You greedy, lying bastards, Cynewise thought. But there was nothing she could do to stop them. She would be lucky just to hang on to what she had gained in Dorset.
“Very well, go. Do as you will. I dare say my father would not be pleased…is not pleased, I should say, in his heavenly home, but you do as you think is right. And God have mercy on you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bishop Ealhstan said, and with tolerably respectful bows he and Sigeric took their leave.
“Bastards,” Cynewise said once they were gone. “But it doesn’t matter, we have men enough still to see to Nothwulf, if half his army is stuck on the far side of the channel. Oswin, summon the thegns so that I might enlighten them as to our plans.”
Oswin nodded and ducked out of the tent, and soon he was back with the half-dozen thegns who had come in support of Cynewise. They were not there because they liked her or championed her cause, she knew that, but because she had made it clear from the onset that it would be to their advantage in many ways to see her as ealdorman of the shire. For the thegns this had never been about whether she or Nothwulf had proper claim to the title. It was about which of the two could do the most good for those who supported them.
But she did not care why they supported her, or were willing to fight for her, as long as they did.
As each of the men entered, they stepped up in front of Cynewise and expressed their condolences at the death of her father, which she acknowledged with grace. When that weary exercise was done, the men sat in the various chairs arranged around the tent and were handed cups of ale while Cynewise looked from one to the other, studying them.
She felt secure enough with their loyalty, but how much of Dorset did they represent? How many thegns were standing with Nothwulf? Leofric, the traitor, but how many others? How many thegns were there in Dorset? She should know that, but she didn’t and she chastised herself for her ignorance.
Oswin would know, but she did not care to ask Oswin anything. She did not want to display ignorance of any kind.
“Gentlemen,” Cynewise said. “Oswin brings us good news. Nothwulf had divided his army, and he has managed to put himself in a place where he can be easily trapped. If we move swiftly then we will be able to crush him on the morrow.”
A man named Aegenwulf, who had great holdings to the west, spoke up. “Lady Cynewise, there’s word in the camp that Sigeric is marching your father’s men back to Devon. Is that true?”
Cynewise shifted a bit. “Yes, that’s true. Sigeric sees fit to ignore my father’s final wishes, but that’s no matter. We do not need those men.”
The thegns glanced at one another and said nothing until Aegenwulf spoke again. “We’re sorry to hear that, Lady Cynewise,” he said. “We’d looked on your father’s men as a great help to us.”
Cynewise felt a creeping sense of panic. Had these men supported her only because they thought she had the support of her powerful father? Was Bishop Ealhstan turning on her and taking these men along, the way he had Sigeric? If so, this was not the time to show weakness of any sort.
“See here, Aegenwulf, all of you,” she said. She stood now, and though her height was not impressive it was helped by the fact that the chairs the men sat on were purposely short. “By law and by King Æthelwulf and by God Himself I am made ealdorman of this shire. I rule here, in the place of my late husband, and I will stand for no pretenders like Nothwulf. He is vulnerable now, and we will crush him now, on my command. Is that clear to all?”
Her voice was low and she looked each of the men in turn right in the eye. Cynewise, daughter of Ceorle, ealdorman of Dorsetshire, knew how to take command. No one protested. No one moved.
“Good. Your loyalty will be well rewarded. As it has been so far. Now go and get your men ready to march to battle.”
One by one they stood, bowed to Cynewise, and shuffled out of the tent. Their enthusiasm was underwhelming. But they were doing as they were told, and once they had crushed Nothwulf, and Cynewise had doled out a good portion of Nothwulf’s wealth to them, then they would be more animated in their support of her.
Still, she was not happy. In fact, she was furious, her anger like a red-hot coal burning in her chest. The pain was as great as that, and the only way to rid herself of the coal was to give her fury full vent.
And the only one there worth unleashing it on, the only one who truly deserved it, was Oswin, the shire reeve.
She turned to him and held him in her merciless gaze until he began to fidget. “Do you see that?” she said, nodding toward the door through which the thegns had left.
“Ma’am?”
“The thegns,” she hissed. “Do you see how they treat me? How they make just enough show of loyalty to avoid my wrath? How utterly unable I am to depend on them? This is your doing, you incompetent fool.”
Oswin’s eyebrows came together and he frowned. He clearly had not expected this. “My doing?” he said.
“Yes, your doing. Losing Nothwulf. Losing the danegeld. Losing the fine men-at-arms my father sent, who might have made the difference in this battle.” Her momentum was building now, and she could feel the rage spilling out of her, and it was good.
“You have made one stupid blunder after another, ever since I became ealdorman. I kept you on because I thought you might be of some use, but now I wonder. I can tell you one thing—the loss of the danegeld will be made up from your purse, even if I must take your property and sell it. I will not stand for your idiocy a moment longer!”
She paused, aware that her breathing was labored from the effort. Oswin’s mouth formed a tight line between his beard and moustache. She waited for him to reply, but he did not and she guessed he did not trust himself to speak. He would not risk further enraging her. He had nowhere else to go.
“Be gone from here before I take your position of reeve from you and give it to a man actually worthy of the title. Go back and keep an eye on Nothwulf and if his army moves a rod either direction, or if that bastard Leofric crosses the channel and joins him, you let me know. Is that clear?”
A pause, long enough for Oswin to register his anger, not so long as to require another outburst from Cynewise, and he said, “Yes, Lady Cynewise.” He gave a quick bow and then he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
From their saddles they alighted, at the house's gable,
thence went in through the hall.
See they bow's on bass rope drawn,
seven hundred, which the warrior owned.
The Poetic Edda
Odd shifted again on his bench. He met the skald’s eye and held up a hand for the man to stop and he did, mid-sentence. The guests who were still awake waited for him to continue, but instead Odd stood, slowly, his hand still held up, palm out. He wanted their attention, and he wanted quiet and he did not want roaring panic.
“The south end of the hall, low down on the roof,” he said. “If you look you’ll see there are flames. I can just see them. The roof is on fire.” There was silence in the wake of those words, tired and drunk men trying to grasp the meaning and the importance of what he had said. Heads slowly turned to the south end of the hall, and Odd turned his head as well. The flames were already spreading. What had just been a point of light a moment before was now a small but visible fire. In the quiet they could hear the sharp crackle of dried thatch as it burned.
“Well, by the gods!” Ulfkel shouted. He stood quickly and knocked his bench over as he did. “Let’s get some buckets, some water! Looks like it’s early on, we’ll put that whore’s son fire out! Everyone, out of the hall!”
“Wait!” Odd shouted, loud enough to be heard over the noise of dozens of men reacting at last, loud enough to get their attention and make them stop what they were doing.
“Wait!” Odd said again. “I don’t think the fire’s an accident. I think it was set. And I think the hall is surrounded by Halfdan’s men, waiting for us to come running through that door.”
Again there was quiet as the men absorbe
d this surprising news, but the quiet did not last long. Near the door to the store room one of the servant girls saw the fire, which until then had been unnoticed by anyone but the men at the table, and her scream cut though the silence.
Heads jerked around at the surprising sound. The girl had her hand over her mouth and she was pointing and backing away, as if the fire, one hundred feet from where she stood, might be an immediate threat. From the storeroom more of the servants came racing out, and thralls and servants from other quarters, and the sound of fear, the worst sort of fear, fear thrust at them suddenly, rose up from them.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic!” Odd shouted, desperate to stop the people from doing something stupid in their terror, but his words were ineffective, shouted over that distance. It was an ugly irony: the more the servants let fear drive them, the greater their danger became.
Odd took a step in their direction, but before he could move beyond that he saw Signy burst out of the store room, her face equal parts fury and confusion. She looked at the far end of the hall, where the fire was starting to mount. She looked at the servant girl, still screaming uncontrollably. She took two quick steps toward the servant, knocked the girl’s arm aside and cuffed her hard on the side of the head.
The girl went down in a heap and the screaming stopped. In the absence of that panic-inducing noise, Signy began issuing orders to the servants and the thralls. Odd could not hear the words, but he knew Signy was perfectly able to give commands that could not be ignored, and instantly the people were racing off in every direction.
“Why do you think it’s Halfdan has done this?” Vifil asked. “Why don’t you think the fire’s an accident?”
“I don’t know,” Odd said. He could see the others were eager to take action, to get out of the hall and fight the flames, which was no surprise. But some voice—his father’s voice?—was telling him to be more thoughtful.
“I don’t know,” Odd said again. “But I feel certain I’m right.”
“If it is Halfdan who’s done this, how by all the gods could he have the hall surrounded?” Ragi asked. His voice was calm, as if he were not standing in a burning building. “We are all the army he had with him.”
“We might not be,” Amundi said. “Halfdan’s no fool. He might have seen this coming and had more warriors waiting nearby. He might have called us all up as a test of our loyalty. If that’s the case, then we failed, as far as he’s concerned.”
“So he’ll be happy to be rid of us all,” Vifil said, a statement met with nodded heads.
“We don’t know if that’s true or not!” Ulfkel said. “And yet we stand here and make guesses while the hall burns around us! If we want to know if Halfdan’s outside then we only have to open the whore’s son door and see!”
“You’re right,” Odd said. “I’ll do just that. None of you move.”
He jogged across the floor, through the semi-dark of the hall, lit only with the hearth fire and a few lanterns and, increasingly, the fire burning at the far end. He reached the big oak door, which had been barred from the inside. He paused there, turned his ear to the door and listened. He could hear nothing through the thick oak planks or the timber walls, but that was not surprising. If there was a full-fledged battle raging outside he doubted he would have heard it.
Moving with care, Odd lifted the bar from the door and set it aside, then he pushed gently on the door itself, which swung easily on greased iron hinges. He eased it open just an inch or so, the opening so narrow that it was unlikely to be seen in the dark. Then he peered through the crack.
His view was considerably limited, but it was expansive enough for him to see what he needed to see. A loose line of armed men, shields on arms, spears, axes, swords ready. He could only see a dozen or so from where he stood, but that was enough. He was quite certain that the line extended the length of the hall, with clusters of men at each of the doors ready to strike down anyone who fled the burning building. This was not some new and clever tactic, burning down a hall with your enemies inside. It was tried and true.
Odd eased the door closed and replaced the bar. He jogged back toward the big table in the center, the remnants of the banquet still spread over its surface. His guests and their men were slipping mail shirts or leather armor over their heads, strapping on swords or thrusting battle axes through belts. Whether there was a fight in the offing or not they knew they would not be staying there and they would not leave their weapons behind.
One of the servants stood holding Odd’s mail shirt, his helmet and his belt on which hung Blood-letter. Odd nodded his thanks and gestured for the man to set them on the table.
“Well?” Ulfkel demanded.
“As I feared,” Odd said. “Halfdan’s men are out there, lined up and ready for us. I only saw a few, but I don’t doubt there are more.” He lifted his mail shirt and slipped it over his head.
“Then out we go!” Ulfkel shouted. “Halfdan can bite my arse. I’ll go down fighting before I burn up in here. I’m first out the door. You sorry bastards can follow me and kill any I leave behind!”
There was no doubt in Odd’s mind that Ulfkel would happily charge out the door and right into the bulk of Halfdan’s warriors. And he would likely take a few of them with him to the corpse hall. But not many. Because the men in the burning hall had to come out through the door one at a time, and in that manner Halfdan’s men could cut them down as they came.
The alternative was to remain in the hall and burn to death. Neither choice was terribly attractive.
“There are two doors,” Amundi said. “We’ll divide our men, come out each at the same time. That will at least give us…”
Odd buckled Blood-letter around his waist, then raised his hand to cut him off. “This,” he said, gesturing to the hall, the men, the fire spreading through the thatch, “is no great surprise to me. Anyone in my situation would be a fool to not see it coming. And make ready for it.”
He turned to Vermund Jurundsson and Gnup and Ari the shipwright who were standing nearby, waiting, and he nodded his head. The three men stepped up onto the platform that lined the back wall of the hall, right next to Odd and Signy’s sleeping closet. They grabbed the furs and blankets that lay strewn around and tossed them aside, then dropped to their knees. Odd’s guests watched, silent, bewildered, and overhead the fire spread along the thatch, illuminating the hall in a wild, undulating light.
Vermund nodded to the others and together they lifted a section of the platform, five feet square and heavy built. They stood together, then moved the section to one side before setting it down again. Odd plucked a torch from a holder mounted on one of the carved posts that supported the roof beams overhead, then climbed up onto the platform. He held the torch over the open space where the section had been removed. The top of the ladder and a half dozen rungs were visible until it was all lost in the dark below.
“Vermund, you lead the women and the servants out first, then the rest of us will follow,” Odd said, handing the torch to Vermund. “Signy,” Odd continued, speaking louder, “get the women and the servants and you’ll all follow Vermund out.” The children were already hidden aboard Sea Hawk, which was ready to put to sea if necessary.
The guests could no longer swallow their questions. Amundi was the first to speak. “All right, Odd, by all the gods, what have you done?” He climbed up on the platform beside Odd, and Vifil and Ragi and the rest did as well. They looked down at the open place where the section of platform had been removed.
“A hiding place?” Ragi said. “A place to wait out Halfdan and the fire?” He did not sound terribly enthusiastic at the prospect.
“No,” Odd said. “A tunnel. From here to the storehouse two hundred feet to the north.”
“A tunnel…” Vifil said. There was no attempt to hide his surprise.
“A tunnel?” said Ulfkel. “What bastard digs a tunnel from their hall?”
Amundi answered. “A bastard who has wit enough to see what might happen. And
make ready for when it does.”
They stepped aside as Vermund came through holding the torch aloft. He stepped onto the ladder and climbed down into the pit, and behind him came the women, the servants and thralls, each moving with various levels of uncertainty. One after another they climbed down and moved off, Signy last of all, until all that the men on top could see was the glow of Vermund’s torch growing dimmer as he led the refugees on.
Odd stepped down off the platform and grabbed another torch from a column, then climbed up again. “Come,” he said. “Gather your men. I’ll lead the way. Some of you others, take up torches as well.” He waited for a minute as they sorted themselves out, then he turned and stepped down onto the top rung of the ladder, then onto the next one and the next, down into the secret hole that Gnup and the others had laboriously dug over the past weeks.
He reached the bottom of the ladder, the earth soft under the leather soles of his shoes. He turned and moved slowly off, deeper into the shaft, quick enough so the others would not get bunched up around him, slow enough that he didn’t outpace them with the light. Far ahead he could see just a bit of a glow from Vermund’s torch and he guessed that he and his people were just emerging from the far end of the passage and into the storehouse.
Odd moved on, crouching a bit though he didn’t have to. The tunnel was deep enough for him to stand upright. It really wasn’t a tunnel at all, in truth. Gnup and the others had dug a long trench, six feet deep and four feet wide, in a straight line from the hall to the storehouse. Once that was done the trench had been roofed over with heavy planks, pine boards thick enough to bear the weight of a wagon, and set a couple inches into the ground. Then the entire thing had been covered over with the dirt that had come from the digging. In a day or so it was impossible to tell that anything had been disturbed.
It was made just like the trap he had set in the road near Thorgrim’s farm, writ large, except that the top of this trench was built to stand up to the weight of a horse, not collapse under it.
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