A moment later the bishop went down like a sack of millet on the rush-covered floor.
Chapter Thirty-two
Not Worthy of the Crown
SILENCE REVERBERATED AROUND the hall.
Edwin of Gefrin was the first to recover from the shock of seeing Bishop Wilfrid laid out for all to see. He stepped away from Wulfred’s side, his face a mask of self-righteous anger. “Witness all. Your king has struck down a man of God!”
Aldfrith turned, fists still clenched, to face the ealdorman. “Still your tongue, Edwin.” The warning was spoken softly, cold rage inflected in every word.
But Edwin would not be silenced. Watching from atop the high seat, frozen to the spot as if her feet had grown roots, Osana felt a sickly realization wash over her. She felt as if this whole scene had been orchestrated, as if all of them—Wilfrid included—had merely been playing a part.
It was this man, Aldfrith’s cousin Edwin, who was manipulating them all. And now he stepped forward to perform the last part of his carefully planned act.
“A king who would strike down a bishop is not worthy of the crown.” A groan followed his words as, on the rushes a few feet away, Wilfrid stirred. However, Edwin was not looking at the bishop. His attention was upon Aldfrith, whom he now stalked toward with the predatory stealth of a wolf.
A warning screamed in the back of Osana’s skull, a moment before she saw Edwin stoop down and retrieve something from his boot. Iron gleamed in the firelight.
A seax.
Weapons were forbidden inside the Great Hall: to carry one was an insult to the king. Yet Edwin wielded a blade now, and Osana knew what he planned to do.
Edwin wanted the crown.
“Aldfrith,” she gasped, lunging toward the men. Oswald grabbed hold of her, hauling her back. “Wait, Lady Osana,” he grunted. “It’s too dangerous.”
But Aldfrith had also seen the blade—as had the folk clustered closest to the foot of the high seat. Many of their faces blanched, their eyes growing wide with fear.
“It’s time a warrior fit to rule took his rightful place in this hall,” Edwin said, flashing Aldfrith a vicious grin. “Not a craven scholar.”
And with that Edwin lunged.
A scream split the air. It was Lora, for Cerdic—casting aside the king’s earlier command—leaped forward to intercept his attacker.
But before Cerdic reached Edwin, Wulfred of Catraeth tackled the warrior, bringing him down. The ealdorman of Catraeth was not going to let Edwin be thwarted. Grunts ensued as the two men fought on the floor.
Edwin kept moving, the blade of the fighting dagger flashing as he swung it toward the king.
Helpless, unable to do anything but watch the scene unfold, Osana stared at that blade. Grief ripped into her chest, making it impossible to breathe. The man she loved was about to die.
Aldfrith did not panic, did not cry out. He watched Edwin lunge for him, and then did the last thing Osana expected.
He moved toward him, sidestepping the blade, and grabbed hold of the ealdorman’s thick wrist.
Edwin had been moving so fast that the momentum carried him straight into the king. Aldfrith brought his leg up sharply and kneed his attacker in the cods before felling him with a sharp blow to the side of his neck.
Edwin of Gefrin was a big man, his body a coiled mass of muscle built over a lifetime of fighting, but Aldfrith’s blow easily felled him nonetheless. Edwin roared as he fell, clutching his injured cods with one hand, his blade still gripped in the other.
Aldfrith stepped forward and slammed his foot down on the ealdorman’s wrist, grinding it into the ground until the man released his hold on the seax.
Then, the king reached down and retrieved it. When he spoke, his voice carried over the hall. “Aye, I’m a scholar, Edwin … but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to defend myself.” His voice was chill. “My uncle Daragh taught me well it seems.”
“Your mother was an Ériu hore,” Edwin grunted, still defiant. “Just because Oswiu sired you doesn’t give you the right to be king. I’m of pure Angle blood, Oswiu’s nephew … it should have been me.”
“It takes more than blood to make a king,” Aldfrith replied, “and you’ve just proved you’re not worthy of the crown.”
Edwin spat out a series of expletives that caused the crowd around him to gasp. Aldfrith remained unmoved.
