A monk, one of two sitting at a table at the side of the platform where they were busily writing what I supposed was a record of the Witan’s deliberations, interpreted for the benefit of the hall. “Louder!” a man called from the benches, and the monk repeated his translation, and then, almost immediately, Æthelhelm stood.

“I have a protest, lord King,” Æthelhelm said loudly.

Hrothweard, about to start reading from a parchment, paused. Edward, who looked thoroughly disgruntled with the proceedings, frowned at his richest nobleman. “You wish to speak, lord?” he asked.

“I wish to speak, lord King,” Æthelhelm said.

Edward paused, then nodded. “We shall hear you, lord,” he said.

Æthelhelm turned to face the hall. “I do not believe, lord King,” he spoke silkily, “that Uhtred of Bebbanburg was summoned to this assembly.” He turned back to Edward. “I demand he be removed.”

Æthelhelm’s supporters, and that was at least half of the Witan, murmured their support, and the murmur grew louder until Edward held up a hand. Sigtryggr spoke some English, but not well, and he looked bemused by the protest. Edward scowled at me. “You were not summoned, Lord Uhtred,” he said, plainly siding with his most powerful noble.

I had anticipated and was ready for the challenge. I could not say that Æthelstan had invited me because invitations to the Witan are issued by the king, not by his sons, so instead, respectfully, I claimed to have come as a witness.

“A witness?” Edward seemed perplexed by the word.

“As a witness for a petitioner, lord King,” I said, “and witnesses have always been allowed to attend Witans since at least your father’s time.”

“We have enough business today without hearing any petitions,” Æthelhelm snarled.

“I believe that is for the king to decide,” Archbishop Hrothweard intervened before Æthelhelm’s supporters could make any noise. “I am sure my lord of Contwaraburg would agree with me?”

Athelm looked startled, tugged at his beard, then nodded. “The king may allow whoever he wishes to attend,” he muttered, and Eadgifu, looking resplendent in a gown of pale yellow silk, leaned and whispered in her husband’s ear.

Edward looked annoyed, but waved a hand toward me. “You may remain, Lord Uhtred,” he said, “but only as a witness. You can say nothing of other matters.”

I bowed, Æthelhelm sat, and Hrothweard looked down at Sigtryggr, and, in English now, read out the list of demands that Edward was making for a lasting treaty of peace between the Saxon kingdoms and Northumbria. The monk translated each demand, and Sigtryggr stood, tall and straight, suffering.

The demands were mostly what we had expected. Svart, next to me, growled as they were revealed, but I could not share his indignation. The West Saxons, I knew, had no intention of keeping to the treaty. It bought them time, no more, and when they were ready they would tear up the parchment and send their warriors north. And if the West Saxons could ignore the terms, so could Sigtryggr.