The Pale Horseman s-2

by Bernard Cornwell

  'Tomorrow,' I said, 'we raise the fyrd.'

  Because there was a kingdom to save.

  Priests were summoned to Harald's hall and the priests wrote the summons for the fyrd. Most thegns could not read, and many of their priests would probably struggle to decipher the few words, but the messengers would tell them what the parchments said. They were to arm their men and bring them to Ocmundtun, and the wax seal on the summons was the authority for those orders. The seal showed Odda the Elder's badge of a stag.

  ‘It will take a week,' Harald warned me, 'for most of the fyrd to reach here, and the Ealdorman will try to stop it happening at all.'

  'What will he do?'

  'Tell the thegns to ignore it, I suppose.'

  'And Svein? What will he do?'

  'Try to kill us?'

  'And he has eight hundred men who can be here tomorrow.' I said.

  ‘And I have thirty men,' Harald said bleakly.

  'But we do have a fortress,' I said, pointing to the limestone ridge with its palisade.

  I did not doubt that the Danes would come. By summoning the fyrd we threatened their safety, and Svein was not a man who would take a threat lightly, and so, while the messages were carried north and south, the townsfolk were told to take their valuables up to the fort beside the river. Some men were set to strengthening the palisade, others took livestock up onto the moor so the beasts could not be taken by the Danes, and Steapa went to every nearby settlement and demanded that men of fighting age go to Ocmundtun with any weapon they possessed, so that by that afternoon the fort was manned by over eighty men. Few were warriors, most had no weapons other than an axe, but from the foot of the hill they looked formidable enough. Women carried food and water to the fort, and most of the town reckoned to sleep up there, despite the rain, for fear that the Danes would come in the night.

  Odda the Elder refused to go to the fort. He was too sick, he said, and too feeble, and if he was supposed to die then he would die in Harald's hall. Harald and I tried to persuade him, but he would not listen. 'Mildrith can go,' he said.

  'No,' she said. She sat by Odda's bed, her hands clutched tight under the sleeves of her grey robe.

  She stared at me, challenge in her eyes, daring me to give her an order to abandon Odda and go to the fortress.

  'I am sorry,' I said to her.

  'Sorry?'

  'About our son.'

  'You were not a father to him,' she accused me. Her eyes glistened. 'You wanted him to be a Dane!

  You wanted him to be a pagan! You didn't even care for his soul!'

  'I cared for him,' I said, but she ignored that. I had not sounded convincing, even to myself.

  'His soul is safe,' Harald said gently. 'He is in the Lord Jesus' arms. He is happy.'

  Mildrith looked at him and I saw how Harald's words had comforted her, though she still began crying. She caressed her wooden cross, then Odda the Elder reached out and patted her arm.

  'If the Danes come, lord,' I said to him, 'I shall send men for you.'

  I turned then and went from the sickroom. I could not cope with Mildrith crying or with the thought of a dead son. Such things are difficult, much more difficult than making war, and so I buckled on my swords, picked up my shield and put on my splendid wolf-crested helmet so that, when Harald came from Odda's chamber, he checked to see me standing like a warlord by his hearth.

  'If we make a big fire at the eastern end of town,' I said, 'we'll see the Danes come. It will give us time to carry Lord Odda to the fort.'

  'Yes.' He looked up at the great rafters of his hall, and perhaps he was thinking that he would never see it thus again, for the Danes would come and the hall would burn. He made the sign of the cross.

  'Fate is inexorable,' I told him. What else was there to say? The Danes might come, the hall might burn, but they were small things in the balance of a kingdom, and so I went to order the fire that would illuminate the eastern road, but the Danes did not come that night. It rained softly all through the darkness, so that in the morning the folk in the fort were wet, cold and unhappy.

  Then, in the dawn, the first men of the fyrd arrived. It might take days for the farther parts of the shire to receive their summons and to arm men and despatch them to Ocmundtun, but the nearer places sent men straight away so that by late morning there were close to three hundred beneath the fort. No more than seventy of those could be called warriors, men who had proper weapons, shields and at least a leather coat. The rest were farm labourers with hoes or sickles or axes.

  Harald sent foraging parties to find grain. It was one thing to gather a force, quite another to feed it, and none of us knew how long we would have to keep the men assembled. If the Danes did not come to us, then we would have to go to them and force them from Cridianton, and for that we would need the whole fyrd of Defnascir. Odda the Younger, I thought, would never allow that to happen.

  Nor did he. For, as the rain ended and the noontime prayers were said, Odda himself came to Ocmundtun and he did not come alone, but rode with sixty of his warriors in chain mail and as many Danes in their war glory. The sun came out as they appeared from the eastern trees and it shone on mail and on spear points, on bridle chains and stirrup irons, on polished helmets and bright shield bosses. They spread into the pastures on either side of the road and advanced on Ocmundtun in a wide line, and at its centre were two standards. One, the black stag, was the banner of Defnascir, while the other was a Danish triangle and displayed the white horse.

  'There'll be no fight,' I told Harald.

  'There won't?'

  'Not enough of them. Svein can't afford to lose men, so he's come to talk.'

  'I don't want to meet them here,' he gestured at the fort. 'We should be in the hall.'

  He ordered that the best armed men should go down to the town, and there we filled the muddy street outside the hall as Odda and the Danes came from the cast. The horsemen had to break their line to enter the town, making a column instead, and the column was led by three men. Odda was in the centre and he was flanked by two Danes, one of them Svein of the White Horse.

  Svein looked magnificent, a silver-white warrior. He rode a white horse, wore a white woollen cloak, and his mail and boar-snouted helmet had been scrubbed with sand until they glowed silver in the watery sunlight. His shield bore a silvered boss around which a white horse had been painted. The leather of his bridle, saddle and scabbard had been bleached pale. He saw me, but showed no recognition, just looked along the line of men barring the street and seemed to dismiss them as useless. His banner of the white horse was carried by the second horseman who had the same darkened face as his master, a face hammered by sun and snow, ice and wind.

  'Harald.' Odda the Younger had ridden ahead of the two Danes. He was sleek as ever, gleaming in mail, and with a black cloak draping his horse's rump. He smiled as though he welcomed the meeting.

  ‘You have summoned the fyrd. Why?'

  'Because the king commanded it,' Harald said.

  Odda still smiled. He glanced at me, appeared not to notice I was present, then looked to the hall door where Steapa had just appeared. The big man had been talking with Odda the Elder, and now he stared at Odda the Younger with astonishment.

  'Steapa!' Odda the Younger said. 'Loyal Steapa! How good to see you!'

  'You too, lord.'

  'My faithful Steapa,' Odda said, plainly pleased to be reunited with his erstwhile bodyguard. 'Come here!' he commanded, and Steapa pushed past us and knelt in the mud by Odda's horse and reverently kissed his master's boot.

  'Stand,' Odda said, 'stand. With you beside me, Steapa, who can hurt us?'

  'No one, lord.'

  'No one,' Odda repeated, then smiled at Harald. 'You said the king ordered the fyrd summoned?

  There is a king in Wessex?'

  'There is a king in Wessex,' Harald said firmly.

  'There is a king skulking in the marshes!' Odda said, loudly enough for all Harald's men to hear.

  'He is
the king of frogs, perhaps? A monarch of eels? What kind of king is that?'

  I answered for Harald, only I answered in Danish. 'A king who ordered me to burn Svein's boats.

  Which I did. All but one, which I kept and still have.'

  Svein took off his boar-snouted helmet and looked at me and again there was no recognition. His gaze was like that of the great serpent of death that lies at the foot of Yggdrasil.

  'I burned the White Horse,' I told him, 'and warmed my hands on its flames.' Svein spat for answer.

  'And the man beside you,' I spoke to Odda now, using English, 'is the man who burned your church at Cynuit, the man who killed the monks. The man who is cursed in heaven, in hell and in this world, yet now he is your ally?'

  'Does that goat-turd speak for you?' Odda demanded of Harald.

  'These men speak for me,' Harald said, indicating the warriors behind him.

  'But by what right do you raise the fyrd?' Odda asked. 'I am Ealdorman!'

  'And who made you Ealdorman?' Harald asked. He paused, but Odda gave no answer. 'The king of frogs?' Harald asked. 'The monarch of eels? If Alfred has no authority then you have lost yours with his.'

  Odda was plainly surprised by Harald's defiance, and he was probably irritated by it, but he gave no sign of annoyance. He just went on smiling. 'I do believe,' he said to Harald, 'that you have misunderstood what happens in Defnascir.'

  'Then explain to me,' Harald said.

  'I shall,' Odda said, 'but we shall talk with ale and food.' He looked up at the sky. The brief sun was gone behind cloud and a chill wind was gusting the thatch of the street. 'And we should talk under a roof,' Odda suggested, 'before it rains again.'

  There were matters to be agreed first, though that was done soon enough. The Danish horsemen would withdraw to the eastern end of the town while Harald's men would retreat to the fort. Each side could take ten men into the hall, and all of those men were to leave their weapons heaped in the street where they were to be guarded by six Danes and as many Saxons.

  Harald's servants brought ale, bread, and cheese. There was no meat offered, for it was the season of Lent. Benches were placed at either side of the hearth. Svein crossed to our side of the fire as the benches were brought and at long last deigned to recognise me.

  'It was really you who burned the ships?' he asked.

  'Including yours.'

  'The White Horse took a year and a day to build,' he said, 'and she was made of trees from which we'd hung Odin's sacrifices. She was a good ship.'

  'She's all ash on the seashore now,' I said.

  'Then one day I shall repay you,' he retorted, and though he spoke mildly, there was a world of threat in his voice. 'And you were wrong,' he added.

  'Wrong?' I asked. 'Wrong to burn your ships?'

  'There was no altar of gold at Cynuit.'

  'Where you burned the monks,' I said.

  'I burned them alive,' he agreed, 'and warmed my hands on their flames.' He smiled at that memory. 'You could join me again?' he suggested. 'I shall forgive you burning my ship, and you and I can fight side by side once more? I need good men. I pay well.'

  'I am sworn to Alfred.'

  'Ah,' he nodded. 'So be it. Enemies.' He went back to Odda's benches.

  'You would see your father before we talk?' Harald asked Odda, gesturing towards the door at the hall's end.

  'I shall see him,' Odda said, 'when our friendship is repaired. And you and I must be friends.' He said the last words loudly and they prompted men to sit on the benches. 'You summoned the fyrd,' he spoke to Harald, 'because Uhtred brought you orders from Alfred?'

  'He did.'

  'Then you did the right thing,' Odda said, 'and that is to be praised.' Svein, listening to the translation that was provided by one of his own men, stared flatly at us. 'And now you will do the right thing again,' Odda continued, 'and send the fyrd home.'

  'The king has ordered otherwise,' Harald said.

  'What king?' Odda asked.

  'Alfred, who else?'

  'But there are other kings in Wessex,' Odda said. 'Guthrum is King of East Anglia, and he is in Wessex, and some say Æthelwold will be crowned king before the summer.'

  'Æthelwold?' Harald asked.

  'You'd not heard?' Odda asked. 'Wulfhere of Wiltunscir has sided with Guthrum, and both.

  Guthrum and Wulfhere have said Æthelwold will be King of Wessex. And why not? Is not Æthelwold the son of our last king? Should he not be king?'

  Harald, uncertain, looked at me. He had not heard of Wulfhere's defection, and it was hard news for him. I nodded. 'Wulfhere is with Guthrum,' I said.

  'So Æthelwold, son of Æthelred, will he king in Wessex,' Odda said, 'and Æthelwold has thousands of swords at his command. Alfrig of Kent is with the Danes. There are Danes in Lundene, on Sceapig and on the walls of Contwaraburg. All northern Wessex is in Danish hands. There are Danes here, in Defnascir. What, tell me, is Alfred king of?'

  'Of Wessex,' I said.

  Odda ignored me, looking at Harald.

  'Alfred has our oaths,' Harald said stubbornly.

  'And I have your oath,' Odda reminded him. He sighed. 'God knows, Harald, no one was more loyal to Alfred than I. Yet he failed us! The Danes came and the Danes are here, and where is Alfred? Hiding!

  In a few weeks their armies will march! They will come from Mercia, from Lundene, from Kent! Their fleets will be off our coast. Armies of Danes and fleets of Vikings! What will you do then?'

  Harald shifted uneasily. 'What will you do?' he retorted.

  Odda gestured at Svein who, the question translated, spoke for the first time. I interpreted for Harald.

  ‘Wessex is doomed,’ Svein said in his grating voice. ‘By summer it will be swarming with Danes, with men newly come from the north, and the only Saxons who will live will be those men who aid the Danes now. Those who fight against the Danes,’ Svein said, ‘will be dead, and their women will be whores and their children will be slaves and their homes will be lost and their names shall be forgotten like the smoke of an extinguished fire.’

  'And Æthelwold will be king?' I asked scornfully. 'You think we will all bow to a whoring drunkard?'

  Odda shook his head. 'The Danes are generous,' he said, and he drew back his cloak and I saw that he were six golden arm rings. 'To those who help them,' he said, 'there will be the rewards of land, wealth and honour.'

  ‘And Æthelwold will be king?' I asked again.

  Odda again gestured at Svein. The big Dane seemed bored, but he stirred himself. 'It is right,' he said, 'that Saxons should he ruled by a Saxon. We shall make a king here.'

  I scorned that. They had made Saxon kings in Northumbria and in Mercia and those kings were feeble, leashed to the Danes, and then I understood what Svein meant and I laughed aloud. 'He's promised you the throne!' I accused Odda.

  'I've heard more sense from a pig's fart,' Odda retorted, but I knew I was right Æthelwold was Guthrum's candidate for the throne of Wessex, but Svein was no friend of Guthrum and would want his own Saxon as king. Odda.

  'King Odda,' I said jeeringly, then spat into the fire.

  Odda Would have killed me for that, but we met under the terms of a truce and so he forced himself to ignore the insult. He looked at Harald.

  'You have a choice, Harald,' he said, 'you can die or you can live.'

  Harald was silent. He had not known about Wulfhere, and the news had appalled him. Wulfhere was the most powerful Ealdorman in Wessex, and if he thought Alfred was doomed, then what was Harald to think? I could see the shire-reeve's uncertainty. His decency wanted him to declare loyalty to Alfred, but Odda had suggested that nothing but death would follow such a choice.

  'I ...' Harald began, then fell silent, unable to say what he thought for he did not know his own mind.

  'The fyrd is raised,' I spoke, for him, 'at the king's orders, and the king's orders are to drive the Danes from Defnascir.'

  Odda spat into the fire for answer.

  'Svei
n has been defeated,' I said. 'His ships are burned. He is like a whipped dog and you give him comfort.' Svein, when that was translated, gave me a look like the stroke of a whip. 'Svein,' I went on as though he was not present, 'must be driven back to the sea.

  You have no authority here,' Odda said.

  'I have Alfred's authority,' I said, 'and a written order telling you to drive Svein from your shire.'

  'Alfred's orders mean nothing,' Odda said, 'and you croak like a swamp frog.' He turned to Steapa.

  'You have unfinished business with Uhtred.'

  Steapa looked uncertain for a heartbeat, then understood what his master meant. 'Yes, lord,' he said.

  'Then finish it now.'