Ealdred did not take his eyes from the gospel book. 'You are not your mother, Cynethryth,' he said, dragging his lip over his bottom teeth and flicking his hand in a gesture for a retainer to escort the girl from the hall. Cynethryth stormed through the door and I watched her go.
'Do you read, Raven?' Ealdred asked when we were alone.
I shook my head. 'Never had reason to, lord. At least, not in the time I remember and I doubt I had reason before that.' He looked confused then. 'My mind is dark,' I said with a shrug. 'I have no memories of my life before two winters ago.'
He still looked confused, but waved it away. 'Of course you don't read,' he said, returning to the intricate designs. 'There is no reason why you should.' He smiled, running a finger over the image of a woman holding a small man. At her shoulders were men with wings and long pointing fingers, but why they had not flown away I do not know, for the woman was ugly as a stoat. 'The wolf has no love for the shepherd's fire and so he will never know warmth,' Ealdred said.
'The wolf's teeth are sharp, my lord, and his eyes see well in the dark,' I said. 'He has no need for the shepherd or his fire. It would only make him soft.'
Ealdred carefully closed the book and looked up at me. 'I can use a wolf,' he said. 'It seems you have a talent for death, Raven.' His eyebrows arched as he tenderly placed the book back into the sack and stood. 'More important perhaps, you have a talent for staying alive. I thought Mauger had that talent, but it seems even he was mortal. I can give you a good life,' he said, 'if you give me your oath. Swear to be my man, you and your sword mine. I can be generous to those who serve me well.'
'I have a lord and I am bound to him,' I said, instinctively touching the silver ring on my arm.
'Sigurd is dead,' Ealdred countered, his lips parting to show his teeth. 'You owe him nothing now. Or do Norsemen serve ghosts?'
'We don't know that they are dead,' I said. 'Coenwulf's men might have ridden past Sigurd's camp. Even if they found them . . .' I shook my head, 'I do not believe they could have beaten the Wolfpack.' Of course it was possible. Sigurd's men had been asleep and their enemies no doubt outnumbered them greatly. But I had witnessed Ealdred's cunning that night on the beach before Serpent and Fjord-Elk. I did not trust him, and I wanted the ealdorman to believe that Sigurd would be back for his longships.
'Then where in God's name are they?' Ealdred asked, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'Do you think I can have a heathen war band wandering King Egbert's land? My people won't tolerate it, Raven!' He leant in close to me, so that I could smell the sweet mead on his breath. 'My God won't tolerate it,' he growled.
'What of the silver you owe Sigurd?' I asked. 'And his longships?'
Ealdred twisted his moustache round a ringed finger. 'You brought me the book, Raven. Not Sigurd. The silver is yours. The boats too.' He hesitated. 'If you want them.'
I nodded. 'There is something else, lord,' I said, and he frowned because he thought I would ask for more when he had already offered me enough. 'There is a chance that your son is alive. I said nothing before because I did not want to stir hope in Cynethryth, but Weohstan was breathing when the Welsh got to him.'
'Then they would have gutted him, you fool,' Ealdred said with a grimace, angry that I had steered his mind back to his son's fate. 'We show those bastards no mercy and they show none to us.'
'My lord, the Welsh lost many men. Too many. They paid a heavy price for one night's hunting.'
Ealdred raised an eyebrow. 'Even more reason why they would want to spill his blood. Anyway, the whoresons breed like hares.'
'They would have seen that Weohstan was high born.' I smiled. 'Your son is a killer, but he looks like a nobleman.' The ealdorman was still frowning, but now he nodded slowly and I knew that his heart had grasped the slender thread of hope. 'The black-shields must have known he was worth more to them alive than dead.' Ealdred's eyes closed and he turned his face to the smoke-blackened beams above. 'Give me forty men,' I said flatly. 'Not levy men, but proper fighting men. I will cross King Offa's wall and find your son. If he is dead I will slaughter his killers and bring you his body so that you might bury him as you would, with honour.'
Ealdred might have laughed at my arrogance. He might have pointed at my one warrior ring and asked how a man with his first beard would lead Wessexmen, warriors who had fought many battles for their lord and king, against the Welsh. He might have asked if I was drunk, or shouted for his warriors to run me through for my vanity and for stirring false hope. But Ealdred did none of these things. He looked at me as a man looks at a wild animal that has no understanding of its own mortality. To Ealdred I was a strange, godless creature with no fear of this life or the next, and I believe I intrigued him.