The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2)

by Matthew Harffy

  The mood of the travellers was dour. There was little conversation as they packed up the camp and headed north.

  "How far now?" Beobrand asked Anhaga.

  "Not too far. About half a day at this pace once we pass the stones."

  "Good. A dry hall and a warm hearth is what we all need now."

  "Aye, and some mead," said Acennan. "Let's not forget mead."

  But the mead and hospitality of the hall of Ubbanford would have to wait.

  They continued north and a little to the east, crossing several small streams with little difficulty. The hills they traversed now were much smaller than those further south. Yet some were still steep and the drizzle made slopes treacherous. Around midday, they topped a large hill which fell away down to a broad river. At that moment, the murmuring rain ceased and the clouds parted. The sun, unfettered from the clouds, shone brightly, licking the waters of the river as it coiled off into the distance.

  Beneath their vantage point, on the southern side of the river, nestled a few buildings. There was a hall, some smaller dwellings, and animal enclosures. Smoke hazed the air above the settlement.

  "That is Ubbanford, my lord," said Anhaga.

  It seemed a fine place. Cradled in a loop of the mighty river Tuidi and shielded from both north and south by hills, it was all he had imagined and more. He could barely believe it was truly his. He turned to beckon to Sunniva who was making her way up the hill behind him, leading Sceadugenga, who patiently carried four children on his back.

  Not his, he corrected himself. Theirs. He would share it all with her.

  "Look, my love," he pointed to the cluster of buildings below. "Our new home. Ubbanford."

  He looked down again. Eager to take in all the details.

  He frowned. Was that a scream he had heard? He scoured the valley for the source of the noise. Movement in the corner of his vision gripped his attention like a hand grasps a throat. There were mounted men outside one of the enclosures. He counted six horses. As he watched, one man dismounted and approached a figure standing at the gate of the enclosure. Then, in the sunlight, the gleam of metal. A vicious blow. Again a scream reaching them on the wind. Thin and distant.

  Ubbanford was under attack.

  Beobrand turned to Sunniva. "Help me get these children down." He reached for a small boy, whose nose was caked with dry snot. He lifted him from the saddle and placed him on the wet grass. He moved on to the next child, a slightly older girl, who had the sense to hold her hands out to him, making it easier to pick her up. Sunniva sensed his urgency and lifted a third child. Anhaga lifted the fourth.

  "What is it?" asked Sunniva, who had not seen what Beobrand had spotted.

  Beobrand's face was stern. Hard, blue eyes glaring from deep sockets with the battle-fury that had come upon him. He swung up onto Sceadugenga's saddle.

  "Acennan, my shield," he said. Acennan did not question him. He had seen the look on Beobrand's face and knew not to argue. He pulled his lord's shield from the pack mule and ran to the black stallion. He helped Beobrand on with the shield straps.

  "What is afoot, Beobrand? If we are to fight, you should wear your byrnie."

  "There is no time for that."

  Beobrand struggled to control Sceadugenga, who had become skittish, sensing the mood of his rider. The horse stepped to the side and threatened to rear. Beobrand tugged savagely on the reins.

  "Arm yourselves. Leave the women here with Anhaga. The rest of you follow me. It seems someone is intent on stealing cattle from Ubbanford. And if they steal from Ubbanford, they steal from me."

  With that he dragged his heels into the sides of Sceadugenga and the mount leapt forward, galloping down the slope.

  The first thing that Aengus mac Nathair knew of the attack from the south was the thrumming of heavy hooves pounding down the hill towards him. He turned to see what was approaching, half expecting to see one of his own men showing off his horsemanship. Instead he saw a stranger on a huge black steed. The stranger's face was hidden under a metal helm. His dark cloak billowed behind him like the wings of a huge raven. On his left arm he carried a round shield. The central boss gleamed dully. In his right hand he held the longest, wickedest sword Aengus had ever seen.

  The hoof-falls drummed like distant thunder. The sheen of the horse's coat gave it the appearance of oiled metal.

  The rider was almost upon him. He showed no sign of slowing. Where had he come from?

  A moment ago, Aengus had been congratulating himself for silencing the old fool who had sought to stop them taking the livestock from Ubbanford. He had never been allowed to lead a raid before, but his father had given him command this time. After all, word had reached them that Ubba and his sons had died. Ubbanford was ripe for the taking. Women, children and longbeards too old to fight were all that lived there now. But they were rich. Kine, sheep and pigs could all be taken easily.

  And Aengus had been itching for a fight. To be able to prove himself to his brothers and his father. He was as strong as Broden and as clever as Torran. He would show them all. His short sword dripped with the blood of the old man he had hacked down. But where he had felt strong and brave a moment before, now his bowels had turned to water.

  He stood transfixed in the face of the rider. Where were the others? The men who rode with Aengus? Why did they not move to protect him?

  At the last instant, Aengus made a feeble effort to defend himself. He raised his blade and aimed a jab at the chest of the black horse. He mistimed his attack. The full weight of steed and rider hit him with enough force to lift him from his feet and send him reeling to the ground. His sword skittered from his hand.

  His breath was forced from his lungs. He could not breathe. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to pull in air.

  Beobrand gritted his teeth against the impact with the young man, but when it came, he barely felt it. Sceadugenga crashed into the boy without flinching. The boy careened backwards and fell on his back, where he lay gawping like a beached fish.

  Beobrand pulled on the reins, spinning Sceadugenga towards the mounted riders. They all looked on in disbelief at what had just transpired. But they were armed and posed a threat. He fought to control Sceadugenga, who turned a quick circle. Beobrand could not fight from horseback. He swung his right leg over the horse’s back and jumped from the steed.

  He gave a quick glance over at the boy sprawled on the muddy ground near the entrance to the fenced enclosure. He had rolled over and was attempting to rise. But he would be no threat for a moment more.

  Seeing Beobrand dismounted, one of the horsemen, a bearded man of middling years, with long dark hair streaked with grey, decided it was time to attack. He spurred his mount forward with a shout of defiance.

  Beobrand stepped to the right quickly and smashed his shield boss into the horse's long snout. He delivered the blow with crunching force. The horse whinnied and reared. The bearded man yelped and clung to his reins. The horse bucked and then reared again, pawing the air with its hooves. The man lost the battle to stay seated and fell into the mud. The horse instantly galloped away.

  The other four horsemen seemed undecided on a course of action. They sat slack-jawed, holding their mounts steady.

  The bearded man sat up roaring, furious at his ignominious fall. Beobrand took three quick paces forward and kicked him in the face with all his strength. Teeth shattered. The man's head snapped back and he collapsed into the mud, senseless.

  Beobrand grunted. It felt as though he had broken a toe.

  He chanced a quick look up the hill. Acennan and the others were running down the wet grass. They bore shields and spears. The sun glinted from their battle-harness. He bared his teeth in a savage grin. These were his gesithas. His hearth warriors. And they were fearsome to behold.

  "Hold!" he shouted at the horsemen. "I do not know who you are, but know this. I am Beobrand, son of Grimgundi, thegn of Lord Oswald, king of Bernicia, and I am the new lord of Ubbanford. You have struck down one of
my people and for that I demand payment."

  "What payment?" asked one of the men. His accent was thick, the words were not natural for his mouth.

  "This one," Beobrand pointed Hrunting at the boy he had charged down with Sceadugenga," seems brave enough to slay an unarmed old man. I am armed. And I am not old. I demand he fights me." Beobrand walked over to where the boy's short sword lay in the mud. With the tip of Hrunting, he flicked the sword towards the youth. The blade spun in the air and landed close to him. He stood shakily and picked up his weapon.

  The horseman who had spoken said, "That is Aengus, the youngest son of Nathair. You cannot fight him."

  "I don't care if he is the Christ who some say is the son of a god. He is on my land and has killed one of my own."

  At that moment, Acennan arrived with the rest of his warband. They were all panting from the run. But they were not spent. They stood tall and menacing, brandishing their weapons with the assurance of men used to battle-play.

  Beobrand noticed other onlookers peering from behind houses. Staring from darkened doorways. The good folk of Ubbanford were watching. He would show them that their new lord would protect them and exact vengeance from those who crossed them.

  He addressed the riders. "The rest of you can go back to this Nathair and tell him that if he seeks to steal from me again he had best be prepared to die." Then, turning to Acennan, "If any of these men interferes with me and young Aengus here, kill them all."

  Acennan gave a curt nod.

  Beobrand turned his full attention to Aengus. The young man's face was pallid. His eyes were as those of a startled animal. He looked from side to side. But there was no escape.

  "It is not fair," Aengus said in a whining voice. "I have no shield or helm." His accent was as heavy as the other man's. They spoke the tongue of the Angelfolc, but Beobrand would wager it was not what their mothers spoke to them.

  "Fair? Fair, you say?" Beobrand forced the words past teeth clenched in anger.

  Beobrand pulled his war helm from his head. Dropped it on the turf by the enclosure fence. Then, clumsily, he shook his arm free of the shield straps. He propped the linden board against the wooden gate post, next to the corpse of the old man. The greybeard's shoulder had been hewn deeply. The grass around was stained red. It saddened him to think that he would never know this man who had stood bravely before six armed men.

  "Now we are evenly matched, you and I," Beobrand said to Aengus. "We are both young, and we each have a sword. Now use yours. You have my word that should you prevail, my men will allow you all to leave in peace. Do not let it be said that Beobrand, son of Grimgundi is not fair."

  Aengus did not move. His bottom lip quivered. Beobrand did not want to see him cry. The boy reminded him of Tondberct. He had been happy to kill and rape, but had faced his end with tears and jabbering. A coward's death. Beobrand could almost hear the creak of the rope over the yew branch from where they had hanged Tondberct.

  "You had no qualms with using your blade a few moments ago. Now use it to fight me, or I will cut you down where you stand." Still Aengus made no move. So Beobrand closed the distance quickly, raising Hrunting high to give the boy a clear view of his unprotected midriff.

  Aengus seized the opportunity. He leapt forward with great speed, sending a darting lunge at Beobrand's stomach. Beobrand dropped the tip of his blade and parried the blow. He took two steps back. The boy was fast.

  The spell of inaction now broken, Aengus pressed his attack. He aimed a furious flurry of blows at Beobrand. Beobrand parried and dodged, slowly edging backward. His opponent pushed forward, hope shining in his eyes. Another swinging strike aimed at Beobrand's head. Another parry. The smithy sound of metal on metal was accompanied with sparks as the blades clashed. This had gone on long enough. Beobrand was loath to allow Hrunting's edge to be damaged.

  Taking a step back, Beobrand swung his sword wide, leaving himself open. To the onlooking warriors it was clear what would occur next. But Aengus was blinded by his own desperate hope; by the belief that he could best this huge warrior who claimed lordship over Ubbanford.

  Aengus lunged at Beobrand's chest. Beobrand spun on his left foot, shifting his body to the right, allowing Aengus' blade to slide harmlessly past. At the same instant he brought down the heavy blade of Hrunting into the young man's outstretched arm. Such was the force of the blow that the arm was severed just below the elbow. Sword and hand fell to the earth. Aengus let out a shivering squeal the like of which none of those watching would ever forget. Blood spouted. The slaughter-dew gushed onto the churned earth.

  Aengus fell to his knees. He gripped the stump of his arm to his chest. He mewled and choked. All who watched were silent. They knew the sword-sleep would be upon him soon. Aengus looked around him one last time, his eyes wide. Afraid. Then he slumped to the earth. Still clutching his ruined arm, he moved no more.

  The bearded man who Beobrand had felled with a kick stirred and sat up. He groaned groggily.

  Beobrand turned to the man who had spoken before. "Get him back on his horse and get off of my land."

  The man did not argue. Nobody said a word as they lifted their injured comrade onto his horse. Acennan and two of Beobrand's gesithas lifted Aengus' corpse and placed him on his horse. They used strips of his cloak to tie him to the animal. Acennan handed the reins to one of the horsemen.

  The horsemen left Ubbanford in stunned silence. They trotted down to the Tuidi and splashed through the shallow water of the ford. On the other side of the river the path disappeared into dense wood. The riders were quickly swallowed by the darkness under the trees.

  Beobrand looked down at his mutilated left hand. It was shaking. The heft of Hrunting in his right hand kept it steady. But the sword weighed heavily now. He examined the blade closely. It was gore-slick. It would need cleaning. And sharpening.

  Beobrand snorted without humour. So much for protecting Hrunting from more parries.

  Aengus had strong bones.

  Where it had sliced through the young man's limb, Hrunting's blade bore a large notch to the steel cutting edge.

  Sunniva watched Beobrand with concern. He sat on a bench at one end of the hall of Ubbanford. After the fight he had been withdrawn. His hands shook as he washed them in a basin. The water was the colour of rust when a thrall threw it out into the afternoon sunlight.

  She had never seen Beobrand kill before. She knew what he was capable of; had heard the stories. She'd seen him fighting with his fists. But she had never seen him weave the sword-spell that made him so formidable. She had looked on from the hilltop and marvelled at his movements. He seemed to flow like water. The bright blade of his sword flickered. Ripples on a stream.

  The suddenness of the violence had shocked her. As had the ease with which he took the young man's life. The spray of blood was clear even from the distance where she waited with the women, children and Anhaga. She had known Beobrand was a warrior. A killer. But she wished she had never seen him fight. His presence had always calmed her. He was her protector. Now she had seen what his protection meant, she could not forget what she had witnessed.

  He looked up at her. His eyes were shadowed, his stare vacant. She started. A small tremor snaked up her back.

  He was still Beobrand. Her Beobrand. Her man.

  "Let me serve you some mead," she said, reaching for a pitcher.

  "No, let me," a stern-faced woman said. The older woman, lifted the ewer and filled an earthenware cup that rested on the board before Beobrand.

  "Thank you, Lady Rowena," Beobrand said. He shook his head slightly, then drank deeply. He forced a smile. "It is good mead. Thank you for your hospitality. I wish we could have met under better circumstances." Beobrand swept his eyes around the room, as if expecting an enemy to leap from the shadows. The hall was warmly furnished with wall hangings. A small fire crackled merrily on the hearth, the smoke wafting up to hang in the rafters before seeping into the blackened thatch. The hall was not large, but it was well
appointed and comfortable.

  Rowena and her daughter, Edlyn, a gangly girl with dark tresses and huge, limpid eyes, had approached them after the horsemen had crossed the ford. The lady of Ubbanford had introduced herself and her daughter and welcomed them into her husband's hall. Beobrand had told Acennan and the rest of the men to stay outside. To keep watch in case the raiders returned. And so that he could talk to Rowena without an audience.

  "Nonsense," Rowena had said. "Those bastard Picts won't return today. Leave a couple of men. The rest, and the women and children must come inside and eat. My husband may be... away, but let it not be said that Ubbanford is a mean hall."

  She set the thralls and village women scurrying about to prepare food for her guests. Cheese, ale, mead and bread were soon on the board.

  "Later we can eat meat," she said. "But for now, slake your thirst and fend off your hunger with simple fare."

  The men and their families set to and the sound of contented eating and drinking filled the hall.

  At last, her duties as hostess seen to, Rowena came and sat at the high table with Beobrand and Sunniva. Edlyn came and sat at her mother's side.

  For some time, none of them spoke. Then Rowena said, "Killing Aengus was not wise. His father and brothers will seek blood payment for his death. We are few here. They are savages. They will return and we will pay the price for your quick anger."

  Beobrand bridled.

  "They had killed one of your men. I sought to avenge him."

  "Yes. Poor, brave, Ahebban. I do not feel sorry that you killed that turd Aengus. I give thanks to Woden for his death. Yet weregild for Ahebban's murder would have been more use to me than a bloodfeud."

  Beobrand frowned. She was right. He'd been a fool to allow himself to give in to his battle lust. "I am sorry, my lady. You speak words of wisdom. But I could not stand by and allow the slaying of one of my people go unpunished."

  "Your people?" She raised an eyebrow, inquisitively. "I thought I heard you say before that you are the new lord of Ubbanford. There can be only one reason for this. Tell me what tidings you bring."