Eadgifu had said nothing important to me, but that was not why she had summoned me. All that mattered was what men saw, and what they had seen was a queen in close conversation with Uhtred of Bebbanburg, a queen smiling and laughing. And why was it important that men see that? Because she had a son called Edmund.

King Edward had a dozen children. I had lost count, but I had noticed that Æthelstan, his eldest son, had not been invited to the top table where Ælfweard was seated. So far as Wessex was concerned Æthelstan and his twin sister were bastards, by-blows of a youthful indiscretion, which meant that the ætheling, the eldest legitimate son, was Ælfweard, Æthelhelm’s nephew, which in turn meant that Wessex expected Ælfweard to inherit his father’s throne and with it the riches of southern Englaland. Æthelhelm’s family would control the kingdom then, and Edward’s other sons, the sons of different women, would be lucky to escape with their lives. Eadgifu had hinted, no, she had more than hinted, that I would be rewarded by the return of my southern lands if I supported her son’s claim on the throne, but she had been too clever to seek a formal alliance with me. She must have known I would refuse to offer her an oath, so instead she had staged a dumb show of smiles, laughter, and intimacy that would convince the watching nobles and churchmen that Uhtred of Bebbanburg was her ally.

I turned to look back when I reached the hall door. Two servants were helping Edward to his feet. He was fading, I thought, and the men on the long benches were already taking sides. Many would support Æthelhelm because of his wealth and power, but others would follow Eadgifu in hopes that they could share the plunder of Æthelhelm’s estates. And some of those men, the lesser nobles who had their own reasons for disliking Æthelhelm, would declare for Eadgifu if they believed I was her ally. I might be old, but I was still formidable. Edward, I thought, should have destroyed Æthelhelm at the same time that he cast off Æthelhelm’s sister as his wife, but he must have known that would start a civil war in Wessex that would likely end in his own death and the possible destruction of his kingdom. So for the moment, Ælfweard was still the ætheling, and that kept Æthelhelm content.

But if Æthelhelm believed I was Eadgifu’s champion then he would want to slide a blade into my belly, twist the blade, and dance on my guts. “We should go home to Northumbria,” I grumbled, “and kill Sköll. This mess is none of our business.”

Except Sigtryggr had been summoned to the Witan. So the mess was ours whether we liked it or not.

And we followed Æthelhelm into the rain-swept night.

Harald, the guard commander who had fought beside me at Eads Byrig, handed me my swords. “Have you seen Lord Æthelhelm?” I asked.