The Amber Treasure

by Richard Denning

  Chapter Seven

  End of Childhood

  In the morning, we led our charges back through the woods, eastwards towards the Villa. From yet some distance away, we could see a cloud of thick, black smoke and fumes hanging in the air over the smouldering huts and hovels of the village. One of the buildings was still burning: the cracking and popping sounds the only ones we could hear as we approached. At first I could see no sign of life: no villagers, or indeed any Welsh raiders. As we crossed the meadow in which the day before Edwin, Cuthbert and I had fought our first fight, we passed the bodies of the warriors we had slain. They still lay in the long grass with flies buzzing about them. A raven hopped about on one of the youngest men, pecking away at his face. Then, when it brought its head up, I could see a glittering scrap of bloody flesh dangling from its beak and I felt my stomach tighten again, a surge of bile burning my throat.

  Quickly, I led the women and children in a wide arc, trying to avoid the horror of that scene, yet when I glanced behind I could tell from the pale faces that some at least had seen it. Oddly though, most of the women seemed undisturbed by what they could see and I caught the fierce look in Aidith’s eyes, which seemed to say the dead raiders were getting only what they deserved. Then, when I recalled the previous day and the terrors that Cybilla and Aidith had suffered, I thought that maybe she was right. Leaving the corpses to the scavengers, I halted outside the village and sent Cuthbert ahead to scout it out. He returned after a moment and waved at me, so we walked on through the gap in the west fence.

  As we entered, the villagers emerged from the hiding places they had run to when they first spotted us approaching. There was a moment’s pause as we looked at each other, then a cry of relief from Eduard’s young brother, Tomas, who was only five and now, oblivious to everyone else, he hurtled over and flung himself at my friend. Eduard winced in pain, but gave a huge roar and he dragged Tomas off the ground and spun him round. Suddenly, this released the tension and we rushed over to greet each other, embracing loved ones and sobbing with relief. Cybilla moved past me to hug her sister, Audrey, and then held her at arm’s length, examining an ugly gash on her cheek. Aidith and her mother were on their knees, holding hands, both talking at the same time. I watched as, for a short while, our spirits lifted as families were reunited. Then, one by one, we would search the faces for others we knew: others we loved and as it became obvious how many had died and how many were missing − the tears started.

  Eduard’s father and his older brother were both dead. He stood now in a huddle with his mother and little brother, looking down at their bodies, laid out alongside the others behind their hut, awaiting burial. It was the first time I could recall him ever crying, but he was not alone. A half dozen men and young boys − those too young to quite yet be in the Fyrd, but who had picked up weapons and fought the raiders nonetheless − had been slain. As many other women and children had been dragged off as captives − away to the Welsh lands to farm their fields or lie in their beds. These were the terrified faces I had seen in the dark last night; the ones I had been unable to save.

  Was this war, I thought? Was this the glory and the joy of battle that Lilla spoke of? All it seemed to be was tears and death. I had longed for war to come and now I wished it never had. Some hero I was, I thought: away hunting boars and playing at being a warrior whilst here, our people had died and I had done nothing to prevent it. Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turning round, I saw Cybilla and Audrey.

  “Master Cerdic, I want to thank you for fighting bravely and for bringing my sister back to me,” Audrey said. Behind her the villagers were gathered and despite their sorrow, they surrounded Eduard, Cuthbert and me and thanked us for rescuing their folk and protecting them. Eduard wiped away his tears, then smiled and nodded: how so easily he accepted the fate that the gods had brought him. Cuthbert looked shy, but I could tell that he was touched. As for myself, I felt sick. I knew I did not deserve the praise and yet I nodded. In the end I realised that they needed to do this for us and that they in turn expected something from me. As frantic as I was to get away and see how my own family had fared, I forced myself to make a little speech.

  “We thank you all and I want to say that I know how you feel, your loss is my loss. We will find those that are missing and we will make those that did this pay.”

  There was silence as the villagers looked at me with an odd respect. Audrey’s eyes filled with tears again, but there was something about her reaction that seemed strange. She had not lost anyone − now that Cybilla had returned − so why was she so emotional about what I had said. Unless ... I felt a tension leap into my chest ... unless ...

  I turned now and looked towards the Villa and at once I spotted Sunniva, my sister, moving down the street peering into the huts and searching among the villagers. Her face was pale and her eyes red, so she could not have had much sleep and it looked like she must have been crying. I moved towards her and she turned her head, saw me, gasped and then ran over and hugged me.

  “Cerdic! There you are. Thanks be to Woden,” she said, with a faint smile. “We had feared the worst when one of the other lads told us that he had last seen the three of you running towards the village last night. We thought you had run into some of these bastards in the woods. I could not stand to lose you as well ...”

  Suddenly, her face darkened and she moved towards the Villa.

  “Come, Cerdic. Leave your friends here!” she ordered.

  I nodded at Eduard and Cuthbert then hurried after her, her words ‘as well’ echoing in my head.

  “What is it Sunniva, is someone hurt? Is it Mother?”

  She stopped running but did not turn to look back at me.

  “No, Cerdic, Mother is well, although she wishes that the gods had chosen her instead of…” Sunniva’s speech stumbled to a halt and then she sobbed and when she looked at me, I could see that her face was screwed up as she fought back the tears.

  “Instead of who - is it Father?” I asked, aware that my voice was trembling. The tension in my chest was worse: an almost unbearable tightness, as if my heart would burst.

  “Father is injured, but not too badly and he will live.” Sunniva answered, wiping her hand across her face.

  “Who then, Sunniva?”

  She now looked utterly shattered: her spirit burned away by sorrow. She sighed.

  “Cerdic, it’s Cuthwine: Cuthwine is dead!”

  I opened my mouth, but aghast at what she had just said, no words came out. It couldn’t be true, could it: Cuthwine, my brother − dead? Of all my family, he had been more the warrior than the farmer, unlike my father. He had always seemed so strong and so able. Yet he had died last night, fighting to defend our home.

  “How ...when …?”

  “During the raid, a group of Welsh stormed the Villa. I hid beneath my bed as they burst in, but Mother took Mildrith and the slaves out through the kitchens to hide in the fields to the east. The raiders stole what they could, including Mother’s beautiful amber jewellery. Cuthwine, Father and some of the villagers who were around when the attack came, tried to delay the raiders to give the others a chance to escape. Our people fought the raiders in the courtyard,” she explained, then for a few moments her face distorted once more as fresh tears forced their way out. Eventually, she spoke again.

  “I crept out to the balcony and peeked down at them and from what I could see, they had almost seen them off and three of them certainly won’t be going back to Elmet, if that's where they were from. Then, Cuthwine and Father seemed to have got carried away and pursued the others out of the door. I went to your room and looked out the front of the house and I could still see what was happening though ... though I wish I had not ...”

  She cried a bit more and it took almost a minute for her to be able to talk again. I was too stunned from what I was hearing to say anything, so I let her take as long as she needed.

  “Well, then what happened is the raiders rallied around their chiefta
in, a great brute with only one eye and a scar where the other should be. He charged forward and ... he ... oh, Cerdic ... he cut Cuthwine down with a great axe − just hacked into him. I think he was dead before he hit the ground. Father went into a fury then and attacked the chieftain with a wood axe and a seax. I think the anger of seeing Cuthwine killed gave him strength and he managed to shatter the chieftain’s axe shaft.”

  My heart was pounding inside me and I could still say nothing. I was thinking back to the night before, when I had seen just such a man going back through the woods − all the time unaware that this man had just killed my brother.

  “Well, that made the beast furious and he smashed his shield into Father’s ribs and I heard them crack,” she shuddered. “Father just collapsed and I thought he was dead too ... then the one-eyed man picked up Cuthwine’s sword − the one that Uncle once had. I think he would have killed Father with it, but just then one of the villagers arrived and he had a bow and shot a few arrows at the raiders forcing them to back away. They then took off, north towards Wicstun. But, Cerdic, the one-eyed bastard took Cuthwine’s sword with him.”

  It struck me as odd that my throat could feel so dry and my eyes so moist at the same time. Cuthwine had always been such a strong part of my life. I simply could not believe he was dead. Sunniva and I had never been that close, but sorrow brought us together and there between the Villa and village, we held each other and wept. Eventually, I pulled away from her, my hands gripping her shoulders.

  “How are Father and Mother now ... what about Mildrith?”

  At Mildrith’s name, Sunniva looked away and gave another great sob.

  “Oh Cerdic, I don’t know where Mildrith is. Mother said she stole back through fields to get a look at the warriors.”

  “What?” I cried, stepping away from my sister.

  “Mother tried to stop her, but you know what Mildrith is like! She just scampered away. Mother went after her, of course, but just then some warriors came close to the fields and she had to hide again. When she finally came out, she could not find Aedann, Caerfydd, or Gwen. But ... she could not find Mildrith either. Cerdic, no one knows where our sister is!”

  I stared at her and she looked right back at me. The horror of the moment seemed too vast to bear. Cuthwine dead and Mildrith missing: I just shook my head and holding hands, we both walked up the track to the Villa in silence and despair. As it came into view, I gasped. The white walls were charred and blackened where they had been set on fire, although, being stone, it had fared better than the hovels in the village. We went in through the main door, which was hanging from one hinge, smashed and irreparable.

  In the entrance room, which Caerfydd had once told me was called an ‘atrium’, I stopped short. A chill shot down my body when I saw Cuthwine lying in state there. He had been decked out in his richest clothes and to my eyes he looked like a warrior god, slain in the last battles that were yet to come at the end of the world. I walked over to him, stared down at that cold, pale face where once such life had dwelt and again my tears came.

  The next day or two went by in a blur. Only a few days before, I would have given anything to fight as a warrior, for the songs of the poets told of the glories of battle. Now, those words seemed almost lies to me. All those ballads and great sagas told little of the reality of war. The burning huts in the village; the charred Villa; Mildrith missing and the body of Cuthwine brought that reality home to me.

  We buried Cuthwine the next day, up on the north ridge, near to my grandfather. I helped my father and Sunniva lower him into his grave. He was dressed in his finest clothes such as he had donned for feasts and holy days. He wore his trousers and a blue tunic fastened with a belt, from which hung a knife and a flint box. His best soft leather boots were on his feet and he was wrapped in a great green cloak. At his feet we laid his seax, shield and a bow. Alongside him was an ash spear. A nearby priest came and spoke of our brother going to be with Woden, to feast with his fellow warriors whilst he waited for the great battle that ended all days.

  The words failed to bring much succour to me. I looked around at the others. My father and sister were staring down into the grave, their faces the colour of marble. My mother was sobbing, totally lost in grief. Nearby, most of the village had turned up out of respect for the family. Almost all of them looked distant; surrounded by their own grief or worried about missing loved ones, just as we were.

  After Cuthwine was buried, six other men from the village were laid into their own graves. We stayed on that hill top whilst all were interred. My father’s expression grew grimmer with each inhumation. What was he thinking? Was he angry at the Elmetae or at himself? It was his duty to protect these people. That was the price of their service to him. Did he feel he had failed in that duty? If any of the villagers thought so, none of them said a word. Indeed, several came over to offer their condolences and compliment Cuthwine’s skills as a warrior. After the end of the service, we then returned to an empty Villa, which felt too cold and too quiet, the blackened timbers stinking of smoke and soot.

  Gradually, over the next two days, we began to get an idea of what had happened. Some hundred raiders had come from the west, over the border from Elmet. It seems they had passed very close to where we were hunting boar in the forest but had, somehow, missed us. They split then: thirty headed for the village and the rest curved to the north towards Wicstun.

  They had killed half a dozen in the village as well as Cuthwine − all those we had buried. As many again were wounded including my father. Then there were eight or nine missing − mostly villagers, but also Mildrith, Aedann and his parents.

  The last three vexed us: Welsh slaves missing after a Welsh raid. One of them I had seen armed and walking westwards, towards Elmet. It did not take much for many in the village to conclude the obvious. Aedann and his parents were spies and in league with the Welsh and had taken advantage of the raid to escape.

  Aidith looked small and sad as she sat on a stool in the Villa kitchen where Mother and Sunniva had been preparing food when she had come to find us. She told us that when the raiders arrived in the village there was a brief fight with the few men there who, not being in the company, had not been away with us in the woods. These were too young or old, too ill or unfit to be warriors. None were given any mercy and most died there and then, though some had fled towards the Villa.

  “Then the raiders started searching the village,” Aidith said. “They took anything of value, but they seemed to be looking for a specific item. They kept babbling on about something, but none of us could understand what it was they were saying.”

  “Do you know what it was they were looking for, child?” asked my father.

  “Not at first, my Lord, but then that horrible big brute with one eye started asking us questions in English. He said he knew we had a great treasure and he wanted to know where it was. Well, I didn't know what he meant. Then he slapped me hard and said something about ...”

  Aidith hesitated and looked at my mother.

  “Go on,” urged Father.

  “He kept saying, ‘Amber treasure, where is the amber treasure?’ Then he went off with his men and we were rounded up and led away. Cerdic found us soon after that, of course,” she nodded, her gaze flicking over towards me.

  We sat in silence for a moment and exchanged glances, but I could tell from the look in the eyes of all my family that we were thinking the same thing. Aidith had said One Eye asked about the ‘amber treasure’. He could have meant only one thing: my mother’s priceless amber and silver set of jewellery. It was indeed a treasure; brought from the distant Baltic by traders to Deira, where it then became a king’s gift to a great warrior: my uncle.

  Mother started crying. She had never worn it before in public and now, the day after she had proudly displayed her jewellery, the raiders had come looking for it and they had killed Cuthwine and taken Mildrith because of it.

  “It’s my fault ... it’s all my fault,” she sobbe
d. Father went across and took her in his arms, rocking her gently as if she was a child. Then, even whilst showing such tender love to his wife, he turned to me and his eyes now burnt with terrible anger as he whispered to me a single word.

  “Aedann!”

  I nodded. Aedann the slave, bitter at his lot in life, was a spy. He had somehow passed news of the great treasure that lay hidden at the Villa and the prize drew a warband looking for it. He had escaped with his parents and though his treachery had lost us the jewels, it had taken two far more precious items from us − Cuthwine and Mildrith.

  “Aedann!” I replied.

  The next day, Lilla arrived at the Villa with news from Wicstun. When it had been attacked, Aethelric had still been there and alongside Wallace, had fought bravely enough to repel the raiders. Even so, Wicstun had suffered losses too, as well as having more prisoners taken away. Aethelric then dithered about what to do, but Wallace persuaded him on a course of action and in the end the Prince had agreed.

  “So, I am sent to summon the Wicstun Company to muster to Lord Wallace, immediately. You are going to strike back against the bastards. You are going to get our people back and make these Elmetae pay for what they did ... you are going to Elmet!”

  So, there it was: war at last and Cerdic, son of Cenred of the Villa was going along. I gathered my spear, bone helmet, sword and shield and as I prepared to say my goodbyes, I wandered over to the burial ground, knelt down and I swore an oath over the grave of my dead brother.

  “Cuthwine,” I whispered, “I’m going away now. I am going away to war. I will come back, I swear it: but I have work to do first and promises to keep.”

  Firstly, I thought of my little sister, Mildrith, taken as a prize of war: as loot in fact and dragged back to be a slave.

  I would find her and bring her home.

  I thought of Aedann the betrayer. I had treated him as a friend and that mistake had cost me dearly.

  I would find him and he would pay.

  Finally, I thought of that ghastly scarred face with one merciless eye, coldly looking at his victims. This was the man who had slain my brother and taken my uncle’s sword.

  I would find him, kill him and bring the sword back home!