text: [Themes: mystery / thriller, mystery]
  
  Those two guards were the key, the others didn't matter. Even if Leofwine's killer had come through the hidden passageway, they still might have heard something, and perhaps they had stood guard outside his room before. They might know more about the man's doing- who his enemies were, whether he had feared for his life. Of course, it was also possible they had killed him, though Wulf was nearly sure that the secret tunnel was how the murderer had entered the room.
  
  "I've lost enough coin as it is," Wulf said with a chuckle. "I thank you gentlemen for the game and mead, but duty calls."
  
  He stood, and the bearded man nodded. "Come back anytime. I get bored just beating these fools."
  
  Wulf made his way out of the guards' chambers and through the corridors. The halls were mostly empty, and the sentries at the gate gave him no trouble as he left the castle. He walked down the hill and to the town proper, heading for a small stable he had passed the day before. It sat near the inn where he had spoken with the cook, and Wulf briefly considered trying to find the man. But, as tempting as the bishop's mysterious secrets were, it was Wighere and Cutheard who had the best chance of shedding light on Leofwine's murder.
  
  The stablemaster was middle-aged and had a shock of blond hair that he scratched every few seconds. "Of course I have horses," he said in response to Wulf's question. "But what are you willing to pay?"
  
  Wulf was by no means short on silver, but he knew that finding the guards would be difficult and that money would come in handy. "What's your cheapest horse?"
  
  The man pointed to an old mare, gray and speckled white. "Twenty pieces of silver."
  
  "No more than eight."
  
  The man grunted. "Fifteen is a fair price."
  
  Wulf nearly laughed at the blatant lie. The poor creature whinnied softly, and he felt her mane. "Twelve."
  
  "Twelve it is, but fifteen will get you a saddle and the rest." Wulf nodded, and a minute later he sauntered out of the stable and towards the city gate. The mare was timid, but she seemed to gain strength as they left the cramped stalls behind. He regarded the streets as they passed, glancing at each house and shop. It would be good to leave Winchester behind and travel in the open country, away from hidden passageways and from the site of his old friend's death.
  
  Someone was shouting up ahead, and Wulf recognized a thin, ugly guard from the gambling table. "We are looking for a murderer!" he announced to the peasants and shopkeepers nearby. "Fat and red-faced, a cook. There will be a reward if he is found and no mercy if he is concealed." He caught Wulf's eye but paid him no mind, continuing down the street.
  
  Wulf saw other guards and men-at-arms as he approached the gate, all repeating the same message and questioning the townsfolk. A cluster of them stood by the gatehouse, swords and spears drawn, and they glared when he drew near.
  
  "No one may leave Winchester until further notice," their captain said, his eyes narrowing on Wulf's tattered cloak and old horse. "We're looking for a murderer."
  
  "Father Leofwine's killer?" he asked.
  
  The captain had already turned away to talk to someone else, but at Wulf's words he swung back. "No, not Father Leofwine, not that it's any business of yours. Lord Grimbold is dead, a great ealdorman and one of the king's chief councilors, and Bishop Osfrid's cook is the one that done it, more likely than not. Now bugger off before I put that sick animal out of its misery."
  
  Wulf turned slowly and set off the way he had come. Another councilor dead, and the jolly cook with all the secrets the prime suspect. Wighere and Cutheard would have to wait, unless he tried to sneak out of the city, but chasing down the two guards suddenly seemed less important. The traitor must still be in Winchester, and if the cook was his agent, then he might have others. Cynehelm might know something about the murder, and he would certainly know more about the dead ealdorman.
  
  But how to speak with Cynehelm? The castle would be locked down, no doubt, so he could hardly enter through the front gate. He could always try clambering up the wall and down through the chimney again, but the guards would probably be watching more closely than they had before. The tunnel was another possibility, but it had its own risks. Breaking into an upstanding merchant's house might be difficult in broad daylight, and if he were caught underground there would be no way to flee.
  
  > try the tunnel
  No, the castle would be swarming with guards. Wulf had no false modesty about his abilities, but he knew he could not hope to pass by unnoticed when every man-at-arms in Winchester would be on the lookout. The tunnel was the only way, and he set off for the wealthy district of the city at once. There was a stable near the house, and he sold the mare to its master, an old man with wispy hair, for precisely fifteen pieces of silver. There would be little need for a horse as long as he stayed in Winchester.
  
  Even here, among the well-built shops and merchant houses, Wulf saw guards asking about the cook and sticking their heads inside doors. One came to the stables and questioned the old master. "If I see him, I'll send word," the man said, and the guard nodded and left. An idea came to Wulf, and he trotted over to the house with the passageway.
  
  He banged on the door, and a moment later a tall, clean-shaven man opened it. "Yes?" he said, his voice pleasant, but Wulf saw his eyes flicker to the sword at his side.
  
  Wulf gave a small bow. "There has been a murder at the castle, and the killer has fled. I must ask you in King Alfred's name to let me search this house."
  
  The man looked at him for a second and then stood aside. "Of course. We have nothing to hide." They came into the main room, full of books, scrolls, and tapestries as before, but now there was a woman, dark-haired and beautiful, reading from one of the books. "My wife, Saewara," the clean-shaven man said. "And I am Merwal."
  
  "Anything interesting on those pages?" Wulf said politely as he made a show of searching the room. Sæwara shut the book, and he was surprised to see her eyes were full of fear. She looked at him for a moment and then climbed the little staircase to the upper floor, the book tucked beneath her arm.
  
  Merwal shook his head. "You must forgive my wife. She is...easily flustered. In truth, she is still not used to the city, nor to the manners of some of its folk."
  
  "I prefer the open country myself," Wulf said, wishing the man would stop following him about the house. "Of course, with Father Leofwine dead and now Grimbold, soon there won't be many city folk left."
  
  "Leofwine was a good man, a holy man" Merwal said sadly. "Sinless before God if anyone was."
  
  Wulf walked to the ladder, but the merchant's comment made him pause. "Did you know him well?"
  
  "We were acquainted," he said, looking down. "He was a holy man, anyone who spoke with him knew it. Not that we spoke with him very often!" Merwal shuffled, his eyes now darting from Wulf to the staircase his wife had just climbed.
  
  Wulf put his hand on the ladder, and Merwal nearly jumped. "I'll just pop down for a quick look and then be off," he said gently, and when the merchant made to follow him, he added "No need for you to trouble yourself, is there?"
  
  Merwal stopped and hung back, his expression nervous until he forced his face into a smile. "No need at all, and take your time. Anything I can do to help catch Leofwine's murderer."
  
  "Grimbold's murderer," Wulf corrected as he climbed down, musing over the man's words. The basement was exactly the same, full of boxes and barrels, and he made straight for the one that concealed the tunnel entrance. He pulled it open and was about to crawl inside when he noticed one of the boxes had been moved, just slightly, from where it had been. It was heavy, but he managed to push it aside a little more, revealing a small hole dug into the floor.
  
  Wulf bent down, reaching blindly in the dim light, until his fingers found a grubby cloth and, underneath, something else. He pulled them out and discovered it was a book, barely bigger than his palm and in Latin. "Proslogion," he whispered, sounding out the unfamiliar letters, but the title meant nothing to him.
  
  He glanced back. Merwal was still upstairs, but whatever the book was, it was clearly important enough to require a hiding place. Was this what had made the merchant and his wife so nervous, or was it the tunnel? And what did either have to do with Leofwine's murder? They did not seem like killers, and yet he was almost sure that the murderer had snuck in through the passageway. It all made him think of the cook and his promise of Bishop Osfrid's secrets. Winchester was full of mysteries, it seemed, and they all called to a man like Wulf. But even he could not pursue every possibility.
  
  > take the book
  Cynehelm could wait. The dead ealdorman Grimbold could wait. Wulf only cared about Father Leofwine, and this merchant house was the key to solving his murder. He could not read Latin, but there were plenty of priests in the city who could, and perhaps one of them could explain why the book had been hidden away.
  
  He tucked it into his cloak, carefully replaced the grubby cloth and box exactly as they had been and shut the secret passageway door. When Wulf climbed the ladder, he found Merwal standing nearby, peering down, but as soon as his head poked back onto the main floor he glanced away nervously.
  
  "No murderous cooks," he said, and the merchant nodded. "If you see or hear anything connected with him, tell the king's men at once."
  
  Merwal followed him to the door, wearing a smile that was just a little too broad. "Of course." He bowed when Wulf left, no doubt racing down the ladder as soon as the door swung shut.
  
  Wulf took no chances and left at once, almost running in his haste to leave the wealthy part of the city behind. He passed several churches but decided to focus on putting more distance between himself and the man he had robbed. Finally, when he had almost come back to the main gate, he stopped. There were still plenty of men-at-arms searching for the cook and questioning townsfolk, and he could see that the guards still would let no one leave the city. A little group of monks stood beside the gatehouse, their brown robes flapping gently in the wind, and he approached them.
  
  "Trouble, brothers?" he said quietly, noting the annoyance in their faces.
  
  Their leader, an older man whose eyes were nearly glazed over, shook his head. "A trifle. No one may leave Winchester until a murderer is caught. Our abbey lies many miles from here, and it is ill luck to stuck inside the walls, but I pray for the soul of the murdered man."
  
  "And for all of Wessex," interjected a young monk. "The Danes will slaughter us all if the killings do not stop!"
  
  The old monk sighed. "I pray for Alfred as well, that God will give him strength to fight the heathens. We have lost too many brothers and too many monasteries already. Hundreds of books burnt, too. The Danes care not for learning."
  
  Wulf pulled the little book from his cloak and held it forward. "Nor, it seems, do many in Winchester. I found this lying in the street, but I cannot read the Latin."
  
  The old monk took it and bent close, but he shook his head and handed it to his younger brother.
  
  "Proslogion," the man read, furrowing his eyebrows, but when he opened it his expression changed to horror. "Here is one book that I hope the pagans do burn!"
  
  "Is it the Proslogion of Paulinus?" the old man asked, and when the young brother said yes, he sighed again. "How hardy are the errors of past centuries! They are no easier to defeat than the Danes."
  
  "Take it back," said the young monk suddenly, shoving the little book back into Wulf's hands. "I do not wish to read any more!"
  
  Sensing his confusion, the old man explained. "Paulinus was a brilliant theologian, born just after the Romans left Britain and educated on the Continent. He wrote many books, but it is this Proslogion, his Discourses, that proved his undoing. For Paulinus disagreed with Saint Augustine on original sin. He held that we humans do not suffer for Adam's disobedience, that our forefather's sin brought punishment on himself alone. He multiplied the heresies of Pelagius and ensnared many fools in Britain and across Christendom. But the holy Church and her saints fought back, and in the war of reason and of words, Paulinus was soundly defeated. But heresy never stays dead for long, and it seems that some in Wessex have revived his ancient errors." He shook his head. "It is a dangerous and evil book, entirely contrary to true religion and to the Holy Scriptures."
  
  Wulf regarded it again, his disappointment growing. "Why would someone own such a book?"
  
  "Why does anyone turn to heresy? We may blame intellectual pride, foolish curiosity, or the Devil himself, but the point is that this is a vile book, full of errors and obstructions of the truth. Little wonder God no longer favors our kingdom."
  
  Wulf pictured Merwal and Saewara's frightened faces and cursed himself for bothering with the little book. He had no interest in catching heretics, as the merchant and his wife surely were, only in catching Leofwine's killer. Now that he had stolen the book, the man would never let him back inside in house, which meant he could not use the passageway to get inside the castle. He had squandered his chance, Wulf realized, and all for this irrelevant Proslogion.
  
  "Thank you, I will burn it when I have the chance," he said to the monks, unable to keep a sliver of annoyance out of his voice, and then turned away. There was nothing to do now but find some way to speak with Cynehelm and hope that the nervous ealdorman was having more luck. He walked towards the castle, trying to come up with some kind of plan. Guards were everywhere, a bunch by the main entrance and others scattered across the hill. It would be impossible to sneak or fight his way in, but, in Wulf's experience, words could be as effective as swords. The only question was which words to try.
  
  > Partial truth
  The leader of the little pack of guards at the main gate was ugly, and his beady eyes narrowed on Wulf as he approached. He said something to his companions that made them chuckle, and two of them lifted their spears. "That's close enough," he barked, when Wulf was still nearly ten feet away. "No one is allowed in the castle."
  
  "Please sir," Wulf said softly, "I have information for Lord Cynehelm about...about the murders."
  
  The guard took a step forward, examining Wulf's face. "What is your name, and is Cynehelm expecting you?"
  
  "I am called Wulf, an old friend and retainer of the ealdorman."
  
  "Podda," the guard said to one of his companions, "find Lord Cynehelm and tell him that this Wulf is at the gate and requesting to see him." The man went inside, and the ugly guard smirked. "I doubt he'll let you in. We've had three men come already claiming they know the whereabouts of one of the murderers, and my men have thrown all three straight back out once it was clear they knew nothing."
  
  Wulf kept silent, and the guard went back to muttering with his fellows and occasionally laughing. The minutes dragged by, and Wulf started to fear that the ealdorman would not let him enter. He did not seem the bravest of men, and perhaps the second killing had rattled him.
  
  "I expect Cynehelm's fled," the ugly guard said. "He's nothing but a tax collector really, not the kind of man to stick around when throats are getting cut and bishops getting poisoned."
  
  At last the other guard returned. Nodding at Wulf, he said to his superior "Lord Cynehelm told me to bring him to his office."
  
  The ugly guard snorted. "Then do it. Keep your eyes on him, though, he looks like a tricky one."
  
  Wulf followed the man inside and through the castle, whose corridors were full of men-at-arms, their faces gruff and suspicious as he passed, and women and old men, their faces full of anxiety and fear. The guard walked painfully slowly, his eyes jumping back and forth between Wulf and his next step. Wulf wanted nothing more than to leave the man behind and run to Cynehelm's office himself, but he fought the urge.
  
  Eventually they came to the ealdorman's chambers. The clerk sat outside at a small desk, his thin face full of the same nervousness that Wulf had seen so often in the castle. He nodded uncertainly at the guard and waved them into the office, then went back to writing on his scroll, his hand trembling a little.
  
  Cynehelm sat at his own desk, lost in thought, but when they entered, he leapt to his feet. "Leave us," he said to the guard, who bowed and obeyed. Once the door had shut behind him, the small man addressed Wulf excitedly. "Have you discovered who killed them?"
  
  Wulf could not help the sigh, which seemed to puncture all of Cynehelm's enthusiasm. "No. But I have learned a few things, and I assume you have, too." Gesturing the ealdorman back to his seat, he explained about about his conversation with the murderous cook, about how the guards protecting Leofwine had left the city, about the secret passageway that began Leofwine's room and the merchant house where it ended.
  
  Cynehelm rubbed his eyes when everything had been told, and then he launched into his side of the story, telling Wulf how he had sat with Bishop Osfrid and Grimbold when the latter was murdered and his conversation with King Alfred and the queen. "I cannot fail Queen Ealhswith," he said sadly. "She cared too deeply about Father Leofwine, and I fear if his killer is not caught, it will drive her mad."
  
  "She's not the only one," Wulf said. "There's only so much we can do, however. Take the secret passageway and the merchant Merwal. I know they must have something else to do with the murder. The killer must have entered Leofwine's chambers through the tunnel, but the man truly seemed innocent, at least of the murder. He seemed to genuinely mourn Leofwine's death."
  
  "The killer could have got into the tunnel through the house without the merchant knowing," Cynehelm mused. "Merwal might not even know that the passageway exists."
  
  Wulf shook his head. "He'd have to be stupid beyond belief not to know that one of the boxes in his cellar is really a hidden door. He was nervous too, but I think he was just scared I'd discover his heresy."
  
  "Heresy?"
  
  Wulf pulled the book from his cloak and handed it to Cynehelm. "He had this hidden as well, and apparently it's quite heretical. He and his wife are both heretics, I suppose, not that it matters for us."
  
  Cynehelm flipped through the little book. "I could have them both thrown in the dungeon for their heresy or on suspicion of murder. That might make them reveal anything they do know about the killings. Of course, that would tip off the traitor that..."
  
  His words were interrupted by a knock on the door. The clerk appeared, glanced at Wulf, and then addressed his master. "Ecgbald is here to speak with you." Cynehelm nodded, and when Wulf stood up to leave, he waved him back down.
  
  > Ecgbald's arrival
  The tall, strong man entered and immediately halted, staring at Wulf. "He can be trusted," Cynehelm said, but that didn't stop Ecgbald's stare.
  
  Eventually he took a seat and turned to the ealdorman. "Have you found anything?"
  
  A moment passed, and then Cynehelm answered. "No."
  
  Ecgbald swore. "Neither have I, and we're running out of time. The Danes could attack any day, and we've now lost the king's right-hand man and our best commander. Aldric and I have tried to take Grimbold's place, but we have our own duties to see to, and Alfred doesn't fully trust either of us, I can feel it. He doesn't trust Bishop Osfrid, either, and I doubt he even trusts you."
  
  "Alfred is wise not to trust his councilors," Wulf said quietly, which made the larger man swear again.
  
  "Who in God's name are you, anyway?" he asked.
  
  Cynehelm held up his hand. He knew that he still had no good reason to trust Wulf, who was practically a complete stranger, and that he probably shouldn't trust any of his fellow councilors. But it was too much, the murders and the investigation, to take on by himself, and it made him very anxious to see his two closest allies fighting. "This is Wulf," he said simply. "He is helping me find the traitor."
  
  "Well he isn't doing a very good job," Ecgbald said angrily. "I don't trust Osfrid or Aldric, but I lean towards the former. What better place to kill someone than at your own table, with your own cook as the accomplice? He knows Alfred is clever, and so he knows that Alfred will think him too clever to be tied so directly to Grimbold's poisoning. That's what's so brilliant about it."
  
  Wulf suppressed a chuckle. "Or perhaps Aldric paid the cook to poison Grimbold, trying to pin it on the bishop. Or perhaps the bishop did it, thinking that we would think someone else must be trying to pin it on him. These guesses get us nowhere."
  
  "These guesses are all we have. I can't discuss the matter any more now, I need to go inspect the fyrd. The heathens are not waiting for us to find the killers, you know." He stood up and went to the door, then looked back to cast a dirty glance at Wulf. "Hecan't be trusted either. I hope you are aware of that."
  
  Cynehelm's hands fidgeted nervously. "I trust you both."
  
  Ecgbald shook his head and sighed. Then he left, and a second after the door shut Wulf spoke. "How long have you known him?"
  
  "Ten years. He's completely loyal to Alfred. He could not have killed them, nor would he ever betray us to the pagans."
  
  "I wouldn't rule anyone out, no matter how loyal they have been in the past. But I've never met the man before today, so I'll yield to your judgement." Wulf stood. "I'm going to go to the bishop's chambers. The cook might have left some evidence of the poison he used behind." It was a faint hope, but he couldn't stand just sitting with Cynehelm, watching the anxious man tie himself in knots over the killings. He had to do something.
  
  But the ealdorman apparently wanted a distraction too, because he stood up and went to follow Wulf out of his office. The man in the black cloak stopped. Cynehelm did seem honest, but it was hard to see that he'd be much use searching for traces of poison. Besides, his time could be better spent elsewhere.
  
  Wulf cleared his throat. "Why don't you go and speak with Aldric? He's the one councilor who remains something of a mystery. All I really know is that he's young."
  
  Cynehelm wilted at the suggestion. "Young and brilliant. I doubt I'd be able to discover anything even if he is hiding something. He'sthe one that should be leading this kind of investigation, but I suppose Ecgbald was right. Alfred doesn't fully trust him."
  
  > send Cynehelm to Aldric
  "And Alfred does trust you, at least with finding the traitor. That gives you an advantage. Talk to Aldric. If he's as clever as you say, he might know something that could be useful even if he's innocent."
  
  Cynehelm nodded, and they left his office, the ealdorman explaining how to get to the bishop's rooms. They walked together for a minute and then parted ways, and once again, Wulf was struck by how frightened everyone in the castle seemed. The search for the cook had apparently had little success, and nearly everyone either looked terrified at his presence or simply avoided his gaze. Catching a whisper from one woman to another, he found out why.
  
  "The queen is right. Winchester lies under God's curse, and the deaths will not stop until we repent of our sins."
  
  The other woman turned very pale when she noticed Wulf listening and gave her companion a little nudge. "The Devil himself stalks these halls, snatching up righteous men for the sins of the wicked," she breathed, and the two of them scurried away.
  
  Wulf wanted to laugh, but then he thought of Leofwine's cut throat and found he could not. The old priest had been a holy man. Was it really so mad to think that the Devil might have wanted him dead? Then he pictured himself, tattered cloak, scars, and all. Perhaps to the Winchester court he did look as fearsome as Satan himself.
  
  The corridor was empty when he came to the body. It lay, slumped forward, in a puddle of blood, and it was only when he pulled it up by the hair that he recognized the corpse. The face and all the clothes were stained red, and an ugly dark wound gaped from its back, but it was clearly Ecgbald, still warm but very dead. Wulf let him fall back to the ground and then stood, his mind racing.
  
  The ealdorman only had a few minutes head start. The murder could not have happened more than two minutes ago, which meant that the killer could not have gotten far. Wulf drew his short sword and glanced around at the three corridors that diverged around Ecgbald's corpse. He had come from one, but there was little to distinguish the other two.
  
  He had just decided to run down the left corridor when the guards arrived, six or seven burly men. They drew their weapons at once. "He must be down one of those passages," Wulf said, but they didn't seem to hear him. They fanned out, blocking his escape the way he had come, and only then did Wulf realize that they believed he was the killer.
  
  "Careful boys," their leader barked, his face hidden behind a bushy red beard. They came closer, their eyes locked warily on Wulf and his sword.
  
  > Flee
  There was no reasoning with men once they had that look in their eyes. Wulf knew that from experience, and so he brandished his sword confidently. Suddenly he slashed, making two of the guards jump back, and at that moment he too leapt backwards and set off running down one of the corridors.
  
  For once, he was thankful for how labyrinthine the castle was. He snaked in and out of corridors, always turning, always listening for the loud clatter of the men-at-arms behind him. They must know the castle better than he did, but they were cautious. Probably expected an ambush, or else that he had an accomplice ready to join the fight.
  
  But Wulf cared only about escape. Everything else left his mind, and he operated on pure instinct. Like a rat pursued by many cats, he thought only of survival, and the only way to survive was to run. He was fit and travelled light, and so he moved quickly, trying to keep his feet from making much noise against the floor.
  
  Eventually, the noise of the guards faded to a low, indistinct rumbling. Wulf did not slow, but now he began to consider the rooms that he passed. Leofwine's chambers were far away, so escape through the secret tunnel was out of the question, but there might be an abandoned chamber or large storage room he could hide out in. With a little luck, they would pass right by and he could slip away and make it to the tunnel.
  
  He peeked through a few doors and ended up choosing a room full of rusting armor and old bits of refuse. It was large and cluttered, and Wulf crouched behind a pile of broken chain mail and pieces of wood. Why anyone bothered to keep it all was a puzzle, but Wulf did not care. He only rested, breathing deeply and listening for any sign of his pursuers.
  
  Wulf was so focused on listening for the dull rumble of a dozen guards that, observant as he was, he did not hear the soft footsteps of the other person in the room. He crept out from his own hiding place, behind a heap of saddles and tackle, and walked slowly towards the man in black. In his hand he held a large, cruel dagger.
  
  His aim was true, and the blade sunk into the back of Wulf's neck, just barely missing his spine. Wulf turned and slashed with his own sword, but, in the pain, he could hit nothing. He did not even get a glimpse of his killer and sunk to the floor, groaning. By the time the guards found him, he was long dead, covered in blood and bits of mail that he had kicked in his dying agony.