‘And you are?’
‘Swithun Swithunson,’ he said, still in a distinctly unfriendly tone, ‘and you, lord, are a long way from home.’ He had said ‘lord’ with a marked reluctance.
‘I was invited here,’ I said.
‘By?’ Awyrgan asked.
‘The Lady Eadgifu.’
‘The queen invited you?’ Awyrgan sounded astonished.
‘I just said so.’
There was an awkward silence, then Awyrgan pushed his sword into its long scabbard. ‘You are indeed welcome, lord,’ he said. He might be arrogant, but he was no fool. His horse tossed its head and skittered sideways and he calmed it with a gloved hand on its neck. ‘Any news of the king?’
‘None.’
‘And of the lady?’
‘So far as I know,’ I said, ‘she’s still in the convent and kept there by Æthelhelm’s men who now number well over a hundred. What are you hoping to do?’
‘Rescue her, of course.’
‘With thirty-six men?’
Awyrgan smiled. ‘Ealdorman Sigulf has another hundred and fifty horsemen to the east.’
So Eadgifu’s brother had answered his sister’s call. I had sailed south with the thought of allying myself with the men of Cent to free Wessex of Ælfweard’s kingship, but now that I was face to face with two of Cent’s leaders my doubts increased. Awyrgan was an arrogant youth and Swithun plainly hated me. Finan had come to join me, standing just a pace behind and to my right. I heard him growl, a signal that he wanted me to abandon this madness, to go back to Spearhafoc and so home.
‘What happened to Dreogan?’ I asked.
‘Dreogan?’ Awyrgan responded, puzzled.
‘One of Lord Æthelhelm’s men,’ I explained, ‘he led men to Contwaraburg to persuade Ealdorman Sigulf to stay in his bed.’
Awyrgan smiled. ‘Those men! We have their mail, we have their weapons, and we have their horses. I assume Lord Sigulf will have their lives too if they make trouble.’
‘And Ealdorman Sigulf,’ I went on, ‘sent you to do what?’
Awyrgan gestured to the west. ‘Stop the bastards escaping, lord. We’re to block the road to Lundene.’ He made it sound easy. Perhaps it was.
‘Do that then,’ I said.
Awyrgan was taken aback by my tone, which had been harsh, but he nodded to me and beckoned to his horsemen. ‘Will you come with us?’ he asked.
‘You don’t need me,’ I said.
‘True, we don’t,’ Swithun growled, then spurred his horse away. The Centish horsemen were keeping to the lower ground, trying to stay hidden from the town, though I suspected they must have been seen already because there was little cover in this low, damp land.
‘So do we help them?’ Finan demanded.
I still gazed after the horsemen. ‘It seems a pity,’ I said, ‘to come this far and not smell her tits again.’
Finan treated that jest with contempt. ‘They weren’t happy to see us. So why help them?’
‘Swithun wasn’t happy,’ I agreed, ‘and I’m not surprised. He remembers us from East Anglia.’
Cent had ever been a restless shire. It had once been its own kingdom, but that was far in the past and it was now a part of Wessex, though every now and then there were stirrings of independence, and that ancient pride had driven Sigulf’s grandfather to side with the Danes of East Anglia shortly after Edward became king. That alliance had not lasted, I had shamed the Centishmen into fighting for Wessex, but they had never forgotten the disgrace of their near treachery. Now Sigulf was rebelling again, this time to help Edmund, his sister’s eldest son, inherit the throne of Wessex.
‘If we join their fight,’ Finan said, ‘we’re fighting for Eadgifu’s boys.’
I nodded. ‘True.’
‘For God’s sake, why? I thought you supported Æthelstan!’
‘I do.’
‘Then …’
‘There are three claimants for the throne of Wessex,’ I interrupted him. ‘Ælfweard, Æthelstan and Edmund. Doesn’t it make sense that two of those should join together to defeat the third?’
‘And when he’s defeated? What happens to the two?’
I shrugged. ‘Eadgifu’s boy is an infant. The Witan will never choose him.’
‘So now we fight for Eadgifu?’
I paused a long while, then shook my head. ‘No.’
‘No?’
For a moment I did not answer. Instead I was thinking of Finan’s omen, his vision of my naked corpse in a field of barley, then I remembered the dead swan I had seen lying in the drab ditch with a broken neck. And that, I thought, was an omen if ever there was one, and at that moment I heard the beat of wings and looked skywards to see two swans flying north. Thor had sent me a sign and it could not have been clearer. Go north, go home, go now.
What a fool I was! To think I could lead a Centish rebellion against Wessex? To defeat Æthelhelm with a ragged band of Centishmen and a handful of Northumbrians? It was pride, I thought, mere foolish pride. I was Uhtred of Bebbanburg and one of my poets, one of the men who compose songs for the winter nights in Bebbanburg’s hall, always called me Uhtred the Unbeaten. Did I believe him? I had been beaten often enough, though a kindly fate had always given me revenge. But every man knows, or should know, that fate is fickle. ‘Wyrd bið ful ãræd,’ I told Finan. Fate is inexorable.
‘And fate is a bitch too,’ he said, ‘but what’s our fate now?’
‘To avoid all fields of barley,’ I said lightly.
He did not smile. ‘Are we going home, lord?’
I nodded. ‘We’re going back to Spearhafoc,’ I said, ‘and we’re going home.’
He looked at me almost with disbelief, then made the sign of the cross. ‘And thank the living Christ for that.’
And so we walked back north. Crows or foxes had savaged the swan’s corpse, strewing feathers around the exposed ribs, and I touched Thor’s hammer and silently thanked the gods for sending me their signs.
‘Those dreams,’ Finan said awkwardly, ‘they’re not always right.’
‘They’re a warning, though.’
‘Aye, that they are.’ We walked on. ‘So what happens to Lavender Tits now?’ Finan asked, anxious not to talk any longer about his premonition.
‘That’s up to her brother. I tried, now he must.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And Awyrgan,’ I said, ‘is guarding the wrong road.’
‘He is?’
‘If Æthelhelm’s men retreat they’ll likely come down this road. Some of them, anyway. They won’t want to lose their ships.’
‘And that pompous little earsling doesn’t know they have ships?’
‘Apparently not,’ I said. ‘And I didn’t think to tell him.’
‘So let the pompous bastard waste his time,’ Finan said happily.
It was late in the summer afternoon. The sky had cleared, the air had warmed and sunlight glittered its reflection from the flooded meadows and marshes. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Finan.
‘Sorry?’
‘I should have listened to you. To Eadith. To Sigtryggr.’
He was embarrassed by my apology. ‘Oaths,’ he said after a few paces, ‘sit hard on a man’s conscience.’
‘They do, but I still should have listened. I’m sorry. We’ll take the ship north and then I’ll ride south to join Æthelstan in Mercia.’
‘And I’ll come with you,’ Finan said enthusiastically. He turned to look back the way we had come. ‘I wonder how Sigulf is doing?’ There was no sound of battle from Fæfresham, but we were probably far enough to be out of earshot of the clash of weapons and the screams of the wounded.
‘If Sigulf has any sense,’ I said, ‘he’ll negotiate before he fights.’
‘Does he have sense?’
‘No more than me,’ I said bitterly. ‘He doesn’t have a reputation, not that I’ve heard, and his father was a treacherous fool. Still, he’s attacking Æthelhelm and I wish him luck, but he’ll nee
d more than a couple of hundred men to fight off Æthelhelm’s revenge.’
‘And that’s not your fight, eh?’
‘Anyone who fights Æthelhelm is on my side,’ I said, ‘but coming here was madness.’
‘You tried, lord,’ Finan said, trying to console me. ‘You can tell Æthelstan you tried to keep the oath.’
‘But I failed,’ I said. I hate failure and I had failed.
But fate is a bitch and the bitch had not done with me yet.
Oswi was the first to spot our pursuers. He called to me from behind, ‘Lord!’
I turned and saw horsemen coming. They were a good way behind us, but I could see the red cloaks. Finan, of course, saw more than I did. ‘Twenty men?’ he said. ‘Maybe thirty. In a hurry.’
I turned to look southwards, wondering if we could reach Spearhafoc before the horsemen reached us and decided we could not. I turned again. My worry was that the small group of approaching men was merely a vanguard, that a horde of Æthelhelm’s warriors was close behind them, but the distant road beyond the galloping horsemen stayed empty. ‘Shield wall!’ I called. ‘Three ranks! Red cloaks in the front!’
The horsemen would see their own men barring the road. They might wonder why, but I did not doubt they would think us their allies. ‘Sigulf must have chased them out,’ I said to Finan.
‘And killed the rest?’ he asked. ‘I doubt it. There were—’ He stopped suddenly, staring. ‘They have women!’ I could see that for myself now. Behind the leading horsemen were four or five riders all cloaked in grey except one who wore black. I was not certain they were women, but Finan was. ‘It’s Lavender Tits,’ he said.
‘Is it?’
‘Has to be.’
So Æthelhelm’s men in Fæfresham must have decided to remove Eadgifu and her women before the Centish forces could reach the town’s centre. They were now cantering down the road, heading for their ships, and doubtless relying on Wighelm and his men to provide much of the crew, but Wighelm was somewhere on the Isle of Sceapig, naked.
‘Don’t look threatening!’ I told my men. ‘Rest the shields on the ground! I want them to think we’re friends!’ I turned back to Finan. ‘We’ll have to be quick,’ I said. ‘Name half a dozen of your men to seize the women’s bridles.’
‘And once we’ve rescued her?’ he asked. ‘What do we do with her?’
‘Take her to Bebbanburg.’
‘The sooner the better,’ he grunted.
The approaching horsemen were half hidden by a tall stand of reeds and still no one followed them from the town. I closed my helmet’s leather cheek-pieces to conceal my face. ‘Berg,’ I called. Berg was in the front rank, one of the men cloaked in red and carrying Æthelhelm’s leaping stag on his shield. ‘When they get close, hold up a hand! Make them think we have a message!’
‘Yes, lord.’
The horsemen emerged from the thick reeds and spurred towards us. ‘Front rank,’ I called, ‘you take care of the leading horsemen!’ I had thirty men in three ranks. ‘Second rank!’ I was in the second rank, thinking I was less likely to be recognised than if I stood in the front. ‘We get rid of the horsemen behind the women. Finan! You take the women, then go where you’re needed.’ Meaning he would reinforce whichever of us needed help. I could hear the hooves now and see dark clods of mud spewing from the racing horses. One of the leading men half stood in his stirrups and shouted, but whatever he said was lost in the noise of hooves and jangling bridles, then Berg took a pace forward and held up his hand and the horsemen had no choice but to curb their beasts. ‘Wighelm!’ the leading man shouted. ‘Go back!’
‘He’s at the ships!’ I called back.
‘Get out of the way!’ The man had been forced to a halt, and his followers milled uncertainly behind him. ‘Get out of the way!’ he bellowed again, angrily. ‘Get out of the way and go back to the harbour!’ He spurred his horse straight at my front rank, evidently expecting us to make way for him.
‘Now!’ I called and drew Serpent-Breath.
Berg slapped his shield hard across the face of the leading man’s stallion. The beast slewed sideways, slipped in the mud and fell. The rest of my front rank was charging into the confused horsemen, using the spears we had captured from Wighelm’s men to savage both horses and men. Terrified beasts reared, riders were dragged from their saddles. Berg hauled the man who had shouted at us from beneath his fallen and floundering horse. ‘Keep that one alive!’ I shouted at him. The enemy, at least those closest to us, had not even had the time to draw their swords, and my men were fast and savage. The women, I could now see they were women, were looking terrified. I ran past them to be faced by a horseman levelling his sword as he spurred his stallion towards me. I hammered his blade aside with Serpent-Breath and then rammed her up into his armpit. I felt her pierce mail and grind on bone, then blood flowed down the blade. Gerbruht ran past me, bellowing in Frisian. Two of the horsemen had managed to turn their beasts and were spurring back towards Fæfresham. ‘Let them go!’ I shouted at Oswi who had begun sprinting after them. He would not catch them and I expected to be at sea long before any help arrived from the town. The man whose shoulder I had wounded had switched his sword to his other hand and now clumsily tried to strike down at me from across his saddle, but then he suddenly vanished, tugged down by Vidarr. I pulled myself onto his horse, gathered the reins, and kicked my heels. ‘Lady Eadgifu!’ I shouted, and one of the grey-hooded women turned to me and I recognised her pale face framed with her raven black hair. ‘Ride on!’ I called to her. ‘Ride on! We have a ship waiting. Go! Beornoth!’
‘Lord?’
‘Get a horse, protect the ladies!’ I could see that three of the women had small children on their saddles. ‘Go!’
Some of the enemy had spurred off the road and were trying to get past us, but the land was a bog, sodden with water, and the horses struggled. Their riders savaged the poor beasts with spurs, the animals whinnied in protest, but could not move. A half-dozen of Finan’s men attacked them with spears that far out-reached the riders’ swords. Two of the enemy simply threw themselves from their saddles and stumbled into the reeds as the others flung down their weapons in surrender. Back on the road Berg was holding his blade at the throat of the group’s leader, who lay flat on his back.
The best ways to win any battle are to surprise the enemy, to outnumber the enemy, and to attack that enemy with such speed and ferocity that he has no idea what is happening until a sword is at his throat or a spear-blade is deep in his guts. We had achieved all three, though at a cost. Immar Hergildson, the least experienced of my men, had seen a red-cloaked rider and thrust up with his spear and so wounded Oswi who had mounted a riderless stallion. Oswi was now cursing and threatening revenge, the horses were still panicking, a woman was screaming, a wounded horse was hammering the road with his hooves, and some of the enemy were scrambling towards the reed beds. ‘Oswi!’ I bellowed. ‘How badly are you hurt?’
‘Scratched, lord.’
‘Then shut your mouth!’
Some of the West Saxons had escaped, but most were our prisoners now, including the young man who had evidently been their leader. Berg was still holding him on the road with the sword at his throat. ‘Let him up,’ I said. I saw that the women were safe, some fifty paces down the road from where they now watched us. ‘What’s your name,’ I demanded of the young man.
He hesitated, unwilling to answer, but a twitch of Serpent-Breath changed his mind. ‘Herewulf,’ he muttered, staring down at his fallen blade.
I leaned down from the saddle and forced his head up with Serpent-Breath’s tip. ‘Do you know who I am?’ He shook his head. ‘I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg,’ I said and saw the fear in his eyes, ‘and you call me lord. So what were your orders, Herewulf?’
‘To keep the Lady Eadgifu safe, lord.’
‘Where?’
‘Cippanhamm, lord,’ he said sullenly.
Cippanhamm was a fine town in Wiltunscir and doubtless Herewulf ha
d thought to take the women and children up the Temes, through Lundene, and so to Æthelhelm’s shire. ‘Any news of the king?’ I asked him.
‘He’s still sick, lord,’ he said. ‘That’s all we know.’
‘Take off his mail,’ I ordered Berg. ‘You’re lucky,’ I spoke to Herewulf, ‘because I might leave you alive. Might.’ He just stared at me. ‘What’s happening in Fæfresham?’ I asked.
For a moment he was tempted to be defiant, but I touched Serpent-Breath to his cheek and that loosened his tongue. ‘They’re talking,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Talking?’
‘To the east of the town.’
That made sense. Sigulf had brought warriors to his sister’s aid only to discover a force equal to his own guarding her. If they fought then men would die and others would be wounded in an uncertain battle. Sigulf was being prudent, hoping to talk his sister out of her enemy’s grip, but that enemy had been clever. Under the cloak of talking they had spirited her out of the convent and sent her north towards their ships. The risk they were taking was that Edward might recover and punish them, but better his anger than an heir to the throne safely out of Æthelhelm’s grasp. ‘You were sent to keep the Lady Eadgifu safe?’ I asked the prisoner.
‘I told you so,’ Herewulf was recovering his defiance.
‘Then tell Lord Æthelhelm that I’ll do that job for him.’
‘When Ælfweard is king,’ Herewulf responded, ‘Lord Æthelhelm will take your fortress and feed your carcass to the pigs.’
‘His father tried,’ I said, sheathing Serpent-Breath, ‘and he’s worm-food now. Be grateful I’ve let you live.’
We took the mail from all the prisoners, took their weapons and their horses, then left them on the road where one stallion lay dead, its blood darkening the mud. Two men had been killed, though a dozen others of Æthelhelm’s men were bleeding, as was Oswi, though he claimed he could hardly feel the wound. I kicked my horse to where the Lady Eadgifu waited. ‘We have to move, my lady,’ I said. ‘They’ll pursue us soon and we need to get to the ship.’
‘Lord Uhtred,’ she said in a tone of amazement. ‘You came!’
Sword of Kings (The Last Kingdom Series, Book 12) Page 10
