The mention of my name was sufficient to start another commotion, loud enough to startle the sparrows perched on the rafters, who flew about in panic. Beneath them men were standing and shouting, most of them, it seemed to me, supporting Grimbald’s claim that he knew nothing of the nighttime brawl, but some, more than a few, shouted that I should be allowed to speak.

Edward again held up a hand for silence, while Archbishop Hrothweard thumped his silver-topped crozier on the platform’s boards. “Lord Uhtred,” Hrothweard called down the length of the hall when at last he could be heard, “are King Sigtryggr’s words true?”

A few men started to protest, but were hushed by others who wanted to hear me. “They are true,” I said to Hrothweard, “but you would expect me to say that. However, I am willing to bring the priest of Saint Ælfthryth’s church to this assembly. He too heard the men say they were sent by Grimbald.” Bringing the priest to the Witan was a risk, of course. The man might lie, and, even if he spoke the truth, he could not testify that the men were sent to kill Sigtryggr. I had thought to keep one of the two men we had captured and threaten him with dire pain if he did not tell the truth, but again the truth would not reveal a plot against Sigtryggr, and the man would most likely deny any plot at all, knowing his dishonesty would be rewarded by Grimbald and by Æthelhelm. Yet by offering a Christian priest as a witness I knew I had thwarted Grimbald’s lies so long as the priest was not fetched from the lower town, and that, I thought, was most unlikely, because King Edward and the two archbishops wanted this tedious Witan over and done. The men in the hall simply assumed the priest would support Sigtryggr’s account and so would not need to be summoned, and that assumption proved to be true.

There was an anxious silence from Æthelhelm’s supporters as Hrothweard stooped to speak with Edward, who could hardly hide his impatience. Archbishop Athelm leaned across the moonfaced Ælfweard to add yet more advice, and Edward, who looked ever more unhappy, finally nodded.

Edward pointed at Grimbald. “I offered King Sigtryggr safe passage,” the king said, his voice sullen, “and by breaking my peace you have forfeited your life.” There was a gasp at that. Grimbald, still standing, opened his mouth as if to speak, found he had no words, and looked at Æthelhelm, who ostentatiously turned his back on the doomed man.

“Lord!” Grimbald at last found his voice, but by then two royal guards had taken his arms and he was being escorted from the hall. Æthelhelm did not turn to watch. Everyone present, the king included, knew Grimbald must have acted on Æthelhelm’s orders, yet Æthelhelm did nothing to save Grimbald’s life. The king could have saved him, but Edward wanted to see Sigtryggr on his knees, he wanted the peace treaty, he was greedy for the treaty’s silver, and one Saxon life was a small price to pay for that triumph. Men muttered bitterly as Grimbald left, while Æthelhelm just stared bleakly into the flames of the hearth.