by Stuart Hill
The soldiers then formed ranks and prepared to march out, but before they could move, a figure stepped through the main doorway of the Little Palace and stood quietly watching. It was my mother, but instead of wearing the old workaday homespun we’d got used to seeing her in since we’d arrived in Athelney, she was wearing the beautiful dress she’d had on when we ran from Chippenham. Somehow the stains and the rips and rents had been repaired and the fabric cleaned and she looked like a Saxon queen again.
Father turned to face her, and then raised the double-headed axe he was holding in salute. My mother bowed her head slightly and smiled, then the army marched away, singing as they went.
Mother turned to go back into the palace, but paused when she saw us. I realised that she was now in sole command of the defence of Athelney, and I looked at her closely, aware of a sense of power that seemed to radiate from her like heat, the same sense of power that seemed to surround Ara. It was then that I saw the strangest thing of the entire morning. Our old nurse curtsied to the ground and both Raarken and Ranhald, who’d been sitting on her shoulders, rose up into the air cawing.
We fell to our knees as though something had forced us down, and we found ourselves staring at the ground. When eventually we looked up, Mother had gone inside.
“I’m going to pray for the army,” Aethelgifu said suddenly. I’d forgotten all about my sister in the excitement of the force’s departure. “I’m sure the Lord of Hosts will grant victory to the righteous.”
We watched as she hurried away, clutching the cross she wore round her neck as though she needed something to hang on to.
We heard nothing for two days. The soldiers who’d been left behind to defend Athelney increased their training times, and some were sent with the marsh people to patrol the reed beds. But otherwise everyone tried to carry on with the normal routine that’d been established over the time we’d been in the marshes.
Edward and I spent more time training, trying to outdo each other in fighting skill and strength. We both tried to carry full-sized shields, but had to admit we weren’t yet strong enough, and used instead the lighter wicker shields that were only half the weight. We’d been promised that when we could carry the full-sized equipment every soldier used in a proper battle, we could go on patrol along the borders of the marshlands. But that was some way off yet.
One damp, drizzly afternoon after weapon training, I sat staring at the glowing embers in the central hearth of the great hall. I had my arm around Mouse’s shoulders and realised that he was getting broader as he put on weight and muscle.
“Watching fire-pictures?” a voice asked, making me jump. It was Ara, who had done her usual trick of walking up quietly behind me. I sometimes thought that her ability to move about without making a sound was how she knew so much about what was going on. But I was about to find out that I was wrong.
“I’m no seer,” I answered at last, naming those with the gift to see the future in the fire. “Otherwise I’d try and see how the raiding party is doing and whether Father is safe and well. But all I can see is burning wood.”
Ara nodded for a moment and said, “Come with me.” Then turned and walked from the hall.
I climbed to my feet and followed with Mouse. Soon we’d passed through the village of tents that had grown up around the Little Palace and we headed for the main gate that opened out on to the causeway. I hadn’t actually left the island of Athelney for some time, so it felt odd passing through the palisaded defences and out into the world of reeds and deep waters.
Just as I set foot on the causeway, a curlew flew over calling, the wild loneliness of its cry echoing over the wide skies and seeming to announce my presence, as though I was someone important.
Ara led the way to where a punt, one of the flat-bottomed boats the marsh people used, was tied to a post that had been driven into the firmer ground at the edge of the causeway. She climbed in first and then stood and watched, arms folded, as I picked up Mouse with some difficulty and scrambled after.
Then just as she picked up the pole that is used to drive the boat along, Ranhald and Raarken descended from the sky in a beating and clattering of wings. They took up their usual post on Ara’s shoulders, and called raucously as their mistress took us out over the black waters of the marshlands.
Mouse hung his head over the side and tried to bite the water as it slid past.
“Where are we going?” I asked after we’d been gliding through the reed beds for some time.
“To the Black Pool.”
“Where’s that?”
“In the marshes.”
“But we’re in the marshes now.”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you be more specific then?”
“No.”
“When will we get there?”
“When we arrive.”
I gave up. When Ara was in one of her mysterious moods no amount of prodding and probing would make her reveal more than she wanted. Eventually we came to a wide basin of water that was lined by dead trees and darkly reflected the grey sky. We glided slowly across and when we reached the far side Ara drove the punt up on to the bank.
“This way,” she said and led us along a narrow pathway that wound between stretches of open water. At last she stopped under an ancient willow that hung over a pool no bigger than the shield that used to hang above my father’s throne in Chippenham.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now sit and watch, quietly.”
I sat on the small tussock of grass she pointed to, took Mouse on to my lap and waited while the old woman spread her arms wide over the water.
Slowly a murmuring rose up into the air and it took me some time to realise that it was Ara chanting to herself. Suddenly a wind sprang up, ruffling the glass-like surface of the pool. Then as suddenly it fell away again to stillness.
“Look into the water and tell me what you can see,” Ara said quietly.
“Nothing but stagnant black ... no, wait! I can see ... what can I see? I can see an image, a moving picture of soldiers!”
“The raiding party,” Ara informed me.
“The raiding ... !” I scrambled away from the water. “This is scinncraeft; this is magic! The Church says magic is evil.”
“Scinncraeft is merely a tool that can be used for good or bad,” Ara answered, and then stood in silence while she obviously considered her words. “Would you say a hammer is evil? Would you say a knife is evil? No,” she eventually went on. “But undoubtedly they can be used to do evil things, in just the same way that they can be used for good. I could stab you with a knife, or I could use it to make you a meal when you’re hungry.”
“I’m not hungry,” I answered stubbornly and then watched as Ara’s expression changed from amusement to anger and then back again.
“Think your own thoughts, Aethelflaed, not those the Church tells you to think! In the coming years the fight against the Danes will be long and vicious; do you think that the Church will be able to tell you what to do? Will you act only in the way the Church tells you to act? You live in a fierce world, Daughter of Kings, and to survive in it you must be equally fierce. You must also be much cleverer than your enemies!”
Ranhald and Raarken suddenly leant forward on her shoulders and croaked loud and long as though adding their own opinions to the debate.
“Now, will you look into the pool and see what fate has been woven for your father and the raiding party, or will you refuse and be kept safe by the teachings of the Church, just as the Church kept Chippenham safe when Guthrum and his Danes came knocking on the gates?”
I sat in silence for a few moments and then I took a deep breath and leant out over the black waters of the pool. Ara nodded, an expression on her face that was as close to a smile as she ever achieved.
“What do you see?” she asked.
“Just black water ... no, wait – the image is making itself again ...” I watched as shape and form emerged from the shadows and shimmer of the pool.
Even light was somehow made from the darkness and I watched as Father, Cerdic and their soldiers followed a narrow path that wound through the tall reeds of the marshes under a sky of crowding stars.
The picture was so real I felt that I could reach out and touch them, but I seemed to be watching from a place above them, like a low-flying bird. Mouse watched with me, and when he saw our people he barked once and then fell silent. Now I saw the soldiers reach a place where the reed beds suddenly stopped as a wide road sliced through them, as sharp as a knife cut. This I knew was the old Roman road that led to the south and eventually to Chippenham.
The image showed me a raised square of land that stood adjoining the road surface. It was protected by banks of earth and on the top of these I could see men standing guard. The raised square was obviously the remains of an old Roman strongpoint that had protected the important route. But the legionaries were long gone, and the guards I could see were Danes trying to defend the lands they’d invaded.
As I watched I saw the reeds lining the road swaying in a sudden breeze – and then amazingly I felt it stir my hair, almost as though I was actually standing with my father hidden in the mud of the marshes.
My view changed and I realised the raiding party was working its way down towards the strongpoint under the covering hiss and whisper of the wind-blown reeds.
I held my breath and watched as my father drew his sword, an action that was echoed by all his soldiers. Slowly they crept nearer and suddenly a heron leapt into startled flight, drawing the attention of the enemy. The Saxons sank down into the reeds as the enemy levelled their spears and glared out over the land. I felt my heart hammering in my chest. But after a few tense moments, the Danes relaxed again, leaning on their spears and chatting amongst themselves like old women in the marketplace.
“WESSEX! FOR WESSEX!” my father suddenly yelled, leaping to his feet, his voice echoing over the quiet of the marshes. His men answered as one: “FOR WESSEX!” and they erupted from the reeds in a disciplined rush and stormed the strongpoint. The guards sent up a warning shout and soon Danes began to pour out of the low shelters that stood in the shadows of the embankment.
“Hit them! Hit them now!” my father roared. “Don’t let them raise the shield wall!”
Our soldiers smashed into the enemy like a rockslide, knocking many to the ground and stabbing them where they lay. Even though our warriors were armed much more lightly than the Danes, the enemy fell back, scrambling away as fast as they could. But the Vikings are strong and brave fighters and they rallied around a tall, grey-bearded man.
Father ran forward, crouching low as a hunting wolf, and his men followed so that they hit the enemy like a spear-point, driving through their ranks in a controlled fury that forced the Danes back, though they still fought strongly, retreating one slow step at a time. The grey-bearded warrior kept his men steady in the face of the Saxon onslaught. Father’s sword flashed and flickered like an iron lightning bolt, and then he ran forward under a hail of axes and stabbed the greybeard in the throat.
But the discipline of the Danes still held and they fought on, falling like marsh reeds before a storm wind. They tried to link shields and form a wall, but the raiding party drove at them again and again, breaking them apart. Then Father rallied his warriors into a tight wedge formation and drove forward again, and suddenly the enemy seemed to despair as they watched the mighty Saxon king leading his fighters. Without word or warning they suddenly turned and ran. Father stopped his force giving chase, and after they’d cheered themselves hoarse, he sent them to loot the enemy’s camp. Before they left they set fire to the shelters and burned everything they couldn’t carry away.
The vision faded and I found myself staring into the depths. Mouse stood with his nose almost touching the water and I pulled him back. A small golden birch leaf twined and twisted on some hidden current and I watched it for a while until a voice broke into my quiet:
“Now you know the raiding party has been successful.”
I nodded thoughtfully as I remembered everything I’d just seen. Then I turned to look directly at Ara who stood behind me. “You know it to be true then?”
“As I know my own name.”
I sat up and took a deep breath. I wasn’t yet ready to believe that what I’d seen was the truth. I wasn’t yet ready to shout and scream in joy and relief. We’d been in exile for so long and the Danes seemed unbeatable. Why should I accept as true a few pictures conjured by an old woman whose closest friends were ravens?
“If you can see the future, why didn’t you warn us of the attack that was going to be made on Chippenham?” I finally asked.
“I can only see what has already happened, and sometimes what is happening as I watch. I’ve been given a vision of the future only once before.”
“Not much use then, this gift of yours.”
Ranhald and Raarken cawed harshly as though in answer. “Very few can see the future and none of those can see it when they wish. The vision is given only when the gods wish it, and is never all there is to know.”
I nodded, but before I could say anything more, Ara went on in an icy voice: “And a vision of what has just happened at least brings news swiftly!”
“So you can make a vision whenever you wish then?” I asked. “And make it wherever you are?”
The old woman’s eyes blazed, but eventually she admitted, “No, they too only come when the gods wish it.”
“So, they’re useful when they bother to happen.”
A silence fell that was so deep I could hear the still waters of the Black Pool shifting against the mud.
“Well the visions have bothered to happen now, and you’ve seen the victory your father has gained against the enemy that everyone thought was unbeatable,” Ara said at last.
“But how can I know they’re true?”
Just then the high and excited voice of a hunting horn suddenly blasted into the air. It was so close it obviously came from Athelney and I knew that strict orders had been given that hunting horns would only be sounded for victory.
I shouted then!
I screamed then!
Mouse joined in, leaping around me as in joy and relief I shouted and screamed and danced in the mud so that the scent of the marshes filled my head and gave a perfume to the knowledge we’d all just been given. The Danes could be beaten! The Danes could be broken! The Danes could be trodden into the dirt!
I knew now that Wessex would rise again and that the enemy would be beaten to his knees.
Ranhald and Raarken joined in the excitement and raising the manes of feathers around their heads they called long and loud into the wide sky of the wetlands.
V
The victory feast was small in comparison to the banquets we’d once had in the royal palaces of Wessex. But in our hearts it was the greatest we’d ever had. As many people as possible crammed into the small mead hall of the Little Palace and the rest spilled out into the surrounding village of tents, where tables were set up for all the food and drink.
Many of the marsh people joined us; after all this was their victory as much as ours. Without their patrols that had kept the Vikings out of the wetlands we wouldn’t have been able to prepare for the coming struggle.
But by the next day, allowing for a lot of sore heads, the training and preparations went on. Wessex was still in the hands of the Danes, and they still fought in Devon too under the command of General Ubba, he who carried the magical Raven banner. Edward and I joined in with this training, working hard at building up our strength and skills. Mouse came with us, watching from the edge of the training ground and barking in excitement as the warriors clashed shields and beat at each other with blunted spears and swords. Soon he would join us and learn the commands of the war-dog. But for now he had to be content to watch as Edward and I struggled to become the warriors we so desperately wanted to be. We both instinctively knew that a decisive battle against the Danes was coming, and if at all possible we wanted to be part of
it.
But Edward as a boy would always have the advantage over me. Being the only son he was likely to be elected king by the council when the time came. And because of this it was also more likely that Father would take him on patrol to gain battle experience.
One day during training, Cerdic had paired us off to practise hand-to-hand fighting. And during the sessions of sword, axe and spear practice we had time to discuss the coming fighting.
“The word is we’re sending out another patrol this week,” said Edward as he hacked at me and I easily sidestepped and hit him on the shoulder with my wooden practice sword.
“I’ve heard it’s more than a patrol,” I answered as Edward charged and I turned and smashed him in the back with my shield. He was already bigger and stronger than me, but I was faster and had quickly learnt the trick of using my opponent’s own strength against him. Something I enjoyed as I watched my brother grovelling in the dust.
He struggled to his feet and came at me again. “More? How much more?”
“The biggest we’ve sent against the Danes so far, according to Cerdic,” I answered, surprising myself by how easy it was to ‘embroider’ the rumours I’d heard.
“When did he say that, and why wasn’t I told?” Edward hit my shield with all his strength, sending a shock through my arm and making me step back.
“When you weren’t there, and as for telling you ...” I drove my sword through the defence of his over-reaching arm and lay the point at his throat. “It obviously just never occurred to him.”
For a moment he scowled, but Edward was learning things too and he grinned at me. “You’re the winner, sis.” He lowered his shield and sword. “You know, we’re going to have to work together if we’re going to find out everything we need to know. We’re better off as allies than rivals.”
