“Gwenhwfar is busy, I take it?”
“Young girls always are.” She looked at me, with a little more sadness. But then she brightened as three small figures burst from the door closest to the yard. “But some, even younger, would not let you go without taking their leave.” Rhiannon, Siân and Morgana ran up and almost tripped over each other in the eagerness to give me a hug. I knelt down to receive them and allowed them to knock me on my back, in their enthusiasm. Morgana started to cry.
“I don’t want you to go!” she wailed. I tried to comfort her and assured her that she would indeed see me again. I promised to come back. This did not persuade her.
“You always come back too late! They told me! I will be a lady when you come back and you won’t let me ride piggy back with you!” I protested that it would be she who would not want such games but she would not be comforted. She threw her arms around me and clung on as if I was her last refuge. I let her sob for a while, then kissed her and gently peeled her off.
“Rhiannon and Siân have to have their turn, as well,” I said. She reluctantly let go. I gave the older girls a long, affectionate hug. It had never been quite so hard to say goodbye. This is what could have been if I had opted for hearth and home, rather than my solitary life as a wanderer, an exile and a mercenary. Life, love and family. I hauled myself up onto my saddle on Sage’s back and took Onion’s reins from a sister who had helped me with the horses. Wolf was now oriented to the journey. He scouted out the path ahead and came back to assure me all was well.
“Goodbye, Morwenna.”
“Don’t take so long to come see me next time,” she smiled, sadly.
“Let me know where you go to.”
“May the Mother watch over you in all your travels and see you safely home.” I nodded my thanks and urged Sage to the north gateway. Just before I reached it, something made me pause and look back. I caught sight of Gwenhwfar at a window. As I raised my hand to wave goodbye, she disappeared.
The horses, Wolf and I made our way north-west across the marshes along a wider track than the one by which we had entered, from the east. We travelled with a Grey Company - a group of the sisters of Ynys Witrin, who were already on their way to other refuges. They chanted songs that were laden with sadness as they left behind the only home that most of them had ever known. By the time we reached the sea, their grief was palpable - but so was their determination. Most were headed over to Gwent, maybe hoping to find a safe passage to Morgannwg, to the west. I wished them well, and every good fortune the gods could spare. They would need it. A handful were on the same course as I; north-east to Glevum, or Gloucester, as the Saxons call it. I considered following the majority of the Grey Company into Gwent and then heading north up the Marches of Hafren, on the border between Mercia and the British, but if it was Penda I was to support then there should be nothing to fear from his troops. The Glevum route was more direct and with the advantage of miles of river before we had to move to dry land.
It took most of the morning to reach the jetty where we would embark on our separate journeys. The horses picked their way carefully onto the boat that was waiting to sail up the estuary of the Hafren; the sisters took their places quietly and stoically. Wolf settled by my feet and we pushed off, rowing out into the channel, before a wind caught the sail and took us swiftly to the north-east. Had the women not shared some of their food with me I would have been starving by the time we docked for the night at Cas-Gwent, at the mouth of the River Wye. After we disembarked I insisted on buying meats, bread, cheeses and fruit to repay their kindness. We made an early start the following day as well, in order to reach Glevum before nightfall. We would have the tide with us for quite a way upriver but the current would be progressively more against us as we got closer to our destination. In the event, favourable winds brought us to the city’s wharves by mid afternoon; we had made very good time.
I was right in my guess that I would have nothing to fear on the journey through Mercia. I looked like a mercenary and, whenever challenged, the news that I was heading north to join Penda’s army against Northumbria was greeted with gratitude and encouragement. I even gathered a small troop of like-minded free warriors and eager young men, determined to teach the northerners a lesson they would not forget. The struggle between the two kingdoms had been ongoing for more than 20 years and had seen the deaths of two Northumbrian kings: Edwin and his successor, Oswald. Oswy, Oswald’s brother, was now trying Penda’s strength - and his patience. As we made our way north, in pursuit of the Mercian king’s army, it became clear that he had gathered one of the most mighty forces ever seen in the island of Britain. We learned that he had forged - or reforged - an alliance with Gwynedd and its King Cadfael. He didn’t have the most savoury reputation when it came to battles and strife between kingdoms; he had been accused of leaving allies in the lurch. But Gwynedd, under the rule of Cadwallon, Cadfael’s predecessor, had been a close ally of Mercia and helped it overcome and subdue the Northumbrians over several years. If they could be relied upon, the British of Gwynedd would make Penda’s army pretty much irresistible. And that was without including the armies and war-bands of a reported two dozen petty kings, warlords, dukes and tributaries of Mercia.
All of which made me wonder why I was needed.
After five days of hard riding we caught up with the Mercian army near a river the British called Winwaed. It was in the south of what had been the kingdom of Elmet in and area called Loidis, which means ‘the people of the fast-flowing river’. It was well-named; the Winwaed was a quite narrow but deep stream that rushed to join the river Wharfe, itself a tributary of the Humber, once the southern border of the Northumbrian kingdoms. Reports of Penda’s army were not exaggerated - in fact, they hardly did justice to the host that was gathered on the fields. There must have been over 20,000 there. Our band, so jolly and talkative on the journey, fell into awestruck silence.
“When the Northumbrians see this, surely they will turn and run back where they came?” someone said. Several nodded in agreement and some expressed disappointment that they would not see a fight after all. They were among the younger in our company; the older hands exchanged knowing looks. Through the smoke of a thousand campfires and the gathering gloom of evening I managed to pick out a likely candidate for Penda’s tent - or pavilion, rather. It was large, long, surrounded by flags and situated on a hillock that rose above the main campground. I took my leave of my travelling companions, who were about to drift away to find their own countrymen, tribesmen or - of they were very lucky - fellow-villagers. I picked my way through the tents and campfires, carefully leading my horses in order to avoid causing unnecessary upset. These fighters were ostensibly allies but tensions in any army lead to strained tempers. Look at someone the wrong way and a fight could ensue, quickly. Fortunately, the sight of Wolf made the more short-fused to look elsewhere for outlets. I met what could be called the royal picket-line about a hundred yards from Penda’s tent. When I told the guards who I was they looked at each other in some confusion. They were not going to deny me entry; quite the opposite.
“We are ordered to guarantee you safe passage, my lord. And to provide you with an escort to the king’s quarters,” one of them said. A couple of grooms were summoned to take care of my horses and they were quick to usher me through and on to the marquee. I hoisted my bedroll, personal bag, moneybags and the Frankish treasure and made my way. I could hear the rustle of whispering as I walked. Some of it resolved itself into ‘Ciaran the Damned’. Some hands formed themselves into signs against the evil eye. As I approached Penda’s marquee I was unsurprised to see the scene that had been presented in my Vision back in Clovis’ kingdom, all those weeks ago. Through the open flap of the tent I could see a handful of men standing around a table, a map laid out before them. Armies were represented in their relative dispositions and strengths. The one with the reddish beard looked straight at me.
“The English are coming but we need you, as well,” he said. I recog
nised him as Manwgan ap Selyfan - Mangan O’Sullivan, he had been called while sheltering in Erin. He was sometime king of Powys, having come to the throne when very young, been usurped and regained his inheritance a decade or so before. He relied upon Mercia for support - or at least, an absence of aggression. He was presumably here to repay that obligation. Another looked to see who had arrived and his hand leaped to his sword.
“It is the witch-king!” he cried out. “Take him now, before he seduces us under a glamour!”
“No!” a third voice barked. “Stay your hand! I sent for this man - he has come to help us!” This was King Penda of Mercia. He was around ten years older than I and with the build of a seasoned warrior. His face bore the marks of many of his battles - no doubt his body did as well.
“We have no need of demons!” the first one snarled.
“He is not a demon but there is something demonic in what we face. I know this man and we need him. He is here at my request and I will defend him, to death if need be! Sheath your sword!” The other did, but with very resentment oozing from every line on his face. Penda turned towards me. “Prince Ciaran, may I present Cadfael of Gwynedd.” He indicated the belligerent party. I made a small bow - he did not move at all.
“If you do not need me, my lord -”
“I would prefer that you stayed but if you need a short while to calm yourself, you can have it,” the king replied. “I need time to speak with Prince Ciaran. If your grace would return in an hour, we might resume then.” Cadfael nodded briefly at his ally and left the tent. I could feel something in him that I could not quite pull into focus. It would come, in time. Penda was holding out his hand to me in greeting, which was a pleasant surprise; the last time we met, he threatened to have me hanged.
“Welcome, Prince Ciaran. I am surprised to see you here so soon. I only sent out word for you yesterday,” he said. I took his hand in mine. He tried to crush it. I looked him straight in the eye and challenged him to continue. He broke into a kind of a grin and let go.
“I received the summons several weeks ago, while I was in the Frankish kingdoms,” I said. His eyebrows raised and they were not the only ones that did so. I saw a few hands in the tent make a sign against the evil eye. I shrugged. “That is the nature of the Otherworld. We get the call when we need to hear it, not always when it was sent.” Penda was of the Old Religion and familiar with the idea of the Otherworld but he would prefer his belief to remain at a theoretical level. Coming as close to it as I was to him, in his tent, was uncomfortable. I sought to move the conversation on. “I have seen your army, my lord. I haven’t seen anything like it for years - and nothing like it this side of the Narrow Sea, not that I can recall. It is huge. How can anyone stand against it? Why do you believe you need me?” Silence fell over the company, like a blanket.
“Leave us,” he ordered various guards, advisers and hangers-on. About a dozen left immediately and a further group was encouraged to follow with a few well-placed glares. The guards at the door helped the departed ones to move away, back towards the picket-line and out of earshot. When the tent-flap was pulled down and secured, Penda spoke again.
“You are right about my army. It is the biggest I have ever mustered. It’s much bigger than the one with which I defeated this upstart’s brother,” he said, referring to Oswald, who he had killed with his own sword around ten years ago. “But we are not facing only an earthly force. There is something else, riding with Oswy’s rabble. I was warned about it by several wise women. They told me to call for you. They said you were the only one who could defeat whatever it is. I believe you have faced something like it before?” I grimaced and nodded, reluctantly.
“Maybe. I hope not, to be honest. It was ten years ago - about the same time that you overcame Oswald - on Innis Vannin, at a place called The Ballaugh. The forces I faced then were truly demonic,” I replied. “I needed the help of a company of druids and even Christian priests and monks to beat it. A lot of men were lost, that day.” Mention of Christian help raised a few eyebrows. Most of those in the tent were followers of the Old ways. “Yes, Christians, too. We had a common enemy - some kind of hellspawn. I thought it was destroyed, that day. But I must confess, I am surprised. Oswy is a Christian; Northumbria is a Christian kingdom. We have our disagreements - profound ones - but I would be genuinely surprised if he was in league with the Darkness.” This was pretty adventurous on my part. If Penda was convinced that Oswy had formed some kind of demonic pact then I was risking a lot in seeking to question him. But he did not lose his temper or even raise his voice.
“I have no time for that son of a whore but I do not believe he knows what is going on. The wise women said that there were some among his followers who were hiding their true nature. He is being used, I think. Not the first time Northumbria has had its strings pulled by someone else.” Nor would it be the first time that Penda had cut those strings. He had been king of Mercia for very nearly thirty years and had overcome at least two major challenges from the north. He had also seen off usurpers and challengers from the south, west and east, from Angles, Saxons and British kingdoms and principalities. You do not survive that long without being an extremely tough customer. He had a reputation for savagery and brutality. I had a reputation that would curdle the blood and send naughty children shivering to bed but, in Penda’s case, it was pretty thoroughly deserved. It was alleged that he had flayed captured enemy commanders in the sight of their armies. I had never seen him do it, myself, nor had I heard a first-hand report - but I did not put it past him. Hostages had definitely been put to death by him, at the mere suggestion of rebellion by their families. In a savage age, Penda set several benchmarks. But if he was opposing a renewed Darkness then my place was on his side. We could settle any remaining differences afterwards, or leave them for another encounter.
“How far is Oswy’s army from here?” I asked.
“A day’s march, my scouts tell me. He will be here tomorrow evening.” I considered that news. I could send my mind out to overfly his army and see if I could spot anything but the strength of that aspect of my Gift weakened, the further it was from my body. It was at its strongest if I could touch whatever I wanted to scan. That would not be possible but I could give myself a better chance if he and his army were closer.
“My lord, it will be best if we wait until he nears our emplacement,” I said. “I will be able to search more thoroughly if they are at hand, rather than miles away. Do you know how large his army is?”
“Barely a quarter the size of mine, according to my reports,” Penda replied. “If that is true then we have nothing to fear from earthly force of arms. But if you could use your Powers to confirm those reports?” I looked at him and took a subtle, but deep, breath. He picked up the hint. “Perhaps tomorrow?” I raised an eyebrow. “Around noon?” I nodded agreement. “Fine. Let me show you what I have planned.” He was about to guide me over to the map table but before he could, I spoke quietly in his ear.
“Last time we met, you wanted to hang me.”
“That was then,” he whispered. “We were on different sides. This is now. You are my ally and an asset I could not get elsewhere. You need not fear any treachery from me. I give you my word.”
“And those under your command?”
“They will answer to me if they betray my promise to you.” I nodded, we shook hands, briefly and without contest. Penda of Mercia could be trusted.
We were in the throes of discussing dispositions of forces when Cadfael returned. He nodded briefly at me - which was a step in the right direction.
“Prince Ciaran, I have been reminded of the help you provided my predecessor. I may have misjudged you. I hope there will be peace between us?” I nodded and voiced the same sentiment.
“Reports and hearsay do not always do justice to their subject, my lord. I take no offence,” I replied. Nonetheless, there was something. Something I could not put my finger on. He turned to Penda.
“Forgive me, my lord, bu
t I have to raise a delicate matter with you.” Penda interrupted before he could continue.
“The money is coming, Cadfael. You will have your share.” I was nudged so hard by my Gift I took an involuntary step forward. Cadfael, Penda and the others all looked at me, rather surprised. I suddenly knew.
“Forgive me, my lord. There is something else. I have brought something for you.” I dragged the casket with Clovis’ treasure out from under the table where I had stowed it, quite carelessly, an hour or so earlier.
“What is this? Mercenaries normally expect payment - they don’t bring riches to their employers,” Penda said.
“Consider me no more than a courier, bringing a gift from Clovis the Second, King of the Franks,” I said. “He was looking after it for you, for a while.” Penda snorted in amusement.
“How long for?” he chuckled.
“Most of his life, I think.”
“Not long, then,” Penda roared with laughter at this. He was delighted with my gift to him and I was pleased with the effect it had, in brightening his mood. I was pleased also to be free of it, at last. It had been quite a burden. I had carried it through ambush, imprisonment, threats, murder, hostile territory and shipwreck, and brought it safely to what seemed to be its destination. I felt relieved and quite happy. But that was blunted a little by the looks I saw around the table. The battle had not yet been joined and various eyes were calculating their share of the spoils.
Lockeran (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 2) Page 17
