“Thank you, lord,” he said, and I reflected that the valley of the three brothers had lost all three of them.

Then I forgot the dead brothers as we rode south through fields showing the first signs of the new year’s crops, beside pastures where fresh-born lambs bleated, and by woods hazed with new leaves. A fat land, I thought, which is why men fought for it. The Romans had captured it, then we Saxons took it, and after us came the Danes, and now the Norse were strengthening their hold on the wilder lands of Cumbraland and casting greedy eyes on these plump fields. I touched Serpent-Breath’s hilt. “They’ll always need us,” I said to Finan.

“They?”

“Whoever needs a sword.”

He chuckled. “Who are we fighting for these days?”

“Sigtryggr, of course.”

“And he’s making peace.”

I shrugged. “We’ll find out,” I said. At the Mercian town of Tamweorthin.

That the Easter meeting of the Witan was to be held at Tamweorthin was proof that the rebellion in Mercia was over. Osferth, before I left, had told me that every ealdorman, every bishop, and a good number of abbots had been summoned, and Edward, before issuing the invitations, must have been certain that the Mercian roads were safe for travel. And this meeting of the Witan was notable because it was the first where men from Wessex, Mercia, and East Anglia were to be brought together to hear the king’s decrees, to make laws, and to seal Edward’s claim that he was Anglorum Saxonum Rex. The only Angles or Saxons who were not part of Edward’s kingdom were those who lived in Northumbria, and that, I reckoned, was why Sigtryggr had been summoned. He was to submit to Edward’s authority, or at least I assumed that was why Edward had demanded his presence.

We did not ride all the way to Tamweorthin. If Osferth was right, and I was sure he was, then the burh would be crammed with ealdormen and churchmen, all with their retinues, and every tavern, barn, store, and house would be full. There would be tents in the fields, there would be fights in the streets, there would be stale bread, sour ale, and vomit, so we found a steading a half-day’s ride north of the burh where my men could stay. I paid hacksilver for their keep, then rode south with just Finan, Rorik, and Berg for company. Finan looked alarmed at such a small group. “That bastard Æthelhelm will be there,” he warned me.

“So will Sigtryggr,” I said, “and he’ll have men. Besides, we’re not invited, so turning up with a war-band will look like a threat.”

It was still two days before Easter, but already the pastures outside the burh were thick with tents. Wagons loaded with barrels of salted fish and smoked meat were lumbering toward the gates, other wagons were heaped with barrels of ale or wine. “If we’re not invited,” Finan asked, “why are we here?”

“Because Sigtryggr would want us here, and because Æthelstan asked me to come. I doubt Edward even knows I’m here.”