by Chris Bishop
Chapter Sixteen
I reckoned that my chances of reaching Winchester alive were slight. The journey would provide my escort with many opportunities to kill me, with my death then being blamed on robbers or vagrants which, in such troubled times, would not give rise to even the slightest suspicion.
The man ordered to accompany me was named Asger who, I was told by Ulf, didn’t speak my language but was a fine warrior. However, when I was introduced to him I was shocked to find that he looked to be nothing more than a fat and lazy wastrel – as far from being a warrior as I was from being a saint! That served to convince me that he was indeed a paid assassin. I consoled myself with the thought that at least with him bearing Jarl Hakon’s pennant we were unlikely to be attacked by other Vikings so all I had to do was keep my eyes on him at all times.
I decided not to ask further after young Arne – or Edmund as I knew him. Having been told that the boy had survived the river, I knew that if I saw him again I might be tempted to say or do something I would later regret. Although the little runt deserved to die for his treachery, my thirst for vengeance seemed to have been sated by slaying Torstein, though there would have been some satisfaction in knowing that the boy had at least seen me do it.
Having been given some fresh clothes to wear, I prepared to leave the Viking camp early the next morning, anxious to get as far from it as I could. Asger and I were each given a horse and some meagre supplies for the journey, but I noticed that the latter would scarce be enough to sustain us for the time it would take to reach Winchester and then for him to return. That meant that either he didn’t expect to have to travel that far or that he was hoping to get fresh supplies when we got there. I had no way of knowing which but, either way, I became convinced that my fears about him having orders to kill me along the way were justified and I therefore resolved to be rid of him as soon as I could.
Our journey would take us south towards a settlement at a place called Leatherhead from where we would cross the river Emele before then turning westwards towards Winchester, a journey which would take perhaps three or four days in all, depending on the weather. We would pass through mainly Saxon held territory where I felt I would be safe enough, though being on the very fringes of Wessex it was not an area I’d ever visited before.
As we rode off I allowed Asger to lead so that I could watch him closely. He seemed to be always eating, delving into a bag strapped to his saddle to produce an apple or a leg of poultry, casually discarding the remnants over his shoulder. Every so often he would turn to look at me, smiling but making no attempt to speak.
It was left to him to carry Hakon’s pennant on a cane strapped to his saddle so that it could be clearly seen by all. Yet I began to wonder whether that was for my protection or for his given that it also served to make it clear which of us was the target if someone was detailed to shoot me with an arrow as we passed.
Eventually we came to a shallow river where I ordered him to stop and water the horses. Reluctantly Asger dismounted and, as the horses drank, he also knelt to scoop up a few handfuls of water. It was then that I saw my chance and took it.
Without warning, I placed my foot in the small of his back and pushed him so hard that he was thrust headlong into the river. The water was not deep and almost at once he turned and tried to get up but, being such a fat lump of a man, he struggled to do so. It would have made no difference even if he had found his feet as by then my sword was drawn.
As he sat there, Asger faced a simple choice. He could stay where he was in the river or he could try to make a fight of it. In the end he did the sensible thing and remained where he was, no doubt feeling very foolish but probably grateful I hadn’t simply killed him outright.
I noticed that he’d cut his head on a stone as he hit the water and, as always, it bled quite freely once wet. He wiped away some of the blood from his brow then looked up at me anxiously wondering what I would do next.
Despite my suspicions, I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. After all, I had no proof as to whether or not his orders had been to harm me, so decided to spare him. Instead, I calmly went across and mounted his horse, the one which carried Hakon’s pennant, then rode off, taking my mount with me as well. I heard him protesting as I rode away but without his horse there was nothing he could do to stop me.
I hoped that the pennant would be passport enough and that any would-be assassin would not know which of us had survived – me or my escort. That said, I knew I couldn’t risk travelling alone for long whilst wearing Viking clothes and with two valuable horses, each with a Viking saddle. Feelings were still running high in the kingdom at that time and, if mistaken for a Viking travelling alone, I would make a tempting target.
* * * * *
It was dark when I reached Leatherhead, a surprisingly large settlement of perhaps thirty dwellings or more. It was located at the head of a gap in the northern downs through which ran the river Emele, a wide but slow river that flowed from somewhere to the south towards London. I went first to look at the river and water my horses and found that whilst there was no bridge across it, there was a ford which was shallow enough to cross, even on foot. Just beyond the ford and a little way upstream of it was an island, opposite which stood a mill that seemed to struggle in the slow current, together with various stores and sheds. On my way to the river I’d passed by the settlement itself. Most of the dwellings were sited on the higher ground on the northeastern bank of the river, presumably as a defence against the risk of flooding. I decided to ride back there to seek lodgings for the night.
The people in the settlement stared at me as I rode in, no doubt wary of a stranger – particularly one dressed as a Viking. I ignored their gaze knowing that none would openly challenge me as they would no doubt be used to travellers taking advantage of the gap in the hills or to access the Harroway, an old tin-mining trail that led westwards as far as Winchester and beyond. I had already decided that the trail would be the safest route for me to follow as it was used by so many others.
Because I was bearing arms, I had first to see the local Ealdorman and seek his consent to cross his lands but needed no directions to find his Vill – it was a large Hall set amid a cluster of other buildings on the edge of the main settlement. What surprised me was that it was virtually unprotected, having no fortifications to speak of apart from a simple fence and a gate where just two armed sentries had been posted.
‘What do you want, boy?’ challenged one of the guards as I drew close enough to hear him.
‘I’m a Saxon warrior bearing arms and seek your Lord’s permission to pass,’ I said firmly. ‘Also, I need to get word to Lord Alfred with all possible speed.’
The guard seemed unimpressed. ‘A Saxon warrior you say? Yet you carry a Viking pennant and have two horses, each with a Viking saddle.’
‘I will explain all that but must first speak to your Lord in person.’
‘You’ll state your name and your business now or I’ll have the skin flayed from your bones, you idle wretch!’
I hesitated for a moment before replying. ‘My name is Matthew, christened Edward. I am the son of Lord Edwulf and my brother was the warrior Edwin. I serve Lord Alfred and am under his personal orders and thus demand an audience with your betters. And whilst we’re waiting, if you would indeed flay the skin from my bones then I invite you to try.’ With that I drew my sword. ‘I’ll warrant I’ll have this sword in your guts before you get close enough to smell the sweetness of my breath.’
For a moment the guard looked unsure as to what he should do. ‘All right Matthew christened Edward, I’ll send word to Lord Werhard and see whether he’ll receive you or not. But if this is some Viking ruse you won’t be riding away from here with your head on your shoulders, be assured of that!’
I dismounted and led my horses through the gates, then handed the reins to a stable boy. ‘Rub them down well and feed them. I’ve a long journey ahead of me tomorrow,’ I ordered, then watched him closely as he led the tw
o horses away. Two men then came across and escorted me towards the Hall which was sited in the centre of the many buildings which together formed the Vill. The Hall was a large and neatly thatched building with elaborately painted fascia boards and two carved pillars to frame the entrance. The design and size of it pointed to considerable wealth which, given how close we were to the Viking encampment at London, I found surprising but assumed that whatever prosperity it enjoyed stemmed from the extensive and very fertile fields I’d seen earlier. Also, because of its position, Leatherhead was probably a wealthy settlement relying on trade from people using the ford to access the gap through the northern downs.
As we approached, one of the doors to the Hall was opened and it was clear that I was expected to step inside. Before doing so, one of the men pointed to my sword. ‘I’d best hold that,’ he said without any hint of a challenge.
It was not unusual for a stranger to be relieved of his weapon when entering a Saxon Hall so I surrendered it without complaint. The man raised his eyebrows when he saw it, recognising that it was indeed a very fine weapon.
‘That sword is worth your life ten times over so mind you take good care of it,’ I warned. ‘Stay close to me whilst you hold it and don’t leave my sight, do you hear me?’
The man understood and entered the Hall a few paces in front of me.
‘So, Lord Werhard is Ealdorman here?’ I asked, thinking that perhaps I should have known that.
‘Aye sir, that he is,’ said the guard.
Even as he spoke I could see a man ahead of us seated on a fine chair at the far end of the Hall. The chair was mounted on a platform and between it and the doors a fire big enough to heat such a large room burned brightly. He looked to be a bull of a man, powerfully built but with a huge bloated belly, a vast beard and long black hair, the ends of which he toyed with as though preening himself like a jay. I instinctively disliked him.
I walked around the fire and approached him but made only a token bow, thereby implying that I regarded myself as at least his equal. That seemed to displease him.
‘So you say your name is Matthew, christened Edward and that your lineage includes the late Lord Edwulf and the warrior Lord Edwin? If so, that’s some pretty potent blood you have flowing through your veins.’
‘And you I take it are Lord Werhard, in which case I’m honoured to meet with you and…’
‘I’m not Lord Werhard, I’m his son, Oeric. My father is old and leaves all matters to me.’ He had a smug look on his face as though he could barely be troubled to speak with me, yet what he’d said changed things completely. As Oeric’s name was not derived from that of his father, he was clearly not of high birth. I had no idea why he would be trusted with running the Shire if that was indeed the case, but it seemed I had the advantage.
‘Then I would have you send greetings to your father and offer him my regards.’
Oeric nodded then leaned forward in his chair. ‘I hear you would also have me send word to Lord Alfred, is that right?’
‘Aye. I need him to know that I’m safe and that I have urgent news. I would also have you charge men to escort me to him in haste.’
Oeric feigned surprise at my demands then quickly checked himself. ‘You will know that Lord Alfred is at Winchester now where he resides in splendour as we strive to pay for his battles and his grand plans.’
I could suffer Oeric’s complacency in speaking to his betters but not his criticism of Alfred. ‘To Winchester then, but you’re mistaken. Alfred strives only to improve his realm as any King should. As to his battles, he has earned us the right to live as Saxons and the cost of that must be borne by all, including those who didn’t deign to stand with us.’ The last point was almost an accusation as I was certain that neither Oeric nor his father had fought at Edington, nor sent men to aid us.
‘We are far from Chippenham here and word did not reach us in time,’ said Oeric defensively. ‘Also, it was left for us to protect the rear of Alfred’s kingdom from the hordes gathered at London.’
It was a lame excuse and he knew it.
‘Be that as it may, I must now make haste if we are not to lose the advantages he bought at the cost of so much honest Saxon blood.’
Oeric shrugged as if to dismiss my point. ‘Well, if you tell me what news you bear I’ll have a rider despatched at once. You can then rest awhile and I’ll provide men to escort you when you are again fit to ride.’
‘I thank you, but my news is for Alfred’s ears alone.’
‘But look at you man! You’re dressed like a Viking wastrel and are clearly all but exhausted. Stay here and rest for a few days or at least for tonight that you can make better time tomorrow. Winchester is yet two days’ ride from here.’
I could see he was right so agreed. ‘Thank you, I’ll stay one night but must then be gone so do not judge me rude on that account.’
‘Good, I’ll have one of my servants attend you and then tonight you shall dine with me and my father. You can then be gone tomorrow as early as is your wont.’
One of his servants showed me to my lodgings which were within the bounds of the Vill. There my sword was returned to me and I was given clean clothes and a basin at which to wash. I was also given a polished mirror into which I could peer at my reflection. When I did, I was horrified to see that I did indeed look very dishevelled – the tonsure I’d been given as a novice monk had grown out and my hair was long and matted. Also, I’d grown the makings of a weak and whiskery beard which I decided to keep as it made me look older than my years. Despite this, my face appeared drawn and hollow after all I’d endured and I realised that I was much thinner, probably for having eaten so little for so much of the time I’d been away. I did what I could to tidy my appearance then went to join Oeric, anxious to meet Lord Werhard in person.
We dined at a well-stocked table set on one side of the Hall, laden with meats and fruit. His father didn’t join us but Oeric had some very pretty girls attend us and it was clear that their duties were not purely domestic.
‘So tell me of your adventures,’ he asked with one of the girls seated on his knee.
Something told me not to trust him, though I could find no cause for that other than my own inclination to dislike him. I recounted some of what had befallen me then asked after his father, implying that I was surprised he’d not come to a greet me in person as was my due.
‘He will be here anon. But you must know that he’s old and that his appetites are diminished in all respects,’ he explained, inclining his head towards the girls.
I took his point but, with that, an old man was ushered into the Hall, his back bent and his long hair and beard almost as white as snow.
As the old man approached us I stood up respectfully and allowed him to take his rightful seat at the head of the table. I noticed that Oeric didn’t bother to stand in his father’s presence or even acknowledge him beyond a cursory nod of his head. Instead, he kept eating with one hand whilst toying with the girl with the other.
As Oeric had said, the old man ate little but seemed pleased to speak with me. I had to admit that I liked him far more than I did his son.
‘I knew your father,’ he told me. ‘I was deeply saddened to hear of his death, and regret he should have died as he did.’
‘Did you also know my brother, Lord Edwin?’ I asked.
The old man shook his head. ‘Not personally but by reputation of course. I’m told he was truly a great warrior.’
I acknowledged the point.
‘And you Matthew, I’ve heard much about you. My son tells me you are anxious to return to Lord Alfred in haste?’
‘True, my Lord. I have much to report. My journey thus far has been both long and arduous, not to mention eventful, and I’ve been forced to endure much danger and hardship along the way.’
‘These are indeed troubled times,’ he agreed.
‘Yet your Shire seems peaceful enough and I notice that you’ve felt no need to protect either your Vill or the se
ttlement with fortifications.’
Werhard looked anxiously at his son before answering. ‘We fare well enough given there are so many Vikings gathered in London which, as you well know, is but a full day’s ride from here. Being on the very edge of Wessex and a prosperous settlement, we make a tempting target and many of the farmsteads and smaller settlements within the Shire have all too often suffered raids.’
‘What about the fyrd? Cannot they protect them?’
Again Werhard hesitated but left the question unanswered. ‘I’m tired and you must forgive me,’ he said. ‘My old bones seem unable to support me for long these days before I need to rest.’
With that he rose from the table and left the Hall, though I sensed even then there was more he wanted to say.
* * * * *
I too was glad of an early night, especially as I needed to be away at first light the next morning in my haste to reach Winchester. Yet even as I prepared to sleep there came a faint knock at the door to my lodgings.
‘I would not disturb you,’ said Lord Werhard. ‘For you must be tired. But there are things you must know, things I dared not speak of earlier.’
I invited him in and allowed him to sit on the only stool whilst I perched on the edge of my cot.
‘You mentioned the raids earlier and asked about the fyrd. Well, Oeric trains the fyrd and does what he can, yet they seem always to arrive too late to offer protection and, so far as I know, have not once managed to intercept any raiders. In my day we would have hunted them day and night to teach them a sharp lesson about the consequence of raiding Saxon homes.’
‘So what’s changed?’
He spread his hands and then gave me a look that implied there was something he could not, or would not, put into words. ‘Alas, things are different now and it seems the old ways are past. Alfred would have peace though not all of Guthrum’s horde seem to fully understand that such an arrangement needs both sides to agree.’
