I stared down at the ground and said nothing. We both knew that the sensible step was to put me to death, ensuring the direct bloodline of the kingship died with me. I wondered if my uncle had been dealing in secret with the Mercians before the invasion. His wife was one of Offa’s distant cousins. The marriage was meant to be a bond-weaver, one of those alliances that cement friendships between neighbouring kingdoms. In this case it had been the reverse. Perhaps the screaming vixen had been her.
‘Stand closer, lad. And let me see your face,’ growled Offa.
I shuffled forward and raised my head, flicking aside my long hair. At that precise moment the sun broke through a gap in the clouds and lit up the farmyard. The light fell full on my face as I found myself staring directly into the grim countenance of the man who was bold and ambitious enough to style himself Rex Anglorum, King of the English.
He flinched, just briefly, and then made a small movement as if to cross himself before he stayed his hand.
I was born with dark-blue eyes. This is quite normal among my people, and usually the colour of a baby’s eyes changes to a lighter shade of blue when they are a few months old. Sometimes their eyes turn to grey, and very occasionally to brown. But something different happened to me. The colour of my right eye did alter, gradually becoming a greenish hazel, while the left eye faded to the normal pale blue. By contrast my twin brother – of whom I shall write later – underwent the opposite. His left eye changed colour, and his right eye remained the same. To many in our community these were certain signs of the Devil, all the more so because in the pain and difficulty of giving birth to twins, our mother died.
Whatever fate King Offa had in mind for me changed in the instant that he saw my mismatched eyes.
I sensed the hesitation in the king’s manner as he tried to devise a way of eliminating me without doing me an injury. He was thinking that harming anyone who bore the Devil’s mark would invite trouble from the Wicked One.
He turned to question my uncle.
‘What do we know about this youth?’
‘His father’s pet, my lord,’ answered my uncle. I could hear his bitter dislike of me in his voice. ‘Too precious to be sent away for fostering like his older brothers. Taught how to read and write instead of how to hunt and make war.’
‘Not dangerous then?’ Offa raised an eyebrow.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ my uncle replied hastily. ‘He is slippery, not to be trusted.’ He produced a sycophant’s smile, nastily deferential. ‘Maybe Your Majesty should have him tonsured and shut up in a monastery.’
Incarcerating an unwanted person in a monastery was an effective way of putting them out of sight and mind.
A more thoughtful expression appeared on Offa’s face.
‘What are his manners like?’ he asked, as though he was enquiring about the training and discipline of a house dog he was considering buying.
‘He should know his place among his betters,’ my uncle admitted grudgingly. ‘He was brought up in the great hall.’
‘Languages?’ This time the royal question was addressed directly to me.
My tongue felt thick and dry in my mouth.
‘Only Latin,’ I mumbled.
There was a long pause as Offa regarded me seriously.
‘Clean him up and find him some decent clothes,’ he announced finally. ‘Mercia has a better use for him.’
‘And what has the king decided?’ The question came from one of the royal councillors, a greybeard with the air of someone long in the royal service. His obsequious tone indicated that his query was a customary one, designed to allow Offa to show off his wisdom.
‘He’ll go to live with the Franks. Their king has been asking for someone to be sent from Mercia as an earnest of our good relations. If he’s as educated and personable as is claimed, he’ll make a good impression. Well scrubbed, he could even be quite good-looking. That should keep the Franks off our backs.’
Offa was cleverer than I had given him credit for. It was the custom for rulers to send family members to live in other courts. Officially they went as guests and as a gesture of trust and friendship between kingdoms, but in reality they were kept as hostages. They lived in their new homes until they died or were recalled. Should war break out, they were killed out of hand. As the only surviving scion of a noble family, I could be passed off as a suitable pledge of Mercia’s good neighbourliness as long as my Frankish hosts did not enquire too closely. If they did discover I was not as important as had been made out, they would put an end to me and that would suit Offa just as well.
The king turned towards me again.
‘You will not come back,’ he said flatly. He did not need to say that if I did return, I would forfeit my life.