“So punish their leaders,” I said. The leaders of the rebellion, at least in northern Mercia, had trapped themselves in the arena.

“I intend to.”

“Then your father will be happy,” I said, and urged Tintreg on to the arena entrance where Finan waited. “Any trouble?” I called out to him. Finan had relieved Berg in the middle of the night, taking fresh troops to guard the arena. Æthelstan had also sent a score of men, and, like Finan, they all looked cold and tired.

Finan spat, evidently a gesture of scorn for the men trapped in the arena. “They made one feeble effort to get out. Didn’t even get past their own barricade. Now they want to surrender.”

“On what terms?” Æthelstan asked. He had heard Finan, and had spurred his horse forward.

“Exile,” Finan said laconically.

“Exile?” Æthelstan asked sharply.

Finan shrugged, knowing what Æthelstan’s answer would be. “They’re willing to surrender their lands and go into exile, lord Prince.”

“Exile!” Æthelstan exclaimed. “Tell them my answer is no. They can surrender to my justice, or else they fight.”

“Exile them to Northumbria,” I said mischievously. “We need warriors.” I meant we needed warriors to resist the inevitable invasion that would engulf Northumbria when the Mercian troubles were over.

Æthelstan ignored me. “How are you talking to them?” he asked Finan. “Are you just shouting through the entrance?”

“No, you can go inside, lord Prince,” Finan said, pointing to the closest staircase leading up to the tiered seating. It seemed that at first light Finan had ordered the barricade removed from that entrance and had led a score of men up to the arena’s seats from where they could look down on the trapped enemy.

“How many are there?” Æthelstan asked.

“I counted eighty-two, lord Prince,” Finan said, stepping forward to hold Æthelstan’s bridle. “There may be some we haven’t seen inside the building. And some of those we saw are servants, of course. Some women too.”

“They’re all rebels,” Æthelstan snarled. He dismounted and strode toward the staircase, followed by his men.

Finan looked up at me. “What does he want to do?”

“Kill the lot.”

“But he’s letting the Welsh live?”

“One enemy at a time.”

Finan turned to watch as Æthelstan and all his warriors filed into the nearest staircase. “He’s changed, hasn’t he?”

“Changed?”

“Become stern. He used to laugh a lot, remember?”

“He was a boy then,” I said, “and I tried to teach him how to be a king.”

“You taught him well, lord.”

“Too well,” I said softly, because Æthelstan had come to resemble his grandfather, and Alfred had never been my friend. I thought of Æthelstan as a son. I had protected him through boyhood, I had trained him in the skills of a warrior, but he had hardened in the last few years, and now believed his destiny led to a throne despite all the obstacles that ambitious men would place in his way. And when he was king, I thought, he would lead swords and spears into Northumbria, he would be our conqueror, he would demand my homage, and he would require my obedience. “If I had any sense,” I said to Finan as I dismounted, “I would side with Cynlæf.”