by C. R. May
‘You never told me the name of this place?’ Icel asked suddenly. ‘I can’t call it the hill fort forever.’
‘Bruidon, lord,’ Eofer replied.
Icel raised his eyes from the treetops and studied the dykes and ditches ringing the hilltop. ‘Don is the English word for a long hill,’ he said, ‘I take it that the first part is Welsh. Any idea what it means?’
Eofer smiled as the army spread out in their wake. ‘That means hill too.’
Icel snorted. ‘So you have led the army upon which all our hopes depend to a place called hill-hill?’ He shook his head. ‘First the cider king and now this. This night is becoming madder by the hour.’
‘Another in need of a name change then?’ Eofer suggested.
‘No, leave it. Bruidon, I like the sound and anyway,’ he added. ‘If we are to make a kingdom here for Engles and Britons together it is a good name.’
Eofer’s own hearth troop had edged closer and Horsa caught his eye. Eofer smiled and gestured across with a jerk of his head, the smile repeated on the face of his weorthman as he received permission to approach the leaders of the army.
‘Did you get any of the cider?’ Icel asked as the duguth approached.
‘Just a mouthful, lord. I made sure that the rest of the lads only had that much too. If we are to be busy soon I didn’t want the men worried about their own dodgy guts when they should be thinking about gutting the enemy.’ He ran his tongue across the front of his teeth as he came to a halt before them. ‘Rougher than a fishwife’s tongue,’ he joked. ‘Keep guzzling that stuff and they would have melted!’
They shared a laugh as Icel returned his gaze to the hilltop, watching as the men of his own gesith neared the summit. ‘Will the Lindisware be there yet, lord?’
Eofer shook his head. ‘No, they are not due here until the second night of the Barley-moon. Horses are difficult to hide at the best of times and they take a lot of feeding. We cannot let them graze the hillside in plain sight, so we would have needed to bring sacks of oats along with us. Not only are we moving too fast for wagons, but likely as not they would have got stuck on the forest path. It’s best that they arrive as close to the attack as possible.’
Eofer had turned to Icel for confirmation that he had understood the planned meeting correctly when he saw the ætheling stiffen. The riders who had gone on ahead where milling about as they decided how to respond to something unexpected, and they watched as half a dozen riders broke away and urged their mounts inside the fortress. The remainder of Icel’s gesith carried on as planned, crossing the ridge line as quickly as possible to minimise the chance of being caught silhouetted against the skyline in the milky light, before becoming lost from sight as they moved down to the woodlands beyond to look for any sign of the enemy.
Horsa was the first to speak as the last of the army clattered from the tree line behind them. ‘Well, if they are not too worried, neither am I.’ The pair threw him a questioning look, and the duguth explained. ‘If the army of Powys was waiting for us behind those walls, our lads would either be already dead or haring back to us. As it is, they feel safe enough to leave whatever they saw to a small group and carry on with the job which you gave them, lord.’
Eofer and Icel exchanged a look, and the ætheling blew out through his lips. ‘Let us hope that you are right. The thought of the fiend cascading down the hill towards us as we are, disorganised and with our backs to the wood, fills me with dread. I was a fool,’ he admonished himself. ‘I should have sent men on ahead to check that all was clear, before we exited the forest. That is what scouts are for, not to hold your hand in the dark. I was so busy turning over the problems that a bloody thunderstorm would pose to our attack that it slipped my mind.’
‘Let’s get up there,’ Eofer said as he attempted to lighten the mood. ‘I am as much to blame as you are. A fine ealdorman I would be if I let my lord blunder about the countryside without offering him my advice. As Horsa says, if your own gesith are happy that there is no threat there to yourself and the army then there is none.’
Horsa had picked up on Eofer’s comment, and he put in with a remark of his own. ‘I’d best pack my things when we return if we are moving from Snæpe then lord.’
Eofer grimaced as Icel looked on in amusement. ‘Forget that I said that for now, becoming ealdorman is one possibility. Another is that we shall all be lying as cold as stones on the banks of the Trenta soon and Leircestre will revert to its British name, so keep it to yourself for now. Come on,’ he said. ‘the sooner we get the men inside those earthen banks, the sooner they can rest.’ He flicked a look at Icel, and the ætheling nodded his agreement. ‘Eofer is right, what is done is done. The men need food and a place to lay their heads. Let us complete our journey for this night,’ he said, ‘hill-hill beckons.’ He hauled at his reins, urging his horse into a canter as the army began to follow on, men forcing tired legs into a last effort as they sweated the final rise of the day.
Eofer followed on as Horsa doubled back to lead the rest of his hearth troop the final few yards. The banks shone white in the raking light of the moon, a circlet of steel to safeguard them for the coming day. As soon as the horse warriors from the Lindisware arrived they would scout the enemy and plan the attack. Eofer caught up with his prince as he reached the gaping entrance to the hill fort, and he was relieved to see that Horsa’s suspicions had been confirmed. Two of Icel’s gesith were there to report their findings to him, and Eofer was glad to see that the warriors’ swords and shields had been returned to scabbard and crupper as he too reached the gateway.
‘It seems that we were not the first to arrive after all,’ Icel called as he came up. ‘A pair of Hemming’s men are already here. Come,’ he said, the concern showing through the weariness on his features. ‘Let us discover what good tidings brings them all this way.’
They passed through into the body of the fort itself, and Eofer searched out the familiar hummocks and pathways for the men in question. The remainder of Icel’s men had gathered at the centre of the clearing, around the stump he had thought a silver fang at his previous meeting here with the Saxon leader Seaxwulf Strang, and he recognised the men from Tamtun as they moved forward from the group at their approach. Eofer and Icel slid from their saddles as the men bobbed their heads, and Eofer introduced them to the ætheling as they awaited permission to speak. ‘These men are Hryp and Beonna, lord,’ Eofer said. ‘We met at Tamtun.’
Eofer saw pride shine in the warriors eyes that a man of reputation had recalled their names, despite the briefness of their earlier meeting. It was a thing which he had needed to work at in earlier years, but his father had always impressed on him the importance of committing men’s names to memory, however lowly their station in life, and it had become easier over time. The ghost of a smile caused the corners of the messengers’ mouths to curl upward for a heartbeat, before their discipline reasserted itself and they switched their gaze back to the prince.
‘Well, Hryp and Beonna,’ Icel said as the pair straightened their backs. ‘You don’t have the look of men coming to report a great victory. It’s been a long night, don’t bother with all the “Hemming sends his good wishes and trusts that this message finds me well,” nonsense at the beginning, go for the throat lads, spit out your news and we will see what needs to be done.’
Hryp was the senior of the two, and he cleared his throat and began his report. ‘The British have been reinforced, lord. A few days ago a hundred mounted warriors passed north of Cair Luit Coyt and took Ryknield Street north-eastwards. A pair of our lads tailed them until they crossed the Trenta and carried on to the east. With darkness coming on the boys were worried that they would fall into a trap, so as soon as they felt sure of their destination they hurried back to Tamtun to report their findings.’ Hryp cast a glance at his companion. ‘We had just returned to Tamtun from a raid ourselves, but Hemming told us to get back in the saddle and get down here as fast as we could.’ He shrugged. ‘He guessed that you wou
ld tread this path to Hreopedun, so we did as ordered and here we are lord.’
Icel gave a grim laugh, despite the bad news. ‘Well, I did ask you to cut out the nonsense. If nothing else that was short and to the point Hryp, I appreciate it.’
Behind him the men of the fyrd had finally reached the hill fort, and their footfalls and the jangle of metal echoed back from the walls as Icel nodded that he understood the importance of the news. ‘If that is all lads,’ he said finally, ‘you have my thanks. There will only be cold food tonight but you are welcome to it before you head back.’ Hryp made to protest but the ætheling cut him short. ‘I know that you would rather stay and fight alongside us now that you are here, but I want you to return. Hemming will need to know that you got through and reported the situation to me, and I wish to tell him what I intend to do in response so that he may act accordingly.’ He slipped two silver arm rings from his forearm and handed them across. ‘Finding your way here, through what we must consider hostile territory was no mean feat. Accept these as a mark of my gratitude and respect and wait to carry my reply back to Tamtun.’
The pair’s eyes widened in surprise and gratitude at the gift, and Icel indicated to Eofer that he walk with him with a flick of his head. As Hryp and Beonna proudly slipped the rings onto their own forearms, ætheling and thegn sought out the shadows, each man alone with his thoughts. Away to the south the army of Mercia had gained the fortress now, the last of the weary spearmen tramping into the great hilltop oval and seeking out a place to spend the night. Eofer had already reached his own conclusion as to the best course of action to take, but he kept his council and allowed his lord to be the first to speak his mind.
They passed by the horse lines, the men there too busy removing saddles, checking hooves and a dozen other chores which would need to be done before they looked to their own bellies to notice that a prince and eorle were passing by. Finally they reached a place which was raised up higher than most, a perfect circle which both men knew marked the outline of a former hut. Icel indicated that they sit, and both men lowered themselves to the grassy ridge and stared away towards the encampment. The first clouds were starting to appear, high up, dappled silver by the moonlight, and Icel stared hard at them and nodded as if receiving a message from the gods.
‘Mackerel sky, mackerel sky, never long wet, never long dry.’
Eofer crinkled his brow. ‘Lord?’
‘It’s a saying,’ he explained. ‘One which my old wet nurse used to say. The silvery scales of the clouds there resemble the flanks of the fish. When you see them it often means that a short, sharp storm is approaching.’
‘A cunning woman was she, lord?’
Icel flashed a smile. ‘No, as daft as a brush. What is cunning about letting another woman’s brat suck on your tit all day.’
They laughed together before Icel went on. ‘But she did know her weather. It looks as though Gefion’s ox driver may have had the right of it.’ Icel turned to his thegn, and Eofer was surprised to see that his lord’s worries seemed to have lifted. ‘I may have been a bit tetchy today and I apologise, Eofer.’ The ætheling held up a hand to cut short any protest from his eorle before continuing. ‘Something was picking at my mind even before we left Leircestre, and I couldn’t put my finger on it until now. I thought that the gods were telling me not to continue with the attack but now I am not so sure. Think on it,’ he said. ‘Cider kings leading god-wagons tell me that there is a great storm coming. We get here and Thrush’s men are waiting for us to let us know that a hundred of Powys’ finest horse Welsh have bolstered their defences. Not only that,’ he added with a look. ‘They went to great pains to try and sneak in without our knowledge, leaving Watling Street and picking their way through the forest of Canuc on order to give Thrush and his men a wide berth.’ He turned his face to Eofer, and the thegn could see to his delight that the confidence which always seemed to infuse his lord’s every undertaking had rushed back like a tidal bore. ‘They are not setting a trap for us, Eofer,’ he said. ‘They are preparing to launch their own assault on Leircestre. What with your own attacks up and down the valley of the Trenta, and now Hemming threatening Cair Luit Coyt and Watling Street from the burh at Tamtun, they cannot afford to sit tight and wait until the campaigning season starts again next spring. They need to decide the matter, now, this year. Take Leircestre and Mercia is stillborn. Sawyl Penuchel in The Peaks will come to terms with his fellow Briton and the Lindisware will retreat back behind the marshes and rivers which have served them so well in the past. I thought that the gods were telling me to delay the attack until all of my forces came together but something irked me, something that I could not understand or explain and it tormented me all day. And then I realised that they were not warning that I was courting disaster, they were telling me to attack quickly, before the enemy marched.’ He sat back and smiled. ‘And now,’ he said. ‘You are going to do the duty of a folctoga like your father did for my own, a leader of the king’s armies. Whatever your own personal feelings, whatever you would order yourself in my place. Tell me why I am wrong.’
Eofer gaped like a fish out of water. He had reached the same conclusion for very much the same reasons, but he understood the sense in the ætheling’s request and he racked his mind to provide reasons why they should delay. He looked back to the south, and his mouth made a line as the most obvious reason lay sprawled all about the clearing.
‘The men are too tired, lord. The warriors are fine of course, not only did they ride here but they are trained and bred for fighting, inured to fatigue once war horns sound and the banners unfurl. But the fyrdmen,’ he said with a shake of his head, ‘they are all in. They have been eating the dust thrown up by our horses’ hooves all day long, with only the thought of a meal and a good sleep to drag them up the final hillside. Now you want them to carry on through the night and fight against a powerful foe in the morning.’ He looked at Icel who sat there fingering his beard as his mind sifted the advice. ‘Even if we can bring them to face the enemy before we are intercepted, they may well break if they come under sustained pressure.’
Icel nodded as he watched the clouds gather. ‘Another.’
‘We need to wait until the Lindisware horsemen arrive. Cynlas Goch has been reinforced by horse-welsh, a hundred or so. Even acting alone they could cause mayhem if they discover us before we are in a strong defensive position. Together with the mounted troops already in the fort they pose a formidable threat, not only to our battle line, but to the whole army if the ceorls do break. It will be a slaughter fit to keep Welsh bards in silver for generations, barely a man will escape. Mercia will die on the banks of the River Trenta.’
‘Another.’
Eofer followed the ætheling’s gaze, looking up to study the clouds. They were clustering, moving on at a pace. ‘The storm,’ he finally said. ‘It’s moving in from the west as most storms do, in all likelihood straight into the faces of our men. If it is as severe as the cider man and your old friend saggy tits seem to think, we shall have to fight almost blind while the Welsh will have their backs to the worst of it.’
Icel snorted at the description, flashing the eorle a smile before going back to worry the strands of his beard. ‘Another,’ he said. ‘And don’t be so disrespectful to my poor old nurse.’
‘Return to Leircestre and gather in the people from the surrounding settlements and their supplies. Before Cynlas Goch arrives, send to Anglia for a relief army. They should arrive long before Yule, and whether our allies stand firm or seek to make a separate peace, we shall emerge from our fortress and crush the Powys’ between ourselves and King Eomær’s here.’
Icel raised a brow and turned his face to the eorle. ‘That is a very good idea, Eofer,’ he mused. ‘Excellent in fact.’
Eofer chuckled at his side. ‘But still not good enough, lord,’ he said. ‘Because you have already decided to march tonight and bring the enemy to battle in the storm filled morning, missing allies, a stronger than expected fien
d, footsore fyrdmen or not.’
19
He walked the line of dozing men as the duguth and gesith moved among them, tapping thighs and arms with the heels of their spears. ‘Come on lads,’ he said. ‘We have a date with hel!’ The men of the fyrd groaned, exchanging looks of disbelief as the thegn walked on. ‘Come on boys, on your feet,’ he urged. ‘She's not the type of girl who likes to be kept waiting.’ The more awake were tugging at their friend’s sleeves, dragging the unwilling men back from what was, Eofer had to admit, a well earned rest.
The decision made that the attack would take place the following day it was imperative that they push on as soon as possible, despite the weariness which filled the camp. The odd fyrdman here and there grumbled at the interruption, but one look from the warriors was enough to still them.
‘What’s up lord?’ a man asked as he struggled to his feet. ‘We thought that this was it for the night.’ Eofer stopped and gave him a smile of sympathy. ‘We need to push on as quickly as possible.’ He went to move away but paused as he decided that the man deserved more than an instruction. No doubt he would rather be laying beside his wife now, or drinking to Gefion and giving thanks for a successful harvest, but he had foregone these pleasures to carry his spear against his lord’s enemies. Eofer raised his voice a notch so that all those close by would hear as he spoke again. ‘Where are you from?’
The ceorl was stuffing the few belongings he had brought along with him back inside a woollen sack and his eyes widened in surprise that such an exalted figure as the king’s bane should engage him in conversation, but he raised his chin proudly and answered as his friends looked on. ‘It doesn't really have a name, lord,’ he shrugged, ‘not yet at least. It’s not much more than a couple of huts and a barn, half a dozen miles south of Leircestre.’