text: [Themes: mystery / thriller]
  
  Wulf knew he had not been there long but sitting in the cell had already grown intolerable. He was not the kind of man who liked to stay cooped up in one place. He sat on the rough stones, his back against the wall, and remembered riding through the vast hills and dales of the north. He had enjoyed that part of the country, but circumstances had sent him away, just as they had sent him away from every other home he had found. In a way it was a blessing. It was pure luck that he had been near Winchester and had heard the news about Leofwine, pure luck that gave him the chance to avenge his old friend.
  
  Of course, his luck had run a little dry at the moment. Alfred had been true to his word, and the weedy little jailor even claimed that this was the most comfortable cell in the dungeon, but that was not saying much. It was damp and cold and dark, full of cockroaches, and, though they had exchanged a few words when he first arrived, the jailor was not disposed to chatting with his prisoners. Wulf knew there were others in the cells nearby, but they hadn't spoken, either.
  
  When he first heard the voice, he assumed it was a torturer. "Good evening," the man said, his tone polite enough but cold. "We're going to have a conversation."
  
  Wulf peered through the near-darkness, just barely making out the outline of someone standing beyond the bars of his cell. He did not speak, and after a moment the stranger unlocked the door. It opened with a thin whine, and he stepped inside. Still, Wulf did not speak.
  
  "Did you kill Lord Ecgbald?"
  
  Wulf looked up at the man, and, now that he was closer, he realized he was quite young. "No," he said softly. The man didn't look strong enough to be a torturer, but, then again, brains were more important than brawn in that occupation.
  
  "I am Lord Aldric. I trust you have heard of me?" Wulf nodded. "Very good. Leofwine's death left the king without his chief councilor, and Grimbold and Ecgbald have only compounded the problem. Cynehelm and Osfrid are competent men, but neither one is a warrior, and war is coming."
  
  When Wulf kept silent, Aldric continued. "Alfred is a good king, but no man can rule alone. He requires advisors, but now half are dead, and he cannot fully trust the living."
  
  "He should not have trusted them even before Leofwine was murdered," Wulf said. "A king cannot afford to be so naïve."
  
  Aldric smiled, his white teeth visible even in the gloom. "We think alike, but do not mistake Alfred's trust for naivety. He is strong, and he will punish whoever killed those three men with unrelenting justice. That is where you enter the picture."
  
  "I did not kill Ecgbald."
  
  "You will forgive me if I do not take your word for it. You were beside the body while it was still warm, and the guards have not found anyone else who is the slightest bit suspicious. I supervised their search myself."
  
  Wulf sighed. He had not thought they would catch the killer, since they hadn't caught either of the others, but it was still an annoyance. "What sort of assassin waits by the corpse until he's caught?"
  
  "Perhaps one who wished to deflect suspicion. Or perhaps you had just finished killing Ecgbald. Or perhaps you truly are innocent and were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. We can play these games for as long as you wish, but I'd rather discuss other things."
  
  Wulf stayed quiet, and the young ealdorman continued. "I believe you told the jailor you were trying to catch Leofwine's killer? As it happens, I have been trying to do the same. Have you uncovered anything interesting?"
  
  > keep silent
  Aldric waited a while for him to answer, but when Wulf did not speak, he sighed. "I had expected more. I don't suppose you have anything else to say to me?"
  
  Wulf did not reply, and after a minute, the young ealdorman left the cell and locked the door behind him. "Very well. Remember that you chose not to speak."
  
  Aldric walked to where the jailor sat, his eyes fixed on the floor, trying to look as though he hadn't been eavesdropping. "You will move this prisoner," he said, and the jailor nodded. "I think one of the black cells will do nicely." The jailor nodded again, and Aldric left without another word.
  
  The weedy man came and unlocked the door. Wulf considered trying to flee or resist, but there was little point. The dungeons were guarded by several men-at-arms, and he had no chance of escaping. Why waste his energy with a struggle? He let the jailor lead him away from the other cells and down a narrow staircase. They descended ever deeper into the earth, everything dark apart from the tiny glow of the man's candle.
  
  Eventually they came to another corridor. This one was lined with thick, oak doors, not with bars, and it was completely silent. They passed six doors before the jailor stopped. He pulled out his enormous ring of keys and fiddled with it for a moment, then he unlocked the door. "Inside," he said, and Wulf obeyed.
  
  He only got a brief glimpse of the cell before the door slammed shut and the flicker of candlelight was cut off. It was smaller than his old cell, made as far as he could tell of bare rock. There was a heap of rags in one corner that might have once been a bed, and it was on the rags that Wulf laid. The room was not so damp as the other cellar, and he did not mind the darkness. It gave him a chance to think.
  
  Wulf thought for a long time. He thought of the secret tunnel underground, the heretics Merwal and Saewara, the poisoned Grimbold, the fat cook, and Leofwine's guards. He wondered where they all were, and he wondered where Cynehelm was and whether he was discovering who had killed the three dead men. After a while he fell asleep, but when he woke up everything was the same. Completely dark and silent, with nothing to do but think.
  
  It was impossible to tell how much time passed, but Wulf knew after he fell asleep a few more times that it was at least a couple days. No one came to see him, at least not while he was awake, but he found that sometimes there would be little wooden plates of food and cups of water by the door, placed there, no doubt, by the jailor. He ate quickly, and, alongside thinking, this was how he passed his time.
  
  Wulf's beard and hair grew long. It itched, and he longed for a knife to cut off all the hair, but he had nothing but his clothes. Nothing ever changed. Darkness, the same bland bread and water, the same pile of rags and cold stones all around. Days turned into weeks and then months and years, and still Wulf lay in the black cell. Sometimes he paced, covering his entire world in a few steps. Sometimes he saw when the jailor slid open the little slot on his door and pushed the food inside. During the first few weeks, he tried to speak with him, tried to scream, but he soon realized it was no use. No one cared. Cynehelm had forgotten him, or perhaps he was dead. Alfred had forgotten him.
  
  He went mad eventually, of course. But he never forgot the faces- Alfred and Ecgbald, Grimbold and Saewara and Cynehelm. Most of all he remembered Leofwine, the kindly old priest who had been his friend. After long years in the dungeon, after he had forgotten why he was there and could not have even said his own name, he remembered that he had failed old Leofwine.