The Empty Throne. Bernard Cornwell

Creoda was staring at the picture now, or rather gazing at one lissom girl who was looking over her shoulder at the pursuing goat-god. ‘She’s pretty, father,’ I said, and he immediately looked away, cleared his throat, and found nothing to say. I had not asked him to join us in the house, but he had come anyway, staying protectively close to Æthelstan. ‘So,’ I said to the boy, ‘you weren’t at school?’

      ‘I forgot to go, lord,’ he said.

      ‘You were at the smithy?’ I demanded, ignoring his grin.

      ‘I was, lord.’

      ‘Because your girlfriend is there?’

      ‘Girlfriend, lord?’ he asked innocently, then shook his head. ‘No, lord, I was there because Godwulf is making me a sword. He’s teaching me how to work the metal.’

      I took the boy’s hands in mine and looked at his wrists and saw the small burn marks where sparks had scorched him.

      ‘Doesn’t Godwulf know you should be at school?’ I asked.

      The boy grinned. ‘He does, lord, but he also thinks I should learn something useful.’

      ‘Useful,’ I growled and tried to look stern, but he must have sensed my pleasure at his answer because he smiled. I looked at Father Creoda. ‘What are you teaching him, father?’

      ‘Latin, lord, and the lives of the holy fathers and, of course, his letters.’

      ‘Is Latin useful?’

      ‘Of course, lord! It’s the language of our holy scripture.’

      I grunted. I was sitting, which was a relief. Finan had put all our prisoners into a room across the courtyard and I just had my family, Father Creoda, and Æthelstan in the room where the naked girls ran across the floor. The wide chamber was Æthelflaed’s favourite. ‘So you heard there were armed men here?’ I asked Æthelstan.

      ‘I did, lord.’

      ‘And you had the sense to stay in the smithy?’

      ‘Godwulf told me to stay, lord.’

      Good for the smith, I thought, then looked at Stiorra. ‘And you?’

      ‘Me, father?’

      ‘Brice’s men came here, what did you do?’

      ‘I welcomed them, father,’ she spoke very softly, ‘I thought they came from King Edward.’

      ‘So why did the priest hit you?’

      ‘He wanted to know where Æthelstan was, and I wouldn’t tell him.’

      ‘You knew?’

      She looked at Æthelstan and smiled. ‘I knew.’

      ‘And you said you didn’t know? Why?’

      ‘Because I didn’t like them.’

      ‘And they didn’t believe you?’

      She nodded. ‘And Father Aldwyn became angry,’ she said.

      ‘They searched the schoolroom and the church,’ Father Creoda put in.

      ‘And when they couldn’t find him,’ my daughter went on, ‘Father Aldwyn called me a lying bitch and said he would find the truth.’

      ‘A lying bitch?’ I asked. She nodded. A servant had repaired her dress with one of Æthelflaed’s brooches and wiped the blood from her face, but her lip was swollen and disfigured by a scab. ‘Did he knock a tooth out?’