The Flame Bearer (The Last Kingdom Series, Book 10) (29 page)

‘He still sent men to search for me,’ I said angrily.

‘He did?’ Ieremias asked with apparent ignorance.

‘Because you told him I was there,’ I said, angry now. ‘I’m your lord and you betrayed me!’

‘I prayed to God to protect you.’

‘You lying maggot!’

‘God is my Father, He listens to me! I prayed!’

‘I should slit your throat now,’ I said, and he just made a whining noise. ‘You told Æthelhelm your suspicions,’ I said, ‘to gain favour with him. True?’

‘You’re a pagan, lord! I thought I was doing my Father’s will.’

‘By betraying me.’

‘Yes, lord,’ he whispered. He frowned at me. ‘You’re a pagan, lord! I was just doing my Father’s will.’

‘And next day,’ I said, ‘I saw
Guds Moder
with Einar’s ships. So whose side are you on?’

‘I told you, lord, I am doing God’s work by making peace! Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be named the children of God! The archbishop told me that, lord, the archbishop himself! Hrothweard told me! No!’ The last despairing word came as I dropped the dried ear into the brazier’s flames. There was a burst of fire, the smell of bacon, and Ieremias sobbed again. ‘The archbishop said I must make peace!’

‘Just kill the bastard,’ Finan growled from the shadows.

‘No!’ Ieremias shuffled back towards the altar. ‘No, no, no.’

‘Lord Æthelhelm,’ I said, ‘who welcomed you in Dumnoc, is allied with my cousin. But Jarl Einar, who welcomed you and your ship when he sailed north from Dumnoc, now serves Constantin. Both think you are on their side.’

‘Blessed are the peacemakers,’ Ieremias muttered.

‘I don’t have much time,’ I said, ‘just this one night. But that’s time enough to burn everything here.’

‘No, lord!’

‘Let me talk to him,’ Finan growled.

Ieremias glanced at Finan and shuddered. ‘I don’t like that man, lord.’

‘He’s a Christian,’ I said, ‘you should like him.’

‘Bless you, my son,’ Ieremias made the sign of the cross towards Finan. ‘I still don’t like him, lord. Horrible man.’

‘He is horrible,’ I said, ‘but perhaps he can get the truth from you?’

‘I’ve told you, lord! Blessed are the peacemakers!’

I paused, watching him. Was he truly mad? Half the time he made perfect sense and half the time his mind wandered off into some airy place where only he and his god existed. His distress when I burned his baubles seemed real enough and his fear was no pretence, yet he still lied stubbornly. Finan wanted to beat the truth from him, but I suspected Ieremias would welcome some sort of martyrdom. And if you beat the truth out of a man you can never trust that it is the truth because a terrified man says what he thinks his tormentor wants to hear. I wanted to hear the truth, but what, I suddenly wondered, did Ieremias want? And why had he mentioned the archbishop? I remembered being told that he had travelled to Eoferwic and had talked with Hrothweard, the new archbishop, so perhaps there was some truth in his wild shrieks of peace?

I walked towards him, and he instinctively shrank away and began gulping air. ‘I won’t …’ he began, but the words were overcome by a great sob.

‘You won’t what?’ I asked.

‘Tell you!’ he said savagely. ‘You’re not a maker of peace! You’re a pagan! You are Uhtredærwe!’ It meant Uhtred the Wicked, a name Christians liked to give me. ‘You worship idols and brazen images! You are an abomination to my Father in heaven! I would rather die than tell you!’ He closed his eyes and raised his face to the roof where the brazier’s smoke writhed slow about the rafters. ‘Take me, O Lord,’ he cried, ‘take Thy suffering servant into Thy loving arms. Take me! Take me! Take me!’

I crouched opposite him, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear. ‘Well done.’

He stopped his prayers abruptly, opened his eyes, and looked at me. For a moment he seemed almost more scared than when I had spoken harshly. ‘Well done?’ he repeated in a very small voice.

I still whispered. ‘The archbishop wanted me to find out if you could keep a secret.’

‘You spoke to …’ he began, then went silent when I put a finger in front of my lips.

‘Finan mustn’t hear,’ I whispered, ‘he can’t be trusted.’

Ieremias nodded vigorously. ‘He looks treacherous, lord. You can’t trust small men.’

‘And he’s Irish,’ I said.

‘Oh! Well! Yes, lord!’

‘He must believe that I hate you,’ I said, ‘but I’m here for the archbishop! He promised he would replace everything I burned. He promised.’

‘But,’ he said, frowning, then looked down at the hammer that hung on its chain around my neck. ‘You’re not a Christian, lord!’

‘Hush!’ I said, holding my finger before my lips again. I stole a glance at Finan, then lowered my voice even more. ‘Look!’ I lifted Serpent-Breath’s hilt, and there, in the pommel, was a silver cross. It had been given to me years before by Hild, whom I had loved and still did, though she lived now in a convent in Wintanceaster, yet for a time we had been lovers. I had placed the cross into the sword’s hilt out of sentimentality, but now it served me well, as Ieremias stared at it. The silver caught and reflected the brazier’s fire.

‘But,’ Ieremias began again.

‘Sometimes Christ’s work must be done in secret,’ I whispered. ‘Tell me, Ieremias, are the Christians winning the wars in Britain?’

‘Yes, lord,’ he said enthusiastically, ‘God be thanked, the kingdom of God comes north year by year. The pagans are confounded! God’s armies cleanse the land!’

‘And who led those Christian armies?’

He gaped for a second, then, in a very low but surprised voice. ‘You did, lord.’

‘I did,’ I said. And that was true, though I had led those armies only because of my oath to Æthelflaed. I hesitated a moment. My pretence was working, it was reassuring and comforting Ieremias, but now I had to make a guess, and if I was wrong then I could lose his trust. ‘The archbishop,’ I whispered, ‘told me about Lindisfarena.’

‘He did!’ Ieremias was excited and I was relieved. The guess had been right.

‘He wants it to be an island of prayer,’ I said, recalling Hrothweard’s words.

‘That’s what he told me!’ Ieremias said.

‘So he wants you to restore the monastery to its true glory,’ I said.

‘It must be done!’ Ieremias said fiercely. ‘It is a place of power, lord, far greater than Gyruum! A prayer said in Lindisfarena is heard by God! Not by the saints, lord, but by God Himself! With Lindisfarena I can work miracles!’

I hushed him again. It was time for the second guess, but this one was easier. ‘My cousin,’ I said, ‘promised you the island?’

‘He did, lord.’

I knew that Archbishop Hrothweard, who was a man of sense and duty, had never promised Lindisfarena to Ieremias. The island and its ruined monastery were sacred to Christians because it was there that Saint Cuthbert had lived and preached. My cousin had never restored the monastery even though it lay within sight of Bebbanburg’s walls, probably because he feared that a new abbey and its buildings would attract Norse or Danish raiders. Yet now that he was under siege he needed ships to bring his beleaguered garrison food, and Ieremias’s small fleet was harboured just south of Bebbanburg’s land, so making a promise about Lindisfarena would have been an easy way to recruit the mad bishop’s help. ‘What did my cousin promise you?’ I asked. ‘That he would help you rebuild the monastery?’

‘Yes, lord,’ Ieremias said excitedly, ‘he promised we shall make Lindisfarena more glorious than ever!’

I shook my head sadly. ‘The archbishop has learned,’ I whispered, ‘that my cousin has also promised Lindisfarena to the black monks.’

‘To the Benedictines!’ Ieremias was horrified.

‘Because they brought Christianity to the Saxons,’ I explained, ‘and he doesn’t trust you because you’re a Dane.’

‘We’re neither Dane nor Saxon in God’s sight!’ Ieremias protested.

‘I know that,’ I said, ‘and you know that, but my cousin hates the Danes. He’s using you. He wants you to bring him food, but then he will betray you! The black monks are waiting at Contwaraburg, and they will come north when the Scots are gone.’

‘God won’t allow that to happen!’ Ieremias protested.

‘Which is why he sent me,’ I said.

He looked into my eyes and I looked back, not blinking, and I saw the doubt in his gaze. ‘But Lord Æthelhelm …’ he began.

‘Has promised gold to the black monks,’ I interrupted. ‘I thought you knew that. I thought that was why you helped Einar attack him!’

He shook his head. ‘The Lord Uhtred,’ he meant my cousin, ‘wanted food, lord, because there was a fire in his granaries. But he feared because Lord Æthelhelm is bringing so many men, he thinks Lord Æthelhelm means to keep the fortress.’

‘I thought my cousin was going to marry Æthelhelm’s daughter?’

‘Oh, he is, lord.’ He chuckled and his eyes opened wider. ‘Very young and ripe, that one! A consolation for your cousin.’

Consolation for what, I wondered, for losing control of Bebbanburg to Æthelhelm’s men? ‘So Æthelhelm,’ I said, ‘would let my cousin keep Bebbanburg, but will insist on garrisoning it with his own men?’

‘With a whole army, lord! Ready to smite the heathen!’

And that made sense. With Bebbanburg in Æthelhelm’s grasp, Sigtryggr would find Saxon armies to his south and to his north. My cousin had cannily avoided becoming entangled in any of the wars between Saxons and Danes, but Æthelhelm’s price for his rescue was that Bebbanburg was to be part of the crushing of Northumbria. ‘And my cousin didn’t want Æthelhelm’s army in his fortress?’ I asked.

‘He doesn’t want that! Some men, yes, an army? No!’

‘So you said you’d weaken Lord Æthelhelm’s fleet?’

He hesitated. I sensed he wanted to lie, so I growled slightly and he jerked as if surprised. ‘The Scots were already planning to do that, lord,’ he admitted hurriedly.

‘You knew that?’ I asked, and he just nodded. ‘So what does God think of you talking to King Constantin?’ I asked.

‘Lord!’ he protested. ‘I didn’t speak to him!’

‘You did,’ I accused him. ‘How else could you arrange to guide their fleet to Dumnoc? You’ve been talking to both sides. To my cousin and to Constantin.’

‘Not to King Constantin, lord. I swear it on the blessed virgin’s womb.’

‘You spoke to the Lord Domnall then.’

He paused, then nodded. ‘I did,’ he admitted in a low voice.

‘You came to an arrangement,’ I said, ‘a
tilskipan
.’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘You wanted reassurance,’ I said, speaking gently again. ‘My cousin promised to let you have the monastery if you helped him, but what if he lost? That must have worried you.’

‘It did, lord! I prayed!’

‘And God told you to talk to the Scots?’

‘Yes, lord!’

‘And they promised to give you the monastery if you helped them?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘And you scouted Dumnoc for them?’

He nodded again. ‘Yes, lord.’

‘But why didn’t you join their attack? Why didn’t you fight alongside Einar’s men?’

He looked at me with wide eyes, ‘I am a peacemaker, lord! Blessed are the peacemakers! I told Lord Domnall I could not carry a sword, I’m a bishop! I would help the Scots, lord, but not kill for them. God forbid!’

‘And if you had fought alongside Einar’s ships,’ I suggested, ‘then Lord Æthelhelm would know you had betrayed my cousin.’

‘That is true, lord,’ he said. If Ieremias was mad, I thought, then he was subtle mad, clever mad, sinuous as a serpent. He had convinced both the Scots and my cousin that he was on their side, all so he could build his new monastery on Lindisfarena regardless of which side won.

‘Do you really believe,’ I asked him, ‘that my cousin will keep his promise? Or that the Scots will let you build a monastery on their land? Neither can be trusted!’

He looked at me with tears in his eyes. ‘God wants me to build it, lord! He talks to me; He demands it; He expects it of me!’

‘Then you must build it,’ I said feelingly. ‘And the archbishop understands that! Which is why he sent you a message.’

‘A message?’ he asked eagerly.

‘He sends you his blessing and assures you he will be praying daily for your success. He promises he will support your work on Lindisfarena and send you treasures, such treasures! But only if you help me.’ I took his hand and laid it on the silver cross in Serpent-Breath’s hilt. ‘I swear by my soul that this is true and I swear that when I am Lord of Bebbanburg you will be the abbot, the bishop, and the ruler of Lindisfarena.’ I pressed his hand against the pommel. ‘I swear that in the name of the Father—’

‘My Father,’ he interrupted hurriedly.

‘In the name of your Father, and of your brother, and of—’

‘And of the other one,’ he interrupted again. ‘You mustn’t name the other one,’ he told me anxiously, ‘because it makes God jealous. He told me that.’

‘Jealous?’

He nodded vigorously. ‘You see it’s the holy other one,’ he said, stressing the word holy, ‘while my Father and my brother should be holy, even holier, but they’re not. And that’s very wrong!’

‘It is wrong,’ I said soothingly.

‘So Father asked me not to name the other one. Ever.’

‘And your Father will also tell you to trust me,’ I said.

I thought for a heartbeat that I had taken the pretence a step too far because Ieremias did not respond, but just frowned at me. Then he closed his eyes tight and muttered something under his breath. He paused, apparently listening, nodded, muttered again, and then opened his eyes and looked at me with unfeigned happiness. ‘I just asked Him, lord, and He says I can trust you! Praise Him!’

‘Praise Him indeed,’ I said, still holding his hand. ‘So now tell me everything I need to know.’

And in Gyruum’s old church, in the smoke-haunted night, he did.

PART FOUR

The Return to Bebbanburg