‘You swore an oath, lord King,’ I reminded him.

‘I did indeed,’ he said, not looking at me, but gazing down the hall where the leaders of his warriors were gathered at two long tables. Finan was there with Brihtwulf, as were Wihtgar and Merewalh, all drinking ale or wine because this was a feast, a celebration, and the victors were eating the food that had belonged to the defeated. Some of the defeated West Saxons were there too, those who had surrendered quickly and sworn allegiance to their conqueror. Most men still wore their mail, though Æthelstan had stripped off his own armour and wore a costly black coat beneath a short cloak dyed a deep and rich blue. The cloak’s hems were embroidered with gold thread, he had a gold chain about his neck from which hung a golden cross, and about his head was a simple gold circlet. He was no longer the boy I had protected through the long years when his enemies had tried to destroy him. Now he had the stern face of a warrior king. He looked like a king too; he was tall, straight-backed, and handsome, but that was not why his enemies had called him Faeger Cnapa. They had used that derisive name because Æthelstan had let his dark hair grow long and then twisted it into a dozen ringlets that were threaded with gold wires. Before the feast, when I had been summoned to share the high table, he had seen me staring at the glittering strands beneath the golden circlet and he had given me a defiant look.

‘A king,’ he had said defensively, ‘must appear kingly.’

‘He must indeed, lord King,’ I had said. He had looked at me with those clever eyes, judging whether I mocked him, but before he could say more I had dropped to one knee. ‘I take pleasure at your victory, lord King,’ I had said humbly.

‘As I am grateful for all you did,’ he had said, then raised me up and insisted that I should sit at his right hand where, gazing down at the celebrating warriors, I had just reminded him of the oath he had sworn to me.

‘I did indeed swear an oath,’ he said. ‘I swore not to invade Northumbria while you live,’ he paused and reached for a silver jug that was etched with Æthelhelm’s stag. ‘And you can be sure,’ he went on, ‘that I am mindful of the oath.’ His voice was guarded and still he looked into hall, but then he turned to me and smiled. ‘And I thank God that you do live, Lord Uhtred.’ He poured me wine from the jug. ‘I am told you rescued Queen Eadgifu?’

‘I did, lord King.’ I still found it strange to address him as I had addressed his grandfather. ‘So far as I know she’s safe at Bebbanburg.’

‘That was well done,’ he said. ‘You can send her to Cent and assure her of our protection.’