“So someone wants you away from Bebbanburg,” Æthelstan said firmly, “because so long as you’re in Bebbanburg they can’t reach you, but now? Now they can reach you.”

“Then why let me come here?” I asked. “If they wanted to kill me, then why wait till I’m among friends?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and neither did I. The monk had lied, but for what reason I could not tell. It was a trap, plainly it was a trap, but who had set it, and why, were mysteries. Æthelstan stamped his feet, then beckoned me to accompany him across the street, where our footsteps made the first marks in the fresh snow. “Still,” he went on, “I’m glad you did come.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“We were in no real danger,” he agreed, “and my father would have sent relief in the spring.”

“Would he?”

He ignored the savage disbelief in my voice. “Everything has changed in Wessex,” he said mildly.

“The new woman?” I asked caustically, meaning King Edward’s new wife.

“Who is my mother’s niece.”

That I had not known. What I did know was that King Edward had discarded his second wife and married a younger girl from Cent. The older wife was now in a convent. Edward claimed to be a good Christian, and Christians say that marriage is for life, but a hefty payment of gold or royal land would doubtless persuade the church that their doctrine was wrong, and the king could discard one woman and marry another. “So you’re now in favor, lord Prince?” I asked. “You’re the heir again?”

He shook his head. Our footsteps squeaked in the new snow. He was leading me down an alley that would take us to the eastern gate. Two of his guards followed us, but not close enough to hear our conversation. “My father is still fond of Ælfweard, I’m told.”

“Your rival,” I said bitterly. I despised Ælfweard, Edward’s second son, who was a petulant piece of weasel shit.

“My half-brother,” Æthelstan said reprovingly, “whom I love.”

“You do?” For a moment he did not answer me. We were climbing the Roman steps to the eastern wall, where braziers warmed the sentries. We paused at the top, staring at the encampment of the defeated enemy. “You really love that little turd?” I asked.

“We are commanded to love one another.”

“Ælfweard is despicable,” I said.

“He might make a good king,” Æthelstan said quietly.

“And I’ll be the next Archbishop of Contwaraburg.”

“That would be interesting,” he said, amused. I knew he despised Ælfweard as much as I did, but he was saying what it was his familial duty to say. “Ælfweard’s mother,” he went on, “is out of favor, but her family is still wealthy, still strong, and they’ve sworn loyalty to the new woman.”

“They have?”

“Ælfweard’s uncle is the new ealdorman. He took Edward’s side, and did nothing to help his sister.”

“Ælfweard’s uncle,” I said savagely, “would whore his own mother to make Ælfweard king.”