by M J Porter
“Rudolf can fight with me. He’s learning, he can’t both fight and defend. Not yet.” Pybba’s words are what I expected to hear, as he finally takes my hand and allows me to pull him upright.
He wobbles on his ungainly legs.
“You need to drink water, not ale, and you need to eat. I need your strength.”
“But what of the conversation I heard?”
“I’m not going to dismiss it, but tomorrow we leave. I don’t see any danger, for now.”
“Then you think I rave like the men in the infirmary?”
“Did I say that?” I meet Pybba’s eyes, noting the yellow tinge to the white of his eyes.
“Come on. We need food and water and then some bloody rest. You need to think about your balance more than you used to,” I offer, reaching for him as he walks from the stall. Wulfhere and Rudolf are waiting just the other side, clearly having heard all that we’ve said. Wulfhere moves with swift hands to undo the blade on Pybba’s stump. His ingenuity surprises me, and yet it shouldn’t.
A mind like that is always going to be seeking fresh challenges.
Once the handle-less blade is free, I grip it firmly.
“This stays with me. For now.” I force both Pybba and Wulfhere to meet my eyes, holding them until I see acceptance.
“Right, lead on Wulfhere. I could eat an entire boar all to myself.”
Emerging into the bright daylight, I’m aware of wary eyes watching the little procession.
“There’s nothing to see here,” I snarl, and when no one moves away, I reach for my seax, hold it above my head and gnash my teeth, taking a few sliding steps toward the closest person. The squeals of horror bring a wide grin to my face, as does watching the crowd disperse.
“Do they have nothing better to do all day than gawk at the stables? A sad life for them. I’ll speak to the bishop about it.”
Once inside the bishop’s hall, closer to the quayside, I consider Pybba’s words as food and water are served to me. Pybba drinks as though the well’s run dry whereas I savour the fresh water, hoping it hasn’t come from the turgid river.
Rudolf eats and eats and eats. In the end, I have to cover his hand with mine, shaking my head.
“Enough, or that weapons belt won’t fit you when we head to Repton.”
The words remind me of Pybba’s difficulties.
“Visit the tanner. See if they have any ideas for Pybba, and work out how he can affix his shield to his arm better. He needs to be able to slide it on and off, but keep it tight while he battles.”
Rudolf nods quickly, as though he’s already considered the problem. The sod probably has.
When they stand to leave, Pybba bends close to me.
“You’re a clever bastard, you know that, don’t you.” I grip his good arm, meet his eyes.
“I serve good men, and they, in turn, serve me. We’re not alone when we’re together.”
He doesn’t grin, but neither does Pybba look as haunted as he did when I first entered the stables.
As soon as he leaves me, Edmund and Icel thump themselves down on the seats next to me.
“What did you do?”
“I spoke to him, and more importantly, I listened.”
“To what, his mad mumblings?”
“To what he was trying to say around those mad mumblings, as you so eloquently put it.”
“Hum,” Edmund falls silent, considering what I’ve said.
“But he said that he’d heard the voices of Raiders.”
“He did, yes.”
“So did he?”
“Well, all we can say is that he believes he did, and we’ll take that and be warier than before. Bishop Wærferth seems to be our ally, but maybe he isn’t, or maybe some of his followers aren’t. These people have the right to be fearful, and fear makes people act like arses.”
Silence greets my words. I turn to Icel, he nods, accepting my summation. Edmund looks as though he wishes to argue with me but then thinks better of it.
“So Pybba is coming with us?”
“Yes, but not Sæbald and Gyrth. They’ll have to stay here.”
“Sæbald won’t like that.”
“Well, Sæbald doesn’t make the decisions. Anyway, I can’t help thinking that we need someone here while we’re gone. Anything could happen. Sæbald will protect Gyrth for me. I need that.”
“So we’re still going to Repton?” Edmund continues his grilling.
“Yes, Repton. We need to find out the truth of what’s been happening there.”
Edmund’s face furrows with frustration before he speaks again.
“Coelwulf, they’ve sent three hundred warriors to track you down. How many do you think are in Repton?”
“More,” is my unhelpful response.
He rolls his eyes, opens his mouth to speak, but then snaps it shut and lifts his tankard to his lips. I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking about it too.”
“So we’re going by boat then?” I turn, mouth open to glare at Icel. He shrugs at me, the movement rippling down his tall body.
“If you don’t want me to guess your plans, then don’t spend your time staring at them!”
I glare all the more, frustrated to know that my strategy has been so easily discerned. Not even the look of shock on Edmund’s face showing that he’s been taken by complete surprise makes up for Icel’s correct guess.
“Yes. The Raiders have taken to riding our horses. I suggest we take to their ships.”
Edmund’s forehead has once more furrowed.
“Can we even take boats to Repton? And are we taking the horses with us? And why?”
“As I said, we need to gain the upper hand. I can kill as many of the damn bastards as they throw at me, but I’d like to know exactly what’s happening in Repton. The way to do that is not to be where they expect us to be.”
Edmund watches me with growing respect on his face.
“But are there rivers that’ll take us to Repton?”
“I don’t fucking know. We’ll have to ask the boatman when we tell him he and his fellow ship’s captains have new plans for the next few days.”
Icel remains silent beside me, and for a moment I do fear he’ll disagree with me.
“If we can’t get all the way to Repton on the River Severn, we can get closer to it than we are here. I like it.” He announces, leaning back and crossing his arms over his massive chest, trapping his long beard in the process.
Edmund startles, and then slowly begins to chuckle.
“You do know, Icel, that Lord Coelwulf wouldn’t give a fart even if you didn’t approve.”
Icel turns slowly to gaze at Edmund, a wide grin forming on his face.
“I know that. But still, a good leader benefits from knowing his men support and agree with him.”
Edmund huffs, and I push myself upright on my hands.
“I’ll leave you two to sort out whatever’s going between you. I need to sleep.”
I don’t even look back as I stride outside into the darkening night.
Chapter 9
I quickly regret my decision, and not just because looking at the boats and stepping onto the boats is such a different experience.
It transpires as I hoped that the four boats docked at Worcester all belong to the one captain. He watches me approach, in the early morning daylight, a flicker of respect and surprise on his wind-roughened face.
I waste no time with niceties.
“My men and I, horses as well, need to get as close to Repton as possible, by boat.”
Ships master Æthelred, as I’ve learned his name is, honks a bark of laughter at my question, while I stand, watching him, arms folded, not enjoying his amusement at the suggestion.
Eventually, he stills, looking from me to where Edmund and Icel still dog my steps.
“You’re not joking?” Æthelred sobers eventually, and I shake my head.
“Not even a little bit.”
“But. But.”
&n
bsp; “But what?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never been asked to do something like that before. The rivers are for trade, the trackways and royal roads are for riders.”
“That’s as maybe, but I’m trying something a bit different.”
“A bit different! Well, fuck me. I just don’t know.”
Æthelred turns to gaze at his boats, and as he does, I take in the sight of him. He’s probably a little older than I. His face is weathered by the sun and wind, and his hands look strong and able. The lack of hair on top of his head, while his brown beard and moustache are neatly trimmed makes it difficult to guess at his exact age. His eyes are bright, and shimmering green, reminiscent of a deep pool of water. He’s clearly a wealthy man to command so many crew and ships. Yet the boats he has are currently empty and riding high in the river because of it.
“Well, were you going somewhere else today?”
“No, not yet. I’m waiting for a shipment of quarried stone, that’s why the boats are so light, but it’s been delayed. I assume.”
“Then I can pay you for your service for a few days then?” I’m starting to feel frustrated that it’s all taking so long to resolve.
“Well. Well,” Æthelred leans his head to one side, and then rubs his hand through his beard, as though seeking the answer there.
“Will it be dangerous? I’ve heard you’re being hunted.”
“I don’t see how,” I offer, “not with all of my warriors on board.”
“So you are being hunted?”
“It would seem so. But the Raiders search for me on the roadways, and so I require a different mode of transport.”
Swift comprehension touches Æthelred’s face, and then he nods his head, clearly reaching a conclusion.
“We’ll take you, your men and your horses, but no further than the end of the River Stour. From there you can ride, or find others to transport you. But you’ll protect my sons and I. No amount of coin would compensate me if one of my sons lost their lives.
“Agreed,” and I hold my hand toward him to seal the bargain. But he hesitates, and I realise I’ve offered no price.
“I’ll reward you well,” I confirm, thinking of the coins that Rudolf found, and also all the new horses at Kingsholm. I wonder what the man would prefer?
“I know you will Lord Coelwulf,” Æthelred takes my hand, without agreeing to a price, but there’s a firm look in his eyes. “And if the rumours are true,” and he gazes upriver, as though expecting a Raider ship to appear before him, “then I might well win acclaim for helping Mercia’s saviour.”
Hearing those words gives me no satisfaction, but I seal the bargain firmly by gripping his forearm, keen to be on my way.
I have no idea how to load my men and horses, but Æthelred and his three strong sons don’t hesitate to take charge, ordering men and beasts about with the sort of tone that brokers no argument.
I watch as Rudolf settles Pybba in the boat that Æthelred commands. It’s a good choice, as is the weapons belt that Pybba now wears. I can see where it’s been adjusted. It hangs heavy to the left side of Pybba’s body so that he can reach for his weapons without having to stretch. Yet there’s still a pocket to the right, and I imagine it houses his knife, the final choice open to a warrior when all other weapons have failed him.
Of all the horses, it’s Haden that makes the most fuss about boarding. He rears backwards, threatening to topple me. In the end, he’ll only step a hoof onto the boat if I lead him myself.
“Damn bastard,” I cajole, but it’s as though he understands the intent behind the softly voiced complaint. His nip on my ear is probably deserved, for all I slap his inquisitive nose away.
When the boats move away, the people of Worcester stand and watch us, Bishop Wærferth leading them. His expression is difficult to unravel, and I turn aside quickly, keen to be out of sight so that I can slump to a sitting position. The gentle wallow of the boat makes me want to vomit, the stench unbearable. I curse myself for making an unwise decision.
I’ve forced my men to discard their full battle gear. I don’t know how many of them can swim, or even how deep the river flows further upstream. Still, I don’t want to risk losing one of them in an accident that could be so easily prevented.
Instead, our shields are to hand, our spears as well.
If the enemy finds us, then we’ll protect ourselves while remaining afloat.
Æthelred leads the collection of boats. They’re more flat bottomed than I expected.
“For the rivers,” he explains to me when he notices my interest from his place at the tiller. “You need flat bottoms to prevent getting snared on the river bed. We don’t use these out to sea. The waves would upend them in a heartbeat.”
I’m no expert on ships so I accept the information with a simple nod.
“And no sails either?”
We rely on the current or the oars. You might need to row yet!” The comment brings a whistle of laughter from between Æthelred’s tight lips, and I scowl into the distance.
I’ve forced my force to split itself between the four ships. Pybba and Rudolf are with me. So are another four of my warriors, but only two horses, Haden being too big to fit many more in with all of Æthelred’s four ship men. Edmund leads in the ship behind me. He has ten horses and only three warriors. Icel has an equal number of men and horses, those he leads being somewhat smaller than Haden. At the rear, Goda has everyone else.
It makes me feel vulnerable, and yet I chose this way to travel to outfox my enemy. I can only hope it’s not been a waste of effort.
The day passes slowly. I’m overly alert to every sound, and my head bobs upwards every time a fish jumps clear from the murky water. I watch Æthelred shaking his head at my antics and curb my rising temper.
This must be what it feels like for the men and women of Mercia when the Raiders appear, exposed and yet unable to do anything about it.
Pybba’s head nods in sleep, as does Hereman’s. It takes a great effort to refrain from banging my seax against my shield to rouse them.
When the boats reach the confluence with the Stour, Æthelred’s face focuses in concentration. Even I can tell that forcing the ship along the other watercourse is far from easy. A flurry of activity erupts on the boats, the shipmen rushing to fit oars, and then waiting for Æthelred’s instructions.
The River Severn is broad, and sluggish, the muddy water brown until the Stour mingles with it. The smaller river seems to run much quicker, and I feel questions forming in my mind but refrain from asking them. Instead, I walk to Rudolf’s side, determined to keep him from slipping over the side of the ship in his enthusiasm.
Pybba stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake. Haden whinnies for my attention, and I meet his startled eyes, considering that I look just as bemused as he does.
Only then do I realise that we’re not alone, and instinctively, my hand reaches for my seax. But the people, who watch me, as I spy them on the bank of the Stour, are not Raiders, but young children, an adult with them.
They point and shriek with excitement, and even I feel caught up in their enthusiasm for the unusual sight of seeing a boat laden with horses and warriors.
I almost find myself waving, along with Rudolf, but a cry from behind me catches my attention.
Still wallowing in the River Severn behind us, Goda is pointing to the far side of the riverbank. I turn to realise that the children are not the only people who watch Æthelred’s efforts.
Now I do grip my seax, aware that Goda has called his men to quick order, and that they all hold a shield before them, thinking to protect Æthelred’s son as he works the tiller.
I’ve taken Eadric to be the oldest of Æthelred’s sons. No vestige of youth remains on his face, and his frame has filled out, as only happens when a boy has truly become a man. His seriousness adds to my assumption. Here is a man considering how he’ll make his livelihood when his father is dead.
Icel has followed Goda’s actions,
although Edmund hasn’t, not yet, for his ship follows closely behind my own. I think we’re out of spear reach if the men prove to be armed.
A tense silence fills the air, and I feel helpless again. It would take a great deal of skill to return my ship to beside Goda and Icel’s. Those ships are almost within grasp, and yet I can’t get to them, not now the current has taken hold of my boat, propelling it away from the rest of my warriors
“Fuck,” I grumble. Rudolf is tense as well. He’s realised the danger and how helpless we are if there is an attack on the other boats.
Eadric, however, remains calm, and I watch as first Edmund, and then Icel and finally, Goda’s ship make the turn without an attack. The men who watch us from the opposite bank of the River Severn have grown in number, but they don’t menace.
“Ealdorman Beorhtnoth’s men,” Edmund calls to me when he’s once more close enough to do so.
“Ah,” is all I offer, but it makes me think. If they were so unsure of us, then why didn’t they call out? Why didn’t they menace Goda and Icel and their ships until they knew whether we were friend or enemy? Did they realise we were Mercian? I can’t see how they could have done.
So that means they were pleased to just watch us pass by, content we weren’t about to menace the lands they protect. It’s not what I would expect from any of Mercia’s ealdormen. It only adds to my unease following Bishop Wærferth’s attempts to unite the ealdormen and bishops of western Mercia behind me.
It’s going to be impossible.
“Coelwulf!” Rudolf’s cry is urgent, his hand on my arm rousing me from my thoughts.
“Fuck.” Whatever my thoughts on Ealdorman Beorhtnoth’s warriors, it seems the rest of our audience is now threatened.
From nowhere, I see a mounted warrior tearing through the collection of children, forcing them to scatter or be crushed beneath the powerful warhorse.
“Raiders.” I don’t need Rudolf’s observation to know it for the truth.
“Take me there,” I urge Æthelred, pointing toward the right side of the riverbank that has become pregnant with menace and threat.
