text: 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."
  
  > take him with you
  Wulf relented. "Come with me then, I don't know the way to the bishop's chambers anyway. We'll need to speak with Aldric eventually, though."
  
  Cynehelm nodded, and they left his office. They walked together, each lost in his own thoughts, 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.
  
  Cynehelm only sighed, wringing his hands. "Queen Ealhswith does us no favors by spreading rumors of the Devil and black magic. I am as pious as the next man, but it's not our little sins we have to worry about, it's the great sins of the traitor and his accomplices. I just don't know..."
  
  His voice trailed off when the body came in sight. It lay, slumped forward, in a puddle of blood, and it was only when Wulf pulled it up by the hair that they 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.
  
  "Which way would a murderer flee?" he asked Cynehelm.
  
  The nervous man only stared at the corpse, his lips moving wordlessly. All color had left him, and he did not seem to hear Wulf's question. He repeated himself, but the ealdorman did not answer.
  
  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 paid him no mind. "Lord Cynehelm," their leader said, his face hidden behind a bushy red beard.
  
  His gruff voice must have knocked Cynehelm back to his senses, and he answered, though he did not turn from staring at Ecgbald's corpse. "We found him a moment ago."
  
  The guards formed a circle around them, and their leader knelt beside the body. "He's only been dead a few minutes," he announced. Then he sent two of his men down each corridor. "Arrest anyone you find. Brodda, inform the king that Ecgbald is dead." The men set off, leaving only the bearded leader and one other.
  
  "We had just spoken with him," Wulf said, but the guards ignored him. He looked at Cynehelm, but the man had gone back to muttering.
  
  Suddenly he felt a blade at his throat, and he had to fight his every instinct not to flee or draw his own sword. "Careful now," said the leader. "You're going to the dungeon too." Wulf tried to argue, but the guard cut him off. "You were found at the scene of a murder and I don't like your look, so you'll be silent."
  
  Cynehelm finally noticed what had happened. "I can vouch for him," he said, his voice faint and trembling.
  
  The guard was about to speak when the king arrived, his face tired and etched with lines. "Three of my councilors dead," he said softly, looking only Ecgbald's corpse. No one said anything, and it was only after almost a minute that Alfred glanced at the others. "Is this the killer?"
  
  "No!" said Wulf. "Cynehelm and I found the body a few minutes before your guards arrived. We had just spoken with Ecgbald in his office about the other murders."
  
  "It's true, my lord," Cynehelm said, his voice a little steadier than before. "I can vouch for him. We were walking together and..."
  
  Alfred held up his hand. His eyes roamed the corridor, from the guards to Cynehelm to Wulf to the corpse, then finally up. He whispered something, and Wulf realized that the king was praying. After a moment he stopped, collected his thoughts, and then spoke. "Three murders. I trust you, Cynehelm, but even one murder is enough to make a man suspicious. I fear my wife may be right." He paused and took a deep breath. "I have sworn before God to defend Wessex and her people. I cannot let this man roam free, not when there is even a chance that he killed Ecgbald. I give you my word that you will not be harmed," the king said to Wulf.
  
  Wulf nodded slowly. "I thank you." It was an injustice, of course, but a small one. He had known plenty of kings and ealdorman who would have struck his head off the moment they saw Ecgbald's corpse.
  
  Cynehelm bowed. "I would not fault you for taking me to the dungeon, too."
  
  Alfred shook his head and gave a small, sad smile. "I need my councilors, now more than ever. Carry on with your duties. I must speak with Aldric and Osfrid and give them the terrible news." The kind departed, and the two guards followed, the one still holding his blade against Wulf's neck. "He will not flee," Alfred said quietly, and the guard dropped his sword.
  
  The man in black turned to face Cynehelm. "I can still think in a dungeon cell, but you must do the rest." Cynehelm nodded, trying to look more confident than he felt, but soon Wulf and the guards had turned the corner and were gone.
  
  > continue the search
  Cynehelm stood beside the corpse for a while, thinking over everything that Wulf had told him. There were no obvious trails to follow, no obvious places to search or people to speak with besides Aldric, and the king was already going to talk to him. He could not bear to just wait beside the cooling body of his friend, however, so he soon began wandering the castle, his mind repeating the same few possibilities. He could talk to Osfrid again, or search the countryside for Leofwine's two guards, or examine the bishop's kitchens, or go to the merchant Merwal's house.
  
  Eventually, he decided on the final choice. It was only once he had reached the gate, however, that he realized he did not know where in the city the house was, only that it was connected to the castle by a secret tunnel. He would have to go to Leofwine's room and crawl. The thought made him feel ill, and for a moment he considered just abandoning the search altogether. Then he remembered how Grimbold and Ecgbald had looked in death, and he thought of Wulf in the dungeon.
  
  Cynehelm walked to Leofwine's chambers, trying to avoid thinking about the cramped passageway. Since his only distractions were the murders and his inability to find the traitor, however, nothing made him feel much better, and by the time he reached the room, he was drenched in sweat and shaking hard. He wished that Alfred had thrown him in the dungeon and left Wulf free to catch the killer. Cynehelm knew he had none of the abilities that the mysterious man seemed to possess; he was a tax collector and that was that.
  
  It took him a while to pry up the tiles, and the rote task did a little to calm him. Cynehelm stopped shaking and stacked the tiles neatly behind him, though he avoided looking down into the dark tunnel until he had finished. But then he had no choice and, saying a quick prayer, lowered himself down and began to crawl into the passageway.
  
  Cynehelm had only gone twenty yards when he realized that he had forgotten a light. He could go back for one, but he knew if he left the tunnel, there was a good chance he would not climb back inside. No, he had to press on. Wulf had said it was a straight passage, so he could not get lost. If he just kept going, eventually he would get to the merchant's house.
  
  The shaking returned quickly, and Cynehelm had to stop every few minutes to breath. It seemed he could feel the weight of the hill and the castle above him. What was there to prevent it all from crushing him, from swallowing him up? Then an even worse possibility leapt into his mind. What if the passage was blocked? What if some dirt had fallen through, and he was trapped? He would suffocate eventually, or die from thirst deep inside the earth, and no one would ever find him.
  
  It was with these kinds of thoughts that Cynehelm passed the long minutes beneath the ground, crawling slowly through the passage and wishing he had never left his own small estate and come to Winchester to serve King Alfred.
  
  When he saw a tiny flicker of orange after so long with nothing but complete blackness, he assumed he was going mad. He rubbed his eyes, but the flicker would not go away, and a few seconds later he was sure he could smell smoke. It was a torch; it must be a torch. Someone else was in the tunnel. A new set of terrors swelled up. It was the killer, Cynehelm was sure of it, sneaking back to finish his evil work or else fleeing through the dark. He would die here, not from suffocation but from a knife between the ribs. He lay motionless on the cracked tiles, his mind racing through every awful possibility as the light grew stronger and closer. At last he realized he had to do something, had to at least try to survive.
  
  > Speak
  His voice was almost silent, but in the total silence of the passageway he was sure whoever held the torch would be able to hear him. He could not keep the tremble from his voice and tried to cover it with bluster. "Who goes there? How dare you try to enter the king's castle by such secret means! You will turn around at once and leave, or I will..."
  
  The torch was coming much quicker now, and in its light, he could see the tiles on the walls and the little trickles of dirt that had slipped through over the long years. "I...there is no need to do anything hasty. I am just trying to travel in peace...my name is Cynehelm and I am a councilor to the king! I demand you depart, ugh!"
  
  The knife came just as he had imagined it would, straight through his ribs and into his lung. Cynehelm draw a rattling breath and then another, and he was dimly aware that his killer was breathing hard, too. He tried to raise his head, and when he did, he was surprised to see a woman, dark-haired and beautiful, her eyes as full of fear as his own must be. The surprise wore off quickly, however, and he sank to the ground, quite unable to think of anything except how horribly painful it was to take each breath.
  
  The woman kept her distance, staring as Cynehelm made the awful sounds of death. He did not know it, but she began to cry at the sight and dropped her knife. She crossed herself with a trembling hand. "Forgive me," she whispered after he had died, into the still and oppressive air, and then pull his body aside. She crawled forward, leaving Cynehelm's corpse alone in the dark.