“For now,” I said sourly. “Did any of them join Cynlæf?”

“Not one. Ingilmundr could have led his men against us or he could have attacked Brunanburh. He did neither. Instead he kept his men at home.”

“Ingilmundr?” I asked.

“A Norseman,” Swithred said dismissively. “He’s the chieftain who holds land beyond Brunanburh.”

I found it difficult to believe that Norse invaders had been allowed to settle so close to Brunanburh and Ceaster. King Edward’s ambition, which was the same as his father King Alfred’s, was to drive the pagan foreigners out of Saxon territory, yet here they were on Ceaster’s doorstep. I supposed that ever since Æthelflaed’s death there had been no stable government in Mercia, Cynlæf’s rebellion was proof of that, and the Northmen were ever ready to take advantage of Saxon weakness. “Ingilmundr,” I said forcefully, “whoever he is, might not have marched against you, but he could have come to your relief.”

“The prince sent word that he was to do no such thing. We had no need of help, and we certainly had no need of pagan help.”

“Even my help?”

The priest turned to me with a ferocious expression. “If a pagan wins our battles,” he said vehemently, “then it suggests the pagan gods must have power! We must have faith! We must fight in the belief that Christ is sufficient!”

I had nothing to say to that. The men who fought for me worshipped a dozen gods and goddesses, the Christian god among them, but if a man believes the nonsense that there is only one god then there’s no point in arguing because it would be like discussing a rainbow with a blind man.

We had ridden to the north of the city where Æthelstan and a score of armed riders waited for us. Æthelstan greeted me cheerfully. “The sun’s shining, the rebels are gone, and God is good!”

“And the rebels didn’t attack Brunanburh?”

“So far as we know. That’s what we’re going to find out.”

For almost as long as I could remember, Ceaster had been the most northerly burh in Mercia, but Æthelflaed had built Brunanburh just a few miles north and west to guard the River Mærse. Brunanburh was a timber-walled fort, close enough to the river to protect a wooden wharf where warships could be kept. The purpose of the fort was to prevent Norsemen rowing up the Mærse, but if Swithred was right then all the land beyond Brunanburh between the Dee and the Mærse was now settled by pagan Norse. “Tell me about Ingilmundr,” I demanded of Æthelstan as we rode.

I had asked the question in a truculent tone, but Æthelstan answered enthusiastically. “I like him!”

“A pagan?”

He laughed at that. “I like you too, lord,” he said, “sometimes.” He spurred his horse off the road and onto a track that skirted the Roman cemetery. He glanced at the weather-worn graves and made the sign of the cross. “Ingilmundr’s father held land in Ireland. He and his men got beaten and driven to the sea. The father died, but Ingilmundr managed to bring off half his army with their families. I sent a message early this morning asking that he should meet us at Brunanburh because I want you to meet him. You’ll like him too!”