‘Æthelhelm.’

‘Who hates her,’ I said.

That hatred was easy to understand. Edward had met Eadgifu while he was still married to Æfflaed, Æthelhelm’s sister and Ælfweard’s mother. The new, younger and prettier woman had won that rivalry, usurping Æfflaed’s place in the king’s bed and even persuading Edward to name her as Queen of Mercia. To make Æthelhelm’s hatred even more intense she had given Edward two more sons, Edmund and Eadred. Both boys were infants, yet the eldest, Edmund, had a claim on the throne if, so some believed, Æthelstan was illegitimate, and, as many realised, Ælfweard was simply too stupid, cruel and unreliable to be the next king. Æthelhelm understood that danger to his nephew’s future, which was why Eadgifu, in her desperation, had sent the priest to Bebbanburg.

‘She knows what Æthelhelm is planning for her,’ I told Finan.

‘She knows?’

‘She has spies, just as he does, and she was told that as soon as Edward dies Æthelhelm plans to carry her off to Wiltunscir. She’s to be placed in a nunnery and her two boys are to be raised in Æthelhelm’s household.’

Finan gazed across the summer sea. ‘Meaning,’ he said slowly, ‘that both boys will have their throats slit.’

‘Or else die of a convenient illness, yes.’

‘So what are we going to do? Rescue her?’

‘Rescue her,’ I agreed.

‘But, Christ! She’s protected by the king’s household troops! And Æthelhelm will be watching her like a hawk.’

‘She’s already rescued herself,’ I said. ‘She and her children went to Cent. She told her husband she was going to pray for him at the shrine of Saint Bertha, but in truth she wants to raise troops who’ll protect her and the boys.’

‘Dear God,’ Finan looked appalled. ‘And men will follow her?’

‘Why not? Remember that her father was Sigehelm.’ Sigehelm had been the ealdorman of Cent until he was killed fighting the Danes in East Anglia. He had been wealthy, though nothing like as rich as Æthelhelm, and Sigehelm’s son, Sigulf, had inherited that wealth along with his father’s household warriors. ‘Sigulf probably has three hundred men,’ I said.

‘And Æthelhelm has double that, at least! And he’ll have the king’s warriors too!’

‘And those warriors will be watching Æthelstan in Mercia,’ I said. ‘Besides, if Eadgifu and her brother march against Æthelhelm then others will follow them.’ That, I thought, was a slender hope, but not an impossible one.

Finan frowned at me. ‘I thought your oath was to Æthelstan. Now it’s to Lavender Tits?’

‘My oath is to Æthelstan,’ I said.

‘But Eadgifu will expect you to make her son the next king!’

‘Edmund is too young,’ I said firmly. ‘He’s an infant. The Witan will never appoint him king, not till he’s of age.’

‘By which time,’ Finan pointed out, ‘Æthelstan will be on the throne with sons of his own!’

‘I’ll be dead by then,’ I said, and touched the hammer again.

Finan gave a mirthless laugh. ‘So we’re sailing to join a Centish rebellion?’