"I am sure Eadgyth, Reaghan and Rowena will be thankful of the extra hands. There is always more work than the women can cope with. Gods, they never cease to prattle about it."
Acennan gave him a long, strange look.
"You do understand that Fordraed will just spend your silver on more thralls?" He inspected the point he had carved, blowing flecks of bark and wood shavings from the pale, exposed heartwood, and then jabbing the sharp tip into the base of the fire, where it was hottest. "And his men will do what they like to the women they buy." After a heartbeat, he pulled the stick from the embers and blew out the small flame that had begun to consume the wood.
Beobrand watched the dance of the flames for a moment before glancing over once more at the women.
"Aye," he said at last with a sigh, "I know it. And I know it makes little sense. I cannot change everything on middle earth." It was folly he knew. And the gods had shown him all too frequently that he was often unable to protect whom he chose. He picked up one of the twigs Acennan had set aside to whittle. He bent the two ends of the wood towards one another. The wood was fresh and springy. He pushed harder, and the twig snapped with a sharp crack. "I know it is foolish," he said, tossing the broken twig into the flames, "but I cannot stand by and watch women treated thus." The flames flickered and crackled, heating his face. He thought of Sunniva's pyre, and how her features had been consumed. Now he barely remembered her face. "I just cannot."
Acennan nodded.
For a long while neither man spoke.
At last, Acennan said, "Well, what are we to do with them? We need to make haste. Why not just set them free? They could return to their kin and their homes."
Beobrand shook his head.
"No. I had thought of this already. But Fordraed has destroyed their homes and killed their kin."
"Still," said Acennan, "it is yet their land. They would rebuild. Start again."
"No," Beobrand repeated, "if Fordraed is right about Penda, then we are at war, and for better or for worse now, those women are thralls. They are spoils of war and I own them."
Frowning, Acennan made to say something, then thought better of it. He clamped his mouth shut and focused once more on his knife and the twig.
Beobrand watched his stocky friend for a moment. He could tell Acennan thought his decisions foolish. Perhaps they were, but they were his decisions. And he was Acennan's hlaford, so no more was said on the matter. Acennan would always speak his mind when asked, but he had learnt years before that when Beobrand made a decision, there was nothing to be gained from fighting against it.
"Cynan," Beobrand called to the Waelisc warrior, who was playing dice with Dreogan, Renweard and the brothers, Grindan and Eadgard. Cynan looked up. "Come," said Beobrand, "I would speak with you."
Cynan said something quietly to the men he was playing with and they laughed. He rose, as lithe as a fox, and joined Beobrand and Acennan.
"Lord?"
"I have a mission for you," said Beobrand. "I mean to give you command of six men."
Cynan squared his shoulders and pushed out his chest.
"I thank you, lord," he said, pride and pleasure evident on his face. "What is it you would have me do?"
"You will take the thralls to Ubbanford, keeping them safe from harm and seeing that none escapes. When you have delivered them safely to Ubbanford, you are to seek us out. I cannot say where we will be, but if war is coming, then head towards where the fighting is heaviest. You shall find us there, no doubt."
Disappointment and anger flashed across Cynan's features.
"But, lord. I am your best rider, and one of your best warriors. Surely someone else could be entrusted with this task. My place is at your side in the shieldwall."
"Your place," Beobrand snapped, his voice suddenly as harsh and sharp as splintered slate, "is to do that which I command. You seemed to have forgotten as much this afternoon when you ignored me and rode forward to the meeting with Fordraed."
"But—"
"No, Cynan. You will do what I have ordered and perhaps next time you will be less willing to ignore my commands."
Cynan scowled at Beobrand, wrestling with his emotions. He was a proud lad, and as good a man as any in the shieldwall, but he needed to be reminded from time to time of who was in command here.
At last Cynan took a breath and opened his mouth for what was surely going to be an angry retort.
Acennan interrupted him before he could speak.
"Remember your oath, boy," he said, his voice hard and loud.
Cynan clamped his mouth shut again and without another word, he strode away from the campfire.
Chapter 3
The next morning Fordraed's men were up and ready to leave earlier than Beobrand had expected. Of course, they had foregone their fun the night before, and so there had been little to keep them awake late.
Cursing quietly to himself, Beobrand watched as Fordraed's warband mounted up. His own men were still breaking their fast with oatcakes that Grindan had cooked on a flat stone beside one of the fires. It was a cool morning, and a light mist rose from the earth to mingle with the smoke from the campfire. Beobrand wanted to shout at the men to hurry. He did not wish to be left behind; to arrive at Eoferwic after Fordraed. He wanted to be there and see the king's face when he heard the tidings. But he clenched his fists and tried to remain outwardly calm as Fordraed swung himself up into his saddle and trotted his horse over. He enjoyed a moment of intense pleasure at the older thegn's fat lip and the bruise on his cheek, but managed to hide his smile as the man rode up.
"We shall see you at Eoferwic," Fordraed said, casting a glance over Beobrand's gathered men. "That is, if you ever decide to strike camp and leave. Comfortable, are you?"
Beobrand ground his teeth, but smiled broadly.
"Don't mind us. We'll catch you up soon enough." He took a warm oatcake from Grindan, broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. It was gritty, but warm and tasty.
Fordraed raised an eyebrow.
"Don't forget my silver."
Beobrand swallowed the piece of cake.
"How could I forget?" he said. "But it may be some time before you will have it. We have a war to fight first."
Fordraed frowned.
"Yes, we do," he said.
Tugging his horse's head to the side, Fordraed wheeled the steed around, dug his heels into its flanks and sped off northward. His men followed him. The early morning mist curled and eddied in their wake.
As soon as the riders had been swallowed by distance and the haze, Beobrand yelled, "Move it, you good for nothing bastards. Strike camp. We ride north and I do not wish to lose this race with Fordraed."
The edge in his voice spurred the warriors into action and they set about the routines they had followed each morning of their patrol. They were well-trained and knew what to do. They would be ready in moments.
Attor was already prepared. Beobrand had called him over at first light.
"Take three men of your choosing, Attor," he had said, "and ride west. I would know how much truth there is in what Fordraed has heard. You must be our eyes. See if you can find where the enemy is gathering. I believe Penda may plan to strike north into the western marches of Northumbria."
Attor had dipped his head.
"I will ride close enough to smell the Mercian dogs," he had said with a savage grin.
"Keep your distance," warned Beobrand, "and join the king's host when they march, for he must summon the fyrd. Look for me with the warhost."
The wiry warrior was mounted now, and followed by three others who Beobrand knew to be good riders and trackers. The four trotted close and Beobrand raised his hand.
"Be our eyes, but do not get caught," he yelled.
Attor smirked and returned Beobrand's wave. Then, touching his heels to his steed's flanks, he cantered into the west, chasing his shadow that streamed out before him into the mist. Beobrand watched until the four men were blurred specks in the distance befo
re walking to where Cynan, and the half-dozen men Beobrand had chosen to ride with him, were saddling their mounts. He had not spoken to Cynan since the previous night, but did not wish to leave the man without a final word. Cynan's companions were all solid men, serious and dutiful, who would not allow Cynan to stray from his path, even though Beobrand had placed the young Waelisc man in command. The women stared on, pallid and soot-smeared. They spoke the same tongue, so he was sure they had understood that he had forbidden his men from harming them and that he had rescued them from defilement the previous night. But they looked upon him with sullen, baleful eyes from their pale faces. He grimaced. What did he expect? They were still thralls. Women who had lost everything and seen their kin murdered before them, their homes razed. Perhaps they believed his words about their safety, or perhaps they didn't. It was no matter to them. The Northumbrians were still their enemy and they watched him from beneath hooded eyelids as he approached Cynan.
"Watch yourself, Cynan," he said, lowering his voice so that the staring women would not hear. "These women will cut off your manhood and feed it to you, given half a chance. I know you are not happy with this command, but you will need your wits to deliver them to Ubbanford without incident. Do not underestimate them."
Cynan scanned the faces of the women. Some had blank eyes, others looked resigned to what their wyrd had brought them to. One, the slender one whom Fordraed's men had been ready to abuse in the night, had eyes that spoke of death to the unwary. They burnt with a savage fury. She glowered at Cynan for a long while. He returned her gaze impassively.
"Do not worry about me, lord," Cynan said, a trace of mockery in his tone. "I am sure we will manage to escort these lovely ladies to Ubbanford."
"Each of you should share a horse with one of them. It will make the journey easier."
"Aye," said Cynan, tightening his mount's girth, "and we can better keep an eye on them that way."
"Just be careful. We will leave now with all haste. With your extra baggage we will soon leave you behind us. Travel safe and return as quickly as you are able. I fear I will have need of your battle-skill before too long."
Beobrand reached out his hand and Cynan grinned and clasped it in the warrior grip.
"Enjoy the peace and quiet without me, lord. May the wind be at your back."
Beobrand clapped him on the shoulder.
The camp had been packed up as they talked. The fires had been kicked into scattered embers and ash, horses had been saddled and harnessed and sleeping blankets rolled and tied.
Acennan rode over leading Bera. Beobrand leapt onto the animal's back and gripped the reins.
"Come, men," he said in a loud voice, "we ride with all haste for Eoferwic."
With a wave to Cynan and his half-dozen warriors, Beobrand dug his heels into Bera's flanks, and the mount lumbered forward. His warband fell into formation behind him and they rode northward. Away from Mercia, but towards war.
Chapter 4
They made good time. The days were warm, bright and long. The roads and paths they travelled dry and firm. As they rode north leaving the frontier with Mercia far behind, the shadow of war receded. It was difficult to believe that somewhere, south and west of them, Penda, the great warlord king, might be amassing a force capable of sweeping all opposition before it.
It was the height of summer and many of the men and women they passed were hunched over, surrounded by crops of barley and rye. Weeding out dock, nettles, charlock and other unwanted plants from the precious crops was painstaking and laborious work, but it was vital for a good harvest. Beobrand well remembered the terrible aching in his lower back after a day's weeding when he had been a boy in Cantware.
War was not something that troubled the thoughts of these peasants. They would glance up and watch the mounted and armoured thegns and their retinues ride by. They stood, slack-jawed and gawping at the fine horses and glittering armour. Squint-eyed against the glare of the sun, they looked on in awe at the garnets and gold adornments of the swords and seaxes. But the ceorls and bondsmen in the fields were interested in the way they would be to see a strangely shaped cloud, or the flash of lightning in a dark sky. Their lives were as distant from those of Beobrand and the passing warriors as pigs were to wolves.
And yet should war descend on this land, many would die. If they could not check Penda's advance, it would not merely be those who stood with shield and spear against the foe who would give their lives. Beobrand thought again of Cair Chaladain, and also of the rout after the battle of the great ditch in the land of the East Angelfolc. He looked at the upturned faces of the men and women toiling in the summer's heat and he knew that it was his duty to protect them from the horrors that would wash over the land if he failed.
They rode through the gates of Eoferwic in the mid-afternoon sunshine three days later. They had caught up with Fordraed easily enough and had ridden with him all the way. The two groups of men had seldom talked and at night they had set up separate camps. Each morning, Beobrand had seen to it that his men were ready before Fordraed's. Now, the large band of horsemen clattered into the courtyard before the royal hall at Eoferwic. The city was thriving and the filthy, muck-strewn streets were abuzz with activity. The air was noisome with the waste of the humans and animals who thronged the settlement. Flies flitted around their faces and the men spat and cursed. Beobrand noticed several new buildings each time he visited and the Christ church was being worked on constantly. Artisans and craftsmen had come from over the sea, from Frankia and even further south some said, to work on the buildings of the new capital of Northumbria.
Servants and slaves began to flock out of the great hall to meet the riders.
Beobrand swung down from Bera and stretched. His back hurt and he was glad to be out of the saddle.
"Lords Beobrand and Fordraed," hailed a loud voice, "what brings you both here?"
Beobrand looked up and saw the king's warmaster, Derian, striding towards them, flanked by door wards bearing spears. There was grey in Derian's thick beard.
"I come with grave tidings from the south," said Fordraed. "I must speak to the king."
Derian glance to Beobrand, who gave the slightest of nods.
"Very well," he said, "I will arrange an audience. But you will have to wait. The king is at prayer. Would you take some drink in the hall?"
Fordraed frowned.
"The news we bring is of the utmost import," he said.
"I understand," Derian said, placing a hand on the portly thegn's shoulder and leading him towards the hall. Over his shoulder, he rolled his eyes at Beobrand.
An hostler approached and took Bera's reins, leading the huge animal towards the stables. Around him, the courtyard was emptying. The men were making their way to the hall, whilst their horses were being tended to.
"Let's wash the dust from our throats," said Acennan. "The king's steward always keeps a good board here. Perhaps they'll have some of that strong cheese I like so much. And there will be nothing to do until the king is out of church."
Beobrand nodded. It was true that the king spent much of his time now at prayer. Beobrand wondered at it, it seemed wrong to him somehow that his lord should give so much praise to the soft god. And yet it could not be denied that the Christ had brought them victories. There was power in the Christ, but it was ghostlike, tenuous as smoke or mist. Beobrand did not understand it. Still, why should he concern himself with the ways of kings and priests? He was a warrior. Nothing more.
He was about to follow Acennan towards the hall, when a squeaking voice cut through the hubbub.
"Mother, look! Beobrand is here!"
Beobrand waved Acennan on and turned towards the voice.
A tiny figure pelted towards him across the courtyard, little arms pumping and feet pounding. The boy had a bouncing shock of auburn hair, the same hue as his father's. His face was slender and his eyes bright. With the energy and trust of childhood, he did not pause his headlong rush, but launched himself into the ai
r towards Beobrand.
Beobrand caught the boy, barely managing to keep hold of the squirming child. He smiled and lifted the boy high.
"I almost dropped you, Œthelwald," Beobrand said, trying to sound sombre and serious.
"You wouldn't drop me!" yelped Œthelwald. "You're much too strong for that. Isn't he, mother?"
Beobrand looked beyond the boisterous child to the blonde-haired woman who followed in his wake.
"My queen," said Beobrand, inclining his head.
Childbirth had not dampened Cyneburg's beauty. Her golden tresses were coiled about her head in a complex pattern of plaits. She wore a blue dress of fine linen and at her slender neck hung an exquisite necklace of gold and garnets.
"Isn't he, mother?" Œthelwald repeated. "Isn't he?"
"Yes. Lord Beobrand is very strong, Œthelwald," Cyneburg said at last.
Beobrand set the boy back on the ground, offering Cyneburg a thin smile. Behind the queen was a young woman, her gemæcce, or perhaps the boy's nurse, and four warriors. Beobrand surveyed the men quickly. They were all tough men, with set jaws and darting eyes. He did not begrudge them the task of watching over the queen and her son.
"I trust you are strong too, young Œthelwald," Beobrand said, "for I need your help."
The small boy gazed up at him with wide eyes. With a pang, Beobrand thought of Octa. His son was not that much older than Œthelwald, but somehow, it was never as easy with Octa. There always seemed to be a hidden wall between them, never this relaxed joking.
"Oh, I am strong, aren't I, mother?"
"Yes, of course you are," Cyneburg replied with a sigh.
"Then you must carry this for me," said Beobrand, handing Œthelwald his waterskin. The boy sagged under its weight, but, clutching it with both hands, he manfully toddled towards the hall with his burden.
Beobrand and the queen followed, with her retinue a few paces behind.
"How fares your wife?" Cyneburg asked, her voice meek and uncertain, as it usually was when she spoke to Beobrand.
"Reaghan was well when last I saw her," he replied, his tone harsher than he had intended it, as so often happened when he talked with Cyneburg. "But we are not wed."
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