Uneasy silence greeted that. At last Lanfrith said, “I’d put a question, lord. Will you accept what Withucar has done?”
Cerdic’s broad hand clenched over his sword-pommel. A growl, half anger, half derision, went through the band of warriors. Cerdic said fiercely, “Never!”
“Then it’s best we take ourselves to Kent,” Ulfcetel advised. “King Oisc will aid you with ships and men. You can return in sufficient strength to retake yon fortress, lord—and maybe to awe Withucar’s own men into giving up the lady and the bantlings once they see you are determined. It will be necessary to give them quarter.”
“Well,” Cerdic said, “it’s the soundest rede I’ve heard today.”
His heart was not in it. Gods! How his pride would suffer, to go begging King Oisc for aid to regain the holding he’d let slip through his fingers! Oh, true, it was the logical thing to do. King Oisc had acknowledged Cerdic as his son two years before, when Cerdic had taken the fortress and Vectis-isle for his own. They had cobbled up some story about Oisc and a British princess. It was manure; Cerdic’s mother had decidedly not been a princess, and almost the one certain thing about his father was that he hadn’t been Oisc. No. Not even that was certain. It just might be so. Yet the story gave Cerdic a pedigree and Oisc a blood tie with this formidable young chieftain.
“Then, lord,” said Lanfrith boldly, “we need not fare to Kent! If you mean to do this, it can be done with the men we have! We be three ships’ companies. Withucar has only two—less than that, indeed. You left loyal men in the fortress. The Saxon must have taken them by surprise while they sat at meat with his followers, but still, no matter how swift his treachery, he’d have had losses. He made the mistake of leaving a few loyal men alive. I suppose they swore to serve him and then gave the lady Giralda her chance to warn you when the time arrived. Also, they took their scot before they fell. Let Withucar know that you know this, and he’s exposed as a bluffer! We can awe his men as we stand.”
Cerdic, listening gravely, thought of himself eight yeaers before. He almost smiled.
“Have you more to say?” he asked.
Lanfrith was puzzled. “Why—why, no, lord!”
Cerdic shrugged byrnied shoulders. “Duck him in the river.”
The gesiths enthusiastically complied. Later, as the three serpent-ships were racing for Kent with all the swiftness half a hundred strong rowers could give to each, Ulfcetel took the trouble to explain to the youngster.
“You forgot something, lad—or never saw it. Withucar, that bastard, wanted us to enter the fortress. Then he’d ha’ taken us by surprise and slain us all. He couldn’t have relied on doing that with two ships’ companies only. It’s all he had when the storm parted us from him, true. What of it? The sea’s a salt broth of pirates looking for land of their own. He may well have fallen in with some of them. It may even ha’ been that which put the thought of treachery into his head. We saw no ships but Withucar’s two, but then he wouldn’t desire us to see them, and they are easily hidden. The ring-breaker wanted to storm that place far more than you, but he’s not one for throwing his men’s lives away. You’ll learn.”
There was also a thing Ulfcetel did not mention, though it had occurred to every man in Cerdic’s three ships—and none of them mentioned it either. Touching Cerdic most nearly, never out of his thoughts, it filled him with anguish and murder.
Giralda was in the traitor’s hands; his Giralda. She was undoubtedly in his bed as well. He’d be enjoying her there each night while she waited for Cerdic’s return, and when Cerdic told the story of what had happened, as he must do in Kent to get the king’s aid, every soul on the Isle of Thanet would know. Soon afterward it would be known up and down the Narrow Sea. To a man of Cerdic’s colossal pride, this was like a garlic rub after being flayed in dainty patterns. It couldn’t be borne. It must be borne. Two visions he saw constantly: Giralda, writhing naked in Withucar’s arms, and Giralda, red hair flying loose, red knife slashing, setting her life at stake to warn him of ambush.
“Wotan,” he said between his teeth, “give me victory—give me cunning and luck to make it better than hollow victory—and I’ll sacrifice a hundred men to you, hanged upon green-growing trees before the summer ends!”
King Oisc of Kent made no difficulty about granting aid. He was Cerdic’s putative father, after all. To Cerdic he seemed secretly amused by what had happened, but if so, he’d the tact to conceal it.
“I’d not order men of mine to go on such a venture,” he said. “However, any that wish may do so, and they may take ships of mine to fare in. Choose them better than you chose this Withucar.”
Cerdic took the advice glumly.
He’d no difficulty in getting men. Besides being glad to go with him and punish an oath-breaker, they all knew Cerdic for the most openhanded of chieftains. He’d give them rich gifts for a service like this. Aye, it would be a merry business, and if Cerdic himself was less merry than usual, well, that was understandable.
Teg and Octha came, late sons of Hengist himself by casual bedmates and thus King Oisc’s younger half-brothers. The dreadful Tosti Fenrir’s-get came too. He was reputed to be a werewolf, and his behavior lent credibility to the tale. There was also Wecstan, who had been outlawed from among the Elbe Saxons and happened to be Disc’s guest at the time. These were the greatest names, and there were many good if lesser ones besides. When Cerdic sailed west again, he did so with seven ships and four hundred men.
Aboard their ship, Wecstan’s cousin Liudehere said, grinning, “The laughter will be heard in Rome if we should find that this traitor has used his respite to plunder Wiht-gara-byrig of all he can carry off and decamped!”
The Saxon outlaw glanced from the gray water hissing along the strakes to the white-and-red sail above him. “Cerdic would hunt him out if he hid under the roots of Yggdrasil. He must know that. Besides, a base like Vectis is what every landless rover dreams of, slavering. I’d be tempted to try for it myself had I more men. I fancy this wolf will yield it with his last breath, and no other way.” They came to Vectis by daylight, with no attempt at stealth. Their bright sails could be seen from afar. Ashore, banners of white cloth fluttered in reply. The coast-watchers Withucar had set were giving the alarm. This duty done, they rode or ran to the fortress as fast as they might, while the common folk of the island hugged their children and prayed destruction on every sea-wolf’s head.
All save those few who had reason to know how much worse Withucar would be than Cerdic.
From the ramparts of Wiht-gara-byrig, men watched Cerdic’s force leave the ships. Cerdic himself was conspicuous by his beard and helmet. Withucar smiled.
“They have numbers, but ours is the strongpoint,” he said to the henchmen nearest him. “Pass the word. Cerdic is to be slain at all costs. With him dead, we can deal with the others. Oisc of Kent will take wergild for him and leave us in peace. But while Cerdic lives, we’ll none of us draw a safe breath.”
He said it not fearfully but as one who recognizes a fact. Withucar was a big man, as tall as Cerdic, barely a few pounds lighter, and longer of arm. He’d braided his hair for fighting. A grin moved his heavy flaxen mustache as he watched Cerdic come up the shore for a parley.
The Brittano-Jute halted a long spear’s cast from the gate. “Well, oath-breaker, you see I’ve returned!” he thundered. “Now send out my family.”
“I will,” Withucar answered. “Be sure I will! Whenever you wish! Fragment by fragment. Rush this palisade when it pleases you. Not many will get over it, and none of those who do will survive.”
“Do you think so? Then you’re a greater fool than I was to trust you! I took Wiht-gara-byrig once, and I’ll take it again! The difference is this. Send out my family unharmed and I’ll spare such of your men as live by the day’s end. Do scathe or harm to any,” Cerdic promised, his voice thick with passion, “and I’ll slay your men to the last of the lot—aye, and those who die by edge or point will be fortunate.”
&nb
sp; “Bereavement makes you fluent,” the Saxon said, laughing. “You haven’t said what you will do for me.”
Cerdic laughed as well, unpleasantly. “No! It might mar our friendship if I did! Suppose we settle this between ourselves? I offer you combat. If I’m slain, you pay wergild for me and send my family to Kent. If you’re slain, the fortress is mine again and your men depart alive. Believe me, Withucar, you will be making a good bargain either way, compared with what you will receive if you refuse.”
Withucar yawned ostentatiously. “You were ever the fine one for bluster. It’s the Celtic blood, I reckon. My answer’s no, even though you do have me quaking with fear.”
Cerdic said with immense dignity, “Come out here with sword and shield. I’ll meet you with sword only.”
Jaws dropped on both sides. Those who listened were warriors; they knew how vast an advantage this would give and that Withucar was a fighting man little, if any, inferior to Cerdic. There was also his longer reach. But Withucar, who had taken oath to serve Cerdic and then broken it, would not believe that Cerdic was honest. He saw the offer only as a trick to lure him out of the fortress alone. “Do you think me a fool?” he jeered.
Cerdic did not answer that. He said, “Reflect. You have until midday.”
Turning abruptly, he went back to the ships.
Withucar found his henchmen looking at him strangely. One opined, “You were mistaken; he’d stand by it. If for no better reason, he’s too proud to renege.”
“That is fine! As you’re so confident, you go out there and meet him!”
The other proved not so ready to be daunted or shamed. “Easy to say, but it solves nothing. It’s not me he wants.”
Then Withucar was the one silenced.
The serpent-ships’ crews carried scaling ladders ashore, Cerdic having fetched them from Kent to save making them in Vectis. He’d also brought a heavy log and numbers of ox hides. With these and farm carts that his men commandeered from nearby steadings on the chalk downs, he had them begin building a wheeled, covered ram. He watched the work impatiently, whetting his sword. He thought of Giralda within Wiht-gara-byrig’s palisade, and the knowledge that he was gambling with her life turned his stomach cold. Yet he knew she would not have him act otherwise.
Stuf, one of Cerdic’s captains, appeared with a local farmer beside him. The fellow was short, thickset, balding and paunchy, but there was a look of steadiness about him and he did not cringe. Oddly, he lugged a small cauldron from which wafted a rank smell. Cerdic looked inquiringly at Stuf.
“He would speak with you,” the captain said. “I told him you have no time for trifles and that I’d drive a spear through him if his errand proved such. He said it was a bargain.”
“Did he now?” Interest kindled in Cerdic. “Who are you?”
“My name is Antonius, mighty lord. My forebears were Roman and have held land hereabouts since the days of Trajan. I’d not prevaricate… but when you have heard me, you are likely to think me witless or joking. Thus I ask that you hold your hand and allow me to show the truth of what I say.”
“Has it to do with the taking of yon fortress?” Cerdic snapped.
“Yea, lord! Everything to do with it.”
“Then I will hear you. However, talk swiftly.”
Antonius did; and as he had foreseen, his claims were received as maundering or ill-timed malice. He’d been wise to gain Cerdic’s promise of patience beforehand. Yet he spoke on. His air of earnestness and sense swayed them at last.
“By the gods,” Stuf chuckled, “you are the least likely sorcerer that ever I saw!”
“ ’Tis a little magic, and rustic,” Antonius replied.
“So,” Cerdic said grimly. “I’ll believe for now that you can do it. Tell me this. Why do you risk approaching me? What is it to you who wins this day? For you it will mean no more than a change of masters.”
Antonius looked at him directly. “Even that, lord, can be a thing to fear. Say that I have reason to prefer your rule to his. And you are half-British! Say also, if you like, that I hope for reward.”
“Reward you shall have according to what you achieve.” Cerdic nudged the odoriferous kettle with his foot. “Stuf, take that away. Now, Antonius, let me see you work your wonder. ’Tis almost midday.”
The farmer began his preparations. With sticks, earth and pebbles he fashioned a model of the stockade and the ditch around it. With straw and twigs he made small likenesses of the eating-hall within, the barns, byres and pens. He was accustomed to such work; he kept more bees than any other man on the island and made their hives from plaited straw. Also, he had children. When he’d finished, he had a near similitude of Wiht-gara-byrig.
“Yes,” he nodded, cocking his head and examining the model. “It will do.”
From around his neck he took a pendant of yellow amber, clear as the best ale, an insect frozen forever within. Cerdic had seen wasps and beetles so preserved, but this was a bee and by its size, a queen. Surely that was rare, if not unique.
“Best prepare your men, lord,” Antonius said. “Sign me when I may begin.”
Cerdic felt suddenly foolish and unsure. The loon, he thought, the earth-smelling country loon. He ought to be fooling peasant wenches with love philtres. And I stand here, I who command ships and war-men, believing him, playing his games—
He’d given his word. He said angrily, “You had best not fail.”
The ram stood ready, slung from beams under its roof of soaked ox hides, mounted on cartwheels. Scaling ladders lay on the ground, ready to be carried over the ditch. These sights cheered Cerdic.
“Well, friends,” he said, grinning, “with all else, we now have magic on our side! If it comes to nothing, I give you leave to laugh at me forever. With or without it, we are going to burst in yon gate and carry the wall. You know what is to be done. Once we hold the ramparts and have swept them bare, we go no farther. We make the shield-wall and stand. I’ll parley with the Saxon, and this time he will listen. All of you know what hostages he holds.” Cerdic ceased to smile. “Let one man go farther who has not my leave—let him carry the fighting one step toward the hall—and I’ll rip open his breast myself and pull out his heart with my hands! I promise it!”
Tosti Fenrir’s-get said shortly, “All this we know.”
Cerdic looked at him, wondering. Tosti’s half-insane savagery was a byword. Of all men there, he was the most likely to run wild with fighting lust and ignore Cerdic’s orders.
“So that you remember.” The big Britanno-Jute looked upon his men and sniffed the air. “Well, you have made all the preparations I said. I can smell that.”
“I did not.” It was Tosti again, of course. “ ’Tis foolishness.”
“Please your own self.” Not even Cerdic was over-quick to respond to provocation from the pale-eyed giant with the wolf skin over his shoulders. “But never complain to me that I did not tell you.”
He gestured to Antonius.
The farmer dangled his amber gem above the tiny fortress. A wordless chant came from his lips, humming, droning. He voiced it loud and pitched it low in a curious rhythm, the while moving his pendant along the line of the ramparts in a leftward round, against the sun.
In the great hall, Giralda and her children faced Withucar. Tall for a woman—with sleek, useful muscle gliding under curves of hip and thigh and breast—since her twelfth year, Giralda had been causing men to clench their fists and groan with desire when she walked by. Even the ones with better manners tended to draw their breath in sharply. She carried Orva, her younger girl, on her hip; Orva had just begun to talk, and she slobbered. Fain had her mother’s red hair and sufficient years to know that something was wrong. She clung fretfully to Giralda’s legs through the stuff of her apple-green gown. The boy, Cynric, stood a pace before them all, clinging to nothing, solid and strong, with his father’s tawny hair and his father’s steady gray-green eyes; yet all his courage could not make him other than small and helpless.
Beneath her gown, Giralda carried the black bruises of more than one thrashing.
“You had better go to the ramparts,” she suggested. “ ’Tis midday, and Cerdic will not wait long.”
Withucar laughed like a man who knows himself unbeatable. “You think not? He’ll wait as long as he can without seeming weak in hopes that I’ll yield. He cannot overrun the stockade with all his numbers. Bah! His men will lie dead in the ditch! Some may well burst the gate, but I have archers to shoot them down as they enter; not Saxon archers, my lady, nor Goths, but Danish longbowmen who can skewer a man through his mail. Should they fail me, I have you to bargain with.”
“Yes.” Giralda looked at him scornfully. “All of us. I judge we are your only hope, you oath-breaker.”
The Saxon’s face changed. “Be not a greater fool than you were born, woman! I fear Cerdic not. I want him to attack! I’ve given orders that he must be slain at all costs. If he leads the charge, he will be. He’s not immortal. Then I’ll hurl back the others and make them swear peace, and you will be mine past any man’s power to gainsay.”
Giralda replied with one short word. She added, “You betrayed your master for the rule of Vectis and took his wife to your bed because she happened to be here. It’s late to pretend you did all this on my account. Nor would I care if you had. The fool under this roof is not I, Withucar.”
He seized her savagely by one arm. Tiny Orva squawked. “Had I the time,” he snarled. “I’ll see to you when this is settled! I grow weary of you, my fine lady. I’m about prepared to give you to my men.”
He flung her aside. Cynric ran at him, head lowered, and butted him hard between the legs. He would have hurt him considerably but for the man’s byrnie. Withucar knocked Cynric away with a casual backhanded blow.
“Game little cub,” he commented with bleak humor.
“Sad it would be if he shouldn’t live to grow and become the splendid, rash warrior his father is.”
He left the hall.
There Will Be War Volume IV Page 19
