The Last King

by M J Porter

  I wish I knew what waited for us along the dried trackway that stretches before us. No doubt it joins one of the more well-travelled roadways further away, the river a distinct sound, but more distant than I would have thought.

  But there’s nothing to see. Not yet. I turn Haden and follow the line of the ditch to where Lyfing and Ordheah also gaze into the distance. They’re more nervous, both reaching for weapons when they hear us approaching.

  The tension drains slowly from Lyfing’s taut body, and I understand his worry.

  It seems too quiet. Far too peaceful.

  Once more, I wish I knew more.

  “I’ll send Oda and Wulfred to relieve you.” But I’m still restless, and so I ride on, further west, my eyes scanning the low lying ground for any sign of campfires or the dust of racing horsemen.

  “There’s nothing to see,” Edmund speaks firmly. His vision is so much better than mine that I have to trust what he says. There’s no reason for him to lie.

  I turn back, reluctant to return to the grieving families while knowing that my place is there. I think Edmund understands.

  As I once more ride into the settlement, I catch sight of the men and women walking from the chapel. I force Haden to a halt, only for the old woman I spoke to earlier, to beckon for me to ride closer.

  I slip from Haden, lead him instead. It’s so silent that I almost fear to breathe too loudly.

  “Tonight we were to feast. The food is prepared. Please, allow your men to eat it. There’s no one here who will want it, and it must not go to waste.”

  I want to argue with her, deny the suggestion, but I know it would not be the right thing to do.

  “My thanks,” I bow my head low.

  “Come,” she commands me, peering at Edmund. “I would speak to your lord. Take his horse and inform the men of the food. They should come to the hall.” She points her reedy arm beyond the chapel, to where a steading stands, door open, the smoke leaching through the thatched roof showing me the cause of the grey cloud I saw earlier.

  Edmund startles, no doubt shocked to be ordered about by someone other than myself. I nod to him, show him I’m happy to do as requested. He snatches Haden’s harness from my hand, his aggravation evident.

  It’s been a long and strange day, and I know it’s far from over.

  The woman doesn’t speak as we slowly make our way to the open door. No one watches us. The people mourn behind the doors of their houses, and I take some comfort from knowing it’s my presence that makes it possible.

  The building I walk inside is the largest in the village and is well constructed. It’s an old establishment, some of the wooden poles aged, others sprightly and newly placed. That surprises me.

  “Sit,” the woman orders me, and I do so, a tight smile on my face because I’m beginning to resent her attitude toward me as well.

  She settles beside me. A young woman, a servant I assume, although possibly not because her clothes are far superior to most servants, rushes to bring a jug of both ale, and cold water.

  I opt for the water, she chooses the ale.

  “My name is Lady Eadburh.” I had suspected her of being a lady. Her attitude toward my men and I is more understandable in light of her name.

  “I knew your grandfather.” This, I don’t expect to hear, and I feel my body still, unsure of what she means by such a statement.

  “He gifted me this land, and I have held it, safe from all ever since. I had great hopes for the future, but now my village will die with me. Without the promise of a new generation, my people will falter in their everyday tasks, and I’ll be helpless to stop them.”

  She speaks the truth and so I refrain from speaking, reminding her of the survivor.

  Her face is lined and wrinkled, and her eyes gleam, but not necessarily with sorrow. Perhaps only regret.

  “Your grandfather would have ruled Mercia well, but not as well as you will.”

  I gasp at the words, looking around me, as though Bishop Wærferth might emerge from the shadows at any moment.

  Lady Eadburh watches me, unsure of why I act as I do.

  “What is it?”

  “You aren’t the first person to say that to me recently.”

  “Ah, then it’s not just my desire for the stability of the past that speaks. That pleases me.”

  “I’m nothing more than a warrior, with a host of Raiders trying to kill me.”

  “Ah, then they see it as well.”

  I shake my head, lift my beaker and drink deeply, do anything other than meet her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your family’s past. You should revel in it.”

  “I do what I must to keep it alive, for now. Like you, there’ll be no one to lead after my death.”

  “Perhaps not, but while you live, there’s a great deal you can do.”

  She falls silent, and I watch her fingers as they lightly grip her beaker. They’re stick thin, and feeble, and yet not gnarled and twisted as I’ve seen the hands of other elders. She’s still useful and resourceful. Perhaps she still sews, on days when the light is bright enough to allow it.

  “Your grandfather was as handsome as you are. But more importantly, he was a ruler who knew his duties to the people of Mercia. Just as you do.”

  “Why do you tell me this?”

  “Because you need to know.”

  “How did you know my grandfather?”

  “Now that is a better question,” she chuckles, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t asked.

  “My father served him. I was often at court. I watched him from a distance and then when he was deposed, he spent some time here, helping my father build this house.”

  I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, peering into her hooded blue eyes as though seeking the truth of what she says.

  “He laid the first posts upon which the roof was supported. He wished to be useful. He was a king without a kingdom.”

  “Then what did he do?”

  “He left, and I never saw him again. I imagine your father didn’t either.”

  I’ve never heard this story before. In fact, I’ve been told little other than that my grandfather lost his kingdom. I’d always assumed he lost his life at the same time. It seems that was not the case.

  “I like to think he took the boat along the river and allowed it to wash him up somewhere far from here, where he would be appreciated. The Mercians are not always the wisest when it comes to choosing leaders. They’ve become used to listening to the loudest voice, and that’s not right. Men who can lead, never choose to, not if they can help it.”

  My men are making the way inside the hall, long glances seeing where I speak with Lady Eadburh, no doubt considering what it is we talk about. The smell of the cooked meat is making me hungry and yet I’m not sure I could eat. Not now.

  I have more questions that I wish to ask, but Lady Eadburh stands and moves away, not quickly, but before I can form the words to ask just one of my questions. When she’s gone, Edmund slumps beside me, his eyes intrigued. But still, words are beyond me.

  The platter of meat and bread placed before me rouses my appetite, and I almost snatch for it. Edmund seems no less hungry as he does the same. Lady Eadburh personally directs her servants, and they dispatch the food as she directs. However, a man carves the meat for her.

  The meat is well cooked, just tender enough to need little chewing, and it ignites my taste buds. I allow a moment to wish the villagers were here, to share in the delicious meal, but then I devour it.

  A warrior always eats what he’s given and when he’s given it. Like sleep. Always best to get it when the opportunity allows it, and that applies, even more, when there is a war being fought. I finally appreciate that for all I’ve been fighting all my life, I’m only now in a war. It’s a war for Mercian independence, not from the reaches of Wessex, but the Raiders.

  Edmund remains silent, although my men are more talkative, subdued, but enjoying this unexpected feast all the same. Rud
olf sits with Pybba, and I miss his inquisitive questions. No doubt Pybba is fighting to find answers to them.

  One by one, a handful of the villages enter the hall. They walk with bowed heads, and Lady Eadburh settles them close to the hearth, despite the heat of the day, and quickly they’re given mead or ale to temper the grief. I watch her as she expertly weaves her way amongst them all. She reminds me of my Aunt.

  This then is her skill. I would wish to have it.

  At some point, Edmund stands and makes his way outside. I only notice when he strides back inside, his forehead wrinkled with consternation.

  “Riders,” he explains, and nothing else, but I’m already standing, making my way to the door. Lady Eadburh watches me go, a question on her lips, but I can tell her nothing. Not yet.

  I’m surprised to find the last vestiges of daylight still lingers. I thought it much later than that and expected to see the stars and the moon.

  Edmund points and I follow his finger. Sure enough, there’s a haze of something moving out beyond the ditch and the fire that my men must have built to ward off any enemy. I fear it’s only drawn them closer like a beacon, but perhaps not.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, but I move toward the ditch all the same. Edmund escorts me, and so do at least half of my men, although Pybba and Rudolf are not included in that number.

  We’ve gone from feasting to facing our death in a handful of breaths.

  Just like so many of our recent days.

  The closer I get to the flames, the less I can see, and in the end, I angle away from the fire, heading to the north, where Goda and Icel meet me.

  “Fifteen,” Goda states, “all mounted.”

  His voice gives no indication of his true feeling on the matter. It sounds suspiciously like the Raiders we’ve already encountered. Only the number gives me pause for thought. It’s not the usual fifty who’ve been sent to hunt me down.

  “Stand ready,” I instruct, “but out of sight. I’ll see what they want first.”

  Only Edmund stays beside me, the rest of my men fading into the half-light. I can’t see how the Raiders would have found me so soon. How would they even have known where I was?

  The thudding of rushing hooves comes ever closer. I squint into the purple expanse of night, noting that the riders are heading for the flames.

  The horses mill around, not wanting to cross the wide ditch in the dark.

  “Why would they set a fire?” the first voice is querulous, but undeniably English.

  “As a warning,” I call, striding toward the light now that I know the riders aren’t Raiders.

  “A warning against what?” I can’t make out the face of the man, but his voice reaches me above the crackle of the burning wood.

  “That Lord Coelwulf is here.”

  “Lord Coelwulf?” Confusion fills the man’s voice as I finally get close enough to focus on the riders. They’re not at all what I expect to see. The lead man wears a helm, but I can see a black dent along the right side of it, and his face is sheeted in dried blood. His hand tremors on the harness, his other one held tight to his body. These men are no threat to us.

  “What happened?”

  “Ealdorman Ælhun sent some of his warriors north. We were overwhelmed by the Raiders.”

  Fury laces the voice. I’m not surprised.

  Edmund is moving amongst the other men, checking on them, seeing how severely wounded they are. I can hear him murmuring.

  “Are you heading north?” The question doesn’t surprise me.

  “I want to determine the truth of what’s happened.”

  “No need. I can tell you,” the warrior states, but his voice is weakening, and I rush to his side to stop him from sliding to the ground.

  Icel joins me, and together we lower him. His comrades aren’t in much better condition.

  “Come, into the village.” I inform the men who are still able to ride. “But know that they mourn here as well. Their children were taken from them today, by mounted warriors who must have been Raiders.”

  My words are greeted with even greater dismay, and an idea is already taking shape within my mind. I don’t want to leave these people undefended. It seems I won’t have to.

  While Icel and I stagger under the weight of the fallen warrior, I realise that worried eyes have been watching my interactions with the potential threat.

  “Rudolf,” I call his name quickly, aware that I shouldn’t expect him to still run to obey my commands, but knowing that he will all the same. And he does, erupting before me and almost making me cry out in shock. I convince myself that the noise I’m making was too loud for footsteps to be heard, but I know better. Rudolf is nimble and fleet. I should be using him as a scout.

  “Inform Lady Eadburh that we have wounded.” For a moment he hesitates, peering at the men, but then he’s gone, following my orders.

  The mounted men trudge wearily up and down the deep ditch, while Hereman and Ordheah remain to guard the ditch itself. Icel and I drag the man between us, the horse following on without needing to be lead. I need to know more of what these men have seen, but now is not the right time.

  Lady Eadburh doesn’t spill from the hall to watch my approach, but Rudolf has done his work well. When Icel and I do make it inside, the servants are ready and waiting. Small wooden cots are being prepared for the warriors to lie on, and I meet Lady Eadburh’s eye with a hint of apology.

  She shakes her head at me, to deny my intent, and I lower the man to a prone position. Now, in the glow of the fire, that’s been heaped ever higher, I can clearly see his wounds. I leave him to the care of Lady Eadburh and move to mingle with the other men.

  The majority of them can sit unaided, but their faces are smeared with blood and bruised badly. Wherever they’ve been, it was a hard battle.

  One of the men beckons to me, his eyes the clearest of all, for all that his face is deathly white, and his hand trembles where he tries to grip a beaker of water offered to him. Rudolf hovers close to him, and I nod my thanks.

  Rudolf, with his quick instincts, has determined the man most able to tell me what I need to know.

  “Tell me, if you can,” I ask, settling beside him. “I’m Lord Coelwulf.”

  “My name’s Oswald. I’ve served Ealdorman Ælhun all my adult life.”

  I nod, keen for him to get to the point. He lifts his water to his mouth, and I extend my hand to provide some support so that he can drink. Oda does so, and then I settle the beaker back onto the table, where Rudolf quickly refills it.

  “Ealdorman Ælhun wanted to learn the truth of Bishop Wærferth’s message. He sent thirty of his men, under my command, to see what was happening in Tamworth and Repton. But we never made it. At the junction between Watling Street and Foss Way, we came upon a force of at least fifty Raiders. This is all that’s left of the thirty warriors the ealdorman tasked me with leading.”

  I bow my head low, thinking of yet more lost lives, and also reach out, touch Oswald’s arm to convey my sympathy, but he flinches away. He doesn’t wish to be consoled.

  “Bishop Eadberht sent news that Tamworth was deserted, that’s all I know.”

  “They were hunting you, My Lord. They asked for you by name.”

  I grimace, although the news is unsurprising.

  “My men and I have already met three groups of warriors sent to hunt me down. They wished me to give oaths to the new Raider lords. I imagine those instructions might have changed now.”

  “Where was Ealdorman Ælhun when he issued his instructions?”

  “Warwick.”

  “And he was staying there?”

  “Yes, we were to report back, but we’ve lost our way and have been trying to re-orientate ourselves.”

  “I’ll go to Warwick, find the ealdorman. You and your men will stay here. Protect the village, help them as much as they help you.”

  Oswald looks confused at my instructions.

  “You and your men can’t fight fifty Raiders, not alone. But
you could protect this place from any more tragedy. My warriors and I will assist Ealdorman Ælhun, whether he wants our assistance or not.”

  Abruptly the man sags forward, and I reach out to catch him.

  “He has a wound, on his leg.” Rudolf’s words reach me from the other side of Oswald.

  “It looks bad,” Rudolf’s eyes meet mine, and I nod.

  “Right, let’s get him with his fellow warriors.”

  Oswald is not as heavy as the first man, but still, disentangling him from the table and bench he’s slumped on is a tedious and cumbersome business. When he rests beside the fallen man from the horse, I’m breathing heavily.

  “Bloody hell,” Rudolf points out the injury site to Lady Eadburh, and with swift hands, one of her servants has cut the trews free, and the puckered wound is exposed for all to see, as is the smell.

  “Fuck,” the word is too loud in the hall, and all eyes turn to gaze at me. I bow my head in apology, but I know the wound is far worse than it looks.

  “Come with me,” I lead Rudolf away, allowing the servants and some of the villagers to tend to the man. While all conversation is still muted, it seems Lady Eadburh has decided to call on those she knows have healing skills. The faces of all might reflect the grief of what’s happened that day, but having something to focus on, is allowing them not to think of their dead children.

  “What is it?” Rudolf asks, his voice has lost none of his typical cheek.

  “I want you to stay here when we ride out.” I can already hear the complaints forming on Rudolf’s lips, and I grip his upper arm tightly.

  “You and Pybba need to learn to fight together before you have to fight together. I’m all for blind luck and good fortune but look at the state of those men. They’ve been fighting all their lives, and they’re all wounded and bleeding and will be lucky to live. It seems to me that this new collection of Raiders might have more skill than the previous three groups.”

  “Are you going to say the same to Pybba?”

  “Yes I am, and I’m going to hope to fuck that he has the experience to realise that my caution is well placed. This won’t be the last battle we fight against them. Far from it.”

  “Then if Pybba agrees, so will I.”