text: [Themes: mystery / thriller, historical]
  
  Cynehelm had not slept well, his dreams full of men in black cloaks, heathen Danes with hideous tattoos, and knives at his throat. He woke before dawn and tried to distract himself with work, but the numbers and accounts could not keep him from picturing Leofwine, how he must have looked when they found the corpse.
  
  Cynehelm was no stranger to bloodshed. He had fought beside Alfred in the wars before and had defended his own little fief from raiders, but he never enjoyed it the way that some men did. He wasn't much good as a warrior anyway, and he much preferred to serve the king as he now did. Still, he had seen men cut down and women and children butchered by the Danes, but none of that experience did anything to calm his nerves. There was something about Leofwine and his kindly old face that made it particularly disturbing to imagine the killer carving his throat, and in the heart of the castle too.
  
  So, he busied himself in the tax reports and letters from the king's vassals across Wessex, forcing himself to concentrate on how quickly a certain bridge was being built or whether more silver could be extracted from a particular town without inspiring too much resentment. Cynehelm's worries only grew, however, when his clerk entered midway through the morning to pass along an invitation to eat with Bishop Osfrid. The bishop was unpleasant at the best of times, and they had never been friends, but what really worried Cynehelm was that Wulf wanted him to get information from the king's other councilors. How could he investigate Osfrid, what questions could he ask without making the man suspicious? The invitation was probably just an excuse for Osfrid to do the same to him, and he knew the bishop was far better at this kind of intrigue.
  
  Still, there was nothing to do but go, not if he wanted to obey King Alfred. He arrived at the bishop's chambers a little before noon and was surprised to see Grimbold already sitting at the table. Past sixty and dour, the ealdorman had little time for anything but conducting the king's wars. He only nodded when Cynehelm sat down, but a minute later Osfrid appeared and took his place at the head of the table. He poured some wine.
  
  "To Leofwine," the bishop said, raising his glass, and Cynehelm and Grimbold repeated the toast. It was a good vintage and sweet, and it helped to calm Cynehelm a little. He looked expectantly at Osfrid, who seemed to be thinking over his words carefully.
  
  At last he spoke. "I fear the king is underestimating the danger from Leofwine's murderer. None of our plans against the heathens will do a bit of good if there is a traitor in our midst."
  
  Grimbold drained his cup. "Not much we can do to catch the killer, is there? He's probably been gone since he did the bloody deed."
  
  "Perhaps the one who actually wielded the knife is gone, but I'm sure whoever ordered or paid him is still around. Men are weak, Grimbold. Fear and temptation, that's what explains their behavior. Someone at court is either so afraid of the Danes or else so tempted by their offers of silver or land that he's gone over to their side. Why else would someone murder the saintly Leofwine, who was blameless and served both God and the king tirelessly?"
  
  Cynehelm took another sip of wine and then spoke. "Leofwine was Alfred's greatest servant, his strong right hand. Ambition may have played a role in the traitor's thinking, too. Men have done evil things to advance in rank before."
  
  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. At last the bishop answered. "No doubt the traitor wished to supplant Leofwine, which points to a member of the king's council. It points, gentlemen, to one of us." He paused while a servant brought out the first course, rye bread and bowls of leeks and turnips. When the man had gone, he resumed speaking, picking at the food. "I do not mean to accuse either of you, and I have no reason to be suspicious of you beyond that you are both councilors and important men in Wessex. Either of you might have sided with the Danes or had Leofwine killed to take his place in Alfred's government."
  
  Grimbold swallowed a mouthful. "The same is true of you."
  
  "Indeed, it is, and though I know myself to be innocent of the crime, I know you must both suspect me, at least as much as you suspect the others. I plan to speak with Aldric and Ecgbald too."
  
  The servant came back to take away the dishes, and Cynehelm spoke. "Were you present when Leofwine's guards swore that no one had entered his room?"
  
  Osfrid nodded. "They swore on holy relics in the presence of myself, Alfred, and the queen. Their faces were pale, and their voices unsteady, but I put that down the surprise of finding the man they were guarding butchered in his bed. It would be a shocking thing to lie in such circumstances, but a murder is always shocking, and I rule nothing out. Still, my sense was that they were telling the truth and were just frightened. The queen going off about pagan magic didn't help matters."
  
  The servant returned with a large platter and then another, the first laden with a pile of eels and the second with beef and apples. Grimbold took a large quantity of both and dug in, steadily working his way across the plate while the bishop took a small helping of eels. Cynehelm felt ill just looking at the food, and his mind kept running over his impossible task. Was one of these men guilty, a traitor and murderer, he wondered?
  
  "Have an eel," Osfrid said, and Cynehelm speared one with his dagger and cut it in half. "They have medicinal properties, you know. Just the thing to settle an upset stomach." He raised the bite to his mouth and nearly gagged.
  
  > have some beef instead
  Medicinal properties be damned, there was no way Cynehelm would eat something that smelled like that. He cut a piece of meat and a bit of apple and managed to force them down. After a little more wine his appetite perked up, and within a few minutes he had eaten a whole plate. "Your cook deserves compliments," he said, and the bishop chuckled.
  
  "He is the best in Wessex, fit to cook for Alfred himself, though I'd never give him up."
  
  They talked for a while of food and pleasantries, but eventually Grimbold brought the conversation back to what lurked in Cynehelm's mind. "I don't know anything about catching a traitor," he said bluntly, "but what I know is war. And I know we can't hope to kill the pagans if someone's feeding them our every move. A lot of good men will die if someone doesn't find the murderer." He looked at Osfrid and Cynehelm in turn.
  
  The bishop chuckled again but then looked grim. "We will simply have to do the best we can. God is good, and perhaps he will give us success. If I learn anything else, I will share it with you and with the king, and I urge you to do the same. I must say, you both seeminnocent, though perhaps you're just good liars or I'm a fool."
  
  "God is good," Grimbold repeated, finishing another cup. Osfrid opened his mouth to reply, but then Grimbold coughed, spilling a bit of wine on the table. He waited for the old man to finish, but the coughing did not stop.
  
  "Is he choking?" Cynehelm cried, jumping from his seat, but by the time he reached Grimbold he too began to cough. It felt like something was stuck in his throat, something hot, and the burning reached up into his mouth and down into his belly with long tendrils of pain. He fell to the ground, clawing at his neck, but nothing would make the pain go away, and he could not breath. Grimbold pounded his fist on the table, gasping and sputtering for breath. Osfrid beat against his chest, and Cynehelm was dimply aware of the bishop calling his servant, but he could not really focus on anything but his own pain.
  
  A minute passed in agony, and soon Cynehelm was too weak to even cough. He lay on the ground, twitching a little, while his eyes bulged out. The last thing he saw was Bishop Osfrid, his face ashen and terrified, staring down at him as everything faded away.