by Katy Moran
Wulf looked at him curiously. “Is something wrong? If you’re looking for your father, I can show you where they are. So easy to get lost amongst all these tents, isn’t it?”
Essa’s insides turned to ice.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Please show me – I did get lost, I’m such a gapeseed.”
“Come you on.” Wulf grabbed Essa’s arm, steering him through the camp towards one large tent just by the old hall. “This way,” he said. “The hall roof fell in when it snowed last winter, so we’re in here.” He pulled aside a flap of stitched-together deerskins, pushing Essa through.
Inside the tent, a small group of men sat around a fire that sent a thick column of smoke up through a hole at the top, where the long poles met overhead. They had been talking, but fell silent when Wulf and Essa came in.
Essa’s eyes were drawn to a man sitting slightly apart from the others. He was dark, hunched in a cloak of ragged bearskin, and his eyes were blacker than well water.
Essa felt as if a fire had been started in his belly that would burn him to ash. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Cai looked away, speaking to the person next to him: a grey-haired man with thin lips twisted into a faint smile, and heavy-lidded eyes that made him look half asleep.
“This is my son, dear lord,” Cai said. “He has been here before, when he was a child. I beg you, forgive his low manners. As his father, the blame is all mine.”
For years, Essa had pictured this moment, and what he would say: just a cool greeting, as if Cai had been gone only a morning. He knew he should speak, if only to honour the king, but finally faced with his father, he found he could do nothing but stare. Essa heard Wulf laugh quietly behind him. “You have to kneel, Essa,” he said. “Even I do, and I’m his son.”
It was like being in a dream where he ran and ran, but never moved. Trapped, Essa bowed his head and then kneeled before the king of the Mercians, swallowing the desire to rush at Cai and shake answers from him.
“Stand, boy, stand.” The king looked Essa up and down as he scrambled to his feet. His eyes narrowed and Essa’s skin prickled. It felt as if Penda could see his thoughts. “He does not resemble you overmuch, Cai. But he does look a bit native, especially around the eyes. Where’s your mother, boy? You didn’t get red hair like that with a native mother.”
“She’s dead. And my name is Essa.”
A hiss of surprise rose up from the small group of men Cai was sitting with. The king raised his eyebrows; Wulf looked stricken. Clearly this was not the way to speak in front of the king of Mercia.
“My lord,” Cai said lightly, “allow me a moment with the boy. It would seem I must remind him of the proper way to speak before a king.”
Looking amused, Penda inclined his head in assent.
Outside, Essa turned on his father, but no words would come. He felt as if he were in the spirit-world, and that if he touched his father now, Cai would be gone like smoke on the wind.
“Come away.” Cai’s fingers closed around Essa’s forearm, leading him to the shadowed eaves of the hall, and Essa noticed with a jolt that they were now the same height. If anything, Essa was a shade taller.
Cai caught his hand, holding it up so that the gold ring glittered faintly. “What is the meaning of this? How did you come to be here? Answer me.”
Essa snatched his hand away. “It is none of your concern!” he hissed, the British words flying to his lips. “You’re the last person on earth I must answer to. How could you just leave? How could you—”
“Whatever I have done, there has been good reason for,” Cai said. “Now tell me why you are here, and who has seen fit to bind you with this ring.”
“Good reason?” shouted Essa. “I wish you may tell me what these reasons were – I’ve spent many a long night wondering.”
He flinched as Cai reached out and laid a hand on his face. Cai’s touch was dry and warm as he pushed the hair away from Essa’s eyes.
“Jesu, child, you look so much like your mother that I want to weep,” Cai said, his voice gentle. Essa felt himself grow sleepy, as if his father had breathed some kind of elf-magic on him. “Now, tell me, where did you get this ring? Are you bound to Penda – how did you come to be here? Let me help you.”
And Essa heard the words leave his mouth, even though every instinct was telling him to remain silent. “Egric the Atheling gave it me, and he sent me to see if this camp was full of fighting men.”
As soon as he spoke, Essa felt sure he had been tricked. He had not meant to say anything, but somehow Cai had drawn the words from his lips.
Cai raised an eyebrow, then smiled and said, “A sly move, Egric. I had not known you were so cunning. Essa, take off the ring.”
“What?” Essa felt a flash of anger. “How dare you trick me with your elf-talk, and my mother’s name, and then give me orders? I’ll not tell you anything more, and the ring stays. I’m bound to Egric now, not you.”
Cai’s eyes narrowed into dark slits, and he reached out and turned Essa’s face to his. This time, his touch seemed to burn, and Essa had to stifle a gasp of pain. “I see a streak of the elvish in you, too,” Cai said softly. “It’s there, at the back of your eyes, burning away like marsh-fire. What manner of craft have you been dabbling in, away at that village?”
“Nothing,” Essa said breathlessly, and it seemed that his spirit felt Fenrir’s calling out to him as she hunted the marsh, and that Cai saw this and knew about his skill. He had warned Onela of it; he had known.
“You are lying,” Cai said. “But that is for another time. Now listen to me. If anyone here sees that ring, they will cut your throat and probably mine too. What did you think you were going to say when they asked who your lord was? Get rid of it and do it quickly – let us pray that no one has already seen it. How did you get into this place?”
Riled, Essa saw that Cai was right about the ring – there would be no way of explaining it. He slipped it off his finger and strung it up with the blue glass beads that hung around his neck on a leather thong. “There,” he said. “But I have answered enough of your questions now. I thought you were loyal to the Wolf Folk – why are you here with Penda, while Egric is rousing the Wolves to defend themselves against him? Tell me!”
Cai smiled, mocking. “You have grown so commanding, little cub. I am here to spy on Penda. Egric’s cousin, Anno, sent me. And Penda thinks I am working for him, spying on the Wolf Folk. Lucky for you, I have only just got here – otherwise you’d be dead. Although they might have asked a few questions before they killed you, about how many fighting men Hild has got, useful things like that. I thought Egric had more sense.”
Essa stared at him, sickened, as he remembered what Hild had said in the yard, long ago. I don’t know how much Cai’s told you about his life, but there was a time when every king in Britain would have paid their own weight in gold for his advice – well, for the secrets he’d sell them, at any rate.
“And do you sell tales of the Wolf Folk back to Penda for double the cost?” Essa asked. “Well, even if you are a traitor, I am not. I must go back.”
“I do not think so.” The laughing edge had left Cai’s voice. “I have heard enough from you for now. Come, it is time we returned to Penda.”
“You’ve no command over me,” Essa said. “I’m going.”
“You will not get far.”
“Would you betray me, then?” asked Essa. “I know my life means no more to you than a fly’s, but this is low, even for you, Father.”
“Do not try me,” Cai said. “Now come – and do your best to be respectful to the king. He is a proud fool, and he’ll have your throat cut if you cross him.”
And for the first time in years, Essa sensed he was in the presence of one who could bend his will just as he was able to do with Fenrir or Myfanwy. No one in the village had managed that, not even Hild, and he loved her more than anyone. Cai laughed, as if he had sensed the colour of Essa’s thoughts, then turned, walking back to the tent.
And Essa followed him.
An order from the king of Mercia
BACK in the tent, Essa dropped to his knees and sank down so his forehead rested on the sheepskin at Penda’s feet. “I am sorry for my ill conduct, my lord,” he said, inhaling the smoky, sheep-oil stink of the wool, and waited there. “My father has taught me better, and the lapse was all mine.”
He knew now what these men liked: people on their knees before them. It was so much easier that way to see who was in command.
“You may rise,” Penda said, and Essa sat up, his head still bowed. He felt his skin prickle with hatred. “Boys are like dogs, Cai,” Penda continued. “If they do not learn absolute obedience, they are not of the smallest use. Now, I own I was not expecting your father to bring you, Essa, but since you are here, it chances that I have a use for you. Next sunrise but one, you will ride with my son to Powys.”
“Powys?” said Essa, before he could stop himself.
“Father—” Wulf began.
Cai was staring off into the middle distance, as if he had not heard a thing.
Penda held up one thin, blue-veined hand. “We’ve gone over this matter enough times, Wulfhere. You’ll ride to King Eiludd of Powys and when he’s given you his daughter, who I have no doubt will be both fair and wise and bear you many fine sons, you’ll return here.” He smiled. “And then, if Eiludd wants to come creeping across from the west while I’m taking Anglia off the Christian, I’ll cut his daughter’s throat, and he knows it. She’s his youngest, too. Let us hope he’s a fond father.”
Wulf shrugged, looking furious. “I know about all that, Father,” he said in a tight, angry voice. “But maybe Essa has got other things to do. We cannot just—”
“Of course we can,” said Penda. “I can spare no one else, and it will not do for you to go alone. It will look shabby enough with just the two of you. What you need is a lot of pious Christian women as an escort – that would be really proper.” He snorted irritably. “You’ve enough sisters – where are they when I need them? That’s the trouble with daughters. Once they’re married, that’s it – useless. Next sunrise but one, you leave. Cai?”
Cai glanced up and lifted his fingers in a languid gesture of dismissal. “It’s about time the boy did something but follow me around,” he said. “It makes my teeth hurt when he plays the lyre, so he’ll not be earning his keep that way. Let him go with Wulf – and maybe your lordship will have other uses for the boy later.”
Penda showed his teeth. It could hardly be described as a smile. “Maybe I will, Cai, maybe I will.”
“I am indebted to you, my lord.” Cai inclined his head in a slight bow. “No father has been so honoured.”
“Much you care!” said Essa, in British. “What if I can’t go? What if I’ve got something else to do? And anyway, they’re expecting me back in the morning.”
“Your manners are filthy,” Cai replied, in the same tongue. His voice was like a whip-crack. “Pull yourself together, boy, or you’ll be dead by morning. If he finds out where you’ve come from, there’ll be nothing I can do. The man’s a savage brute.” Then he switched languages so everyone could understand. “What have you to do, anyway, apart from what I tell you?”
Essa bowed his head again. “Of course, Father,” he said. “Forgive me.”
Penda laughed. “I wager you will be glad to get rid of the unruly brat, Cai. Now, come you all with me – we have sport tonight.”
Penda led them through a maze of tents, Wulf holding a torch to light the way, until they came to a small clearing just outside the old hall. Everywhere Essa looked there were fighting-men: leaning against the walls, standing around in groups, some sleeping by sputtering, fitful campfires outside the tents. But they were all silent – the air was thick with tension.
Essa was walking behind his father, hardly trusting his own eyes – everything about Cai was so familiar, even the way he walked along with one thumb hitched into his belt, his fingers teasing the hilt of his dagger. Had he missed the Silver Serpent all those years? Did he miss me?
Then Cai turned, placing his hand on Essa’s arm. “We stop here,” he said quietly, in British. “We’re honoured: this little show is in part for our benefit.”
Tethered in the clearing before them was a boy, hardly older than Essa. He was dark-haired, British, his head bowed, face hidden. Next to him, also tethered, was a woman with thin hollow cheeks and a tangle of loose black hair. Essa could just make out the faint outlines of the clan tattoos on her cheekbones. She was looking up, staring blankly at the gathering crowd.
They’re going to die.
He realized with a prickle of horror that Penda was standing right next to him, so close that Essa could detect the faint scent of garlic and stale wine on his breath.
“Such a waste,” Penda said conversationally. “Dai and his sister have been with me for years; he was doing well and would have been a good man to hold a boar-shield. You natives aren’t short on courage and I’ve had more than a few fine fighting men out of your tribes. But it turns out that all along I’ve not been their master at all: they’ve been selling Mercian secrets along my northern border.
“Ah well, I’d been wondering why the king of Elmet stopped paying me his taxes. He sent word saying he’d pay no pagan a single sceatta. He’d pay only the true High King, a Christian man, he says. So the fool wouldn’t stop sending his tribute to that witless sap Godsrule in Northumbria. Utter folly, of course. But every time I sent men to collect what was rightfully mine, his camp was gone, like smoke on a spring breeze.”
As Penda spoke, the boy, Dai, continued to stare at the ground but his sister sat back on her heels, staring at the crowd, her eyes dark holes of hatred.
“So they must go,” said Penda, almost cheerfully. “Although I do hate a waste. Wulfhere, kill them.”
Essa watched, horrified, as Wulf drew a long knife from his belt and walked over to the clearing. People stepped quickly out of the way to let him by. Some made little protective signs above their breasts, silent pleas to the Aesir.
Essa badly wanted to close his eyes, but knew Penda was watching him. He wanted to shove his way into the clearing and untie the British boy and his sister, run for the gates with them, set them free. But he could not. He had to pretend that this was right and just, the only possible reply to an outright betrayal, otherwise he and Cai would be there in the clearing with them, waiting to die.
Wulf tried to make it quick. He moved swiftly, surely, and the boy died without a sound, slumping forwards into the dirt, his throat slit. But the girl’s curse was cut off by the knife; a scream that tore into the night. A roar went up from the crowd; Essa could not tell if they were in sympathy with her or just stirred up by the sight of it. Wulf let her body fall to the ground and wiped the knife on his leg as if he had just killed a pig.
“Such a pity,” muttered Penda, then raised his voice. “Wulf, take their heads, we’ll have them as a warning to anyone else who might be thinking of crossing me. Their bodies we shall give to Lady Frigya – drag them to the bog and throw them in, and give Our Lady the knife as well that she might lick the blood. You see, Cai – Wulf is a good son. He does everything I ask of him, without question. Essa – assist him. You may as well be useful.”
Essa felt faint with horror. For a moment, he thought he was going to have to sit down until his head stopped spinning. He had never seen anyone put to death before. Once, a traveller had brought news of a murder in the hall of the Wolf Folk at Rendlesham, but the murderer’s family had just given the victim’s a milch cow and that was the end of it. Now he could see why Penda was known as the mad dog. He was savage, crazed. But then a small voice spoke in Essa’s head, saying, But are you any different to Penda? You have killed, too. You are a killer. And once again, he was in the beech coppice, thrusting his knife backwards into the belly of the man choking him.
Heart racing, Essa bowed his head and said, “Father, do I have your leave?”
Cai shrugged. �
�Of course.” Then he left, following Penda back to the tent.
Wulf had already taken the heads, with swift cuts that made the blade of his sword sing through the air. “You don’t have to help. I know it’s a mucky job.”
Essa shrugged, in as Cai-like a fashion as he could manage, trying not to look at the slumped headless bodies lying on the cold mud, their limbs tangled together. The boy’s fingers had uncurled: a wooden crucifix rested in the palm of his hand. “I don’t mind,” he said. “They deserved it. Traitors.”
Wulf did not seem to have heard. “I always try to give them poppy wine when he makes me do this,” he said, dragging a blanket from the nearest tent. “I go over when no one’s looking and slip them a draught. It dulls their senses, you see. But the girl wouldn’t take any.”
Essa nodded. He did not know what to say.
But he did know that nothing would prevent him from putting a stop to Wulf’s father. One way or another.
From Mercia back into Wixna-land
ESSA sat up. The tent was cloaked in darkness and quiet: everyone had gone to sleep and all he could hear was the sound of people breathing heavily. He was meant to be leaving, with Wulf, at dawn. Would there be enough time?
He stepped outside and ran through the maze of tents towards the stables. Wulf had taken him there the day before to choose his mount, but it was not the dappled grey mare he went to now.
“Melyor!” He whispered her name into the dusty, straw-smelling darkness. She was standing in her stall, nosing at the latch on the half-door as if she had been waiting for him. He caught her long, intelligent face between his hands and rested his head against hers.
Knowing that Cai slept nearby, he led her out of the stall, wincing at every creak of a hinge, every soft thud as her hooves struck a stone embedded in the earthen floor.
He only had one chance to get this right.
The men guarding the gate were sleeping. It had not been hard to guess where Wulf hid his poppy-wine draught; Essa had found it in the leather bag that hung from Wulf’s belt, and taken the little silver bottle while he slept. The dogs were another matter.
