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promised. At least on a battlefield there could be a fair fight, with each man knowing who the enemy was. He did not like the scheming of politics. He looked again at Dunstan. “Lord Bishop, you say that all the churchmen are as one on this, but what of our friend the bishop of Winchester?”
    Dunstan wrinkled his nose. “I am glad that you asked me that. Your friend, the bishop of Winchester, stayed with the Fairchild and your elder brother in Wessex instead of coming here to stand with Edgar. But even had he come here, he could not speak on such matters. As a wedded man, he remains a shameful stain upon the Church.” He frowned. “The good name of your kin is besmirched by this friendship. Take care that it does not d-drag you down.”
    “Is that a threat? I make my friends where I will, lord Bishop, and not at any man’s behest.”
    “You should be…” Dunstan, alerted by a strange sound, glanced over to the hearth. The archbishop’s head bobbed up and down as a rattling cough faltered, unable to rise above his chest. Alvar watched Dunstan’s face, wondering if in fact he was concerned for the frail old man, or merely waiting for the archbishop to hurry up and die.
    King Edgar spoke in a low voice, assuring attention. “I think that we must wait for the pope’s word on this and turn to other things now, my lords.”
    Alvar followed the king’s lead and lowered his voice. “My lord, may I have one last word? This annulment might push the Fairchild too far; he agreed to the carving up of the kingdom but if he were to lose his wife might he not fight back?”
    Edgar shrugged. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”
    Elwood of Ramsey laughed shrilly and said, “It will not happen, my lord.”
    Alvar looked at the East Anglian. The man looked panic-stricken and it seemed to Alvar that his assurance to the king sounded more like a prayer of hope than an avowal of certain truth.
     
    He was alone in the meeting chamber. Most folk were lying in the hall, to sleep or hold their over-indulged bellies, or else were playing at the gaming boards by the light of the hall’s great hearth. Helmstan had ridden home to his lovely bride, unable to bear the separation any longer. Less than a twelve-month had passed since Alvar witnessed the same deep devotion shared by the Fairchild and his bride. Naught had been said of their close kinship before their wedding day. It was only when… Yes, it was only when Dunstan found the boy in bed with his bride and her mother. He’d threatened them with the wrath of the Almighty and the Fairchild banished him. Alvar sighed and sat forward to warm his hands by the fire. The early summer evenings were still cool and not all of the new shutters were a snug fit at the windows. He stared into the flames. So now Dunstan was back and wanted his revenge, and how better than to destroy the marriage? The strategy had been revealed as a means by which to ensure that Edgar remained sole heir to the whole kingdom, but nevertheless, delight was being taken in the shameful settling of old scores. He shook his head. There would be a great sorrow wreaked in the name of spite.
    Alvar sat back in his chair. Dunstan had served three kings well and loyally, but the moment he had met resistance in the form of a lustful youth he had shown himself to be mettlesome. It was possible that he sought fame beyond his reformation of the abbeys; there had certainly been a covetous gleam in his eye when watching over the archbishop’s failing body. He had declared his determination never to be banished again and was doing all he could to ingratiate himself with Edgar. Alvar’s first day in the witan had shown him that Edgar would favour whoever could give him what he wanted. Everyone was elbowing for power and Alvar would have to do it too, or be swept aside. He was thrashing in water too deep for his liking but had no choice but to start swimming, for if not he would bring shame upon his father’s memory. In the