I let Tintreg slow, then spurred him between Eadgyth and her confessor. “My lady,” I greeted her.

She offered me a sad smile. “Lord Uhtred.”

“It’s been many years, my lady,” I said, ignoring Father Amandus’s disapproving look. “You used to play on my estate in Fagranforda.” Fagranforda had been my largest Mercian estate, now in the hands of the leprous Bishop Wulfheard who was said to be close to death, which was bad news for the brothels of Hereford.

“I remember Fagranforda,” Eadgyth said, “you were always kind to us there. Does Father Cuthbert still live?”

“He does, my lady, though he’s blind and old now. But still hale. He’ll be glad to meet you again if you should come to Bebbanburg.”

“Who is Father Cuthbert?” the Danish priest asked suspiciously.

“He is the priest at Bebbanburg,” I answered levelly. “Half my men are Christians, and they need a priest.” I saw the surprise on Father Amandus’s face, but he said nothing. “He’s also the man who married Queen Eadgyth’s parents,” I went on, “and has been forced to shelter from his enemies ever since.”

Father Amandus gave me a sharp look. He plainly knew the rumor that Æthelstan and Eadgyth were bastards. “Enemies?” he asked.

“Enemies, lord,” I corrected him and waited.

“Lord,” he said reluctantly.

“If Æthelstan is the eldest legitimate son,” I said, “then he has the best claim to succeed his father. Other men would prefer Ælfweard, and those men would also prefer it if Father Cuthbert were dead. They want no living witnesses to Prince Æthelstan’s legitimacy.”

“And who would you prefer?” Father Amandus asked, then remembered to add, “lord.”

“Ælfweard,” I said.

“You want Ælfweard?” He sounded surprised.

“Ælfweard,” I said, “is a miserable earsling. His name ought to be Ælfturd, but if it comes to war between Wessex and Northumbria, which it will, I would rather face an army led by the earsling than an army led by Prince Æthelstan.”

Eadgyth frowned. She was wearing a close-fitting hood, which gave her the appearance of a nun. “You would fight against my brother?” she asked sternly.

“Only if he invades my country,” I said, “and your country too now, my lady.”

She stared ahead at Sigtryggr. “I suppose it is,” she said distantly.

We rode in silence for a while. Two swans beat overhead, going west, and I wondered what that omen meant. Eadgyth’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “He’s a good man, my lady,” I said quietly.

“Is he?”

“I doubt he wanted to marry any more than you did. He’s confused and angry.”

“Angry?” she asked. “Why—” then she stopped abruptly and made the sign of the cross. “Of course. Forgive me. I am sorry about Stiorra, Lord Uhtred,” she looked at me and a tear ran down her cheek. “I should have spoken earlier. She was always kind to me as a child.”

I did not want to talk about Stiorra, so changed the subject. “When did you learn you were to marry Sigtryggr?”