“How many men have you seen hanged here today?”

“Six,” he said calmly.

“Are you sure?”

“Lord Osferth will ask if I saw six men hanged. I shall say yes, but if you want that one to live,” he nodded at Immar, “I should let his feet touch the ground, lord.”

I dropped Immar to the ground and untied the rope from his neck. Father Oda deliberately looked away, and so far as I know he never did tell anyone that I had spared the boy’s life. Not, I think, that Oda the Dane cared. In time he became a bishop, and long before that he had gained the reputation of being a stern and unbending leader of the church, but on that day in Mameceaster he let me use mercy.

“You are now one of my men,” I told Immar, and we made him kneel, made him put his hands over mine that were clasped about Serpent-Breath’s hilt, and then, still gasping for breath, he swore he would be my man to death.

“I talked to Wynflæd,” I told Mus that night.

“I know,” she said, “thank you.”

And later we fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Osferth was not invited to Tamweorthin. “King Edward,” he had told me stiffly, “would prefer I did not attend.”

“Or even exist?”

“That too,” he admitted with a tight smile.

“Look after Mus,” I told him the night before we left Mameceaster.

“Mus?”

“Sunngifu.”

He grimaced. “She’s a capable woman,” he said distantly.

“And looking for a husband, I think.”

That got no reaction except from Mus, who laughed when I told her. “Oh, I couldn’t marry Lord Osferth,” she said, “it would be like marrying a priest!”

“You were married to a priest,” I reminded her.

“But Leofstan was a gentle and kind man. Lord Osferth is troubled. He doesn’t think God loves him, poor man.” Mus, I thought, was a gentle and kind woman. I gave her the last two of my gold coins.

“You can ride with us,” I suggested.

“To where? Bebbanburg? I don’t think your wife would approve.”

“She wouldn’t,” I agreed.

“I’m happy here,” she said, sounding anything but happy, “and I’ll find a husband.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss me. “Kill Sköll, lord.”

“I shall.”

“I know.”

Mus did not come with us, but Brother Beadwulf and Wynflæd rode with the boys and servants who led our spare horses and who herded the pack animals with their burdens of spears and shields. Wynflæd had gone on her knees to me, begging that she and her husband serve me. “I don’t want to stay here, lord,” she said, meaning Mameceaster.

“Too many sad memories?” I asked her.

“Yes, lord,” she said, and so I agreed.

We left by the southern gate, and once across the river we passed the five bodies still hanging from the branches of a spreading oak. Their eyes were gone, their skin was blackening, and ravens had ripped the flesh down to bone. Immar Hergildson, equipped now with a mail coat, an old helmet, and a sword, forced himself to look at his father. “You have no father now,” I told him. “This is your family,” I gestured toward my men, “and when we have time,” I went on, “we must let your mother know you’re alive.”