Divided We Fall

by Gareth Mottram

  Will glanced at Rowenna who nodded slightly at him.

  'Thank you, Sire but it was R… the princess's swift blade that finished the beast… and the Pict boy helped too, with just a seax – he pinned the varg’s--'

  'Dirty scum,' Osbert cut in, ‘we should have left him for the wolves.’

  The king's champion was even bigger close up. He shoved some salt-meat and bread in his mouth and carried on talking. ‘If you could handle a proper sword and shield you could have kept royal blood out of danger with more than torches and lady-blades.’ Food escaped the man’s ale-wet lips as he spoke, a few crumbs spraying onto Will’s tunic.

  Will nodded his respect to Osbert. He had enough trouble with the man’s apprentice without insulting the Champion himself. 'No, sir. I strive every day to better myself. It is my heart’s desire to earn a place in the shield wall one day.’

  ‘What,’ Osbert snapped, ‘after crumbling at the first hit tonight and leaving us wide open?’ He stared hard at Will. ‘Give it up, boy. We’ve Picts and vargs spread through our kingdom and you're about as much use in the wall as your master.’

  Will glanced across to Brant who sat a few more places to the right of the king. Brant who had held off and killed vargs without having massive warriors supporting him on both sides; Brant who had helped carve a path back to the fort for the beleaguered Shields. The man's demeanour was mainly a rugged granite cliff face, but he caught Will's eye and gave the barest glance skyward as if to ask the gods for patience.

  Will held in a smile, imagining how Brant’s mighty swings of his two-handed axe would go down in the close-packed shield-wall. Many of the pure-blooded Angalsax Shields argued that a non-Shield had no place in the huscarls, but the king had broken that tradition after Brant had proved himself time and again against his own people as well as Pict raiders.

  Will filled the king’s cup. ‘I live to serve in whatever way my king sees fit,’ Will said, forcing himself not to hold the Champion’s belligerent stare.

  Osbert shoved his half-empty tankard forward. ‘Well do it quicker then.’

  As he began to pour, Will caught sight of Bridget bustling on to the dais, carrying wooden bowls piled high with salted tubers. As she rushed along the table, Wyatt shoved out one long leg again.

  'Watch ou—' Will began but there was no need. Bridget stopped dead, her foot hovering over Wyatt's toes in a perfect position to stamp down and break them. She held it for a second, then neatly stepped forward just clipping his foot to feign a small trip that didn't endanger her trays.

  'I'm so sorry, your holiness,' she said, glancing back at Wyatt, ‘only pathetic idiots don’t watch where they put their feet.'

  She didn't wait for a reply but hurried over to the king, bowing with almost every step now. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she laid the platters before him.

  ‘Relax, Bridget,’ King Godric smiled, ‘I don’t bite.’

  ‘No, that’s my job,’ Osbert shouted and snapped his food-filled teeth at her.

  Bridget jumped backwards with a yelp and stumbled into Will who caught her gently.

  ‘My hero,’ she whispered with a flicker of a smile and then, a little more loudly, said, ‘Cook needs you to bring in more ale, Will.’

  ‘About time,’ Osbert growled, ‘lazing around here fawning over your betters. Go fetch it, dog.’

  Osbert stopped speaking as the king raised one hand slightly. With the other, he offered his own golden goblet to Will. ‘You’ll have that drink, first lad. You risked your life to at least try to protect your princess tonight… for the second time in two days.’

  Will bowed again and carefully took the goblet. He sipped the thick, dark liquid and tried not to grimace. He didn’t like the dark, roasted hops flavour of ale but to be offered the king’s own cup was a high honour indeed.

  ‘Thank you, Sire,’ he said and handed the goblet back. ‘This is too high a reward for just doing my duty.’

  The king’s mouth settled into an almost sympathetic smile. ‘You might not thank me for my second… reward to you.’

  Chapter 9

  Friends and Enemies

  ‘Unexpected news, I’d say,’ Puck said jovially as he steered Will out of the chaotic Great Hall. He quickly shut the door and let the cold night air wash over them.

  ‘You could say that,’ Will answered. His head was reeling.

  King Godric had just announced the “elites” who would accompany Rowenna – right at the end, he had called out Will’s name. The hall had instantly erupted into argument, but Puck had somehow appeared at Will’s side and ushered him to a side door.

  ‘I don’t understand why, though,’ Will said. ‘Everyone thinks I’m useless at everything.’

  ‘True,’ Puck said. He closed the small side door on the angry shouting inside then began stretching his long, thin limbs out under the stars. ‘Maybe Godric just wanted away from him so you wouldn’t leave any more gaps in their pretty wall when the real fighting starts.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Will said, ‘that helps.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Puck turned to go back into the hall, then paused. ‘I’m coming along too, remember, so at least you’ll make me look good.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Will mumbled.

  Puck grinned. ‘You’d better get your things as well as your head together quickly –we’ll be leaving as soon as the scouts return. Only take what you can run with.’

  ‘I’ll leave my gold here then.’

  The jester made a bow, his elastic body sweeping his head just above the courtyard flagstones. Then he took a breath and opened the door into the tumultuous hall and slipped back inside.

  Will breathed out slowly. Godric’s second “reward” to him had been the honour of escorting Rowenna back to the capital. Apparently, she had requested Will accompany Brant as part of her guard.

  Why did I say yes?

  In under an hour he’d be leaving the safety of two entire warbands and racing south against the entire Pict nation with only a small group of warriors most of whom despised him.

  And Rowenna – she’d be there too.

  That’ll be why, then.

  ‘You are bloody useless,’ came a voice from the dark. ‘Are they finally kicking you out of the apprentices, runt - after you nearly got our princess killed?’

  Will turned to see four of Godric’s lobbers drinking around a small fire, their bows, javelins and throwing axes laid close to hand. They weren’t alone – fires burned all over the courtyard. It looked like many of the warriors had opted to sleep under the open sky instead of settling into one of the deserted barracks where many of the garrison had been killed.

  ‘Might’ve been for the good if one of my axes had flown wrong from the wall-top,’ another of the lobbers grunted. ‘Shouldn’t have you dirty outsiders being that close to the princess.’

  Will didn’t reply. This was one of the reasons why he couldn’t ever be seen talking to Rowenna. The Angalsax adored her in a frighteningly possessive way.

  You’re going to love me even more when you hear the news.

  ‘Jumping into the First Line, like that,’ the first voice said, ‘- you fancy yourself as some sort of hero like your heathen Scandian lank of a master, don’t you?’ It belonged to a thickset, but short Angalsax. The man started to shift as if he was going to get up.

  ‘Speak to your betters, scum or did they see fit to cut out your foreign tongue, as well?’ the first lobber snarled, staring hard at him.

  ‘I was just trying to help,’ Will said, and started to walk towards the edge of the square. He knew where this was likely to lead, and it would be easier to lose the men in the dark alleys.

  ‘No one needs your help – it’ll get us all killed,’ one of them shouted after him.

  Will forced himself not to speed up but listened intently. Luckily, the lobbers didn’t seem to be bothered or bored enough to follow him. He breathed out slowly in relief and picked his way around the darker edges of the squa
re, keeping his face hidden from the warm light of the campfires.

  The dark barracks of dead warriors tugged at his gaze – the quiet, the peace, finally, no conflict. He pulled his eyes back to the square.

  Here, at least there was life, even if it was unfriendly. The silhouettes of men and women huddled in around wind-whipped fires and nestled tight against the courtyard walls. Everyone kept their weapons close. The talk was hushed, muted, and many heads stared at the great north gates, beamed and bound shut. From on top of the barbican, lobbers watched the Pict lands intently - dark shapes with javelins and bows planted on the ancient stone and cloaks fluttering madly with each biting squall of northern wind.

  Will hurried over to a tiny space between some stone stairs and the wall itself. It was only just wide enough for one person which was fine considering his less than vast array of friends. He had left his travel pack and fighting spear hidden there. Quickly, he tipped out the pack in a patch of faint moonlight. Puck had said to travel light.

  A small, leather groundsheet that doubled as a rain-cover, one blanket, a wooden bowl and spoon and tiny metal cookpot, sharpening stones, flint, water bottle and one spare tunic. His jaw tightened and he glanced back over to the deserted barracks. These, together with the clothes and weapons he wore would be his only leavings. They could be dropping in a pathetic little pile on top of the wall within a couple of hours if there were any Picts waiting for him there. Or maybe his pack would be found scattered in the forest in years to come, bloodied and shredded by varg fangs.

  Nothing I can get rid of here.

  Will started to re-pack the bag. His eyes fell on a small bundle of cloth which had been left in the shadows behind his pack. He had been left “presents” before over the years – usually originating from the bottoms of Bragg or other “True Blood” Angalsax.

  Carefully, he picked up the bundle and sniffed it. He gave a tight smile and unwrapped the cloth. Bridget must have sneaked out of the kitchen and left him a share of dried salted beef and carrots.

  How does she always know where I am?

  ‘Oy, Art,’ said a nasally voice a few yards to his right, ‘look what huscarl bum-lick has come to join us out here in the gods-forsaken cold.’

  Will looked across. Two skirmishers sat against the wall. A small fire struggled against the wind in front of them, flickering red and orange across the broad heads of their fighting spears.

  I only want a little peace. He ignored them and finished re-packing his bag – slowly so as not to seem scared.

  Skirmishers weren’t normally as hostile to Will as the other warriors as they didn’t have the Shields’ unfettered disdain or the lobbers’ defensiveness about not being hand-to-hand warriors. Also, they were often almost as poor as he was – just a spear and seax would get you into their ranks.

  However, these were Hrothgar’s men and Will knew they resented being dragged out to the Romani Wall year after year. They would also see his dark hair and dusky skin and know there wasn’t a scrap of Angalsax blood in him.

  The second skirmisher was slowly sharpening his long seax on a whetstone. ‘I thought there was a bad smell just come up.’ When Will still didn’t respond, he carefully put down the stone and stood up.

  ‘Sod off, nithing – Godric might put up with your sort in the gods-forsaken capital but Thegn Hrodulf doesn’t hold with outsiders mixing with us decent folk.’

  Will swung his pack over his shoulders and stood as well. The skirmisher started towards him until Will flicked up his spear with one foot. The skirmisher stopped, his eyes narrowing.

  Before the man could decide if he was a danger or not, Will took three quick strides towards the stairway and used his spear to vault onto them. Without looking back, he walked quickly up the steps and hoped Hrodulf’s men didn’t follow.

  *** ***

  Wind whistled between the parapets and rattled the shuttered windows of the deserted guardroom below. Will huddled against the low wall of the watchtower roof, pulled his cloak tighter around him and peered at the bleak wilderness between two merlons.

  The land of savage Picts, fanatical druids and now, of mythical vargs. All dark forests and wind-lashed, iron-grey mountains. No wonder the Picts had all decided to invade Bernicia.

  The vargs were still out there somewhere though. If he just leant too far over and fell to the ground, he was sure they’d be on him. He scoured the tree line for any dark shapes skulking in the shadows. With no torchlight to ruin it, his night-sight was even keener, but he couldn’t see any of the deadly beasts.

  He still couldn’t believe Rowenna had openly insisted he join the mission to warn the capital. Perhaps this was her proving she really did believe in him.

  A flicker caught his eye and drew it upwards. Fire, far to the north, high in the mountains.

  Will stared at it, rubbing his tired eyes, but then it was gone. He kept looking, scanning across the blue-black peaks. Who was out there? Had some Picts stayed behind after all?

  ‘Dead!’

  'What the…’ Will span around, scrabbling to his feet and tugging out his seax. Bridget was sitting calmly on the edge of the trapdoor leading down from the tower top. She gave him an innocent smile.

  ‘God’s Bridget, don't sneak up on me like that – I might have taken your head off.'

  'Not with your tiny little seax, you wouldn't have.'

  Will sighed and sheathed his eight-inch blade. 'Yeah, yeah… don't you beat me down, too. You're meant to be on my side.'

  'I am… mostly. Anyway, what are you doing up here all on your own – it's freezing.'

  'Thinking.'

  'You'll need some help, then?'

  'Bridget, I'm not really in the mood for-'

  'You should be in the best mood of your pitiful life. In half an hour you'll be with your true love – keeping her safe along raging rivers and through dark forests. You’ll be walking under the stars—'

  'Wait, what? What are you talking about?'

  '…eating and whispering together by the campfire, huddled close for warmth…'

  ‘Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about.'

  'I know you're in love, total, hopeless love, with our very own princess.'

  'What – you're joking, that's just stupid. How could you possibly think…'

  Bridget’s voice dropped a little lower, more serious. 'Will – look at me… properly.’

  Will met her steady gaze and held it. She gave a tight smile. ‘How could I possibly not think that? You’ve got to be more careful, especially now she’s publicly asked for you to accompany her. You’re going to be together in front of the likes of Osbert and Bragg and their kind would see you dead before you got close to their darling princess.'

  ‘They’d rather I was dead anyway – no one wants me on this trip.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject. You know how to deal with the usual Angalsax prejudice but an orphan outsider with designs on the perfect princess would make things so much worse.’

  Will dropped his gaze. Bridget was right. If word had got out about Rowenna and him meeting alone, even though absolutely nothing ever happened, then the pure-bloods really would find some way to slit his throat before the night was over.

  ‘We just talk, sometimes – that’s all. Has anyone said anything?’

  ‘Nope – I just know stuff.’

  'Damn it, Bridget – why do you want to know everything that goes on, everywhere, all the time? How the hell do you manage to get any scribing done for Master Tolan or scrub any pots in the kitchens? Maybe Cook would be in a better mood if you were actually doing your job.'

  'Maybe I am.'

  'What?'

  'Nothing. Have you finished ranting at me?'

  Will breathed in deeply then let it out, long and slow. He attempted a smile. 'Yes. Sorry… it's just that, well it's stupid. I do like her but there’s nothing wrong with that. She just treats me like a normal person, not a filthy outsider. If anyone thought it was anything more…'

/>   ‘I told you, no one does... yet. Just don’t “talk” much on your little trip home, all right?’

  ‘But if you’ve seen us together, maybe others have too?’

  ‘Without any rumours to spark any suspicions, they’d just assume she was giving you orders or telling you off for being useless. Most Angalsax are fairly stupid and very arrogant. You're a rubbish, charity-case apprentice to a foreign huscarl with nothing going for you but a vaguely cute smile. Rowenna's a fairly smart, some-might-say beautiful, warrior princess who wouldn’t ever have anything to do with low-life scum like you.'

  'Oh… that’s a comfort. Thanks, Bridget.'

  'You're welcome, Will. What are… friends for?'

  'It seems I wouldn't know.'

  'True enough.'

  Will relaxed back against the cold stone of the parapet. 'Do you really think she would never have anything to do with me? She’s the one who always seems to find me when I'm alone.'

  'Imagine doing that – what a hussy.' Bridget stood up and walked over to look north into Scotia. She stayed quiet for a change, staring at the distant mountains.

  Will took his chance. '… and, well, she says she likes talking to me.'

  'I know – but only when she thinks no one is watching, right?'

  'Yes, but maybe that's only because she knows I'd be strung up if anyone knew I was alone with her.'

  'It is looking kind of hopeless then, I'd say.'

  'You're not helping.'

  'Really?’ Bridget began to examine her nails – she didn’t seem to be taking his angst very seriously at all. ‘Have you told her that you… have feelings for her?'

  'No, obviously. What if she laughed or never wanted to see me again because she didn't feel the same way?'

  'That happens; people live through it.’

  'Yeah, right. So… any actual advice from the all-seeing, all-knowing Bridget?'

  'How about just trying to keep yourself - and the princess - alive just long enough to get back to civilisation. Then, maybe, just maybe, it will be the right time to risk talking about feelings.'