says I lie,’ Steapa said, pointing at me, ‘and I say I do not, and my sword says I do not.’ He stopped abruptly, having made what was probably the longest speech of his life, but it was enough. Feet drummed on the floor and men shouted that Steapa was right, which he was not, but he had reduced the whole tangled morass of lies and accusations to a trial by combat and they all liked that. The archbishop still looked troubled, but Alfred gestured for silence.
He looked at me. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Steapa says his sword will support his truth. Does yours?’
I could have said no. I could have insisted on letting Iseult speak and then allowing the Witan to advise the king which side had spoken the greater truth, but I was ever rash, ever impetuous, and the invitation to fight cut through the whole entanglement. If I fought and won then Leofric and I were innocent of every charge.
I did not even think about losing. I just looked at Steapa. ‘My sword,’ I told him, ‘says I tell the truth, and that you are a stinking bag of wind, a liar from hell, a cheat and a perjurer who deserves death.’
‘Up to our arses again,’ Leofric said.
Men cheered. They liked a fight to the death, and it was much better entertainment than listening to Alfred’s harpist chant the psalms. Alfred hesitated, and I saw Ælswith look from me to Steapa, and she must have thought him the greater warrior for she leaned forward, touched Alfred’s elbow, and whispered urgently.
And the king nodded. ‘Granted,’ he said. He sounded weary, as if he was dispirited by the lies and the insults. ‘You will fight tomorrow. Swords and shields, nothing else.’ He held up a hand to stop the cheering. ‘My lord Wulfhere?’
‘Sire?’ Wulfhere struggled to his feet.
‘You will arrange the fight. And may God grant victory to the truth.’ Alfred stood, pulled his robe about him and left.
And Steapa, for the first time since I had seen him, smiled.
‘You’re a damned fool,’ Leofric told me. He had been released from his chains and allowed to spend the evening with me. Haesten was there, as was Iseult and my men who had been brought from the town. We were lodged in the king’s compound, in a cattle byre that stank of dung, but I did not notice the smell. It was Twelfth Night so there was the great feast in the king’s hall, but we were left out in the cold, watched there by two of the royal guards. ‘Steapa’s good,’ Leofric warned me.
‘I’m good.’
‘He’s better,’ Leofric said bluntly. ‘He’ll slaughter you.’
‘He won’t,’ Iseult said calmly.
‘Damn it, he’s good!’ Leofric insisted, and I believed him.
‘It’s that God-damned monk’s fault,’ I said bitterly. ‘He went bleating to Alfred, didn’t he?’ In truth, Asser had been sent by the King of Dyfed to assure the West Saxons that Dyfed was not planning war, but Asser had taken the opportunity of his embassy to recount the tale of the Eftwyrd and from that it was a small jump to conclude that we had stayed with Svein while he attacked Cynuit. Alfred had no proof of our guilt, but Odda the Younger had seen a chance to destroy me and so persuaded Steapa to lie.
‘Now Steapa will kill you,’ Leofric grumbled, ‘whatever she says.’ Iseult did not bother to answer him. She was using handfuls of grubby straw to clean my mail coat. The armour had been fetched from the Corncrake tavern and given to me, but I would have to wait till morning to get my weapons, which meant they would not be newly sharpened. Steapa, because he served Odda the Younger, was one of the king’s bodyguard, so he would have all night to put an edge on his sword. The royal kitchens had sent us food, though I had no appetite. ‘Just take it slow in the morning,’ Leofric told me.
‘Slow?’
‘You fight in a rage,’ he said, ‘and Steapa’s always calm.’
‘So better to get in a rage,’ I said.
‘That’s what he wants. He’ll fend you off and fend you off and wait till you’re tired, then he’ll finish you off. It’s how he fights.’
Harald told us the same thing. Harald was the shire-reeve of Defnascir, the widower who had summoned me to the court in Exanceaster, but he had also fought alongside us at Cynuit and that makes a bond, and sometime in the dark he splashed through the rain and mud and came into the light of the small fire that lit the cattle shed without warming it. He stopped in the doorway and gazed at me reproachfully. ‘Were you with Svein at Cynuit?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said.
‘I didn’t think so.’ Harald came into the byre and sat by the fire. The two royal guards were at the door and he ignored them, and that was interesting. All of them served Odda, and the young ealdorman would not be pleased to hear that Harald had come to us, yet plainly Harald trusted the two guards not to tell, which suggested that there was unhappiness in Odda’s ranks. Harald put a pot of ale on the floor. ‘Steapa’s sitting at the king’s table,’ he said.
‘So he’s eating badly,’ I said.
Harald nodded, but did not smile. ‘It’s not much of a feast,’ he admitted. He stared into the fire for a moment, then looked at me. ‘How’s Mildrith?’
‘Well.’
‘She is a dear girl,’ he said, then glanced at Iseult’s dark beauty before staring into the fire again. ‘There will be a church service at dawn,’ he said, ‘and after that you and Steapa will fight.’
‘Where?’
‘In a field on the other side of the river,’ he said, then pushed the pot of ale towards me. ‘He’s left-handed.’
I could not remember fighting against a man who held his sword in his left hand, but nor could I see a disadvantage in it. We would both have our shields facing the other man’s shield instead of his weapon, but that would be a problem to both of us. I shrugged.
‘He’s used to it,’ Harald explained, ‘and you’re not. And he wears mail down to here,’ he touched his calf, ‘and he has an iron strip on his left boot.’
‘Because that’s his vulnerable foot?’
‘He plants it forward,’ Harald said, ‘inviting attack, then chops at your sword arm.’
‘So he’s a hard man to kill,’ I said mildly.
‘No one’s done it yet,’ Harald said gloomily.
‘You don’t like him?’
He did not answer at first, but drank ale then passed the pot to Leofric. ‘I like the old man,’ he said, meaning Odda the Elder. ‘He’s foul-tempered, but he’s fair enough. But the son?’ he shook his head sadly. ‘I think the son is untested. Steapa? I don’t dislike him, but he’s like a hound. He only knows how to kill.’
I stared into the feeble fire, looking for a sign from the gods in the small flames, but none came, or none that I saw. ‘He must be worried though,’ Leofric said.
‘Steapa?’ Harald asked, ‘why should he be worried?’
‘Uhtred
