‘Æthelstan has sent spears to Mameceaster,’ Egil said, ‘and made sure folk saw the packhorses. But he’s sent far more to Lindcolne, and they went by ship.’
‘Up the rivers,’ I said.
‘And folk don’t see what’s in a cargo. Cover it with sailcloth and it could be anything! Could be turnips! And those ships are waiting in the pool at Lindcolne. Twelve of them.’
‘And Æthelstan is building a fleet,’ I muttered.
‘Two fleets,’ Egil went on remorselessly, ‘one in the Mærse, the other in the Temes. But Eochaid believes that his best shipwrights were sent to the Temes.’
‘And Troels told you all this?’
‘And more. Æthelstan sent troops to help Hugh of Frankia, and they’ve been summoned home.’
‘So there will be war?’ Alaina asked excitedly.
‘But where?’ I asked. Egil said nothing. ‘And Troels’s message?’
‘That Eochaid would welcome an alliance.’
So here it was again, the same offer that Domnall had brought down from Scotland. I had never answered Constantine formally, but nor did I need to. Silence was refusal, but it seemed Constantine had not abandoned hope of bringing Bebbanburg onto his side. ‘We fight for Eochaid?’ I asked. ‘And he fights for us?’
‘Not just Eochaid. Constantine fights. Owain fights. It would be a northern alliance. Alba, Strath Clota, Cumbria, the Isles.’ He counted off the nations by holding his fingers up one by one.
I raised my spread hand. ‘And Bebbanburg.’
‘And Bebbanburg,’ Egil said.
I stared at him. He was a clever man and as good a friend as I ever had, yet there were times when he was a mystery to me. He was a Norseman, a pagan. So did he want me to join that northern alliance? Did I want to? I wanted Bebbanburg, I wanted to hand Bebbanburg to my son who was sitting beside me and listening anxiously.
‘I can ride a horse,’ Alaina said brightly. ‘Finan’s teaching me.’
‘Hush, little one,’ Egil said.
‘You have an opinion?’ I asked my son.
He shrugged. ‘It depends whether Æthelstan plans to attack us or not.’
‘And Eochaid insists you must make your decision before Æthelstan marches,’ Egil added.
‘If he marches,’ my son said.
I ignored that. Æthelstan was going to war, I knew it, but against which enemy? Was I his enemy? And Constantine was readying for war and wanted the fortress of Bebbanburg on his side, but he was demanding that I declare that allegiance before Æthelstan marched. And why should he help me if I did not declare for him? If Æthelstan besieged Bebbanburg then Constantine would be free to make more mischief in Cumbria, or even to go further south into Mercia where he might expect allies from the smaller Welsh kingdoms.
‘Whatever I decide,’ I told Egil, ‘you are free to make your own choice.’
He smiled at that. ‘I’m your man, lord.’
‘I’m freeing you from that oath.’
‘The hound likes the leash,’ he said with another smile.
‘I do not understand,’ Benedetta had been listening with a frown, ‘what is so important about Lindcolne or Mameceaster?’
‘Everything,’ Egil said softly.
‘There are two roads into Scotland,’ I explained. ‘On the western coast you go through Mameceaster then up through Cumbria. On this coast you go from Lindcolne to Eoferwic, Eoferwic past this fortress, then on up into Constantine’s land.’
‘And if Æthelstan cares about the troubles in Cumbria,’ Egil took up the explanation, ‘he’ll take the western road. He has a claim over Cumbria. He can drive Eochaid back into Scotland easily enough, but if he takes this road? The one past Bebbanburg? Who is he fighting? Not Eochaid.’
‘He is your friend!’ Benedetta protested.
‘He was,’ I said.
There was silence. I thought back to an evening when Æthelflaed, dear Æthelflaed, had asked me to swear an oath to protect her nephew. And I had protected him, while he had broken an oath by claiming I had not killed his enemy, which was true, except I had caused that enemy’s death and lost good men in doing so. My honour was intact, but his? ‘I won’t break an oath,’ I said.
‘The hound loves the leash,’ Egil murmured.
‘No northern alliance?’ my son asked, and I saw he thought that was the safest choice.
‘I do not believe,’ I said firmly, ‘that Æthelstan means me harm. He owes me too much. If Constantine’s spies tell him that weapons are being stored on the eastern road then he is being misled by Æthelstan. Æthelstan is clever! He’s making Constantine believe he’ll attack up this side of Britain, and he won’t! He’ll strike Cumbria like the lightning bolt on his shield.’ I looked at Egil. ‘Tell Troels I say no.’
‘I will tell him,’ Egil said quietly.
‘Father …’ my son began, then paused when I glared at him. He took a breath and went on. ‘Æthelstan wants Bebbanburg, we know that! And yes, he wants to drive the Scots out of Cumbria, but he wants to control all of Northumbria! Where better to start than here?’
‘Æthelstan will drive the damned Scots out of Cumbria,’ I insisted firmly. ‘He’ll take the western road.’
Five weeks later Æthelstan marched. His fleet sailed up the coast and his army followed the Roman road north. And as my son had feared, he took the eastern road. At Lindcolne, which Æthelstan’s troops had garrisoned after the meeting at Burgham, they were issued with new, bright-painted shields and long, steel-bladed spears. Then they kept marching.
To Bebbanburg.
Nine
The ships came first.
Six the first day. They were typical West Saxon ships with their heavy blunt bows, each containing between forty or fifty oarsmen. There was little wind, yet all had their sails hoisted and each sail bore Æthelstan’s symbol of the dragon holding a lightning bolt. Each prow was topped with a cross.
The ships came inshore of the Farnea Islands, a wide channel, but treacherous unless a helmsman knew the waters. They came in single file and it was clear the leading ship did have such a helmsman because they avoided the dangers and rowed until they could gaze up at our high ramparts. The oarsmen backed water, men on the steering platforms shaded their eyes to stare at us, but none returned our waves. Then the rowers backed water and turned seawards, the late afternoon sun flashing reflected light from the rising and falling oar-blades. ‘So they’re not coming here,’ Finan grunted, meaning that the ships were not coming into our harbour.
Instead they followed the lead ship into the southernmost group of the Farnea Islands and there spent the night. They were lucky, the winds stayed calm. They would have been safer in Lindisfarena’s shallow anchorage, but there they would have been vulnerable to my men. ‘So they’re not friendly?’ Benedetta asked me when, in the dawn, we saw the six masts showing above the islands.
‘They don’t seem to be,’ I said, and later I sent a fishing boat to the islands with Oswi, dressed in a fish-stinking smock, pretending to be one of the crew.
‘They’re not friendly, lord,’ he confirmed. ‘Told us to go away.’
It was midday by then and shortly after, one of my tenants rode from the south to tell of an army marching towards us. ‘Bloody thousands of them, lord,’ he said, and it was shortly afterwards that we saw the first smoke rising in the south. We had all seen such smoke pillars before, rising into a summer sky to tell of a steading being burned. I counted six. I sent two horsemen north to warn Egil.
And by nightfall another twenty-three ships had arrived. Most were similar to the first six, blunt bowed and heavy, and all well crewed. A dozen were cargo ships, and all of them, including the six that had sheltered in the islands, worked their way over the bar and so into the tangle of channels and shallows inside Lindisfarena. There were too many men there now for my garrison to challenge. We could only watch and, as night fell, see the glow of campfires in the southern sky.
Daybreak brought the army. Horsemen first, over three hund
red of them, and after them came men on foot, trudging in the day’s warmth. There were packhorses and mules, women carrying burdens, more men, and more horses. I counted at least eleven hundred men and knew there were more strung out on the long road south. More horsemen went through the village to link up with the men on the fleet. The villagers had fled into the fortress, driving their livestock ahead of them, and soldiers moved into the houses, though, as far as we could see, they were doing little harm. I had three ships, including Spearhafoc, moored in the harbour along with eight fishing boats. I had put no guards on the ships so they could easily have been captured and burned, but no one tried to swim out to them. Nor did any man come to the Skull Gate to talk to us, and I was not inclined to seek out a spokesman, even when, strangely, axemen cut down a grove of trees at the village’s southern end, chopped the branches and piled them into a vast heap that they burned. The smoke boiled into the sky.
It was mid afternoon when Æthelstan arrived. Men lined the road long before he appeared, and I heard the sound of spear shafts and swords being beaten against shields as he came nearer. Men started to cheer, and I saw five standard-bearers come into view. They waved the flags from side to side so that they spread in the windless air. Two carried Æthelstan’s personal flag, the dragon with the lightning bolt, two carried the dragon banner of Wessex, while the fifth had a great white flag with a scarlet cross.
Behind them were ranks of horsemen, all in mail and helmets, all carrying spears. They rode five abreast, most on grey horses and all wearing red cloaks despite the day’s heat. I grimaced at the sight of the cloaks because they reminded me of Æthelhelm’s men, though these cloaks were a richer red. Twenty ranks of horsemen appeared, then came two more standard-bearers with dragon banners, and just behind them, alone and on a big grey stallion, came Æthelstan.
Even at this distance he dazzled. His mail seemed to be made of polished silver, his helmet was burnished white and surrounded by a gold circlet. He rode straight-backed, proud, one gloved hand acknowledging the cheers of the men who lined the road’s edges. His tall grey horse had a scarlet saddle cloth and a bridle glinting with gold. Æthelstan glanced at the great fire at the village’s southern end which still spewed a thick pillar of smoke.
Behind Æthelstan were three black-robed priests mounted on black horses, then five more standard-bearers who led another one hundred red-cloaked horsemen. ‘Monarchus Totius Brittaniae,’ Finan said drily.
‘You learned Latin?’
‘Three words too many. And how many men has he got?’
‘Enough,’ I said. I had long stopped trying to count them, but there were at least fifteen hundred, and still they came from the south, while offshore a dozen West Saxon war ships rowed as close to Bebbanburg’s shore as they dared. The message could not have been clearer. Bebbanburg had been surrounded by land and by sea, and we had just two hundred and eighty-three warriors inside the ramparts.
‘I will call the devil onto him,’ Benedetta said vengefully. She had joined us, holding Alaina by the hand.
‘You can do that?’ Finan asked.
‘I am from Italy,’ she said proudly, ‘of course I can do that!’
I touched the hammer and thought how I needed Thor to send a great hammer blow down onto the men gathering at the end of the sandy neck leading to the Skull Gate. None had yet ventured onto the track, but then a dozen servants leading two packhorses came towards the gate. They stopped well out of bowshot and, as we watched, they unpacked a tent that they hurried to erect, suspending a gorgeous cloth of scarlet and gold from four tall poles. Pegs were driven deep into the sand, lines tightened, while three more servants carried rugs and chairs into the shadowed interior. Last of all two standard-bearers brought their flags, one the West Saxon dragon and the other Æthelstan’s own banner, and they drove the poles deep into the sand either side of the tent’s open doorway that faced the gate. Æthelstan, mounted on his big grey stallion, gazed out to sea as he waited for his servants to finish their task.
The servants walked away. A small wind stirred the flags and ruffled the sea, making the ships pull hurriedly away from the lee shore. Then Æthelstan dismounted and, accompanied by a single priest, walked to the tent. ‘That’s Bishop Oda,’ Finan said.
Æthelstan paused at the tent’s open doorway, turned and looked up to where I stood over the Skull Gate, and gave an ironic bow. Then he and Oda disappeared inside. ‘Two of them,’ I told Finan, ‘so two of us.’
‘Maybe he will kill you!’ Benedetta sounded alarmed.
‘Finan and me? Against a king and a bishop?’ I kissed her. ‘Pray for their souls, amore.’
‘Call the devil!’ Alaina urged excitedly.
‘Pray we don’t need him,’ I grunted, then went down the steps to find my son. ‘If men approach the tent,’ I told him, ‘send the same number out of the gate.’ I nodded to Redbad. ‘Open it up!’
The great bar was lifted, the bolts creaked back and the two heavy gates were pushed open.
And Finan and I went to meet the king.
I wore mail and had Serpent-Breath at my side. My boots were stained with dung from the outer courtyard where the villagers had driven their livestock. I was sweating. I must have stunk like a cornered marten. I grinned.
‘What’s funny?’ Finan asked dourly.
‘We’re cornered, aren’t we?’
‘And that’s funny?’
‘Better to laugh than weep.’
Finan kicked a loose stone that skittered across the sand. ‘We’re not dead yet,’ he sounded dubious.
‘You’ll like Wiltunscir,’ I said. ‘Plump orchards, pretty women, fat cows, rich pasture.’
‘You’re full of shit,’ he said, ‘and smell like it too.’
We fell silent as we approached the lavish tent. I ducked under the low doorway first and saw Æthelstan lounging long-legged in an ornate chair. He was sipping a glass of wine. It had to be Roman glass because it was so delicate. He smiled and waved a hand towards two empty chairs. ‘Welcome, lord,’ he said.
I bowed. ‘Lord king,’ I said politely, then nodded to Bishop Oda who sat straight-backed to Æthelstan’s right. ‘Lord bishop,’ I greeted him and Oda inclined his head, but said nothing.
‘Finan!’ Æthelstan greeted the Irishman happily. ‘Always a pleasure to see your ugly face.’
‘It’s a mutual pleasure, lord King,’ Finan responded with a perfunctory bow. ‘You want us to leave our swords outside?’
‘Finan the Irishman without a sword? It wouldn’t be natural. Sit, please. We have no servants with us so help yourself to the wine.’ He waved at a table on which there was wine, more glass goblets, and a silver dish of almonds.
I sat, hearing the chair creak under my weight. Æthelstan sipped wine again. He wore a simple gold circlet over his long dark hair which, for once, had no golden wires twisted into his ringlets. His mail was polished, he wore long boots of soft black leather, his gloved fingers had rings of gold studded with emeralds and rubies. He gazed back at me, evidently amused, and I thought, as I always did when I met him, how handsome he had become as a man. A long face, wide-set blue eyes, a strong nose and a firm mouth, which seemed to hover on the brink of a grin. ‘It is strange, is it not,’ he broke the silence, ‘how trouble always comes from the north?’
‘Ours seems to come from the south,’ I grumbled.
He ignored that. ‘Cent? No trouble there, not for a long while. East Anglia? It’s accepted I am its king. Mercia is loyal. Even Cornwalum is quiet! The Welsh probably dislike us, but they make no trouble. Peace and prosperity wherever I look!’ He paused to take an almond. ‘Until I look north.’
‘How many times have I told you that the Scots can’t be trusted, lord King?’
That was rewarded with a wry smile. ‘And can the Northumbrians be trusted?’ Æthelstan asked.
‘I seem to remember that Northumbrians fought for you.’
‘Which doesn’t answer the question. Can Northumbrians be truste
d?’
I looked into his eyes. ‘I have never broken an oath to you, lord King.’
He looked at me with what seemed amusement. If I was a cornered marten, stinking and in peril, then he was the threat. He was the greater predator. ‘Since Guthfrith died,’ he broke the short silence, ‘Northumbria has been in chaos.’
‘It was in chaos before he died,’ I said sharply. ‘My steadings were being burned, and your friend Constantine was filling Cumbria with his troops.’
‘My friend?’
‘Didn’t he swear you an oath?’
‘Oaths are not what they were,’ Æthelstan said carelessly.
‘So you’re teaching me, lord King,’ I said harshly.
He did not like my tone and rewarded it with a bitter question. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Constantine sent emissaries to you?’
‘I’m supposed to tell you every time I have visitors?’
‘He offered you an alliance,’ Æthelstan said, his tone still bitter.
‘And offered it again last month.’
He nodded. ‘A man called Troels Knudson, yes?’
‘From Eochaid.’
‘And what did you answer Troels Knudson, lord?’
‘You already know,’ I said harshly. I paused. ‘You know, and yet, lord King, you are here.’
‘With eighteen hundred men! And the crews of the ships. Will they be safe inside Lindisfarena?’
‘Some will go aground at low tide,’ I said, ‘but they’ll float off on the flood. They’re safe enough. And why are you here?’
‘To threaten you, of course!’ He smiled. ‘You haven’t tasted the wine!’
Finan snorted. ‘The last wine you gave us, lord King, tasted like goat’s piss.’
‘This isn’t much better,’ Æthelstan said, raising his glass. ‘Do you feel threatened, lord?’
‘Of course.’
‘How many men do you have?’
‘Fewer than you, lord King.’
He gazed at me again, and again he looked amused. ‘Are you frightened, Lord Uhtred?’
‘Of course I’m frightened!’ I said. ‘I’ve fought more battles than you have had birthdays, and before every one I was frightened. A man does not go into battle without fear. I pray I never see another battle. Ever!’
War Lord Page 19
