by Stuart Hill
“God is the Lord of Hosts, after all,” Aethelgifu went on as though she hadn’t heard him. “Who better to help in time of war?”
We were all sitting on stools that we’d positioned against the sunny south-facing wall of the Little Palace and I leant back against the slowly warming wattle and daub and stretched my legs out in front of me. “Well whether or not God decides to help in return for the building of an abbey and a church, it’s still going to be a hard fight.”
Nobody replied to that. It was obvious the Danes were going to fight as viciously and as bravely as they always did, and no one could say how it would end. The entire fortress island of Athelney was in a state of uproar as we got ourselves as ready as we could for the coming battle.
Father became an even more distant figure we hardly ever spoke to. He was too busy to do anything other than train his army, lead raids and plan for the coming campaign against Guthrum. Sometimes he would make the effort to spend a little time with us at breakfast or just before we went to bed, but he was so distracted with all the preparations, he might as well have not been with us. And Mother was just the same. Any time she had when she wasn’t ensuring that the non-military side of Athelney ran as smoothly as the well-oiled wheels on a goods wagon, she was talking with Father, their heads close together, shutting out the world, shutting out everyone including their children. But we all understood and accepted the situation, of course: we were children of the Royal House of Cerdinga. The first duty of a ruler is to rule.
I looked out now over the training grounds where two divisions of our soldiers were demonstrating their part in those very preparations by raising the shield wall and fighting against each other with blunted weapons. I immediately spotted the weakness in the left wing of one of the fighting sections.
“The left wing isn’t holding its position,” Edward pointed out before I could say anything. “It’ll collapse any moment now.”
As we watched the wall fell with a dull rattle of tumbling shields and the shouts of swearing soldiers.
Mouse woke up and woofed once at the tangle of shields and weapons.
“Boobies!” said little Aethelfryth, using her favourite insult.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “And they’d be dead boobies if it was a real battle.”
But before anyone said anything else a sound began to rise up and over the entire stronghold of Athelney. We stopped to listen. At first I thought it was just the wind blowing through the reed beds that surrounded the island. But then I realised it was the voice of rumour spreading through all the people of our small community. Word was passing from mouth to mouth. Something was about to happen, something momentous: something that would bring about the change we’d all been waiting for.
“What is it they’re saying?” Edward asked, staring out over the crowded space below us.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Let’s go down and find out!”
But before we could move Father suddenly burst on to the training ground. He seemed to appear from nowhere and I found myself scanning the area for any sign of Ara and her ways with scinncraeft. But she was nowhere to be seen, and my attention was soon seized again by the bright spectacle of my father. He was dressed in his full battle gear and every piece of iron and steel, copper, brass and bronze had been polished to its highest brilliance. Even the leather covering of his round shield and every belt and strap had been buffed to a sheen so that he glittered and glowed like an image of Thunor himself, the old god that the Danes call Thor.
He leapt up on to a box that someone had placed in the very centre of the training ground and the murmuring and muttering fell away into total silence. It was so quiet I could clearly hear as he drew a deep breath.
“It is now,” he said in a soft voice that travelled to every corner of Athelney. “The time is now, people of Wessex. The magic Raven banner has fallen, and Saxon iron has drawn Danish blood again and again. The time is now to send out the word of calling. Be it known to all men and women of the Saxons that I summon the entire free fyrd of Wessex and all Saxon lands to Saint Egbert’s Stone in Wiltshire.”
The silence returned and deepened to a depth that allowed the distant singing of a lark to fall into the space where my father stood and fill it to the brim. We all of us knew that we were listening to history, that we were listening to the resurgence of a nation.
As I watched, my father slowly drew his sword and held it high so that it shone in the brilliant sunshine. Then out crashed his voice at battle-pitch:
“THE CERDINGAS WILL RISE! THE SAXONS WILL RISE! WE WILL DRIVE THE DANES FROM OUR LANDS! WE WILL BREAK THEIR SHIELD WALL! WE WILL BURN THEIR SHIPS! WE SHALL WATER OUR FIELDS WITH THEIR BLOOD!”
His words rang over the land and as the last echo faded to silence a roar boomed in reply:
“THE SAXONS WILL RISE! THE SAXONS WILL RISE!”
Over the following days the call was carried to as many Saxon settlements, farms and homesteads as possible, summoning the fyrd as part of a new army whose anchor and centre would be made up of the band of my father’s thousand warriors who were as experienced and well trained as the Danish Great Army itself.
The call stated that all should gather at Saint Egbert’s Stone, and allowed time for equipment to be got ready and other preparations to be made. And here was something else that I learnt about leadership and rule: when you roused the people with great announcements and with huge celebrations, a need to return to the ordinary and everyday followed quickly behind. You may be making history, but to make it work properly you had to do all of the boring bits too. For every single hero preparing to sacrifice all in a cause, there are at least as many other ordinary people needed to get them to the right place at the right time so that they can be heroic.
If Ara was right and I grew to be a woman with real power to effect and change the world I lived in, then I had to learn and remember that the great changers and reformers could only change and reform the world with the help of the small and the humble.
But I wasn’t that powerful yet, and I could only stand and watch as our kingdom prepared for one of the most decisive battles it would ever face.
VII
At last the time arrived when my father and his thousand warriors were almost ready to march out to meet with the free fyrds of the Saxon lands. Our spies told us that fighters were heading for the meeting place at Saint Egbert’s Stone near a settlement called Westbury in Wiltshire, but numbers were unclear because they were moving in small groups so as not to attract the attention of the Danes until they were ready to fight.
It was noon on another bright spring day and the atmosphere felt as though a storm was about to break. Which in a way I suppose it was: not a storm of lightning and rain, but of swords and spears. And when it was over there’d be a different world, one in which the Saxons had regained their kingdom, or one in which they would have lost it forever.
Edward and I quickly decided we had to speak with Father and knowing he’d be with Cerdic Guthweinson, putting the final touches to his plans for the march and coming battle, we hurried off to find him. He had a small hut that he jokingly called his Official War Room down on the training grounds and sure enough he and his commander were inside. They were studying a large box of sand that they’d used to make a rough map showing the roads, hills and valleys of the route they’d be taking to Saint Egbert’s Stone.
They looked up when we burst in without being announced and Father stood and opened his arms wide. We ran to him and he hugged us. “So why am I honoured with a visit from my two best warriors?”
We stood back and before I had time to get nervous I quickly said, “We want to come with you. We want to be part of your army.”
Edward nodded vigorously and Father looked across at Cerdic and grinned. “I knew this was coming,” he said and turned back to look at us. “I’m proud that you want to be part of the army, but you’re still too young to fight.”
“We can both carry full-sized shields now,” said Edward
desperately. “And we can hold our position in the shield wall.”
“But can you carry a full-sized shield all day?” Father asked gently. “And can you honestly say that you wouldn’t be the ... least strong part of the wall?”
We looked at each other. We knew there was only the smallest chance that we’d be taken along, but we didn’t want to give up yet. “I’m sure we’d try to be the best warriors on the field,” I said. “And if the wall was broken, we wouldn’t be the first to fall.”
Father ignored this and smiled at us. “I called you my best warriors just now for a reason. You are my best warriors, or at least I’m convinced that you will be ... one day. But now you’re still too young and the lives of my soldiers depend on the strength of the wall. If one part is breached, then the Danes will break through and all will be lost. Do you want that to happen?”
We both looked at our feet. “No, Father,” we said quietly.
He hugged us again. “Then stay here in Athelney with the garrison I’ll be leaving to defend it. And be on your guard, in full armour and carrying your full-sized shields. If we lose this battle and any of us live, we’ll be retreating back here and you’ll need to defend the walls from the Danes who’ll be chasing us.”
“Yes, Father,” we answered and I looked up and held his eye. “No Dane will take Athelney while we live.”
He nodded. “I don’t doubt it. Now come to the map box and help me and Guthweinson decide the tactics for the battle.”
The night before the thousand set out I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep, but I woke up to the sounds of the warriors getting ready to march. We royal children all scrambled to get dressed in the full armour we trained in every day. Edward and I proudly hefted our full-sized shields and led the way through the hall and out into the sunshine.
But when we got outside and looked down on the training grounds where the thousand were smartly drawn up in disciplined ranks, there was none of the excitement and ceremony we’d expected. A Christian priest prayed over them and sprinkled them with holy water, but unlike in the first raid against the Danes the atmosphere was tense and quiet. Looking back on the earlier actions, I suppose they were simple acts of defiance against an oppressor, but now we were marching to a full-blown war. Once the thousand had joined with the thousands of the fyrd we’d be striking back with everything we had; we’d be making a bid for total victory and in doing so we were risking the entire future of the kingdom. If we failed it was unlikely that we’d rise again.
My mother stood a little way off in her full royal persona and with that same sense of strange power that she’d had about her before the very first raid Father had led against the Danes. She was wearing what finery she had left and holding herself with the pride and dignity of a queen of Wessex and a daughter of the powerful Saxon House of Mercia. As had happened on the first raid, my father raised his axe in salute and she bowed her head regally.
Then with a snapped order, the thousand marched off. The housecarles who were being left behind as the defending garrison formed an honour guard lining the way to the main gates, and all of us watched until the last soldier had disappeared through the gate and out into the marshes.
It was then that I realised there was no sign of Ara anywhere.
The rest of the day settled into a deep sense of anticlimax. I had no doubt that soon we’d be tense and deeply worried about the outcome of the battle and afraid for the soldiers who’d be fighting in it, but for the moment Athelney seemed as empty as a barrel after all the good things had been taken out of it.
Edward, Mouse and I went to train with the garrison, but none of us seemed able to give it any real effort. We soon gave up and went back to the Little Palace and decided we were bored. We stayed bored for the rest of the day and as the curlews called their lonely cry and the darkness descended on the marshlands, we went to bed.
Father had reckoned on three days to reach Saint Egbert’s Stone and then, after the fyrd had been properly gathered and forged into one with his thousand warriors, the next task would be finding and fighting the Danish Great Army.
But we’d heard nothing for almost five days now. Ara had reappeared but had nothing to say about the coming battle. She hardly functioned as our nurse now: she would make sure little Aethelfryth was all right and had what she needed and would then take herself off again.
I convinced myself that I understood how she felt. None of us waiting in Athelney could do anything other than watch the ways through the wetlands for signs of messengers bringing news. And if we spoke to anyone at all, it was only to go over the same few facts we had and then try and guess what was about to happen. But none of us knew, of course. Far better to keep out of the way and wait until whatever was destined to happen finally did happen.
Night came around quickly again, and it was almost with a sense of relief that we retreated to our sleeping places. This time Ara didn’t even bother to make the effort to appear and help little Aethelfryth get ready for bed. Instead I tried to help my sister undress and put on her nightgown. She told me proudly that she didn’t need any help, but then ended up with a fit of the giggles and I had to help her escape from a tangled knot of sleeves. I settled her down with her doll and watched as she swiftly dropped off to sleep.
Edward seemed to be asleep too, wrapped up in his blankets like a hedgehog layered in leaves during his winter hibernation. But I knew I’d be awake all night worrying and waiting for news. Mouse kept me company, snuggling up to keep me warm and listening to all my whispered worries.
I woke up to a deep darkness. The fire in the central hearth had sunk to the faintest glow of embers and the shadows were so dense they seemed almost textured like cloth. I don’t know what had woken me, but then I heard the deep-throated chuckle of a raven and looked out to see a darker shadow moving towards me. It was Ara of course.
Soon she loomed over me like a storm cloud, her eyes glittering with the same jet-like shine as those of Raarken, who sat on her shoulder.
“Wake up, Aethelflaed Cerdinga. The day of battle will soon be dawning and we have a journey to make.”
I sat up, still woolly minded with sleep. “A journey ...? Where to?”
“Be patient and you will see. Hurry, the way is far and the effort great.”
“It must be important,” said Edward who was sitting up and scratching his head. “She’s talking like a poet, a sure sign we’re about to see history being made.”
“You too, Aethling of the Cerdinga. You and your sister must take part in this day’s destiny: it will be part of what you both will become,” said Ara, and Raarken croaked quietly as though in agreement.
“Aethling of the Cerdinga ...? Do you mean me? I thought I was just Edward.”
“Dress, now!” our nurse barked. “We must away ...”
“Ere break of day?” Edward suggested.
“Before dawn,” Ara agreed.
“Yes, but how are we going to get there?” I asked. “It must be miles away.”
“It is many leagues,” Ara said. “But there are ways and roads for those who know and are blessed by the gods.”
“How far is a league, exactly?” Edward asked, determined not to be overawed by Ara and her scinncraeft.
“Far, and you are destined to see this day’s battle, so hurry.”
We stumbled about in the dark, made clumsy by our sleepiness, and hampered by Mouse who insisted on trying to help and only succeeded in getting in our way. But eventually we were ready and Ara hurried us from the great hall and down to the gates of the fortress. Despite being barely awake we remembered to put on our armour and pick up our weapons and shields.
“If we’re away for the day, won’t somebody report us missing?” I asked.
“That is taken care of; whoever asks will be told you’ve gone wildfowling in the marshes.”
“I’ve never hunted a duck in my life,” Edward protested. “Why should they believe I’ve suddenly started now?”
“You need only k
now that all on Athelney will believe it,” Ara replied mysteriously.
When we got to the main entrance none of the guards seemed to see us, despite the fact that everyone was being extra vigilant. I’m not even sure that the gates were opened for us, but even so we found ourselves standing on the causeway outside Athelney, staring out over the reed beds that hissed quietly in the night wind.
“Take my hands,” Ara suddenly said.
They were cold and felt like a damp leather glove full of sticks.
“Yuck,” said Edward and then snorted as he realised he’d spoken out loud. “Sorry, took me by surprise.”
I grinned in the darkness. You could always rely on my brother to be inappropriate. My thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of clattering wings as Ranhald joined her mate on Ara’s shoulders.
“Now empty your minds of all thinking and come with me,” said Ara, her voice seeming to echo over the night air.
“And just how are we supposed to do that?” asked Edward grumpily. “I’m always thinking of something – you can’t just stop thought like stamping out a fire!”
“Behold ...!” Ara suddenly intoned, ignoring his protests.
“Behold! Who says ‘behold’ in everyday speech?” Edward moaned. Then he stopped as our increasingly mysterious nurse led us to the edge of the causeway and we looked down on a black punt that waited in the waters. “Well that looks about as inviting as mud soup.”
I saw what Edward meant. The black punt looked like a darker shadow in a night of shadows, and it had an atmosphere about it that suggested it had made stranger journeys than short trips over the waters of the marshlands. Everyone knew that Ara used scinncraeft of course, but none of us could even guess how powerful she was. Somehow I knew that this strange black boat would take us to the battle even though it was going to be fought miles away. I also knew it would take us there quickly and in secret.
Obviously Ara’s abilities as a wielder of magic had developed as much during the time she’d been in the marshes as mine and Edward’s abilities to use weapons and fight in the shield wall.
