The Pale Horseman s-2

by Bernard Cornwell

  It would give Alfred an idea of how large Guthrum's force was. Say two thousand men? And elsewhere in Wessex, in the towns the Danes had occupied, there must be another thousand. That was a strong force, but not quite strong enough to capture all the kingdom.

  That would have to wait until spring when reinforcements would come from Denmark or from the three conquered kingdoms of England.

  I rode back to the watermill as dusk fell. There was a frost and the air was still. Three rooks flew across the river as I dismounted. I reckoned one of Alfred's men could rub my horse down; all I wanted was to find some warmth and it was plain Alfred had risked lighting a fire, for smoke was pouring out of the hole in the turf roof.

  They were all crouched about the small fire and I joined them, stretching my hands to the flames.

  'Two thousand men,' I said, 'more or less.'

  No one answered.

  'Didn't you hear me?' I asked, and looked around the faces.

  There were five faces. Only five.

  'Where's the king?' I asked.

  'He went,' Adelbert said helplessly.

  'He did what?'

  'He went to the town,' the priest said. He was wearing Alfred's rich blue cloak and I assumed Alfred had taken Adelbert's plain garment.

  I stared at him. 'You let him go?'

  'He insisted,' Egwine said.

  'How could we stop him?' Adelbert pleaded. 'He's the king!'

  'You hit the bastard, of course,' I snarled. 'You hold him down till the madness passes. When did he go?'

  'Just after you left,' the priest said miserably, 'and he took my harp,' he added.

  'And when did he say he'd be back?'

  'By nightfall.'

  'It is nightfall,' I said. I stood and stamped out the fire. 'You want the Danes to come and investigate the smoke?' I doubted the Danes would come, but I wanted the damned fools to suffer.

  'You,' I pointed to one of the four soldiers, 'rub my horse down. Feed it.'

  I went back to the door. The first stars were bright and the snow glinted under a sickle moon.

  'Where are you going?' Adelbert had followed me.

  'To find the king, of course.'

  If he lived. And if he did not, then Iseult was dead.

  I had to beat on Cippanhamm's western gate, provoking a disgruntled voice from the far side demanding to know who I was.

  'Why aren't you up on the ramparts?' I asked in return.

  The bar was lifted and the gate opened a few inches. A face peered out, then vanished as I pushed the gate hard inwards, banging it against the suspicious guard. 'My horse went lame,' I said, 'and I've walked here.'

  He recovered his balance and pushed the gate shut. Who are you?' he asked again.

  'Messenger from Svein.'

  'Sveinl' He lifted the bar and dropped it into place. 'Has he caught Alfred yet?'

  'I'll tell Guthrum that news before I tell you.'

  'Just asking,' he said.

  'Where is Guthrum?' I asked. I had no intention of going anywhere near the Danish chieftain for, after my insults to his dead mother, the best I could hope for was a swift death, and the likelihood was a very slow one.

  'He's in Alfred's hall,' the man said, and pointed south. 'That side of town, so you've still farther to walk.'

  It never occurred to him that any messenger from Svein would never ride alone through Wessex, that such a man would come with an escort of fifty or sixty men, but he was too cold to think, and besides, with my long hair and my thick arm rings I looked like a Dane. He retreated into the house beside the gate where his comrades were clustered around a hearth and I walked on into a town made strange. Houses were missing, burned in the first fury of the Danish assault, and the large church by the market place on the hilltop was nothing but blackened beams touched white by the snow. The streets were frozen mud, and only I moved there, for the cold was keeping the Danes in the remaining houses. I could hear singing and laughter. Light leaked past shutters or glowed through smoke-holes in low roofs.

  I was cold and I was angry. There were men here who could recognise me, and men who might recognise Alfred, and his stupidity had put us both in danger. Would he have been mad enough to go back to his own hall? He must have guessed that was where Guthrum would be living and he would surely not risk being recognised by the Danish leader, which suggested he would be in the town rather than the royal compound.

  I was walking towards Eanflaed's old tavern when I heard the roars. They were coming from the east side of town and I followed the sound which led me to the nunnery by the river wall. I had never been inside the convent, but the gate was open and the courtyard inside was lit by two vast fires which offered some warmth to the men nearest the flames. And there were at least a hundred men in the courtyard, bellowing encouragement and insults at two other men who were fighting in the mud and melted snow between the fires. They were fighting with swords and shields, and every clash of blade against blade or of blade against wood brought raucous shouts. I glanced briefly at the fighters, then searched for faces in the crowd. I was looking for Haesten, or anyone else who might recognise me, but I saw no one, though it was hard to distinguish faces in the flickering shadows. There was no sign of any nuns and I assumed they had either fled, were dead or had been taken away for the conquerors'

  amusement.

  I slunk along the courtyard wall. I was wearing my helmet and its face-plate was an adequate disguise, but some men threw me curious glances, for it was unusual to see a helmeted warrior off a battlefield. In the end, seeing no one I recognised, I took the helmet off and hung it from my belt. The nunnery church had been turned into a feasting hall, but there was only a handful of drunks inside, oblivious to the noise outside. I stole half a loaf of bread from one of the drunks and took it back outside and watched the fighting.

  Steapa Snotor was one of the two men. He no longer wore his mail armour, but was in a leather coat and he fought with a small shield and a long sword, but around his waist was a chain that led to the courtyard's northern side where two men held it and, whenever Steapa's opponent seemed to be in danger, they yanked on the chain to pull the huge Saxon off balance. He was being made to fight as Haesten had been fighting when I first discovered him, and doubtless Steapa's captors were making good money from fools who wanted to try their prowess against a captured warrior. Steapa's current opponent was a thin, grinning Dane who tried to dance around the huge man and slide his sword beneath the small shield, doing what I had done when I had fought Steapa, but Steapa was doggedly defending himself, parrying each blow and, when the chain allowed him, counterattacking fast.

  Whenever the Danes jerked him backwards the crowd jeered and once, when the men yanked the chain too hard and Steapa turned on them, only to be faced by three long spears, the crowd gave him a great cheer. He whipped back to parry the next attack, then stepped backwards, almost to the spear points, and the thin man followed fast, thinking he had Steapa at a disadvantage, but Steapa suddenly checked, slammed the shield down onto his opponent's blade and brought his left hand around, sword hilt foremost, to hit the man on the head. The Dane went down, Steapa reversed the sword to stab and the chain dragged him off his feet and the spears threatened him with death if he finished the job. The crowd liked it. He had won.

  Money changed hands. Steapa sat by the fire, his grim face showing nothing, and one of the men holding the chain shouted for another opponent. 'Ten pieces of silver if you wound him! Fifty if you kill him!'

  Steapa, who probably did not understand a word, just stared at the crowd, daring another man to take him on, and sure enough a half drunken brute came grinning from the crowd. Bets were made as Steapa was prodded to his feet. It was like a bull-baiting, except Steapa was being given only one opponent at a time. They would doubtless have set three or four men on him, except that the Danes who had taken him prisoner did not want him dead so long as there were still fools willing to pay to fight him.

  I was sidling around the courtya
rd's edge, still looking at faces. 'Six pennies?' a voice said behind me and I turned to see a man grinning beside a door. It was one of a dozen similar doors, evenly spaced along the lime washed wall.

  'Six pennies?' I asked, puzzled.

  'Cheap,' he said, and he pushed back a small shutter on the door and invited me to look inside.

  I did. A tallow candle lit the tiny room which must have been where a nun had slept, and inside was a low bed and on the bed was a naked woman who was half covered by a man who had dropped his breeches. 'He won't be long,' the man said.

  I shook my head and moved away from the shutter.

  'She was a nun here,' the man said. 'Nice and young? Pretty too. Screams like a pig usually.'

  'No,' I said.

  'Four pennies? She won't put up a fight. Not now she won't.'

  I walked on, convinced I was wasting my time. Had Alfred been and gone? More likely, I thought grimly, the fool had gone back to his hall and I wondered if I dared go there, but the thought of Guthrum's revenge deterred me. The new fight had started. The Dane was crouching low, trying to cut Steapa's feet from under him, but Steapa was swatting his blows easily enough and I sidled past the men holding his chains and saw another room off to my left, a large room, perhaps where the nuns had eaten, and a glint of gold in the light of its dying fire drew me inside.

  The gold was not metal. It was the gilding on the frame of a small harp that had been stamped on so hard that it broke. I looked around the shadows and saw a man lying in a heap at the far end and went to him. It was Alfred. He was barely conscious, but he was alive and, so far as I could see, unwounded, but he was plainly stunned and I dragged him to the wall and sat him up. He had no cloak and his boots were gone.

  I left him there, went back to the church and found a drunk to befriend. I helped him to his feet, put my arm around his shoulders and persuaded him I was taking him to his bed, then took him through the back door to the latrine yard of the nunnery where I punched him three times in the belly and twice-in the face, then carried his hooded cloak and tall boots back to Alfred.

  The king was conscious now. His face was bruised. He looked up at me without showing any surprise, then rubbed his chin.

  'They didn't like the way I played,' he said.

  'That's because the Danes like good music,' I said. 'Put these on.' I threw the boots beside him, draped him with the cloak and made him pull the hood over his face. 'You want to die?' I asked him angrily.

  'I want to know about my enemies,' he said.

  'And I found out for you,' I said. `There are roughly two thousand of them.'

  'That's what I thought,' he said, then grimaced. 'What's on this cloak?'

  'Danish vomit,' I said.

  He shuddered. 'Three of them attacked me,' he sounded surprised. 'They kicked and punched me.'

  'I told you, the Danes like good music,' I said, helping him to his feet. 'You're lucky they didn't kill you.'

  'They thought I was Danish,' he said, then spat blood that trickled from his swollen lower lip.

  'Were they drunk?' I asked. You don't even look like a Dane.'

  'I pretended I was a musician who couldn't speak,' he mouthed silently at me, then grinned bloodily, proud of his deception. I did not grin back and he sighed. 'They were very drunk, but I need to know their mood, Uhtred. Are they confident? Are they readying to attack?' He paused to wipe more blood from his lips. 'I could only find that out by coming to see them for myself. Did you see Steapa?'

  'Yes.'

  'I want to take him back with us.'

  'Lord,' I said savagely, 'you are a fool. He's in chains. He's got half a dozen guards.'

  'Daniel was in a lion's den, yet he escaped. Saint Paul was imprisoned, yet God freed him.'

  'Then let God look after Steapa,' I said. 'You're coming back with me. Now.'

  He bent to relieve a pain in his belly. 'They punched me in the stomach,' he said as he straightened.

  In the morning, I thought, he would have a rare black eye to display. He flinched as a huge cheer sounded from the courtyard and I guessed Steapa had either died or downed his last opponent.

  'I want to see my hall,' Alfred said stubbornly.

  'Why?'

  'I'm a man who would look at his own home. You can come or stay.'

  'Guthrum's there) You want to be recognised? You want to die?'

  'Guthrum will be inside, and I just want to look at the outside.'

  He would not be dissuaded and so I led him through the court yard to the street, wondering if I should simply pick him up and carry him away, but in his obdurate mood he would probably struggle and shout until men came to find out the cause of the noise.

  'I wonder what happened to the nuns,' he said as we left the nunnery.

  'One of them is being whored in there for pennies,' I said.

  'Oh, dear God.' He made the sign of the cross and turned back and I knew he was thinking of rescuing the woman, so I dragged him onwards.

  'This is madness!' I protested.

  'It is a necessary madness,' he said calmly, then stopped to lecture me. 'What does Wessex believe?

  It thinks I am defeated, it thinks the Danes have won, it readies itself for the spring and the coming of more Danes. So they must learn something different. They must learn that the king lives, that he walked among his enemies and that he made fools of them.'

  'That he got given a bloody nose and a black eye,' I said.

  'You won't tell then that,' he said, 'any more than you'll tell folk about that wretched woman who hit me with an eel. We must give men hope, Uhtred, and in the spring that hope will blossom into victory. Remember Boethius, Uhtred, remember Boethius! Never give up hope.'

  He believed it. He believed that God was protecting him, that he could walk among his enemies without fear or harm, and to an extent the was right for the Danes were well supplied with ale, birch wine and mead, and most were much too drunk to care about a bruised man carrying a broken harp.

  No one stopped us going into the royal compound, but there were six black-cloaked guards at the hall door and I refused to let Alfred get close to them.

  'They'll take one look at your bloodied face,' I said, 'and finish what the others began.'

  'Then let me at least go to the church.'

  'You want to pray?' I asked sarcastically.

  'Yes,' he said simply.

  I tried to stop him. 'If you die here,' I said, 'then Iseult dies.'

  'That wasn't my doing,' he said.

  'You're the king, aren't you?'

  'The bishop thought you would join the Danes,' he said. 'And others agreed.'

  'I have no friends left among the Danes,' I said. 'They were your hostages and they died.'

  'Then I shall pray for their pagan souls,' he said, and pulled away from me and went to the church door where he instinctively pushed the hood off his head to show respect. I snatched it back over his hair, shadowing his bruises. He did not resist, but just pushed the door open and made the sign of the cross.

  The church was being used to shelter more of Guthrum's men. There were straw mattresses, heaps of chain mail, stacks of weapons and a score of men and women, gathered around a newly-made hearth in the nave. They were playing dice and none took any particular interest in our arrival until someone shouted that we should shut the door.

  'We're leaving,' I said to Alfred. 'You can't pray here.'

  He did not answer. He was gazing reverently to where the altar had been, and where a half-dozen horses were now tethered.

  'We're leaving!' I insisted again.

  And just then a voice hailed me. It was a voice full of astonishment and I saw one of the dice players stand and stare at me. A dog ran from the shadows and began to jump up and down, trying to lick me, and I saw the dog was Nihtgenga and that the man who had recognised me was Ragnar. Earl Ragnar, my friend. Who I had thought was dead.

  Nin

  i e

  Ragnar embraced me. There were tears in both our eyes an
d for a moment neither of us could speak, though I retained enough sense to look behind me to make sure Alfred was safe. He was squatting beside the door, deep in the shadow of a bale of wool, with his cloak's hood drawn over his face.

  'I thought you were dead!' I said to Ragnar.

  'I hoped you would come,' he said at the same moment, and for a time we both talked and neither listened, and then Brida walked from the back of the church and I watched her, seeing a woman instead of a girl, and she laughed to see me and gave me a decorous kiss.