The Pale Horseman s-2

by Bernard Cornwell

  'It is Saint Cedd's feast day,' he told me.

  I said nothing.

  You have heard of Saint Cedd?' he asked me and, when my silence betrayed ignorance, he smiled indulgently. 'He was an East Anglian, am I not right, brother?'

  'The most blessed Cedd was indeed an East Angle, lord,' Asser confirmed.

  'And his mission was in Lundene,' Alfred went on, 'but he concluded his days at Lindisfarena. You must know that house, Uhtred?'

  'I know it, lord,' I said. The island was a short ride front Bebbanburg and not so long before I had ridden to its monastery with Earl Ragnar and watched the monks die beneath Danish swords. 'I know it well,' I added.

  'So Cedd is famous in your homeland?'

  'I've not heard of him, lord.'

  'I think of him as a symbol,' Alfred said, 'a man who was born in East Anglia, did his life's work in Mercia and died in Northumbria.' He brought his long, pale hands together so that the fingers embraced. 'The Saxons of England, Uhtred, gathered together before God.'

  'And united in joyful prayer with the Britons,' Asser added piously.

  'I beseech Almighty God for that happy outcome,' the king said, smiling at me, and by now I recognised what he was saying. He stood there, looking so humble, with no crown, no great necklace, no arm rings, nothing but a small garnet brooch holding the cloak at his neck, and he spoke of a happy outcome, but what he was really seeing was the Saxon people gathered under one king. A king of Wessex. Alfred's piety hid a monstrous ambition.

  'We must learn from the saints,' Alfred told me. 'Their lives are a guide to the darkness that surrounds us, and Saint Cedd's holy example teaches that we must be united, so I am loathe to shed Saxon blood on Saint Cedd's feast day.'

  'There need be no bloodshed, lord,' I said.

  'I am pleased to hear it,' Alfred interjected.

  'If the charges against me are retracted.'

  The smile went from his face and he walked to the window and stared into the misty courtyard and I looked where he looked and saw that a small display was being mounted for my benefit.

  Steapa was being armoured. Two men were dropping a massive mail coat over his wide shoulders, while a third stood by with an outsized shield and a monstrous sword.

  'I talked with Steapa last night,' the king said, turning from the window, 'and he told me there was a mist when Svein attacked at Cynuit. A morning mist like this one.' He waved at the whiteness sifting into the chapel.

  'I wouldn't know, lord,' I said.

  'So it is possible,' the king went on, 'that Steapa was mistaken when he thought he saw you.' I almost smiled. The king knew Steapa had lied, though he would not say as much. 'Father Willibald also spoke to the crew of the Eftwyrd,' the king went on, 'and not one of them confirmed Steapa's tale.'

  The crew was still in Hamtun, so Willibald's report must have come from there and that meant the king had known I was innocent of the slaughter at Cynuit even before I was charged. 'So I was falsely arraigned?' I said harshly.

  'You were accused,' the king corrected me, 'and accusations must be proven or refuted.'

  'Or withdrawn.'

  ‘I can withdraw the charges,' Alfred agreed. Steapa, outside the window, was making sure his mail coat was seated comfortably by swinging his great sword. And it was great. It was huge, a hammer of a blade. Then the king half-closed the shutter, hiding Steapa. 'I can withdraw the accusation about Cynuit,' he said, 'but I do not think Brother Asser lied to us.'

  'I have a queen,' I said, 'who says he does.'

  'A shadow queen,' Asser hissed, 'a pagan! A sorceressl' He looked at Alfred. 'She is evil, lord,' he said, 'a witch! Maleficos non patieris vivere!'

  'Thou shalt not permit a witch to live,' Alfred translated for my benefit. 'That is God's commandment, Uhtred, from the holy scriptures.'

  'Your answer to the truth,' I sneered, 'is to threaten a woman with death?'

  Alfred flinched at that. 'Brother Asser is a good Christian,' he said vehemently, 'and he tells the truth. You went to war without my orders. You used my ship, my men, and you behaved treacherously!

  You are the liar, Uhtred, and you are the cheat!' He spoke angrily, but managed to control his anger. 'It is my belief,' he went on, 'that you have paid your debt to the church with goods stolen from other good Christians.'

  'Not true,' I said harshly. I had paid the debt with goods stolen from a Dane.

  'So resume the debt,' the king said, 'and we shall have no death on this blessed day of Saint Cedd.'

  I was being offered life. Alfred waited for my response, smiling. He was sure I would accept his offer because to him it seemed reasonable. He had no love for warriors, weapons and killing. Fate decreed that he must spend his reign fighting, but it was not to his taste. He wanted to civilise Wessex, to give it piety and order, and two men fighting to the death on a winter's morning was not his idea of a well-run kingdom.

  But I hated Alfred. I hated him for humiliating me at Exanceaster when he had made me wear a penitent's robe and crawl on my knees. Nor did I think of him as my king. He was a West Saxon and I was a Northumbrian, and I reckoned so long as he was king then Wessex had small chance of surviving. He believed God would protect him from the Danes, while I believed they had to be defeated by swords.

  I also had an idea how to defeat Steapa, just an idea, and I had no wish to take on a debt I had already paid, and I was young and I was foolish and I was arrogant and I was never able to resist a stupid impulse.

  'Everything I have said is the truth,' I lied, 'and I would defend that truth with my sword.'

  Alfred flinched from my tone. 'Are you saying Brother Asser lied?' he demanded.

  'He twists truth,' I said, 'like a woman wrings a hen's neck.'

  The king pulled the shutter open, showing me the mighty Steapa in his gleaming war glory. 'You really want to die?' he asked me.

  'I want to fight for the truth, lord king,' I said stubbornly.

  'Then you are a fool,' Alfred said, his anger showing again. 'You are a liar, a fool and a sinner.' He strode past me, pulled open the door and shouted at a servant to tell Ealdorman Wulfhere that the fight was to take place after all. 'Go,' he added to me, 'and may your soul receive its just reward.'

  Wulfhere had been charged with arranging the fight, but there was a delay because the ealdorman had disappeared. The town was searched, the royal buildings were searched, but there was no sign of him until a stable slave nervously reported that Wulfhere and his men had ridden away from Cippanhamm before dawn. No one knew why, though some surmised that Wulfhere wanted no part in a trial by combat, which made little sense to me for the Ealdorman had never struck me as a squeamish man. Ealdorman Huppa of Thornsata was appointed to replace him, and so it was close to midday when my swords were brought to me and we were escorted down to the meadow that lay across the bridge which led from the town's eastern gate. A huge crowd had gathered on the river's far bank.

  There were cripples, beggars, jugglers, women selling pies, dozens of priests, excited children and, of course, the assembled warriors of the West Saxon nobility, all of them in Cippanhamm for the meeting of the Witan, and all eager to see Steapa Snotor show off his renowned skill.

  'You're a damned fool,' Leofric said to me.

  'Because I insisted on fighting?'

  'You could have walked away.'

  'And men would have called me a coward,' I said. And that too was the truth, that a man cannot step back from a fight and stay a man. We make much in this life if we are able. We make children and wealth and amass land and build halls and assemble armies and give great feasts, but only one thing survives us. Reputation. I could not walk away.

  Alfred did not come to the fight. Instead, with the pregnant Ælswith and their two children, and escorted by a score of guards and as many priests and courtiers, he had ridden westwards. He was accompanying Brother Asser on the start of the monk's return journey to Dyfed, and the king was making a point that he preferred the company of the British chur
chman to watching two of his warriors fight like snarling hounds. But no one else in Wessex wanted to miss the battle. They were eager for it, but Huppa wanted everything to be orderly and so he insisted that the crowd push back from the damp ground beside the river to give us space. Eventually the folk were massed on a green bank overlooking the trampled grass and Huppa went to Steapa to enquire if he was ready.

  He was ready. His mail shone in the weak sunlight. His helmet was glistening. His shield was a huge thing, bossed and rimmed with iron, a shield that must have weighed as much as a sack of grain and was a weapon in itself if he managed to hit me with it, but his chief weapon was his great sword that was longer and heavier than any I had seen.

  Huppa, trailed by two guards, came to me. His feet squelched in the grass and I thought that the ground would prove treacherous.

  'Uhtred of Oxton,' he said, 'are you ready?'

  'My name,' I said, 'is Uhtred of Bebbanburg.'

  'Are you ready?' he demanded, ignoring my correction.

  'No,' I said.

  A murmur went through the folk nearest to me, and the murmur spread, and after a few heartbeats the whole crowd was jeering me. They thought me a coward, and that thought was reinforced when I dropped my shield and sword and made Leofric help as I stripped off the heavy coat of mail. Odda the Younger, standing beside his champion, was laughing.

  'What are you doing?' Leofric asked me.

  'I hope you put money on me,' I said.

  'Of course I didn't.'

  'Are you refusing to fight?' Huppa asked me.

  'No,' I said, and when I was stripped of my armour I took Serpent-Breath back from Leofric. Just Serpent-Breath. No helmet, no shield, just my good sword. Now I was unburdened. The ground was heavy, Steapa was armoured, but I was light and I was fast and I was ready.

  'I'm ready,' I told Huppa.

  He went to the meadow's centre, raised an arm, dropped it, and the crowd cheered.

  I kissed the hammer around my neck, trusted my soul to the great god Thor and walked forwards.

  Steapa came steadily towards me, shield up, sword held out to his left. There was no trace of concern in his eyes. He was a workman at his trade and I wondered how many men he had killed, and he must have thought my death would be easy for I had no protection, not even a shield. And so we walked towards each other until, a dozen paces from him, I ran. I ran at him, feinted right towards his sword and then broke hard to my left, still running, going past him now and I was aware of the huge blade swinging fast after me as he turned, but then I was behind him, he was still turning and I dropped to my knees, ducked, heard the blade go over my head and I was up again, lunging.

  The sword pierced his mail, drew blood from just behind his left shoulder, but he was quicker than I had expected and had already checked that first great swing and was bringing the sword back and his turn pulled Serpent-Breath free. I had scratched him.

  I danced back two paces. I went left again and he charged me, hoping to crush me with the weight of his shield, but I ran back to the right, tending off the sword with Serpent-Breath and the crack of the blades was like the bell of doomsday, and I lunged again, this time aiming at his waist, but he stepped hack quickly. I kept going to the right, my arm jarred by the clash of the swords. I went fast, making him turn, and I feinted a lunge, brought him forward and went back to the left. The ground was boggy.

  I feared slipping, but speed was my weapon. I had to keep him turning, keep him swinging into empty air, and snatch what chances I could to use Serpent-Breath's point. Bleed him enough, I thought, and he would tire, but he guessed my tactics and started making short rushes to frustrate me, and each rush would be accompanied by the hiss of that huge sword. He wanted to make me parry and hoped he could break Serpent-Breath when the blades met. I feared the same. She was well made, but even the best sword can break.

  He forced me back, trying to crowd me against the spectators on the bank so he could hack me to pieces in front of them. I let him drive me, then dodged to my right where my left foot slipped and I went down on that knee and the crowd, close behind me now, took in a great breath and a woman screamed because Steapa's huge sword was swinging like an axe onto my neck, only I had not slipped, merely pretended to, and I pushed off with my right foot, came out from under the blow and around his right flank, and he thrust the shield out, catching my shoulder with the rim and I knew I would have a bruise there, but I also had a heartbeat of opportunity and I darted Serpent-Breath forward and her point punctured his mail again to scrape against the ribs of his back and he roared as he turned, wrenching my blade free of his mail, but I was already going backwards.

  I stopped ten paces away. He stopped too and watched me. There was a slight puzzlement on his big face now. There was still no worry there, just puzzlement. He pushed his left foot forward, as Harald had warned me, and he was hoping I would attack it and he would rely on the hidden iron strip in the boot to protect him while he thumped and hacked and bludgeoned me to death. I smiled at him and threw Serpent-Breath from my right hand into my left and held her there, and that was a new puzzle for

  him. Some men could fight with either hand, and perhaps I was one of them? He drew his foot back.

  'Why do they call you Steapa Snotor?' I asked, 'you're not clever. You've got the brains of an addled egg.'

  I was trying to enrage him and hoped that anger would make him careless, but my insult bounced off him. Instead of rushing me in fury he came slowly, watching the sword in my left hand, and the men on the hill called for him to kill me and I suddenly ran at him, broke right and he swung at me a little late, thinking I was going to go left at the last moment and I swept Serpent-Breath back and she caught his sword arm and I could feel her blade scraping through the rings of his mail, but she did not slice through them and then I was away from him and put her back into my right hand, turned, charged him and swerved away at the last moment so that his massive swing missed me by a yard.

  He was still puzzled. This was like a bull-baiting and he was the bull, and his problem was to get me in a place where he could use his greater strength and weight. I was the dog, and my job was to lure him, tease him and bite him until he weakened. He had thought I would come with mail and shield and we would batter each other for a few moments until my strength faded and he could drive me to the ground with massive blows and chop me to scraps with the big sword, but so far his blade had not touched me. But nor had I weakened him. My two cuts had drawn blood, but they were mere scratches. So now he came forward again, hoping to herd me hack to the river.

  A woman screamed from the top of the bank, and I assumed she was trying to encourage him, and the screaming grew louder and I just went back faster, making Steapa lumber forward, but I had slipped away to his right and was coming back at him, making him turn, and then he suddenly stopped and stared past me and his shield went down and his sword dropped too, and all I had to do was lunge.

  He was there for the killing. I could thrust Serpent-Breath into his chest or throat, or ram her into his belly, but I did none of those things. Steapa was no fool at fighting and I guessed he was luring me and I did not take the bait. If I lunged, I thought, he would crush me between his shield and sword. He wanted me to think him defenceless so that I could come into range of his weapons, but instead I stopped and spread my arms, inviting him to attack me as he was inviting me to attack him. .

  But he ignored me. He just stared past my shoulder. And the woman's screaming was shrill now and there were men shouting, and Leofric was yelling my name, and the spectators were no longer watching us, but running in panic.

  So I turned my back on Steapa and looked towards the town on its hill that was cradled by the river's bend.

  And I saw that Cippanhamm was burning. Smoke was darkening the winter sky and the horizon was filled with men, mounted men, men with swords and axes and shields and spears and banners, and more horsemen were coming from the eastern gate to thunder across the bridge.

  Because a
ll Alfred's prayers had failed and the Danes had come to Wessex.

  Steapa recovered his wits before I did. He stared open-mouthed at the Danes crossing the bridge and then just ran towards his master, Odda the Younger, who was shouting for his horses. The Danes were spreading out from the bridge, galloping across the meadow with drawn swords and levelled spears. Smoke poured into the low wintry clouds from the burning town, Some of the king's buildings were alight. A riderless horse, stirrups flapping, galloped across the grass, then Leofric grabbed my elbow and pulled me northwards beside the river. Most of the folk had gone south and the Danes had followed them, so north seemed to offer more safety. Iseult had my mail coat and I took it from her, leaving her to carry Wasp-Sting, and behind us the screaming rose as the Danes chopped into the panicked mass. Folk scattered. Escaping horsemen thumped past us, the hooves throwing up spadefuls of damp earth and grass with every step. I saw Odda the Younger swerve away with three other horsemen. Harald, the shire-reeve, was one of them, but I could not see Steapa and for a moment I feared the big man was looking for me. Then I forgot him as a band of Danes turned north in pursuit of Odda.