Ragna summoned Bern. “The bodyguards are all more or less drunk,” she said. “I want you to stand guard with them all night.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Bern.
“You can sleep tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.”
“Good night, Bern.”
“Good night, my lady.”
Wynstan and Wigelm went to Gytha’s house and sat up into the small hours, talking in desultory fashion, making sure they did not fall asleep.
Wynstan had explained the plan to Gytha, and she had been shocked and horrified at the idea that her sons wanted to murder her stepson. She had challenged Wynstan’s deduction about the document written at Dreng’s Ferry: could he be sure it was Wilf’s last will and testament? As it happened, Wynstan was able to reassure her, for he had received confirmation of his speculation. Bishop Modulf had indiscreetly confided in his neighbor Thane Deorman of Norwood, and Deorman had told Wynstan.
Gytha had agreed to Wynstan’s plan, as he had known she would in the end. “What needs to be done must be done,” she had said. All the same she looked troubled.
Wynstan was tense. If this went seriously wrong and the plot was revealed, both he and Wigelm would be executed for treason.
He had tried to envisage every possible obstacle in his way and plan how to overcome each one, but there were always unexpected snags, and that thought kept him stressed.
When he judged the time was right he stood up. He picked up a lamp, a leather strap, and a small cloth bag, all of which he had got ready earlier.
Wigelm got to his feet and nervously touched the long-bladed dagger in its sheath at his belt.
Gytha said: “Don’t make Wilf suffer, will you?”
Wigelm replied: “I’ll do my best.”
“He’s not my son, but I loved his father. Remember that.”
Wynstan said: “We’ll remember it, mother.”
The two brothers left the house.
Here we go, Wynstan thought.
There were always three bodyguards outside Wilf’s house: one at the door and one at each of the two front corners of the building. Wigelm had spent two nights observing them, partly through cracks in Gytha’s walls and partly by going outside to piss frequently. He had found that all three bodyguards spent most of the night sitting on the ground with their backs to the walls of the house, and they often dozed off. Tonight they were probably in a drunken stupor and would not even know that two murderers were entering the house they were guarding. However, Wynstan had a story ready in case they were wide awake.
They were not, but he was taken aback to find Bern standing in front of Wilf’s door.
“God be with you, my lord bishop, and you, Thane Wigelm,” said Bern in his French accent.
“And with you.” Wynstan recovered quickly from the shock and implemented the fallback plan he had devised in case the bodyguards were not asleep. “We have to wake Wilf,” he said, speaking low but clearly. “It’s an emergency.” He glanced at the other two guards, who slept on. Improvising, he said to Bern: “Come inside with us—you need to hear this.”
“Yes, my lord.” Bern looked puzzled, as well he might—howwould the brothers have learned of this emergency, in the middle of the night, when no one appeared to have entered the compound to bring news? But though he frowned, he opened the door. His task was to protect Wilf, but it would not occur to him that the ealdorman was in danger from his own brothers.
Wynstan knew exactly what had to happen now to counteract the surprise interference of Bern—it was obvious to him—but would Wigelm figure it out? Wynstan could only hope.
Wynstan went in, walking quietly on the straw. Wilf and Carwen were asleep on the bed, wrapped in blankets. Wynstan put the lamp and the cloth bag on the table but kept hold of the strap. Then he turned to look back.
Bern was closing the door behind him. Wigelm reached for his dagger. Wynstan heard a noise from the bed.
He looked at the two in bed and saw that Carwen was opening her eyes.
He grasped the ends of the strap and stretched a length of about a foot between his two hands. At the same time, he went down on one knee beside the slave girl. She came awake quickly, sat up, looked terrified, and opened her mouth to shout. Wynstan dropped the belt over her head, drew it into her open mouth like a horse’s bit, and pulled it tight. Thus gagged, she could make only desperate gargling sounds. He twisted the belt tighter, then looked behind him.
He saw Wigelm cut Bern’s throat with a powerful slash of his long dagger. Well done, Wynstan thought. Blood spurted and Wigelm jumped out of the way. Bern fell. The only noise was the thud his body made as it hit the ground.
