“Sit, Lord Uhtred,” Queen Eadgifu commanded. The servant had brought me a stool. I sat.

Eadgifu leaned toward me, the white shawl parted and I could not help notice how low the dress was cut at her breasts. The candlelight cast a deep shadow in her cleavage as she briefly touched my hand. “I heard about your daughter. I am full of regret.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“I shall pray for her soul.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“I have two infant sons myself now,” she said, “and I cannot imagine the sorrow of losing a child.” I said nothing to that. “Prince Edmund,” she went on, “is my firstborn.” She smiled again, and then, to my surprise, laughed. It was forced laughter, as inappropriate as it was unnatural. She was still leaning close. She smelled of lavender. “You have a son, Lord Uhtred?” she asked.

“I do, my lady.”

“Such precious things, sons,” she said, still smiling. “My husband was surprised you were here in Tamweorthin.”

“He should be surprised, my lady,” I said, “because he didn’t invite me to the Witan.”

“Why ever not?” She was speaking softly, so softly that even if Edward had been awake he would have found it difficult to hear her, and the low voice also made me lean close so that to the watching guests it must have appeared that we were conspiring together. She laughed again, though at what I could not tell.

“I’m told I no longer hold land in Wessex or Mercia, my lady,” I explained.

She looked sympathetic and reached out a ringed hand to touch my arm. “That is so unjust, Lord Uhtred.”

I was tempted to say I had no need of estates in Wessex or Mercia, that Bebbanburg was all I wanted, but instead I shrugged. “Bishop Wulfheard was granted my Mercian estates. I doubt I’ll see those lands again. The church doesn’t surrender property, my lady.”

“Bishop Wulfheard! Such a horrid man!” she said brightly, still with that smile.

“Not my favorite bishop,” I said drily.

She laughed. “Then you’ll be pleased to know Wulfheard is not here. They say he’s dying.”

“I’m sorry,” I said dutifully.

“No you’re not. I’m told he has leprosy.” She smiled at me. Her teeth were surprisingly white and even. “Are you really a pagan?”

“I am, my lady.”

She laughed again, louder this time, and Edward muttered something, moved his head, but did not seem to wake. I could see his face more clearly now and was shocked. His skin was lined and blotched, his beard was gray, he looked ill. Ælfweard edged his chair closer, trying to overhear our conversation. I supposed he was eighteen or nineteen years old, about the same age as Eadgifu. He was a moonfaced, sullen boy with petulant eyes and a pathetic fringe of a beard. I saw him stare indignantly at his uncle, Æthelhelm, then look back to me. I caught his eye, smiled, and he scowled. “I think you’re the first pagan I’ve met,” Eadgifu said.