by H A CULLEY
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Having questioned travellers heading north on the old Roman road, I was confident that my quarry was only one or two days ahead of us when we stopped for the night just north of Stanforde on the River Weolud.
Uurad and Wolnoth had been scouting ahead and came back to warn me that the bridge over the Weolud was guarded by a small fortified camp. We were now on the border between Mercia and the territory controlled by the Danes. Perhaps the men guarding the crossing were Mercians but I thought it more likely that they were Danes.
‘Were you able to get any idea about numbers?’ I asked the two scouts.
‘Not really, but the fortress isn’t big enough to hold more than about fifty,’ Uurad replied.
‘However large the garrison, it’s too many for us to tackle,’ I muttered in frustration.
‘Why don’t we pretend to be Danes?’ Erik suggested.
‘How?’ I asked puzzled. ‘The way we dress is different, as is our helmets. Alright a few of us speak Danish well enough, but we look like Saxons.’
‘They’ll send out patrols and forage parties,’ he pointed out. ‘We ambush one and take their clothes and helmets.’
I was about to point out that we didn’t have time to wait for that to happen when Cei, who was on sentry duty just inside the wood, came running back to say that a party of Danes had just ridden into sight half a mile away.
We were a good two hundred yards off the Roman road in dense woodland and therefore hidden. Leaving our horses with Acwel and Lyndon, we grabbed our bows and other weapons and made our way to the edge of the trees. I sent Redwald and Ecgberht north to cut off any escape that way whilst Waelhmӕr and Uurad went to take up a position between the Danish patrol and their fortress. That left me with Leoflӕd, Swiðhun, Erik, Cei and Øwli to spring the ambush. I prayed that there weren’t too many Danes in the patrol.
Slowly they rode into view. They had no scouts out and were laughing and joking together as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Their shields hung on their backs and their helmets from the pommels of their saddles. Only two wore byrnies, the others making do with leather jerkins or padded gambesons. Behind the two in the lead rode a boy of perhaps eleven or twelve. He was dressed expensively but wore no armour and only had a dagger hanging from his belt. I guessed he was the son of a jarl, in which case one of the leaders was probably his father. I decided to use my first arrow to kill his horse and hope that he survived.
I gave a screech like a barn owl and six arrows flew towards the Danes. I saw with satisfaction that my arrow had pierced the heart of the boy’s palfrey and it crashed to the ground. I had no time to see if the lad had survived. My second arrow struck one of the startled leaders in the throat and my third took a Dane who was trying to flee in the back.
The others had similar success. Only four got away. One galloping away to the north and three back towards their fortress. Hoping that my two cut-off groups would be able to deal with all four, we set about killing the wounded and gathering up the horses. The boy was trapped under his horse, which had fallen on his right leg. By the way that he was screaming insults at me, I assumed that he was unhurt but, when we lifted the dead horse off him I saw that his lower leg was broken.
‘Shall I put him out of his misery, lord?’ Øwli asked, drawing his dagger.
‘No,’ Leoflӕd said before I could answer. ‘He’s only a young boy. He’ll mend.’
‘What’s your name boy?’ I asked him.
The boy glared at me and then tried to move his broken leg. He screamed as the pain hit him and he passed out. The other four rode in to say that none had escaped and we began to strip the patrol of their clothes and collected the helmets from their horses. In the meantime, Leoflӕd and Erik set the boy’s shinbone and splinted it. They sewed up the gash where one end of the break had cut thorough flesh and bandaged it. Once wrapped inside a tent, we tied him over one of the packhorses. Hopefully he would stay unconscious until we’d crossed the bridge.
The Danes scarcely looked at us as we rode past their fortress and over the bridge, calling out a few ribald remarks in Danish to the four warriors lounging at one end of the bridge. They replied in kind and then we were safely over and into the woods on the far side. Once we were out of sight we started to canter once again but had to slow down again because of the injured Danish boy, who had regained consciousness and was screaming in agony as he was bounced around.
We stopped and I poured enough mead down his throat from my flask to send him back into oblivion. We changed clothes back again and I told Acwel and Lyndon to follow us with the injured Dane at a gentler pace. Then the rest of us set off at a canter once more.
We caught up with the party of turncoat Northumbrian refugees thirty miles north of Lundunwic. We were now in territory which, although officially Mercian, was heavily patrolled by the Danes. I had scouts out ahead and to either side of us as we rode at a trot down the road. Cei was riding point and rode back to say that a party of fifty or more was two miles ahead of us on the road. Some were dressed in chainmail or leather jerkins and helmets but there were a dozen wagons laden with possessions in which women and children rode. There were also a few civilians, presumably tradesmen and merchants who had decided that Eforwic was an unsafe place in which to remain.
‘How many men who will put up a fight?’ I asked him.
He shrugged.
‘There are about fifteen who look like fighters: a few nobles and their hearth warriors presumably.’
I nodded my thanks and decided to ride around them and block the road.
‘I have no quarrel with most of you and you are free to go on your way,’ I called out when the column came to a halt when we confronted them. I sat on my horse in the middle of the road flanked by Redwald, Ecgberht, Waelhmӕr, Cei and Uurad.
Leofflæd and the others remained hidden in the trees with their bows ready in case of trouble.
‘Then what do you want with us?’ one of the men wearing an expensive chainmail byrnie and thick woollen trousers tucked into calfskin boots called back.
‘I seek a man named Cynemær and his brood; only them. There is a blood feud between us which I intend to settle here and now.’
‘I am Cynemær, who the devil are you? I have no quarrel with you as far as I’m aware.’
‘I’ve changed a lot since we last met, Cynemær. I’m Jørren, Ealdorman of Berrocscir. I killed Ceadda after he’d murdered one of my friends and tried to rape the girl who is now my wife. Remember me now? I’m sorry to tell you that Hroðulf and the rest of the thugs you sent to kidnap me failed. Their rotting corpses now lie buried in unhallowed ground near one of my vills.’
‘You,’ he hissed and rode towards me, drawing his sword as he did so. Five men, who were plainly his warriors, followed him together with a youth who looked to be about seventeen.
‘You die now!’ he shouted digging his spurs viciously into the flanks of his horse.
It leaped forward but I continued to stare at him, my sword still in its scabbard, as he pounded across the short distance between us. Suddenly the horse faltered and its forelegs gave way as two arrows struck its side. Cynemær just managed to leap clear as the horse rolled onto its side and died.
I calmly dismounted and drew my own sword. Cynemær’s men, seeing their lord sprawled on the ground with me advancing towards him, charged towards me. They must have been stupid as they must have been aware that there were archers in the trees; but perhaps they thought that there was only one. At any event none reached me, three being killed outright and two badly wounded.
The rest of the column watched the drama unfolding in front of them in amazement. Wisely no one else tried to intervene. That is except one man, presumably Ceadda’s other son who dismounted and ran forward to help his father to his feet. I held up my hand to indicate that no one was to interfere.
‘You are another of Cynemær’s sons?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he hissed at me. ‘Do you intend to kill me
too?’
‘Yes, regretfully,’ I replied. ‘Otherwise I will be forever plagued by your attempts at revenge.’
He stared at me open mouthed.
‘But, b-but,’ he stammered, ‘I’m only seventeen.’
‘So?’ I replied. ‘I’ve been fighting Danes since I was thirteen. I’ll fight both of you at once and on my own. My men won’t interfere. Is that fair?’
His eyes widened and I saw a speculative look in them. Obviously he thought that the two of them would make short work of me.
His father had recovered his sword in the meantime and once again he advanced on me. He headed towards my left and gestured for his son to attack my other side. I faced them, holding my own sword in my right hand and my seax in my left.
‘Two against one isn’t fair,’ Cei cried to murmurs of agreement from my other men.
‘This is my fight, not yours,’ I snarled back, annoyed at having had my concentration broken. ‘But thank you for your concern,’ I added in a softer tone, just as Cynemær made his first move.
I swore at being taken off guard but just managed to parry his thrust. The way was open for his son to drive his sword into my side whilst I was distracted, but he was too slow. By the time he attacked I was ready and beat his sword aside with my seax. Instead of withdrawing to recover, the stupid boy tried to cut my leg from the same position. I swiftly chopped down inside his sword with my seax and cut deeply into the front of his right thigh. He screamed in pain and his own blade lost all power, bouncing off my chainmail covered chest.
At the same time I brought my sword up to deflect his father’s attack and swung my seax around, spinning on my toes as I did so, to cut into Cynemær’s side. His byrnie robbed the blow of some of its momentum, but several links parted and red gore started to seep out of the gap when I withdrew my sword. From the jar to my wrist I was certain that I had broken some of his ribs as well. He took several steps back and grimaced, trying to overcome the agony he was in. It was my chance to finish him off, but I’d forgotten about the son.
As I moved forward to attack Cynemӕr, his son gritted his teeth and limped forward and slashed at my left arm. My byrnie only protected me down to the elbow and his sword cut into my forearm before striking my radius. Luckily it didn’t break, but pain shot up my arm and my hand opened involuntarily, letting go of my seax.
Thankfully the move had caused the youth intense discomfort and for a moment he wasn’t able to follow up. A wave of nausea swept over me but I knew I had to overcome it or I was dead. I brought my sword up and thrust it with all the strength I could muster into the son’s stomach. It wasn’t a killing blow but it was sufficient to put him out of the fight.
I dimly heard Cynemӕr shriek ‘no’ as his son fell to the ground, clutching at his belly, then he ran at me, rage giving him the ability to overcome the pain he must have been in. I was feeling dizzy but I managed to move my head to the side to avoid the man’s thrust at my left eye. The side of his blade scored a line across my helmet before he drew it back to thrust at me again. He never got the chance. I brought my sword up and shoved the point up under his chin, through his mouth and into the base of his brain.
I knew he was dead but his son was still alive. Nevertheless I let go of the hilt and blacked out. I knew no more.
Ϯϯϯ
When I came to my arm hurt like fury. For a moment I wasn’t aware of my surroundings but slowly my eyes focused and I saw Leofflæd’s face as she gently bathed my forehead.
‘Sometimes I think I married an idiot,’ she said.
They weren’t the words of loving care that I was expecting and I glared at her.
‘You were lucky to survive fighting those two with no more than a nasty cut to your forearm. It chipped the bone but it didn’t break. However, you did lose quite a bit of blood as a consequence.’
‘Good to see you too, my love,’ I managed to croak, my mouth dry.
She gave me some water and I greedily swallowed it, but immediately felt sick.
‘Slowly, slowly,’ she urged.
‘Where am I?’
‘In the infirmary of the monastery of Saint Alban. It was the nearest place to bring you after you collapsed. The monks say that Cei sewed you up well and the wound is healing nicely.’
‘What of Cynemӕr’s son?’
‘Sons,’ she corrected me. ‘There was a younger boy in the cavalcade as well as his wife and two daughters. The one you fought died of his wounds and Erik is taking the rest of his family into Ludenwic to sell them as thralls to the Danes. That’s an end to the blood feud.’
If only she had been right.
I was well enough to travel a few days later, although my arm was still quite painful. We travelled slowly, so as not to damage it further, through southern Mercia and thus back to Readingum, where Leofflæd and I were reunited with our two children. I was delighted to be back and looked forward to a less stressful time whilst my arm healed and I got to grips with all the myriad tasks that being an ealdorman entailed.
I had been away for more than the month that King Ælfred had allowed me and I sent him a message to explain. From his reply I gathered that he was less than pleased with me and bade me commence a tour of all the burhs under construction. He made it plain that he wanted them finished before winter set in.
I read his letter with annoyance and frustration. It was now late September and so what he asked was impossible. Construction had stopped at harvest time and, without me there to get the inhabitants back to work, little had been achieved recently. Although the harvest had been gathered in, threshing and winnowing still had to be done, and so had all the other preparations for the coming winter.
However, I couldn’t flout the king’s instructions and so, in the face of Leofflæd’s opposition, I set off to make a tour of the burhs of Sūþrīgescir, Suth-Seaxe and Cent as being those nearest to Lundenwic and therefore, I assumed, those most in danger. I decided to start in the east and work my way back toward home.
My forearm still caused me considerably discomfort and riding a horse one handed was difficult, but I persevered. I took the same small warband with me as I had when I’d set off to seek Cynemӕr. I’d be in trouble if we encountered a large band of Danes, but I wanted to travel swiftly and taking more men, and supplies for them and the horses, would just slow me down.
I started at Cantwareburh; the Romans had left behind stout stone walls but alas they had fallen into disrepair. I was heartened to see that the repairs to the gaps with timber had almost been completed and I stayed the night with the archbishop. The next day dawned bright and clear but dark clouds gathered as we rode westwards and by the time that we neared Cilleham we were being bombarded by large hailstones. Our helmets and chainmail protected us from severe bruising but the horses became almost uncontrollable, both because they were being bombarded by chunks of ice and because of the accompanying thunder and lightning.
Unwilling as I was to do so, we needed to seek shelter and the nearest place was my brother’s vill. We dismounted and led the horses into the first barn we came to where the villeins and slaves had stopped threshing to gape at the storm from the doorway. We pushed them to one side and entered the barn. Normally, it was the custom to ask the local lord’s permission to shelter on his property but this storm was far from normal.
Although I hadn’t spotted him, Æscwin was there supervising the work with his reeve. He came rushing over to confront the strangers who had flouted the normal rules for hospitality, but stopped when he saw me.
‘You!’ he said, startled.
‘Yes, me, brother. Forgive the intrusion uninvited but it was that or be bludgeoned to death by giant hailstones.’
‘I’m pleased to see you again. I fear that our last meeting didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.’
I smiled. I had no wish to argue with him and his more conciliatory attitude this time came as a relief.
‘No, and I’m sorry for my part in that,’ I said, ‘I hope you will forgiv
e me now for taking Cei and setting off to rescue Alric.’
‘Of course, although your sisters may not take such a charitable view. They worried themselves sick after you disappeared.’
‘Yes, I must apologise to them. Are they here?’
‘No, Godifu married the thegn of a neighbouring vill four years ago and Sibbe is now a nun at Cantwareburh.’
‘I wish I’d known. I’ve just come from visiting the archbishop.’
‘You move in grand circles now that you’re an ealdorman,’ he said with a touch of envy in his voice.
‘There are times when I wish I was no more than a simple thegn,’ I replied with a grimace. ‘Responsibility for the defence works of Wessex is not a task for the fainthearted.’
‘I gather you have two children now,’ he said, changing the subject before I took him to task about the state of that part of the road between Cantwareburh and Hrofescӕster that he was responsible for.
I did, but not after we had exchanged all the other news we had for each other, including an explanation of my injured arm. He grunted noncommittally when I mentioned the blood feud and I got the impression that he would not have avenged my death had things turned out differently.
He had three children of his own now, but they were all daughters. The lack of a son to succeed him as thegn obviously worried him, but I said that there was plenty of time yet. It was a trite thing to say and an uncomfortable silence followed.
I looked around me and became aware that Cei was staring intently at one of the slaves. The man kept his eyes downcast but glanced up now and then, a smile of pleasure lighting up his face. I realised with a start that it was Bedwyr’s other son, Cei’s elder brother.