by M J Porter
The warrior doesn’t ride alone, another has joined him, and even from a distance, I can hear the screams of the children and the sick sound of iron on flesh.
“You’ll be too late.” Resignation labours Æthelred’s response but I’m shaking my head.
“No, there, put me there, and I’ll be able to help them.”
“There’ll all be dead by then,” Æthelred complains, but he’s already leaning hard on the tiller, trying to force the boat to where I want to go.
Behind me, I can hear Edmund having the same argument with the master of his ship. And still, the screams of the children reach my ears.
My seax is loose in my hand, just waiting for dry land so I can surge up the sharp riverbank and assist the children, only then it seems, I won’t need to. Instead, I hear a thud and turn behind me, stunned.
A child, a boy I think, has raced to the steepest part of the riverbank and flung his body high into the air. I don’t know how, but somehow he’s managed to land in Edmund’s boat. I turn, searching the bank for more children who might have had the same thought.
Icel is standing at the prow of his boat, head stretched as high as he can, although his shield hovers close by.
“Here, come here,” Icel cries, over and over again, but no other fleeing shape appears over the edge, and I feel my impatience growing.
When we’re still too far from the riverbank, I thrust myself across the gap, dipping my back foot into the river as I stumble for balance.
“Here,” closer now, Rudolf throws me my shield. I surge up the steepness of the bank, ducking low, uncaring of the fact that there are at least two enemies above me, and I’m entirely alone.
Seax high, shield in hand, I take the last few steps, and then I’m looking to where the children were, to where the mounted warriors should be. My breath comes heavily, the climb up the bank far steeper than I would have liked.
But I see no trace of the mounted warriors. Alert to the danger of being alone, I stride forward, trying to seek the spot where the children were stood. The river grasses are lush, reaching almost to my knee, making it difficult to see anything, even with the advantage of my height.
A heavy thud behind me, and I turn, seax raised, only to face Edmund.
“Fuck,” he mutters as I almost slice his exposed chin.
“Where are they?” I complain.
“Ridden off, I imagine, the game of slaughtering children done with.”
I swallow uneasily. I was here. I should have saved those children.
“Well, we’re here now. Let’s check.”
We walk forward at a steady pace, ears cocked to where anyone might be hiding. Only now that we’ve reached the level ground once more, it stretches off into the distance, not even an old oak tree to provide a hiding place for two mounted warriors.
“Bastards,” the word erupts from my mouth as I almost step on the first body. A child, no more than five if I’m any judge, and I’m not, lies with his eyes forever staring, a skull caved in by what can only have been the hoof of one of the horses.
“Fuckers,” Edmund spits, bending to close the blue eyes forever, his touch surprisingly gentle. From the front, the child looks perfect, but the ruin to the back of her head speaks of instant death.
Another few steps and another sprawled body appears, a slicing wound oozing in the gentle sun, already attracting the attention of inquisitive flies.
Neither Edmund nor I speak. Our silence is more telling than any words we could offer.
But we keep walking forward, finding more and more children, all injured, all dead, and then finally, I stumble over the body of the adult who’d guarded them. The woman, not much older than the children, in reality, wears a slice to her neck, a gaping wound on her cheek, and her hands are a mess of darkening maroon.
“Fuck,” I sigh heavily, sweat beading my brow as I gaze into the distance. I can see a glimmer of smoke in the distance, no doubt from the settlement the children once lived in.
Another five of my warriors have joined me by now, Hereman spitting with fury, the others unnaturally quiet.
Warriors do not kill innocent children. Ever. And certainly not Mercian children.
“I’ll hunt them,” Hereman is the first to make the suggestion, anger turning the day colder than winter.
“We can’t divide the force,” I sigh wearily. I want nothing more than to do what Hereman suggests. And when I find the murderous scum, I’d inflict every wound on them, before silencing them forever.
“Then bring everyone ashore here. We can ride from here. I hate that bastard ship.” Hereman presses the point. The fact no one speaks against the idea reveals to me that if I force the men away from here, it will not go well.
I meet Edmund’s eyes and then turn to stare at the thickening smoke. I should go to the settlement, I should help them bury their dead. These people might owe their loyalty to another ealdorman, but they’re still Mercian, and that’s all that matters to me.
Resigned, I sheath my seax, gaze down at the river, just visible from where I stand. The four ships have come to a messy halt, and many eyes look my way. I shake my head, and the young lad who survived begins to sob even harder.
“Right,” I announce. “Let’s get on with it.” The thought of what I must do presses on me more heavily than the threat of a coming battle.
“Bring all the bodies together, do what you can to cover the wounds. We’ll get the horses and take them back to their parents.”
With the decision made, I stride back to the riverbank, and scramble down it, just as Rudolf begins to make his way up, trying to control a surging Haden. I narrowly miss being forced onto my arse
Æthelred waits there, two oars to either side of the boat as his shipmen try and hold her steady.
“A nasty business,” he says, voice filled with sorrow.
“Sorry that our arrangement must end so quickly.”
“Well, I’d think less of you if you just carried on your way. I take it none of them survived?”
“Just the lad who thought to throw himself into the boat.”
Æthelred shakes his head, anger forcing lines to form around his mouth.
“If you follow the course of the river, after, you’ll get to where you wanted to go, anyway. If that’s where you still intend to go.”
I reach out, clutch his forearm with my hand.
“Watch yourself on the way back. If it all goes to shit, seek out my Aunt, at Kingsholm.”
Æthelred nods, sucking his lower lip in thought.
“I will,” he confirms, his eyes following the progress of my men up the steep riverbank rather than focusing on me.
“Kill them all,” he states, turning to meet my eyes. “Kill them all, and make Mercia safe.”
I nod, swallowing around the grief of what I’ve witnessed and wishing it could just be so simple as speaking the words aloud.
“I’ll always fight for Mercia,” I confirm, turning to make my departure. “For as long as Mercia needs fighting for,” I finish more softly. I can’t see an end in sight. Not at the moment. And why should there be? While King Burgred ruled he was weak and ineffectual with the Raiders, managing only to unite the ealdormen around him, keen to demand support from Wessex.
But Wessex is now as threatened as Mercia. And Wessex won’t be coming to Mercia’s aid, not any time soon.
And honestly, I don’t want Wessex to help Mercia.
Mercia needs to stand alone, but united, and only then will the Raiders be defeated.
But first, well first, I have the bodies of seven dead children, and a young woman, almost a child herself, to return to their parents. It will take more of my strength to do that than it will to kill the rest of the Raiders combined.
Chapter 10
With the horses and men off-loaded, I bid farewell to Æthelred and his sons. I gift all of them with one of Rudolf’s coins and promise more when they make it safely back to Gloucester. I don’t want to make them rich men when it
might encourage the enemy to attack them.
Their eyes reflect sorrow to me, and I find their grim smiles reassuring. It would be easy to disregard each stolen life, too intent on just surviving. I’m glad the Mercians are not yet that immured to the Raiders that the slaughter of the children can be disregarded.
When I once more mount the rise, my men are already milling around, Edmund having taken the initiative and sent someone for each body. Icel has the first child already slung over his horse’s saddle, while he holds the reins, head bowed and grim-faced.
It’s a terrible irony, the man who gains more life with each battle, and the poor boy, the one with his life stolen by a bastard warrior from the northern kingdoms before he truly had the chance to live.
Rudolf has taken command of the young lad who survived.
Hereman has been dispatched to find the girl, while Lyfing, Goda, Edmund, Ælfgar and Wulfred also have a grisly cargo. While the horses are pleased to be freed from the confines of the boats, they don’t frolic. The mood of the subdued men has infected them.
“We all walk,” I announce, not wanting to strike fear into the hearts of the people when I must already destroy so many of them.
With our load, I lead the way, aiming for the thin trickle of smoke further inland. Slowly, for the land lies flat and the grasses and crops are tall, I begin to make out the first of the buildings. I swallow down my sorrow, fix an expression on my face that shows empathy but not my fury and deep grief, and consider the words I must say.
More and more buildings appear, and I appreciate that the village is more significant than I’d been expecting. The carrying cry of someone emerging from one of the buildings alerts me to the fact that we’ve been seen. I brace myself. I’ve known enough grief in my life. I’ve mourned for all those men who’ve fallen carrying out my orders. It’s not an easy task to justify.
But this is so much worse.
The woman, I can tell only because of the skirts she wears, takes a step toward us, and then stops. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see the moment of understanding. I don’t. But I’m far from a coward, and I force my eyes open again. I won’t allow myself to shy away from what comes next.
More and more people spill from the surrounding buildings in response to the woman’s cry, and then she buckles, her hand covering her mouth, a scream filling the day.
I continue to lead my men. My gaze remains straight ahead, counting those who watch me approach. No one runs. No one attempt to stop me, but neither are they keen for me to arrive. I’ve witnessed such behaviour before.
Those few last precious moments, when everything is as it was, and the reality of what has transpired is still beyond confirmation.
“My name is Lord Coelwulf,” I call when I’m close enough. My voice catches, and I speak again.
“My name is Lord Coelwulf. These are my men. We are all Mercians. We were on the river, over there.” I stupidly point, although the people must know where the river is.
“There were two enemies. They attacked your children. I was on the river. I couldn’t get to them in time. I’m sorry, only the child survived.”
Twenty or so shocked pairs of eyes watch me, flickering from my open-handed stance, Haden silent and still beside me, to my warriors who carry the dead children. And then to Rudolf, who escorts the only survivor.
“I will avenge them,” I state, knowing the words to be useless, but feeling compelled all the same.
The young lad jumps from his horse and rushes to a woman I take to be his mother. Yet she cries, and not with joy. I couldn’t either.
The first woman I saw is on her feet now, dashing toward the horses, her arms outstretched, terror in her eyes and a low moan on her lips.
I look behind her, waiting for the rest to react. It seems to take an age, but then it’s as though a wave strikes all of them. One by one they bob upwards and then downwards, some staying still, but others rushing with the tide to crawl amongst my men and the dead bodies.
The cry is terrible, the collective wail of grief setting the hairs on my arms on edge, and my neck prickling with unease.
I look to see if the settlement boosts it’s own church or chapel, a place to lay the dead until they can be buried.
“Lord Coelwulf,” the voice is ancient, gnarled and cracked. My attention is drawn to an old woman, her hair covered by a wimple, her clothes more luxurious than I would expect.
“My Lady,” I incline my head respectfully. She cackles, showing me blackened stumps, and with the aid of a woman to either side, she makes her way before me.
“Thank you,” she gasps, her eyes clear from sorrow. “The settlement has lost all of its young, apart from the survivor. We’ll mourn deeply for the lost souls, and for our village. It will not survive to another generation.” The voice is warm and lost, all at the same time. I feel my throat tighten and hope she won’t force me to speak.
“Ealdorman Ælhun was supposed to protect us. It was not your responsibility. You shouldn’t wear it as though it is.”
“Where is the ealdorman?” I think to ask. I’m aware that my men have lifted the bodies from the horses, and that they make a sad procession, mothers and fathers clasping lifeless limbs, toward a small white building. A man waits at the door, his head bowed. The priest will be kept busy for the next few days.
“There are rumours of a battle, to the north of here, Raiders. But we’d seen none here, and I thought it to be nothing but idle scaremongering. The ealdorman would have sent word, surely, if we were threatened.”
The depth of betrayal is difficult to ignore.
“I’ll hunt them down. Ensure they meet their deaths for such a crime.”
“It will not bring back our young.”
I have no reply to that.
She turns and follows the last of the bodies with her eyes as they enter the chapel.
“It began with such promise,” she whispers, and I nod, although she can’t see me.
“We’ll stay for the night. But we won’t disturb you. We’ll keep watch around you while farewells are made.”
“That is not your duty,” she states, but it’s not a refusal. I bow once more, the oppressive atmosphere threatening to consume me.
When she turns to walk away, her steps are even slower than before, and I worry she’ll follow the young to the grave in only a matter of days.
Haden is keen to follow my command when I lead him away. My men are returning from their trip to the chapel. All of them are bowed by the weight of what we’ve witnessed. There should be ale tonight, to help them sleep, but I need them alert and keen to fight. I’ll not allow them to take the edge from their rage.
“Where the fuck is Ealdorman Ælhun?” Edmund asks as we make a rough camp beyond the settlement. My men will take it in turns to stand guard closer to the trackway to the west of the collection of buildings.
I must assume the enemy warriors are gone, perhaps re-joining the rest of the party, but I can’t be sure.
“I don’t know. Perhaps he already fights the Raiders. Bishop Wærferth said he was going to Repton.”
Edmund’s rage boils from him. If I had iron to melt to forge a fresh blade, Edmund would have the heat to do it without the need for flames. I thought his reaction when I allied with the Gwent Welshmen was extreme. This is something else entirely.
“Don’t make fucking excuses for him.”
“I didn’t realise I was.” I retort. I’m not pleased with having my words questioned.
“We need to find out what’s happened here. Are these rogue Raiders, or is there a larger force close by? These people will not want to leave this place, not now their dead lie here. It will bind them tighter than if the children lived, but they needed to flee to somewhere that offered more protection.”
“Send Icel and Goda. They’ve learnt to scout well.”
They haven’t, but I don’t acknowledge that.
“I won’t send anyone alone. Two pairs, one to the north and one to the west. I
’ll ask for volunteers.”
I can’t be sure that my four men will live, and right now, I don’t want to add any more guilt to my shoulders.
“If that’s what you think is best,” Edmund’s tone assures me that I’m wrong. I meet his eyes.
“Do not be weak now.”
I would punch him. I would slice his neck wide open and watch his life-blood pulse to the floor, soaking the soil. But I don’t.
He’s right, and he knows it.
“Icel and Goda,” I shout for them, and they’re before me, understanding on their faces. “Guard the settlement to the north. I’ll send Lyfing and Ordheah to watch the west.”
Icel pauses as though he’ll say more, only then he walks away, determination in his strides.
My eyes track the near-silent settlement. Everyone is now within the chapel, and I think it must be crowded in there, as the priest speaks words the dead will never hear.
Frustrated, I turn away and make my way to Rudolf and the rest of my warriors. The mood is sombre. They feel it as much as I do.
“I’m going to ride the boundaries,” I state, although no one is asking. I need to do something to dissipate my sorrow and scuppered battle rage.
Edmund, of course, follows me. I knew he would. In silence, I direct Haden along the hard-packed trackway. We travel beyond the chapel, where the murmur of Latin reaches my ears, and then on, to the extent of the settlement beyond.
It’s not entirely without protection. A deep ditch marks the limits of the easily defensible area, the river, as in Worcester and Gloucester, being used as part of the defences. Haden skips down the steep bank, and then back up the other side. The ripe smell of standing water reaches my nose. I realise the people of the settlement have been assiduous in their duties to do all they can to ensure their defences are well maintained.
No doubt they also have weapons with which to counter any who think to attack. So where then, did the mounted warriors come from?
Icel watches my progress and nods but does nothing further. Goda gazes northwards, without flinching, confident that Icel will warn him if there is danger.
