A visitor arrives at the castle

The servants were all astir – someone had spotted a group of well-​​outfitted riders coming down the road from Thorhold and there was endless speculation as to their identity.

Sigefrith waited in his hall, having given orders to stop the riders and send their leaders up to see him. He had sent Maud to shelter in the church with the children. Had William heard of their hiding place at last?

Sigefrith rose as he heard footsteps bounding up the stairs. He laid his hand on his dagger just as the door burst open and a tall man – evidently a nobleman – strode into the hall.

“What ‘king’ is this?” he thundered.

“You are in the hall of King Sigefrith of Lothere,” Sigefrith replied coldy. “Who asks?”

“Earl Morcar of Northumbria,” the man said, bowing comically. “You may have heard of Northumbria? Though I have never heard of ‘Lothere’ before this day.”

“Earl Morcar!” Sigefrith repeated in amazement. “You live!”

“Pardoned. But not for long.” He winked. “Who the devil are you?”

Sigefrith whispered a few words to a servant. “Lord Hwala,” he laughed, turning back to Morcar.

“We never met,” Sigefrith explained, “but I was with Harold at Stamford Bridge – and at Hastings.”

“Aye, so you saved Northumbria and lost England.”

“And then you lost Northumbria.”

“And now I shall save England.”

The men eyed each other warily.

“The baron on the mountain would not receive me, and instead he sent me here. Can you tell me why, King Sigefrith of Lothere?”

“Did you speak ill of His Majesty the King?”

“I may have.”

Sigefrith studied him closely. The man was a good deal older than he, arrogant, and had a treacherous look to him. But wasn’t Sigefrith himself a traitor?

“What is the meaning of this – this farce, ‘King Sigefrith’?” Morcar finally burst out laughing.

“This valley had no ruler. I claimed it as my own.”

“Impossible! Does William know about this?”

“May a land have two kings?”

Morcar laughed again. “This is treason!”

“I am king here, therefore it is not.”

“How is it the baron on the mountain has not laid claim to this valley before you?”

Sigefrith explained about the curse.

“The fools,” Morcar muttered. “How many men have you, King Sigefrith?”

Before Sigefrith could answer, the door opened and Alred and Matilda rushed in, Alred angry that the king had sent for Matilda when everything the servant had told him signalled danger. Matilda, however, was eager to get into the action. She gazed intently at the stranger.

“Morcar?” she breathed, amazed.

Morcar squinted at her. And then he remembered. “Matilda?”

“Matilda,” she smiled.

“By God, Matilda! You’re a woman now!”

“But you’re still a scoundrel, no doubt,” she said, curtseying.

“You dare, you old pirate’s daughter!” he laughed. “Last time I saw you, you slapped my face.”

“I would do it again. This is my husband, Sir Alred Sebright,” she said, gesturing with one of her lovely hands, “who saved Harold at Rhyddlan.”

“And won old Godwin’s niece thereby.” He grinned at Alred. “What are you now, Matilda?” he asked, turning back to her. “Queen of Lothere? Earl? Archbishop?” He threw back his head and laughed.

Matilda explained how the little kingdom was arranged, but Morcar already had his mind on other things.

“By God, it’s like coming home!” he said, clapping one big hand on Sigefrith’s shoulder and the other on Alred’s. “God bless you for you standing up against William, though you shall surely die for it before long. Now listen to me, I have a better plan. We’ve an army gathering at Ely – the King of the Danes has sent men, and we have attracted many like you who refuse Norman rule. It’s time to put William down and take England back. Now, how many men have you, King Sigefrith?”

Sigefrith frowned. “Too few to spare.”

“Oh, Sigefrith,” Matilda said, “this may be our chance! Who’s with you, Morcar?”

“Ethelwin of Durham is already there, and the old thane Siward Barn. And my brother Edwin is on his way from Scotland, where he shall have seen the Aetheling, and I am come up from Wales.”

“Sigefrith, surely we can send fifty or sixty men,” Alred said.

“They’re farmers, Alred, not soldiers.”

“And I’m a soldier, not a duke,” Alred snapped. “Who else is going to save England for an English king? Good God, we have the Earl of Northumbria here before us – are you waiting for Edward himself to rise from the earth and lead you home?”

Ah, that was it, Sigefrith thought. This was home. He had spent nearly four years here, had had a family and had gained the trust and love of the inhabitants of his little kingdom. Was it really a farce, as Morcar had said? Was it really a temporary exile, as Matilda and Alred thought?

“Alred,” he warned, “if you tell me you are not a duke, then you tell me I am not a king.”

Alred stared back at him steadily, but indecision was clearly written on his face.

“You are my lord,” he said at last, quietly, and bowed his head.

“Matilda, will you make Morcar your guest at Nothelm? I need time to consider.”

Abashed, Matilda curtseyed wordlessly, and she and Alred led a leering Earl Morcar away.