Blood Eye(44)

'A book!' Sigurd exclaimed.





'Shhh!' Egfrith held a finger up to Sigurd's lips and Sigurd leant back, bemused. The monk spun round. 'This is a mistake, Lord Ealdred. This man lives outside God's shadow. It's impossible. Heaven and all the saints preserve us!'





'Careful, monk!' Ealdred snapped. 'We made an agreement, remember?'





'But I did not know . . .' the monk began, but Ealdred silenced him with a look that promised pain.





'You can't turn tail now, Egfrith. Not if you value my cousin the king's favour,' Ealdred said, forcing a smile. 'How is the new dormitory coming along? I expect my cousin will soon pay you a visit to see for himself how God's servants are spending his money.' He turned to Mauger. 'It is so important to improve our monasteries, don't you think, Mauger?' The burly warrior simply grunted. 'Monasteries are the salt for the preservation of society,' Ealdred said to Sigurd as though the fact were as obvious as that of the sea's being wet. He shrugged. 'At least, that's what I have always thought. Do you agree, Mauger?'





The warrior spat. 'I know little of such things, lord,' he said, 'but I have heard it said these monasteries teem with men who find sport in each other's beds.'





Egfrith's narrow shoulders slumped in defeat. He nodded slowly and turned back to face Sigurd. 'This book is precious,' he said, his eyes glinting in the flame light, 'more beautiful than any book in this dark land. It is a thing of rare power, Sigurd.'





I saw Sigurd's eyes suddenly light up. 'It is a spell book?' he asked, his curiosity pricked awake.





Egfrith made the sign of the cross and Sigurd flinched slightly. 'It is a prayer book, heathen. And, as I said, it is powerful.' Egfrith seemed aroused by Sigurd's reaction. 'It is a book of the four gospels copied from the holy apostles' own works by our dear Saint Jerome.' Egfrith closed his eyes for a moment as though savouring his own words. 'Never has there been such an object in this land.'





'Let me see this book, monk,' Sigurd demanded, stretching out an arm as though he expected Father Egfrith to hand it over.





'I don't have it, you fool!' Egfrith snapped. 'Saint Peter's beard, if only I did. But—'





'But we know who does,' Ealdred interrupted, taking a step towards us. Mauger came with him. The ealdorman inclined his head to one side. 'Unfortunately, the bastard Irish, who wouldn't know a holy treasure if the good Lord etched His own name on it and bathed it in divine fire, let it fall into the hands of that ignorant swine Coenwulf.'





'Coenwulf is king of Mercia, lord,' I said to Sigurd. Even in those days, the kingdoms of Wessex and Mercia were old enemies, and although Wessex's last king, Beorhtric, had made King Offa of Mercia an ally, the new king Egbert sought to forge Wessex as an independent kingdom.





'Now the fog begins to thin,' Sigurd said with a wolfish grin. 'Power tastes sweet, hey? In my homeland anyone who owns a longship believes he should be a king.'





'And you, Sigurd son of Harald? Do you believe you are a king?' Ealdred asked. The bones of his cheeks cast sharp shadows above the drooping moustache. 'You have brought two longships to our shores.' He raised a hand. 'They are safe, on my word. I ordered them spared in the hope that we might come to some arrangement.'





Sigurd grimaced at the allusion to the threat to Serpent and Fjord-Elk, then shook his head. 'A man does not decide if he is a king. The men around him do that.' He removed his helmet and ran a hand through his long hair. 'But a man should consider well what he reaches for. Where I come from, kings don't live long. I have killed one myself.'





'He must have died from the stink,' Egfrith mumbled, sniffing loudly. 'Fish guts, if my poor nose is not mistaken.' I could see his nostrils twitching.





'King Coenwulf has the book. King Egbert wants the book. That's the bones of it,' Ealdred said. 'What is not so simple is how our good and pious king is to come by the thing. If it was up to Mauger here, we'd simply march into Coenwulf's fortress, snatch up the gospel book slaughtering any who got in our way, feast on the king's cattle, then march back to Wessex in time for breakfast.' He glanced at Mauger who simply shrugged his huge mailed shoulders. 'But life is never as simple as a warrior would have it,' he said, returning to Sigurd. 'The so-called peace between Coenwulf's kingdom and our own is as fragile as a bird's wing. Apply pressure in the wrong place and . . .' He raised his hands and snapped an imaginary bone. 'We do not want war, Sigurd. At least, not yet.' He stole a glance at Mauger, who gave the hint of a smile.





I looked at Jarl Sigurd, seeing his astonishment clearly beneath his great yellow beard. 'You want me to walk into this king Coenwulf's mead hall and take the book from him?' he asked.