Dunstan

by Conn Iggulden

My father did not embrace either of us. I do not think he ever did, which is only right when a man is preparing sons for the world. My mother embraced me all the time and it is true I miss her with more tenderness, but we are given our roles in this grief-ridden vale and there is no changing them. A father gives strength and makes a man. A mother tempers that iron with tears and her love. Too much of either makes weakness.

My days and my lessons continued. Encarius examined the marks on my arm for an age, but he could not say with certainty that they were not the mark of an angel’s palm. I think he had his doubts, but perhaps like me, he understood the world needs faith. Without it, believe me, it is a foul, cruel place.

Æthelstan had allowed petitions; Edmund could not deny them. He listened and ruled on disputes from before dawn to long into the night, sleeping hardly at all. Still they came, bleating, bleating at him.

The earls of Northumbria had thrown their allegiance behind another sea-raider, who rejoiced in the name of Eric Bloodaxe. They are like children with their names! Harald Dog-strangler might have been a better choice, or Magnus Cow-raper.

As I looked around at them, I realised I had become a father after all. A father can be stern and harsh, indeed he must be, if he is not to turn out a milksop boy.

There would always be corruption around gold and silver. My job was not to cut it out completely, but merely to reduce it to a level that did not leave the king having to go as a beggar to the monasteries and moneylenders. It took me a long time to understand that – and longer to accept it.

cannot understand why it should be so, but men link beauty and goodness together. An ugly woman is more likely to be called a witch, though it makes no sense at all. What form would evil take if there was any choice? It would be fair, and sweet and soft to the touch. It would not be withered fruit.