on thinking it for some time to come.

‘You’ve got what you want.’ The Spider’s wife sounded agitated. ‘Go now. Get out. You’re right, I’ll find a use for these.’ She gestured at her prisoners.

Wulfgar looked up at her, still on his knees.

‘He promised he’d let us go.’

Garmund raised his hands, smiling, placatory. ‘As you say, my part is done. Kill them if you like, what do I care?’ He turned and bellowed through the open door, ‘Get the horses ready!’ Then, ‘I take my leave of you, dearest lady.’ The rest of his men had gone out before him. He bowed mockingly. ‘Goodbye, Wuffa.’

There was the welcome clatter of many hooves on cobbles from outside. Just let Garmund get clear, Wulfgar thought. Once he was away from Bardney they could bribe their way out, or blag, or fight. If they could get weapons. They could give the Spider’s wife the Bishop’s silver. Thorvald’s silver. She seemed to like silver. Just let him go away, Wulfgar prayed. Bear with me, St Oswald.

Garmund had left the doorway. A jingling of harness and the creak of saddles. The sound of horsemen riding out.

A long, long silence in their wake.

Wulfgar looked up again at the painted image of St Oswald in the semi-circular space above the door.

My Lord and King
, he prayed. Thank you. We’re working on this together, we’re getting there at last, he thought.

If the saint could see Leoba safe to Leicester, Wulfgar could meet him there and they could both get home. He started to rise to his feet.

The Spider’s wife frowned at him.

‘Don’t think you’re going anywhere.’

‘But Garmund said—’ Wulfgar began.

‘He’s gone, hasn’t he? And he’s not master round here. I am.’

‘If it’s Dublin you’re thinking of,’ Ronan said, ‘I can tell you this much: you won’t recoup the cost of shipping my sorry carcass.’

‘Not you, old man, no. But
him
–’ she jerked her chin at Ednoth ‘– he’d be worth it. I’m not holding my breath to see the rest of my money. I’m guessing I’ve been bilked by that smooth-talking southron. I’ll have to make it up somehow.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

WULFGAR GLANCED AT
Ednoth and saw how pale he was, his freckles standing out, his jaw tense and the muscles in his neck strained. He’s terrified, Wulfgar thought suddenly. For the first time on this whole sorry jaunt he’s realised the danger we’ve walked into.

And he’s killed someone for the first time, too.

It’s not just me.

Their eyes met, and Wulfgar smiled, trying to put all the sympathy he felt into his face.

Ednoth lunged to his feet.

‘You – you bastard!’

‘
What?
’

‘Traitor. You and that – yes, I can believe he’s your brother. You and smelly-arse Polecat. What a pair.’

‘Steady, boys,’ Father Ronan said.

The Spider’s wife was still talking, ignoring their confrontation.

‘You’re in league, aren’t you, you and him?’ Ednoth shouted.
‘Never
trust a West Saxon, I should have known. I should have known.’

Mouth closed, Wulfgar shook his head violently, trying to catch the lad’s eye again.

What can I say, he wondered, while the Spider’s wife can overhear us?

But the boy wasn’t prepared to listen to anything he might have to say.

‘And you, too, Father! How could you let him give away our saint?’ He swung back to Wulfgar. ‘It was all a plot – a plot to get the bones to Winchester – wasn’t it? After all that we’ve done?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Thorvald – did you really try to save him? Or kill him? And I’ve lost my sword. And God only knows what’s going to happen to
us
now—’ Ednoth fell silent at last as a grim-faced man swung a spear-butt at him. It missed, but he slumped back in his corner, levelling one last look of hatred and misery at Wulfgar before folding his arms on his knees and resting his head on them.

‘Thorvald?’ The Spider’s wife was listening now. ‘What has Thorvald to do with this?’ She went to the door, shouted to summon a slave, gave orders, turned in the doorway. ‘Where is Thorvald?’

‘Where you and yours can’t get at him,’ Father Ronan said.

She bared her teeth.

‘He’s our thrall. Was he working for you? Are you telling me he’s dead?’

Ronan crossed himself. ‘May he rest in peace. But not your thrall, and not your husband’s. Your people here are free men and women of Bardney.’

She seemed to find something funny in that.

‘Freedom in Bardney? There’s no freedom anywhere Eirik wields the rod.’ She turned back into the hall and stared down at the rug with its treasure-trove of coins. ‘You,’ she said to Ronan, ‘you think you’re so clever. Do some work for once. You bag my silver again and stow it in my kist.’ She gestured at a small leather-covered chest that stood on the inside of the west wall and began fumbling with the keys at her belt. Ronan, meekly obedient, scooped up the rug, gathering stray coins, as she opened the lid of the chest and kicked the money bags towards him.

‘Help me, Wuffa. Let’s do a bag each.’

The Spider’s wife nodded. ‘Get on with it.’

Wulfgar shuffled across. He had never seen such a pile of money in his life. He peered curiously at the first one he picked up. Deorwald’s workshop – the Winchester moneyer’s name was there for him to read, but he thought he would have known the old man’s craftsmanship anyway by the beautiful cutting of the tiny letters. He turned it over and tilted it to read the name circling round the rim with a pang. EDWARDUS REX.
New-minted, indeed
.
Edward had wasted no time
.

The coin was snatched from his hand.

‘Stop laiking about.’

It was a slow job, the Spider’s wife watching like a cat at a mouse-hole to see that not a single gleaming disc went astray. She stood over them the whole time, her hands knotted and clenching.

‘What are you so afraid of?’ Ronan asked, almost gently.

The Spider’s wife made a noise; it sounded almost like a whimper, and Wulfgar looked up at her, startled. Her shawl had fallen back, revealing a flash of metal at her long throat.

‘That’s a thrall ring, for all its silver,’ Father Ronan said slowly.

She looked at him with hatred.

‘My wedding ring,’ she said.

Ronan had filled his bag. He stood up, holding it out to the Spider’s wife, who snatched it from him with both hands. ‘Come with us, lady,’ he said. He put his hand on his heart. ‘Bring your silver. Come away with us.’

Her eyes had widened. Wuffa watched in fascination.

‘Come back to the faith of your parents,’ Ronan said,

‘My parents?’ She laughed, a brittle sound that tailed away into coughing. ‘Who was it sold me to Eirik, think you?’ she said, when she had got her breath back. Her mouth twisted. ‘May well be I’m not staying here. But I’ll put no faith in the word of Christians, either. You’d kill me for the silver.’

‘Lady, lady!’ A young woman ran into the hall, her face wild, too short of breath to do more than point a frantic arm out into the courtyard.

The sound of horses outside.

A voice shouting a harsh command in Danish.

In Danish
.

Her head swivelled from side to side, eyes wide like a doe at bay. She snatched at the other bag of silver, the one Wulfgar was holding up to her, but he hadn’t fastened the draw-string and it up-ended. A shower of coins slid from its mouth, flickering like fish-scales in the shaft of sunlight, ringing sweetly as they tumbled onto the flagged floor.

‘
Help me
,’ she said.

The doorway darkened. Wulfgar looked towards it, hoping for the first time in his life to see Garmund.

A lanky, angular figure, his hair backlit grey.

Eirik.

He looked slowly around him, eyes adjusting to the smoky
gloom
. His eyes lingered, squinting, on each small group, as he tallied the unexpected scene. Ednoth sitting in the corner, still resting his head on his folded arms. Their guards. Ronan, standing, holding an obviously heavy bag. Wulfgar, still kneeling by the rug, empty-handed. The woman scrabbling on the floor for a small fortune in silver.

There were no shouts, no angry questions. Eirik just stood there, waiting, until they all had seen him, had stopped what they were doing, until he had their full attention. And even then the silence stretched on and on.

‘What’s that?’ he asked his wife at last in his guttural, lifeless tone. He pointed accusingly at the scattering of silver and the tumbled rug. ‘Stand up. Who were those men riding out on my road?’

She was silent.

His eyes narrowed as he acknowledged Ronan, and he looked around the group again, nodding.

‘You,’ he said, pointing. ‘Friend of Silkbeard. You stand up too.’

He means
me
, Wulfgar realised.

‘What is all this? What are you doing here?’

‘What are
you
doing here?’ his wife asked. ‘You never come here. Never.’

‘People are talking in Lincoln,’ he said. ‘Saying there is a great treasure hid at Bardney, and Eirik the Spider is a fool not to know about it. A bigger fool to trust his wife.’ He spat onto the tiles. ‘Nobody calls me a fool.’ He took another step towards them. ‘Then yesterday this one –’ he indicated Wulfgar again ‘– starts asking questions.
Bardney
,
Bardney
,
Bardney
. So I decided I would come and see. And what do I find? Strangers on the road, and – not strangers – in my house.’

There was a long silence.

‘You have been cheating me, haven’t you?’ Eirik said.

She shook her head, speechless.

He sucked his teeth.

‘I should have known.’

Extemporising frantically, Wulfgar said, ‘Those men you saw on the road, they’ve taken your treasure.’

‘What?’

Encouraged by Eirik’s response, Wulfgar spread his hands.

‘They stole it from the churchyard. We were too late.’ He looked at Ronan:
support me here
. But the big priest was silent. He went on, scrabbling after words with a sense of digging his own grave. ‘We were after the treasure, but we’ve only just got here. We found those men already here, they’d been digging in the graveyard, and when – when they saw us they jumped on their horses and rode away. The hole they left was empty, and their saddle-bags looked full, so we assumed—’ Where is my eloquence when we need it? ‘I can show you the hole,’ he said, desperate.