Warriors of the Storm (2015)

by Bernard Cornwell

  ‘Two thousand by now,’ I said, ‘and at least a hundred battle-crazed Irish warriors with them.’

  ‘And this garrison is here to stop that happening!’ she spat. The priests who accompanied her looked at me accusingly. Æthelflaed was almost always escorted by priests, but there seemed to be more than usual, and then I remembered that Eostre’s feast was just days away and we were to enjoy the thrill of consecrating the humble, ever-smiling Leofstan. ‘So what do we do about it?’ Æthelflaed demanded.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said, ‘I’m not a Christian. I suppose you shove the poor man into the church, stick him onto a throne, and have the usual caterwauling?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I honestly don’t see why we need a bishop anyway. We already have enough useless mouths to feed, and this wretched creature Leofstan has brought half the cripples of Mercia with him.’

  ‘What do we do about Ragnall!’ she snapped.

  ‘Oh him!’ I said, pretending surprise. ‘Why nothing, of course.’

  She stared at me. ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Unless you can think of something?’ I suggested. ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Good God!’ she spat the words at me, then shivered as a blast of wind brought a slap of cold rain to the street. ‘We’ll talk in the Great Hall,’ she said, ‘and bring Finan!’

  ‘Finan’s patrolling,’ I said.

  ‘Thank God someone’s doing something here,’ she snarled, and strode towards the Great Hall, which was a monstrous Roman building at the centre of the town. The priests scuttled after her, leaving me with two close friends who had accompanied Æthelflaed north. One was Osferth, her half-brother and illegitimate son of King Alfred. He had been my liegeman for years, one of my better commanders, but he had joined Æthelflaed’s household as a councillor. ‘You shouldn’t tease her,’ he reproved me sternly.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  ‘Because she’s in a bad mood,’ Merewalh said, climbing down from his horse and grinning at me. He was the commander of her household warriors, and was as reliable a man as any I have ever known. He stamped his feet, stretched his arms, then patted his horse’s neck. ‘She’s in a downright filthy mood,’ he said.

  ‘Why? Because of Ragnall?’

  ‘Because at least half the guests for Father Leofstan’s enthronement have said they’re not coming,’ Osferth said gloomily.

  ‘The idiots are frightened?’

  ‘They’re not idiots,’ he said patiently, ‘but respected churchmen. We promised them a sacred Easter celebration, a chance for joyful fellowship, and instead there’s a war here. You can’t expect the likes of Bishop Wulfheard to risk capture! Ragnall Ivarson is known for his bestial cruelty.’

  ‘The girls at the Wheatsheaf will be pleased Wulfheard’s staying in Gleawecestre,’ I said.

  Osferth sighed heavily and set off after Æthelflaed. The Wheatsheaf was a fine tavern in Gleawecestre that employed some equally fine whores, most of whom had shared the bishop’s bed whenever his wife was absent. Merewalh grinned at me again. ‘You shouldn’t tease Osferth either.’

  ‘He looks more like his father every day,’ I said.

  ‘He’s a good man!’

  ‘He is,’ I agreed. I liked Osferth, even though he was a solemn and censorious man. He felt cursed by his bastardy and had struggled to overcome the curse by living a blameless life. He had been a good soldier, brave and prudent, and I did not doubt he was a good councillor to his half-sister, with whom he shared not just a father but a deep piety. ‘So Æthelflaed,’ I started walking with Merewalh towards the Great Hall, ‘is upset because a pack of bishops and monks can’t come to see Leofstan made a bishop?’

  ‘She’s upset,’ Merewalh said, ‘because Ceaster and Brunanburh are close to her heart. She regards them as her conquests, and she isn’t happy that the pagans are threatening them.’ He stopped abruptly and frowned. The frown was not for me, but rather for a young dark-haired man who galloped past, his stallion’s hooves splashing mud and rainwater. The man slewed the tall horse to an extravagant stop and leaped from the saddle leaving a servant to catch the sweat-stained stallion. The young man swirled a black cloak, nodded a casual acknowledgement towards Merewalh, then strode towards the Great Hall.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘Cynlæf Haraldson,’ Merewalh said shortly.

  ‘One of yours?’

  ‘One of hers.’

  ‘Æthelflaed’s lover?’ I asked, astonished.

  ‘Christ, no. Her daughter’s lover probably, but she pretends not to know.’

  ‘Ælfwynn’s lover!’ I still sounded surprised, but in truth I would have been more surprised if Ælfwynn had not taken a lover. She was a pretty and flighty girl who should have been married three or four years by now, but for whatever reason her mother had not found a suitable husband. For a time everyone had assumed Ælfwynn would marry my son, but that marriage had raised no enthusiasm, and Merewalh’s next words suggested it never would.

  ‘Don’t be surprised if they marry soon,’ he said sourly.

  Cynlæf’s stallion snorted as it was led past me, and I saw the beast had a big C and H branded on its rump. ‘Does he do that to all his horses?’

  ‘His dogs too. Poor Ælfwynn will probably end up with his name burned onto her buttocks.’

  I watched Cynlæf, who had paused between the big pillars that fronted the hall and was giving orders to two servants. He was a good-looking young man, long-faced and dark-eyed, with an expensive mail coat and a gaudy sword belt from which hung a scabbard of red leather studded with gold. I recognised the scabbard. It had belonged to the Lord Æthelred, Æthelflaed’s husband. A generous gift, I thought. Cynlæf saw me looking at him and bowed, before turning away and disappearing through the big Roman doors. ‘Where did he come from?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s a West Saxon. He was one of King Edward’s warriors, but after he met Ælfwynn he moved to Gleawecestre,’ he paused and half smiled, ‘Edward didn’t seem to mind losing him.’

  ‘Noble?’

  ‘A thegn’s son,’ he said dismissively, ‘but she thinks the sun shines out of his arse.’

  I laughed. ‘You don’t like him.’

  ‘He’s a useless lump of self-important gristle,’ Merewalh said, ‘but the Lady Æthelflaed thinks otherwise.’

  ‘Can he fight?’

  ‘Well enough,’ Merewalh sounded grudging. ‘He’s no coward. And he’s ambitious.’

  ‘Not a bad thing,’ I said.

  ‘It is when he wants my job.’

  ‘She won’t replace you,’ I said confidently.

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ he said gloomily.

  We followed Cynlæf into the hall. Æthelflaed had settled into a chair behind the high table, and Cynlæf had taken the stool to her right, Osferth was on her left, and she now indicated that Merewalh and I should join them. The fire in the central hearth was smoky, and the brisk wind gusting through the hole in the Roman roof was swirling the smoke thick about the big chamber. The hall filled slowly. Many of my men, those who were not riding with Finan or standing guard on the high stone walls, came to hear whatever news Æthelflaed had brought. I sent for Æthelstan, and he was ordered to join us at the high table where the twin priests Ceolnoth and Ceolberht also took seats. Æthelflaed’s warriors filled the rest of the hall as servants brought water and cloths so the newly arrived guests at the high table could wash their hands. Other servants brought ale, bread, and cheese. ‘So what,’ Æthelflaed demanded as the ale was poured, ‘is happening here?’

  I let Æthelstan tell the story of the burning of Brunanburh’s boats. He was embarrassed by the telling, certain he had let his aunt down by his lack of vigilance, but he still told the tale clearly and did not try to shrink from the responsibility. I was proud of him and Æthelflaed treated him gently, saying that no one could have expected ships to sail up the Mærse at night. ‘But why,’ she asked harshly, ‘did we have no warning of Ragnall’s comi
ng?’

  No one answered. Father Ceolnoth began to say something, glancing at me as he spoke, but then decided to be silent. Æthelflaed understood what he had wanted to say and looked at me. ‘Your daughter,’ she sounded disapproving, ‘is married to Ragnall’s brother.’

  ‘Sigtryggr isn’t supporting his brother,’ I said, ‘and I assume he doesn’t approve of what Ragnall is doing.’

  ‘But he must have known what Ragnall planned?’

  I hesitated. ‘Yes,’ I finally admitted. It was unthinkable that Sigtryggr and Stiorra had not known, and I could only presume they had not wanted to send me any warning. Perhaps my daughter now wanted a pagan Britain, but if that was the case, why had Sigtryggr not joined the invasion?

  ‘And your son-in-law sent you no warning?’ Æthelflaed asked.

  ‘Perhaps he did,’ I said, ‘but the Irish Sea is treacherous. Perhaps his messenger drowned.’

  That feeble explanation was greeted with a snort of derision from Father Ceolnoth. ‘Perhaps your daughter preferred—’ he began, but Æthelflaed cut him short before he could say more.

  ‘We mostly rely on the church for our news from Ireland,’ she said acidly. ‘Have you stopped corresponding with the clerics and monasteries of that land?’

  I watched as she listened to the churchmen’s limping excuses. She was King Alfred’s eldest daughter, the brightest of his large brood, and as a child she had been quick, happy, and full of laughter. She had grown to be a beauty with pale gold hair and bright eyes, but marriage to Æthelred, Lord of Mercia, had etched harsh lines on her face. His death had taken away much of her unhappiness, but she was now the ruler of Mercia, and the care of that kingdom had added streaks of grey to her hair. She was handsome rather than beautiful now, stern-faced and thin, ever watchful. Watchful because there were still men who believed no woman should rule, though most men in Mercia loved her and followed her willingly. She had her father’s intelligence as well as his piety. I knew her to be passionate, but as she aged she had become ever more dependent on priests for the reassurance that the Christians’ nailed god was on her side. And perhaps he was, for her rule had been successful. We had been pushing the Danes back, taking from them the ancient lands they had stolen from Mercia, but now Ragnall had arrived to threaten all she had achieved.

  ‘It’s no accident,’ Father Ceolnoth insisted, ‘that he has come at Easter!’

  I did not see the significance and nor, apparently, did Æthelflaed. ‘Why Easter, father?’ she asked.

  ‘We reconquer land,’ Ceolnoth explained, ‘and we build burhs to protect the land, and we rely on warriors to keep the burhs safe,’ that last statement was accompanied by a quick and spiteful glance in my direction, ‘but the land is not truly safe until the church has placed God’s guardian hand over the new pastures! The psalmist said as much! God is my shepherd and I shall lack for nothing.’

  ‘Baaaaa,’ I said, and was rewarded by a savage look from Æthelflaed.

  ‘So you think,’ she said, pointedly ignoring me, ‘that Ragnall wants to stop the consecration?’

  ‘It is why he has come now,’ Ceolnoth said, ‘and why we must thwart his evil intent by enthroning Leofstan!’

  ‘You believe he will attack Ceaster?’ Æthelflaed asked.

  ‘Why else is he here?’ Ceolnoth said heatedly. ‘He has brought over a thousand pagans to destroy us.’

  ‘Two thousand by now,’ I corrected him, ‘and some Christians too.’

  ‘Christians?’ Æthelflaed asked sharply.

  ‘He has Irish in his army,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Two thousand pagans?’ Cynlæf spoke for the first time.

  I ignored him. If he wanted me to respond then he needed to use more courtesy, but he had asked a sensible question, and Æthelflaed also wanted the answer. ‘Two thousand? You’re certain he has that many?’ she demanded of me.

  I stood and walked around the table so that I was at the front of the dais. ‘Ragnall brought over a thousand warriors,’ I said, ‘and he used those to occupy Eads Byrig. At least another thousand have joined him since, coming either by sea or on the roads south through Northumbria. He grows strong! But despite his strength he has not sent a single man southwards. Not one cow has been stolen from Mercia, not one child taken as a slave. He hasn’t even burned a village church! He hasn’t sent scouts to look at Ceaster, he’s ignored us.’

  ‘Two thousand?’ Æthelflaed again echoed Cynlæf’s question.

  ‘Instead,’ I said, ‘he’s made a bridge across the Mærse and his men have been going north. What lies to the north?’ I let the question hang in the smoky hall.

  ‘Northumbria,’ someone said helpfully.

  ‘Men!’ I said. ‘Danes! Northmen! Men who hold land and fear that we’ll take it from them. Men who have no king unless you count that weakling in Eoferwic. Men, my lady, who are looking for a leader who will make them safe. He’s recruiting men from Northumbria, so yes, his army grows every day.’

  ‘All at Eads Byrig?’ Æthelflaed asked.

  ‘Maybe three, four hundred men there,’ I said. ‘There isn’t enough water for more, but the rest are camped by the Mærse where Ragnall’s made a bridge of boats. I think that’s where he’s gathering his army, and by next week he’ll have three thousand men.’

  The priests crossed themselves. ‘How in God’s name,’ Ceolberht asked quietly, ‘do we fight a horde like that?’

  ‘Ragnall,’ I went on remorselessly, talking directly to Æthelflaed now, ‘leads the largest enemy army to be seen in Britain since the days of your father. And every day that army gets bigger.’

  ‘We shall trust in the Lord our God!’ Father Leofstan spoke for the first time, ‘and in the Lord Uhtred too!’ he added slyly. The bishop elect had been invited to join Æthelflaed on the high dais, but had preferred to sit at one of the lower tables. He beamed his smile at me then wagged a disapproving finger. ‘You’re trying to frighten us, Lord Uhtred!’

  ‘Jarl Ragnall,’ I said, ‘is a frightening man.’

  ‘But we have you! And you smite the heathen!’

  ‘I am a heathen!’

  He chuckled at that. ‘The Lord will provide!’

  ‘Then perhaps someone can tell me,’ I turned back to the high table, ‘how the Lord will provide for us to defeat Ragnall?’

  ‘What has been done so far?’ Æthelflaed asked.

  ‘I’ve summoned the fyrd,’ I said, ‘and sent all the folk who wanted refuge to the burhs. We’ve deepened the ditch here, we’ve sharpened the stakes in the ditch, we’ve stacked missiles on the walls, and we’ve filled the storerooms. And we have a scout in the woods now, exploring the new camp as well as Eads Byrig.’

  ‘So now is the time to smite Ragnall!’ Father Ceolnoth said enthusiastically.

  I spat towards him. ‘Will someone please tell that drivelling idiot why we cannot fight Ragnall.’

  The silence was finally broken by Sihtric. ‘Because he’s protected by the walls of Eads Byrig.’

  ‘Not the men by the river!’ Ceolnoth pointed out. ‘They’re not protected!’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ I said, ‘which is why my scout is in the woods. But even if they don’t have a palisade, they do have the forest. Lead an army into a forest and it will be ambushed.’

  ‘You could cross the river to the east,’ Father Ceolnoth decided to offer military advice, ‘and attack the bridge from the north.’

  ‘And why would I do that, you spavined idiot?’ I demanded. ‘I want the bridge there! If I destroy the bridge then I’ve trapped three thousand Northmen inside Mercia. I want them out of Mercia! I want the bastards across the river.’ I paused, then decided to speak what my instinct told me was the truth, a truth I confidently expected Beadwulf to confirm. ‘And that’s what they want too.’

  Æthelflaed frowned at me, puzzled. ‘They want to be across the river?’

  Ceolnoth muttered something about the idea being a nonsense, but Cynlæf had understood what I was sugg
esting. ‘The Lord Uhtred,’ he said, investing my name with respect, ‘believes that what Ragnall really means to do is invade Northumbria. He wants to be king there.’

  ‘Then why is he here?’ Ceolberht asked plaintively.

  ‘To make the Northumbrians believe his ambitions are here,’ Cynlæf explained. ‘He’s misleading his pagan enemies. Ragnall doesn’t want to invade Mercia …’

  ‘Yet,’ I intervened strongly.

  ‘He wants to be king of the north,’ Cynlæf finished.

  Æthelflaed looked at me. ‘Is he right?’

  ‘I think he is,’ I said.

  ‘So Ragnall isn’t coming to Ceaster?’

  ‘He knows what I did to his brother here,’ I said.

  Leofstan looked puzzled. ‘His brother?’

  ‘Sigtryggr attacked Ceaster,’ I told the priest, ‘and we slaughtered his men, and I took his right eye.’

  ‘And he took your daughter to wife!’ Father Ceolnoth could not resist saying.

  ‘At least she gets humped,’ I said, still looking at Leofstan. I turned back to Æthelflaed. ‘Ragnall’s not interested in attacking Ceaster,’ I assured her, ‘not for a year or two, anyway. One day? Yes, if he can, but not yet. So no,’ I spoke firmly to reassure her, ‘he’s not coming here.’

  And he came next morning.

  The Northmen came from the forest’s edge in six great streams. They still lacked sufficient horses, so many of them came on foot, but they all came in mail and helmeted, carrying shields and weapons, emerging from the far trees beneath their banners that showed eagles and axes, dragons and ravens, ships and thunderbolts. Some flags showed the Christian cross, and those, I assumed, were Conall’s Irishmen, while one banner was Haesten’s simple emblem of a human skull held aloft on a pole. The biggest flag was Ragnall’s blood-red axe that flew in the strong wind above a group of mounted men who advanced ahead of the great horde, which slowly shook itself into a massive battle line that faced Ceaster’s eastern ramparts. A horn sounded three times from the enemy ranks as if they thought we had somehow not noticed their coming.

  Finan had returned ahead of the enemy, warning me that he had seen movement in the forest, and now he joined me and my son on the ramparts and looked at the vast army, which had emerged from the distant trees and faced us across half a mile of open land. ‘No ladders,’ he said.