He had come home defeated, and I knew that bitter feeling of failure, made even more dreadful by the need to tell women and children that their husband and father was dead. And I could taste my son’s shame, that he had been so easily deceived, that he had decided, foolishly, to ride unfamiliar land without scouts, that he had then been humiliated by an enemy, and, maybe worst of all, that he had lost the confidence of my warriors.

Christians like to dream of the perfect world, a place where there is no fighting, where sword-blades are hammered into plowshares, and where the lion, whatever that is, sleeps with the lamb. It is a dream. There has always been war and there will always be war. So long as one man wants another man’s wife, or another man’s land, or another man’s cattle, or another man’s silver, so long will there be war. And so long as one priest preaches that his god is the only god or the better god there will be war. King Alfred, a man who loved peace because peace encouraged prayer, education, and prosperity, nevertheless wanted to conquer the land held by the Danes and wipe out the worship of the old gods. He would have done that by persuasion if he could, but what could persuade the Danes to surrender their land, their rulers, and their religion? Only the sword, and so the peace-loving Alfred beat his plowshares into swords, raised armies, and set about his Christian duty of converting his enemies.

And so long as there is war there will be warlords. Leaders. What makes a man follow a leader? Success. A warrior wants victory, he wants silver, he wants land, and he looks to his lord for all those things. My son was not a bad warrior, indeed I was proud of him and when I die he will hold Bebbanburg just as his son will hold it, but to hold the fortress he needs men who have confidence in him. Men who will follow him in the expectation of victory. One defeat at Sköll’s hand would not destroy his reputation, but now he needed a victory to show my men that he was a leader who could give them the land, silver, and cattle they craved.

The easy way to give him some success was to send him north into the Scottish lands in search of plunder, but with Sköll threatening Northumbria, the last thing I wanted was to stir the Scots to anger. One enemy at a time is prudent. Besides, I reflected, there would soon be fighting enough, and Uhtred the Younger would have his opportunity.

And then, I thought, if leadership is about success, how had Sköll survived? He had lost his lands in Ireland and had retreated eastward across the sea. He had led his men across Northumbria, pierced the gate of Eoferwic, and there been repulsed. He had pursued me south toward Mameceaster, and then had refused battle, preferring to retreat. None of it suggested success. He had managed to capture some cattle and slaves, but his setbacks were far greater than his gains, yet all I knew of him suggested that his power grew. The Northmen were famous for deserting an unsuccessful leader, their loyalty dissolving with a warlord’s defeats, yet Sköll’s reputation grew. Men feared him and they feared his úlfhéðnar, but fear had little force against failure, and Sköll had failed. Yet his men did not desert him, indeed even more men were swearing allegiance to him. “It’s his damned sorcerer,” Finan said.