Bloodline

by Katy Moran

  When he found his father and Egric they were still awake, playing knucklestones with Anno and a couple of Egric’s younger ring-bearers – Essa recognized Frica, the boy who had been guarding the gate at Bedricsworth. He stared at them all for a moment, stunned. How could they be playing knucklestones now? Everyone looked up as he approached, and he felt the words fly out of his mouth before he had time to stop them.

  “Egric, my lord, the Mercians are coming!” He knew he sounded afraid, and felt his face grow hot with shame. Some of the younger men laughed.

  “We know that,” Frica muttered. “We’re not sitting in this cursed bog for fun, are we?”

  “Silence,” said Egric sharply. “Essa, how do you know this? I’ve men on top of the wall watching and they’ve seen nothing.”

  “Well, no,” Essa said. “They’re in the woods, we couldn’t see them from here, but—”

  “How do you know, then?” said Egric. “I told you not to ride to the village, Essa—”

  “I didn’t, I – I just know they’re coming. You must believe me.”

  Cai laid down his stones then and stared at Essa.

  Anno and most of the younger men were laughing now. “I think the lad’s had a night terror,” said Anno. “Get back to sleep, boy, you’ll give everyone the shakes—”

  “Be quiet, Anno,” said Cai. He turned to Essa and spoke in British. “Do not speak of it to the men, because they are all Christians, but did you leave your body to know this?”

  Essa nodded, glancing at Egric, who was staring at Cai in disbelief.

  “Listen to him, Egric,” Cai said. “It does not matter how he knows it. Essa, what did you see?”

  Essa was so shocked to hear Cai speaking out for him that it took him a moment to reply. “Men, all in the forest,” he said at last. “More men than there are leaves on that willow tree. On all those trees. And they’re coming this way.”

  “But it’s the middle of the night,” Anno said quickly. “They won’t make their move till dawn. That’s if Essa isn’t just dreaming.”

  “He is not,” said Cai. “Take my word for it.” Anno looked ready to laugh again, and so did the younger men, but then a look passed between him and Cai, and Anno turned to the younger ones and said, “Do you stow your talk and listen.”

  Egric’s eyes narrowed. “But, Essa, did you not say Penda would hold his hand till Wulf returned with Eiludd Powys’s daughter? How long is it since you left Ad Gefrin? Eight nights? Surely they can’t have ridden down in that time – and, Lord knows, it’s hard to change horses in Elmet and Lindsay. It’s mostly British there and they move about like smoke.”

  “Mostly, but not all,” Cai said. “Wulf’s done that journey more than a few times – he knows where to go. And if Essa came down the coast with a trader-boat, what was to stop Wulf doing the same? If Essa says the army’s on the move, I counsel you to listen. Wulf’s back under Penda’s wing and he’s got Powys’s daughter with him – Penda’s about to ride out, Egric, mark my words.” He caught Egric’s eye. They looked at each other for a moment, then Egric nodded slowly.

  “There’s nothing to say Penda won’t attack before dawn,” he said. “It’s a fool’s trick unless you want to break the legs of half your horses, but they must know we’re here and they will want to take us by surprise. They must gather in their shield-walls first, though – and with so many men, it won’t be a quick task. Essa, I’ll only ask you one last time: are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said, heart pounding, wishing it were not true. His spirit-animal had shown him, though, and he could not change that.

  “Shall we make our shield-wall, too, my lord?” said one of the younger men.

  Egric laughed. “No,” he said. “We’re going to ride like berserkers across the marsh and spear the bastards full of holes before they know what’s hit them – and hope we don’t lose half our horses in doing it.”

  Word spread quickly through the camp.

  “It’s nothing more than an ambush,” said the old man Essa had been shooting targets with the night before. “Egric’s breaking all the fight-rules. What’s he thinking of, to have no shield-wall, and nothing more than a crazy ride across the marsh?”

  Essa said nothing. Egric was right: they had no choice but to catch Penda’s battle-hordes unawares. The men fell quiet as Egric walked by, and he clapped Essa on the shoulder, saying softly, “Do you ride by me, Aesc, since were it not for you, Seobert would still be praying to God.”

  “Me?” Essa said. “It’s not my place, lord. I should be marching behind with the other boys.”

  Egric smiled. “You still have not learned to follow my word, have you, Aesc son of Cai? If I wanted you on foot with Frica and the others, I should tell you so. But since I do not, do you take up a shield and ride with me and your father.”

  At least I’ll be able to see the Mercians coming, Essa thought.

  Quickly and quietly, the men got to their feet, rousing their companions from sleep, shrugging their shoulders up and down to keep out the cold and loosen cramped limbs.

  Leather pouches of boiled woad-flower paste were passed from man to man. The paste was itchy where it dried in stripes on Essa’s face, but when dawn finally came it would mark him out as Wolf Folk and he would not be killed by his own side. If I get as far as that, he thought, and then had to busy himself with fitting the saddle on the chestnut mare. Everyone was doing something – tightening sword-belts, mounting up, licking the feathered flight of their first arrow so that it would slice through the air straight and true. Someone handed Essa a drink, but the honey-wine tasted sour and he could not swallow it.

  He took his place beside Egric, hefting the shield across his back. The chestnut flinched as she felt it brush her withers, and he leant forward and whispered, “Calm, my honey, calm,” till she stood quietly.

  “Here, take these.” Cai was standing beside Melyor, and she nuzzled at his ear as he passed Essa three throwing-spears, making sure the chestnut saw them. Cai patted the mare’s neck and spoke to her in British, saying, “There, my swift one. See, the cub is holding spears, so do not panic when you see them fly.”

  Essa clutched the throwing-spears, fingering the leather straps that marked the balance-points. Cai looked up at him, and Essa thought he saw the briefest hint of a smile, but the next moment his father had turned away and was mounting up, taking a shield passed to him by the boy Frica.

  Frica raised an eyebrow as he walked past Essa to take his orders from Egric.

  “Not out the back with the rest of Egric’s boys, chucking stones till you drop, then?” he said quietly. “I thought not. Well, doubtless you’ll bleed just as hard when Penda’s men get you.”

  “Don’t fear, I’m sure I will,” Essa replied, and stared straight ahead at the earth wall, set on looking unafraid till Frica had gone, at least. He pictured Wulf riding in the front line, too, wearing the Mercian boar-crest beside his father. Would they see each other, would he have to fight Wulf?

  Essa had expected Seobert or Egric to make a blood-stirring speech, like kings did in songs, but everyone had been ordered to keep quiet, and there was no rousing battle cry. Seobert was alone just a few steps ahead, astride his royal white mare. He carried nothing but a pale holly staff, and Essa could hear Egric trying to persuade him to bear a weapon.

  “We’re outnumbered by hordes and you carry nothing but a staff like one of our old spirit-men,” Egric hissed. “It’s pure folly. You’ll be killed, and once the men see that, the battle’s as good as lost. Seobert, my lord, for God’s sake, if Penda wins this, it’s the end of the Wolf Folk. Carry a spear!”

  Seobert turned his horse around to face the men. He had nothing but the holly staff, not even a shield. He would not last the first charge.

  “If God is on our side,” he said, “Penda will be defeated, and the Wolf Folk shall ride home in victory.”

  Essa turned to his father. “What are we going to do? He will be the first to die.” His face was sore w
here the blue paint had dried in thick stripes across his cheeks. He wanted to scrape it all off but knew he could not.

  Cai shrugged. “It takes more than one king to win or lose a battle.”

  But Essa was not so sure. He had seen the change in the men; he remembered them sitting disconsolately by their campfires when he had first arrived at Bedricsworth, and the cheering when Seobert had ridden out amongst them.

  This was their only chance, and the king was riding out with nothing but a bough of holly.

  When the order came he hardly heard it, and it was only when the chestnut mare panicked and twisted beneath him he saw that everyone was moving. He felt a jolt of fear: he had to keep his wits sharp and clear; Eostre’s slender new moon was behind a cloud and he could hardly see to ride. If he made a mistake now and the chestnut put her foot in a hole, he’d be dead, trampled by those coming from behind.

  He leaned forward, laying his hand on the chestnut’s neck to soothe her, and started riding properly, steering with his thighs, so she felt he was in charge, that she was safe with him. He knew he should be afraid, but somehow he was not. It was thrilling to be riding at the head of all these men, at the side of Seobert and Egric and his father. He could just see the king, a length ahead of everyone else, his dark cloak streaming out behind him, the pale holly branch held high.

  The air rang with the sound of horses’ hooves pounding the earth, splashing marsh water, spraying great showers of mud. We must look like an army of ghosts, Essa thought, riding silently through the night with no horn blowing, no harsh battle-cries rising like crow-song. The wind rushed at him, whipping his hair about his head, his hands were frozen but after a while he did not notice even that.

  They rode past the village, and he saw people standing on the walls, leaning over the fence, watching the ghost army thundering by. They passed so quickly he could not tell who was there, but he hoped they’d seen him, so everyone knew he was safe. He felt ashamed that he had gone to Powys without saying goodbye to Hild. He knew how worried she must be, and he wished she could see him now, riding into battle beside Cai and Egric.

  The wood-shore was getting closer and closer. Then, suddenly, Essa saw men riding towards him – a ragged group of Mercian soldiers. And now it was finally happening he could hardly believe it.

  It was time.

  Steering with his knees, he gripped the shield-handle with his left hand, holding the throwing-spears in place with his thumb. He had only three, and no boy to come running up and pass him a stabbing-spear, as Frica would do for Egric. Suddenly, the pearly grey sky was dark with arrows and stones as the Wolf Folk bowmen and boys with slingshots let their missiles fly, and the Mercians returned the gift. Ahead of Essa, Seobert rode on and on, the God-King of the Wolf Folk. Arrow after arrow flew down, and spear after spear, and men dropped back like dead moths shaken out of a winter tunic. But Seobert was never hit, either by a stray Wolf Folk arrow or the hard iron tip of a Mercian spear. It seemed as if he had been touched by God, that he was saved, protected in some way, for he rode so fast none of the Mercians could get near him.

  Suddenly, the man next to Essa was gone. Gasping, he turned back, saw a body mashed into the grass, a horse running loose through the charging men. We’re only a few compared with the Mercians, he thought. And that’s one down already. He looked around for Cai and Egric, but could not see them. He couldn’t even see Seobert now, either – just Mercians thundering towards him. Then, suddenly, they were in amongst the trees and it took all the skill he had to ride a path through them.

  Somewhere, he heard voices shouting and heard Egric yell, “Watch out for the shield-wall – we shall put them in fear of their Maker yet!”

  Through the rain of arrows, stones and spears, Essa saw a hard-packed wall of men edging out from the wood shore, their shields round and pale in the thin light. He wished he was marching with comrades on all sides, but he had only the chestnut mare for company. He could not see Cai anywhere.

  “Ride on! Ride on!” Egric’s voice rang out again, and Essa joined the throng of Wolf Folk horsemen thundering by the Mercian shield-wall, screaming and jabbing at the air with their spears. But the Mercians came on without stopping, and the storm of arrows from behind them thickened. The air rang with the cries of the dying. Was it true what they said, that a dead man in a shield-wall would not even fall, so close did they march?

  Then, out of nowhere, a Mercian on horseback charged towards Essa with a spear. The pointed head shot past, missing him by a finger’s width. Hardly thinking, he snatched the shaft out of the air and threw the spear back with all his strength. He just caught a glimpse of the horseman’s twisted face before he fell in a shower of blood. Mercian yellow paint across his cheeks made him look catlike – and he had a brown birthmark in the shape of a bean on his forehead. His wide-open eyes were green, flecked with amber lights. Essa knew dawn must have broken, because he could see the first person he had killed.

  He looked around again for Cai but all he saw were the flailing limbs and screaming faces of strangers. The hot stink of fresh blood never left him and he felt it drying on his face with the blue paint: the blood of strangers.

  Essa thanked God the chestnut had been trained so well, she was like a rock beneath him, and moved at the slightest touch – he hardly had to think. It was as if they were one creature. It was the next best thing to riding Melyor. But where was she? Melyor and Cai – he hadn’t seen them for a long while.

  Gasping for breath, he looked around and saw that he was surrounded by men with yellow faces.

  The village. He must get to the village. Letting out a fierce yell, he turned the chestnut and set her through the trees, letting fly his ashen spears one by one. A Mercian throwing-spear crashed to the ground just beside him, and he felt a jolt of pain in his left shoulder, but he would get to the village; nothing could stop him.

  Suddenly, he was out of the trees, and he could see the village gate. He saw with horror that the gate had been breached – a dark hole yawned in the wall where it had once been, and everywhere he looked, he could see men with yellow faces. He dug his heels into the chestnut’s sides. The horse raised her head and gave an unearthly scream, bucking so hard that Essa could barely keep to his saddle as he set her at the village wall.

  My good girl, my honey – you can do this for me, I know you can.

  He had to get in there. They turned, spattering mud and grass, and Essa leant low over the chestnut’s neck as she galloped up and over the village wall, scattering the men cutting and hacking at each other in the courtyard. The familiarity of the place was a shock.

  Was that Red he could see by the weaving-shed, his face twisted with rage, shoving a spear into someone’s guts? Essa screamed out his name but when he next looked, Red was gone. He saw no other face he knew – were they all dead? His stomach clenched. His sleeve was sticking to his arm and he felt dizzy. He couldn’t hold on. He jerked his feet out of the stirrups and rolled out of the way just as the chestnut lurched sideways and fell over, kicking up a cloud of dust. Where was his shield? The cross-strap must have broken. A spear protruded from the side of her neck, dark and black like a long claw. One of her back legs lay bent at a grotesque angle, broken.

  I’m sorry.

  Essa just had time to see the fear in his horse’s eyes before he drew the Silver Serpent and plunged her into the flesh next to the spear. Blood spurted up into his face. He choked with a rush of tears that mingled with the congealing blood and turned around just in time to rip the sword from the horse’s neck and plunge it into the guts of a man who was running towards him with a double-headed axe. Essa did not remember his face, but he would never forget the fear in the eyes of his horse as she lay dying. Where was everyone?

  He scrambled towards the gate and had to run over the broken door, torn from its hinges and pushed inside by the Mercians. His fingers were numb. The wooden planks bucked and cracked beneath his feet before he hit the ground again, and felt himself hauled backwards by
an arm around his neck, choking him.

  So this was dying. He saw a flash of polished iron and whipped the knife from the scabbard at his belt. He still had the bone-handled knife – Wulf’s knife. Strange how cold his left hand felt – he could hardly grip the handle – and the arm too except at the top, just under his shoulder where it felt as if he had leant against a scalding pan drawn out of the fire. He went to plunge the knife backwards, into the soft parts of whoever had him by the neck when a hand closed around his wrist. He was pushed around to face Red, who let him go, breathing heavily as he stepped back. One eye was blackened and swollen and his face was redder than ever, beaded with sweat.

  “Essa!” They threw their arms around each other, holding on so tight Essa could barely breathe.

  “Where is everyone?” He stared around, but could see only strangers.

  “In the weaving-shed and— Essa, quick! Cole’s just been hit.”

  They ran across the courtyard, cutting and thrusting as they went, whirling and running as if they were in some strange dance. There was blood everywhere. Essa could hardly see, but caught up with Red just as Cole came running out of the weaving-shed with his cloak on fire. Essa barely knew him; his face was knotted with rage and agony he tore the cloak from his shoulders and threw it to the ground. Flames leapt up around his legs as he stamped out the fire.

  “Cole, Cole!” His voice did not sound like his own.

  “Essa!” When they hugged, Essa came away soaked in Cole’s blood.“They’re torching it!” Cole shouted. “Most of the women are in there with the children, and someone’s just torched the thatch. Quick!”

  “Where’s Lark?” Hope leaped in Essa’s chest – maybe she was in there, and he could save her.