‘Kneel before the king!’ Hakon’s chief bodyguard ordered.
‘No,’ Ulrich said.
There were gasps around the table.
‘Why should we?’ Ulrich said. ‘You’ve already told us we’re dead men anyway. What are you going to do?’
Hakon’s bodyguard reached for his sword but Aethelstan, already on his feet, waved at him to let it go. The warrior sighed and dropped his hand.
‘I already know you, Skull Cleaver’s son,’ Aethelstan said to Einar. ‘And I see the lovely daughter of the King of Dublin is here too. That drunken rascal who acts as your skald, Ayvind, as well. But who are these others?’
‘I am Ulrich Rognisson,’ Ulrich said. Despite his injured foot he straightened up as he gestured to the others. ‘We are the Úlfhéðnar of King Eirik of Norway. Those others are his berserkers. The last is Gizur Kalfsson, Champion of the Jarl of Orkney.’
‘You are the leader of these men?’ Aethelstan said.
Ulrich nodded.
‘Well I am the leader of these men,’ the king said, sweeping his hand around those sitting at the table. ‘Hakon you already know. Then there is Hywel ap Cadell, King of the Welsh, the jarls Thorketil and Siward of Northumbria, my thanes, Byrtnoth, Edmund, Wulfric, Leofwin and Eadwy, and Bishop Brinstan.’
‘Ah,’ Einar could see realisation dawning on Ulrich’s face as the little Wolf Coat spoke. ‘That must mean you are—’
‘I am Aethelstan of Wessex,’ the king said. ‘King of all the Aenglish and Emperor of Britain.’
Ulrich raised his eyebrows. ‘Emperor of Britain? I think King Constantine of Alba and Owain of Strathclyde might disagree with that.’
‘Indeed they do,’ Aethelstan said. His eyes became hard like stones. ‘However, my army contains men from all the kingdoms of the Aenglish. Hywel here is King of all the Welsh and we have six northern jarls from the Danelaw. All these men are under my command. We represent nearly all of Britain. Constantine and Owain rule what is left, which isn’t very much. I think I have a better claim to the title, don’t you agree?’
Ulrich did not reply.
‘And that wily old Pict, Constantine…’ the king continued, his voice taking on the hard edge that was already in his eyes. ‘… is about to learn just how wrong he is.’
‘It’s certainly an impressive force,’ Ulrich said. ‘I commend you, Lord Aethelstan.’
Aethelstan smiled again. ‘This is just the fleet. My army is yet to arrive. When it does, with the fleet to support from the sea and the army ravaging inland, we shall be unstoppable.’
‘It’s a good strategy,’ Ulrich said. ‘It should work.’
‘Thank you but I can’t take all the credit,’ Aethelstan said. ‘Have you ever read Tacitus?’
Ulrich laughed. ‘I’ve never read anything.’
The king shook his head. ‘Of course not. You’re a pagan barbarian. Tacitus was a Roman writer. He recorded the campaign by his father-in-law, the general Agricola, to the land of the Scots. Agricola was the first to realise the need for support from an offshore fleet if you want to take Scotland.’
‘What was it the Caledonian king – Calgacus wasn’t it? – said before the battle with Agricola?’ Ulrich said, rubbing his chin. ‘Ah yes, these Romans, they plunder, butcher, steal, and they call it an empire. They make desolation and they call it peace. I wonder if Constantine has read Tacitus?’
Aethelstan’s smile became fixed. He glared at Ulrich for a long moment.
‘Very good,’ he said at length. ‘You’re not as ignorant as you look.’
‘Our learning is carried in the hearts and memories of men,’ Ulrich said. ‘And passed from mouth to ear. Just because we don’t read does not mean we are ignorant.’
‘But you are Úlfhéðnar and berserkers,’ Aethelstan said, his expression turning to one of disdain. ‘Vikings. Gentiles. Heathens. Killers and pirates.’
‘You’ve heard of us then?’ Skar said with a grin.
‘Oh I’ve heard of you,’ the king said. ‘I’ve heard all about you. I know the damage you’ve caused. My family and my people have been at war with your kind for three generations. In my forefathers’ time you almost stole half of Britain. Thanks to our faith in the Lord, however, Wessex has prevailed. To speak of your crew in particular, my guess is that you are the Vikings who sacked the abbey at Withern? Lady Affreca Guthfrithsdottir’s presence among you is proof of that.’
Ulrich did not reply.
‘That was a wicked deed,’ Aethelstan said, his smile gone again. ‘Many innocent souls sent to Heaven. Armed warriors against defenceless monks. You must be very proud of yourselves. If Archbishop Wulstan knew you were in my power now he’d be dancing up and down insisting you be hanged from the nearest tree.’
‘My daughter, though, spoke very highly of you, lady,’ King Hywel, the dark-haired man at the table, said. He was looking at Affreca. ‘I thank you for sparing her.’
Aethelstan shot a glance at his Welsh counterpart. Hywel reddened and went quiet again.
‘And yet you have Norsemen in your army?’ Ulrich said. ‘You hate us but you need our swords.’
Aethelstan looked pained. ‘I do not hate you, Ulrich. Or your people. I hate your religion. That is why we fight. But how can I hate you as a people? You’re our cousins. The Lord says we must love our enemies. These two jarls, Thorketil and Siward,’ he gestured to the men with the braided beards, ‘are Norsemen. They are the sons of Danish settlers. But they now serve the One True God and rule in my name as my vassals. Thus we must all learn to share this land between us.’
As long as you’re in control, you mean, Einar thought, but he kept his mouth shut.
‘Isn’t Constantine of Alba a Christian like you?’ Ulrich said. ‘What’s your excuse for going to war with him?’
Aethelstan sighed. ‘Constantine, alas, clings to older, deviant ways. He is too close to the heretical Irish form of our faith. He is in error and as a king that means he leads his whole people astray.’
‘A Scots nun in Withern Abbey told me he is reforming the Church in his kingdom,’ Affreca said.
Aethelstan turned to look at her.
‘So, Affreca Guthfrithsdottir: You still seek this Raven Banner,’ he said. ‘This Devil’s Pennant?’
‘It rightfully belongs to my clan,’ Affreca said.
‘And now it belongs to me!’ Aethelstan thundered. All the previous reserve and slight sense of amusement disappeared in a flash. ‘Are you all really so arrogant that you thought you could just walk into my army and steal the banner?’
‘What use have you for a heathen banner?’ Ulrich said. ‘Aren’t you fighting for your own God? What use have you for a banner that came from Odin?’
‘I don’t have to stand here arguing with you,’ Aethelstan said.
‘Neither do we. What’s all this pissing about for?’ Ulrich said, his voice techy. ‘If you’re going to kill us then get on with it. Don’t feed us, give us new clothes and let us choose weapons. What do you want of us?’
‘I see you have no fear of death,’ the king said. ‘Good. That’s exactly what we need. However, injured as you are you won’t be much use to me. I hope your crew however are of similar conviction.’
‘I go everywhere my men go,’ Ulrich said.
Aethelstan looked at each of them in turn. Einar felt as if his dark brown eyes were looking deep in his very soul.
‘An opportunity has arisen to shorten this war,’ he said after a few moments. ‘In fact, perhaps finish it before it even starts. Constantine is a fox. You don’t survive as long as he has on the throne of Alba if you don’t have cunning. He knows how powerful my army is and my spies tell me that the chances are he won’t fight us. As soon as we cross into Scotland, he’ll run to Dùn Ottar and hide behind its walls until the summer ends and my army has to go home to harvest our crops.’
Einar remembered the fortress on the clifftops and how impregnable it had looked.
‘And damn him he might just survive,’ Aethelstan said. ‘Dùn Ottar will be hard to take. Very hard. Even with an army like mine. However, I’ve got word that Constantine has come south. He knows my army is not yet here and wants to see our fleet for himself so he can reckon our threat. He is currently in a fortress in a town called Cathair Aile not far north of here. If we can take him by surprise we could capture or kill him there and the war will be over before it even starts. We have most of the fleet here and ready. I want to strike while the opportunity is there.’
‘If he’s watching, then as soon as the fleet starts to move, he’ll run for it,’ Ulrich said.
‘Correct,’ said Aethelstan. ‘However, if a small force of ships leaves and sails east while most of the fleet stays at anchor it will not arouse suspicion. Those ships could then turn around, attack Cathair Aile in the night while Constantine is still in his bed and hold the place. The main fleet would then follow.’
Ulrich shrugged. ‘It might work. Attacking at night though, against what is no doubt a very well defended harbour and fortress? Very dangerous. Probably suicidal.’
Aethelstan grinned, but the expression lacked all warmth. ‘And exactly the sort of thing your men are very good at.’
Ulrich grunted. ‘There are only fifteen in our company. Only six of them are Wolf Coats.’
‘Jarl Siward here will lend you ships crewed with warriors,’ Aethelstan said.
‘And I will send good Welsh archers with you,’ King Hywel said.
‘Your men will follow us?’ Ulrich turned to the jarl.
‘They are Norsemen. They’ll follow the Raven Banner,’ Siward replied.
‘I will use the Devil’s own magic to do God’s work,’ Aethelstan said, his eyes glittering in the light from the burning torches.
‘How do you know Constantine will be there?’ Ulrich said, his eyes narrowed.
‘I have my spies,’ Aethelstan replied.
‘Are they reliable?’ Ulrich said.
‘Very,’ Aethelstan said, with a conviction that surprised Einar. From what he knew, spies were usually untrustworthy types; sly men or women who no one could be sure whose side they were really on. They normally acted for gold. What sort of spies did Aethelstan have that he could be so sure of their loyalty and trustworthiness?
His eyes slid to the monk writing at the table nearby and he knew the answer. He remembered the clerics everywhere he went in Aethelstan’s realm. Who was it who could move freely between kingdoms? Who were connected and could send messages across borders? Who spoke a tongue, Latin, that was understood only by men like them all over the world?
‘The Christian priests!’ he said. ‘Is that who your spies are?’
‘As Affreca Guthfrithsdottir told us,’ Aethelstan said, ‘Constantine is attempting to reform the Church within his realm. But he’s making slow work of it. Let us just say that there are those within his kingdom who would like to see change happen faster. There are those who see my ultimate victory as a way of speeding up the Kingdom of Alba coming into the fold of the one, true Church.’
‘So this is some sort of Holy War for you?’ Ulrich said.
Aethelstan nodded.
‘And you are going to help me win it for God. Or die trying.’