“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d rather fight Ælfweard.”

He had grimaced at that, then paced the room again. “My father will leave me in Ceaster.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“It’s harder for Æthelhelm to kill you there.”

“I can’t shelter behind walls forever.”

“You won’t,” I said.

“No?”

“When your father dies,” I had suggested, “you ride south with the men of Mercia and you claim the West Saxon throne.”

“And fight Æthelhelm’s forces?”

“If you need to, yes.”

“I will,” he had said forcefully, “and you won’t help me?”

“I’m a Northumbrian. I’m your enemy.”

He half smiled. “How can you be my enemy? Your queen is my sister.”

“True,” I conceded the point.

“Besides, you’re my friend.” He had stopped by a table on which stood a plain wooden cross flanked by candles. He reached out and touched the cross. “I do want an oath from you,” he said. He had not looked at me as he spoke, but gazed at the cross. He had waited for my response, but I said nothing, and my obstinate silence made him turn to me. “Swear on whatever god you believe in,” he had said, “that you will do all that you can to kill Ealdorman Æthelhelm. Do that, and I will swear you an oath.”

I had stared at him in surprise. His face, so strong and hard, was shadowed, but his eyes glittered with a trace of reflected candlelight. “You would give me an oath?” I asked.

He was clutching his cross, perhaps to convince me of his earnestness. “I asked you to come here so I could swear you an oath. An oath that promises that I will never fight against you, and that I will never invade Northumbria.”

I hesitated, looking for whatever trap that promised oath concealed. Oaths bind us and are not to be taken lightly. “You can kill Æthelhelm yourself,” I said.

“If I can,” he said, “I will, but he’s your enemy too.”

“And by taking your oath,” I had said, “you promise not to invade Northumbria?”

“Not while you live.”

“But you’d fight my son?” I asked. “Or my grandson?”

“They must make their own agreements with me,” he had said stiffly, meaning that Northumbria would be invaded when I died, and that, I thought ruefully, could not be many years away. On the other hand, if Æthelstan did become king, then the oath he promised would give Sigtryggr and me time to build up Northumbria’s strength.

“What happens if your father orders you to invade Northumbria while I’m alive?” I had asked him.

“Then I will refuse. I will become a lay brother in a monastery if I need to. If I swear the oath to you then I shall keep it.”

He would too, I thought. I had watched the nearest candle gutter, its smoke curling toward the ceiling. “I can’t kill Æthelhelm while your father’s alive,” I said, “that would be cause for war.” Then another thought occurred to me, and I looked at him sharply. “Are you asking me to kill him just to keep your conscience clear?”