Beobrand bit back his retort that the five men might well have weighed the same as the fat thegn. He fought to keep his expression flat. Now was not the time for laughter and jests.
Oswiu paced the length of the hall, clearly pondering his next words. Beobrand could sense they would bring further misery on them all.
He was right.
“Oswine must be made to suffer as I have,” Oswiu said at last.
“But lord,” Ethelwin said, his tone imploring, “we cannot send men to attack Oswine. Such a thing would be madness. Without honour.” Beobrand was glad that the warmaster had spoken out. Oswiu was not inclined to listen to such criticism from Beobrand.
Oswiu swung on Ethelwin.
“You think me mad, do you? A man without honour, you say!”
“No, lord king,” replied Ethelwin. “I meant no disrespect. But to do this thing…” His voice trailed off. He did not know how to respond without further angering the king.
“I am no fool, warmaster,” said the king. “And I am not moon-touched. You should know this much of me, old friend. I do not mean to send men against Oswine. I will meet him in battle in the end.” Beobrand noted that Oswiu had not mentioned being a man of honour.
“I am sorry for my words, lord king,” said Ethelwin. “I should not have doubted you.”
He patted Ethelwin’s arm, clearly forgiving him for his rash outburst.
“We are all tired,” Oswiu said, with a magnanimous wave of his hand. “It is already forgotten. But the killing of Fordraed will never be forgotten and I would have Oswine remember it as clearly as I will.” He spun to face Beobrand. “When we leave here tomorrow, you will not ride with us back to Bernicia directly, lord Beobrand.”
Beobrand’s heart sank. All he wanted was to return to Ubbanford, to be far from this king and his plots and intrigues.
“Where am I to go, lord?” he asked, keeping his tone devoid of the emotions that roiled within him.
“You are to take your gesithas, and Fordraed’s sworn men, who will no doubt want vengeance for their lord’s murder, and you are to ride to Ediscum.”
“And what would you have us do when we reach Ediscum?” Beobrand said. A cold emptiness was creeping within him. He was sure he knew what the king would ask of him.
“When we spoke in the night, you told me I had your oath; that your sword was mine.”
“Of course, lord king.”
“I would put your sword to good use. You are to ride to Ediscum and there, you will kill the thegn and master of that hall. He is dear to Oswine, as Fordraed was dear to me.”
Beobrand clenched the muscles in his jaw. He was no murderer, to steal the life from a man for no reason. Whoever this thegn was, he was no enemy of Beobrand’s, nor of Oswiu’s, as far as he could tell. There was no honour in such killing, no battle-glory to be sung of by scops in mead halls. A man who did such a thing would be forever deemed a craven and a nithing.
Sensing his wavering, Oswiu said in a low voice, “When we return to Bebbanburg, I will inform Octa that you are well. That I have sent you on an important quest. The boy will be so proud of his father.”
Beobrand stared at Oswiu. The king did not need to voice the threat to his son. Was this the same man who had told him of his doubts and weaknesses just the night before? Was it because of that very openness that now he sought to send Beobrand to do this terrible task?
“I have your oath, do I not?” asked Oswiu, staring into Beobrand’s icy eyes.
“I am your man,” Beobrand said. His voice sounded strangled to his own ears, as if his throat was closing up.
“Good!” said Oswiu. “Tomorrow you will ride to Ediscum and I want to hear tales of how you killed the lord of the hall while his wife and family looked on.”
“I am a warrior, lord king,” said Beobrand, his voice as hard and sharp as flint knappings. “I do not wage war on women and children. I will fight this man, and kill him if you so command, but I will not hurt his family.”
For a long moment, they stared at each other. The hall was silent as the rest of the men there watched this battle of wills. At last, Oswiu looked away and laughed.
“Of course, brave Beobrand,” he said. “Everybody knows you have no stomach for such things.”
“I do not have the stomach or desire to harm those weaker than I,” he said, his voice cold. “I have given my word to my gesithas that we will never raise weapons on those who cannot defend themselves.”
Oswiu nodded impatiently.
“Yes, yes. I do not ask that you break your word. Go to Ediscum, call out the thegn and kill him. That is all I ask.”
A sharp splinter of doubt pricked at the nape of Beobrand’s neck.
“Who is the thegn that resides at Ediscum?” he asked. “Whose hall is it?”
“Why, I thought you knew,” replied Oswiu. “It is the hall of that smug bastard, Wulfstan. I have long wished to see that smirking grin wiped from his face.”
Chapter 42
Beobrand had not thought he would be able to sleep, such was the storm of thoughts that whirled in his mind. But the moment he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down, the respite of slumber washed over him as quickly as if he had fallen into a dark, tranquil lake. His body, exhausted from the lack of sleep the previous night, the exertion from the fight and the trials of the day, needed rest, and his worries and concerns could not keep sleep at bay.
Beircheart shook him awake before dawn.
For a moment, Beobrand did not know where he was. The hall was filled with the shadowy forms of men. Many snored, the noise loud and intrusive. He wished to be back in the still darkness of sleep. Despite his fears before sleeping, he did not recall any dreams. For a moment he was thankful that the gods had not sent him nightmares of the dead to haunt him in the night, but then, with a sickening jolt, he remembered what it was he was being sent to do.
Oswiu had trapped Beobrand between two oaths. He could not do that which his king ordered without betraying the promise made to Wulfstan in the dark in Eoferwic when the Deiran had saved his life.
Beobrand took Beircheart’s proffered hand and allowed the gesith to pull him to his feet.
“Are the horses ready?” Beobrand asked, his voice a croaky rasp in the stale air of the hall.
“Yes, lord. Everything is as you commanded.”
He had told them to be ready to leave before the king and his retinue. Beobrand could not face the thought of conversing with Oswiu again. The path before him now was clear and he knew that the king had enjoyed seeing him squirm the night before.
For a brief hopeful time, Beobrand had believed that Wulfstan would not be at his hall in Ediscum. After all, he was with Oswine. Surely with the possibility of battle the king would be loath to lose one of his most trusted men. Beobrand had told Oswiu he would not wage war on the man’s kin and so, if Wulfstan were not there, they could return to Bernicia without shedding any innocent blood. Yet even as he had clung to this thought, Oswiu had called out to him that he should not be concerned that the thegn might not be at home. Gods, it was as if the man could see into his very mind, thought Beobrand. It seemed that before Hunwald had returned, Wulfstan had pleaded with Oswine to allow him to go to his hall. His wife had been in her confinement and word had come to him of the birth of his first son. Having three daughters, he had been overjoyed at the tidings of the birth of a male heir. Oswine had granted his wish and even while Hunwald was with them on Deira Stræt, Wulfstan and his gesithas had ridden off, homeward bound. These tidings had snuffed out Beobrand’s hopes of a simple solution to his problem. Oswiu had grinned to see him so conflicted.
Beobrand followed Beircheart out of the hall, stepping carefully over the slumbering occupants. He did not wish to see the king before he left. He would not give Oswiu the satisfaction of seeing him further humiliated.
Outside, the air was cool and fresh. The horses, shadows in the grey pre-dawn light, were lined up in the yard. Halinard, standing by the animals, hand
ed Beobrand a hunk of bread and a cup. Beobrand sniffed the contents of the cup. Water. Suddenly aware of being terribly thirsty, he drank it down in two massive gulps. He took a bite of the bread. It was hard and chewy, but tasty enough. He wished he had kept the water to soften it.
Nodding his thanks, he made his way to the horses. Eadgard was there, waiting with his byrnie. Beobrand held the bread in his teeth and the massive axe-man helped him to shrug into the iron shirt. His brother, Grindan, handed Beobrand his sword-belt, which he strapped on, cinching it tight to take some of the byrnie’s heft. He hoped they might have no need for armour and weapons, but they rode through Deira, which was now enemy territory.
None of the men spoke above a whisper and as Beobrand swung up onto Sceadugenga’s back, he thought his plan might work. Then a loud voice cut the early morning stillness and he knew that chance had fled.
“Leaving without us?” said Heremod, striding out of the hall. “Do not forget that it was my lord who was slain. Lord Fordraed’s sworn men will have their revenge. It is our blood-price to take, not yours.”
“It was I whom Oswiu commanded to ride to Ediscum. It is my task.”
“Did he not tell you to take us with you?”
Beobrand sighed, his breath steaming momentarily in the cool air. Any hope of reaching Wulfstan without Fordraed’s men had fled as quickly as the dew would disappear with the heat of the rising sun.
“Well, if you are coming, gather your gear and follow us. You know the way.”
And with that, he kicked his heels into Sceadugenga’s ribs. The stallion surged away from the hall, carrying Beobrand at an easy canter into the blackness of the path beneath the oak trees. Moments later, his gesithas were all mounted and following in his wake.
Heremod shouted angrily, his voice echoing in the dawn gloom. Beobrand frowned. It was a small victory. Fordraed’s men would be with them soon enough. It would make things even more difficult.
A rider galloped up close. In the darkness beneath the trees Beobrand could just make out Beircheart’s savage grin flashing from his dark beard.
“Heremod isn’t happy.”
“That is none of my concern,” Beobrand replied. They rode on for a moment, the only sounds the thrum of hooves on the packed earth of the path.
“And Cynan?” Beobrand asked, shouting over the din of the horses. When Heremod and the rest of Fordraed’s gesithas reached them, they would not be able to speak freely.
“He has ridden ahead to scout the way, as you asked.”
Beobrand nodded. Realising the gesith could not see him in the darkness, he called out, “Good. You have done well.”
When Beircheart had discovered Fordraed’s death, he had struggled not to laugh out loud. Beobrand had believed he was the only one to know of Beircheart’s hatred for the thegn and his feelings for Edlyn, but when Heremod had learnt of his hlaford’s death, he had scanned the faces of the warriors gathered around the king. His gaze had settled on Beircheart. The young man had not managed to conceal his grin and Heremod had taken a step forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword and murder in his eyes.
“You might well smirk, Beircheart,” he said. “You are happy at my lord’s death, no doubt.”
Beobrand stepped between them.
“He means nothing by it, Heremod. We all mourn your loss,” he’d lied.
Since then, the two groups of warriors, Beobrand’s and Fordraed’s, under Heremod’s leadership, had avoided each other.
Beobrand had asked Beircheart about Heremod’s reaction, but Beircheart had simply shrugged.
“He knows that none of us could abide Fordraed. He is merely angry at his choice of lord.”
They rode on without speaking, Beobrand brooding about what would occur when they reached Ediscum. Wulfstan was a good man. He had saved Beobrand’s life and in turn Beobrand had given his word that he would return the honour if he could. Now was his time to keep that promise, but he could not simply ride away, turning his back on his king’s command. He thought of Octa, smiling and content in the retinue of the atheling, Alhfrith. Would Oswiu truly do him harm if Beobrand disobeyed him? Unbidden, the image of Eowa, trembling in a wind-shaken storehouse in far-off Din Eidyn, came to him. Beobrand would never forget the glee with which Oswiu had struck the atheling of Mercia and, when he had beaten him until he was blood-soaked and moaning, how he had pulled out a sharp blade and cut his face so that he would ever bear the scars, should the memories fade.
Beobrand’s face was set into a grim scowl when they reached the Roman road. It was dawn now, and the first glimmers of light limned the five corpses that stared down in accusation from their stakes above the road. They were a stark reminder of Oswiu’s reprisals. No, there could be little doubt that Oswiu would make good on any threats.
And so they rode towards Ediscum.
The sun peeked above the forest in the east, bathing the land in a sudden warm glow. There were no clouds in the sky. It would be another fine day.
Beobrand hawked and spat into the weeds beside the road.
Yes, another fine day that would be besmirched with blood and killing.
And broken oaths.
He slowed Sceadugenga to a walk. Heremod would catch up to them soon enough anyway, unless they pushed the horses so hard that the beasts would be dying when they reached their destination. In conversation the night before, they had calculated that they would reach Wulfstan’s hall mid-afternoon. Beobrand was in no rush.
They rode north towards the River Wiur. There, Hunwald had told them, they would find a track to the west. That would lead them most of the way to Ediscum.
The sun was high in the sky, its bright heat making the men sweat beneath their byrnies, when Heremod and the rest of Fordraed’s men, ten in all, caught up with them. Heremod was clearly furious, but rather than launch into an angry onslaught at Beobrand, he chose to ride alongside the men of Ubbanford in sullen silence. It was not until they halted beside the Wiur to rest, eat some of the food they had brought from Hunwald’s hall and to refill their flasks and waterskins, that Heremod finally spoke.
“If you were hoping not to fulfil our lord king’s orders,” he said, fixing Beobrand with a baleful stare, “know that I will. I will take the blood-price for Fordraed.”
“I do not doubt your intentions,” said Beobrand. “And I do not wish to ignore Oswiu’s commands.”
Heremod glowered at him. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his skin pallid. This was a man who would rather be drinking horns of mead in a hall than riding under the heat of a summer sun.
The sudden thump of approaching hooves made them all leap to their feet. Swords slid from scabbards, spears were lifted from the ground and held out threateningly in the direction of the oncoming rider. The men were nervous, on edge.
The path to the west was partially obscured by a great yew tree and a thicket of bramble. A horse and rider cantered out from behind the vegetation at an easy lope. It was Cynan, sitting effortlessly on his bay mare’s back as if he had only been out riding for a few moments instead of since long before sunrise.
The Waelisc warrior reined in before Beobrand. Attor stepped close and handed him an open waterskin. Cynan swilled water in his mouth to clear it of dust, spat and then drank deeply.
“What news?” asked Beobrand.
“The road ahead is clear,” replied Cynan.
“Good,” said Beobrand.
“How far to Ediscum?”
Cynan thought for a moment.
“Maybe as far as from Ubbanford to Berewic. Not far.”
“Mount up, men,” Beobrand shouted. “We will soon be at Wulfstan’s hall. And remember, and I will not repeat this,” he looked pointedly at Heremod and the men he had brought with him, “we will not make war on women or children. Any man who raises a hand against the innocent will make an enemy of me. And believe me, you do not want me as your enemy.”
He swung up onto Sceadugenga’s back and waited for the others to mount their stee
ds. Heremod, riding a broad-backed white mare, kicked his horse next to Beobrand.
“I do not like this,” he said, glowering at Cynan.
Beobrand chose to misunderstand him.
“I do not like this either, but it is what we have been commanded to do. You know that.”
“I mean your Waelisc man,” Heremod growled.
“Lots of folk do not like Cynan,” Beobrand replied lightly. “And not merely because he is Waelisc. There is just something about him that annoys.”
“Enough of this nonsense,” barked Heremod, colour rising in his cheeks. “You know full well of what I speak.” When Beobrand did not reply, Heremod continued. “Your man, Cynan. Coming from the west.”
“He was scouting ahead. We are in enemy land now. We must take care.”
“You sent him ahead to warn Wulfstan, did you not?” asked Heremod.
“I did not,” Beobrand said.
“If you are lying, I swear on Christ’s bones and Woden’s one eye that it will be your blood I will take in payment for Fordraed’s. He always hated you, it would be fitting for me to send you into the afterlife to serve him as his thrall. He would like that.”
Beobrand turned in his saddle and stared at Heremod. His blue eyes burnt cold in the summer sunlight.
“Are you a fool, Heremod?” he asked.
“What?” blustered Heremod. “Why, you—”
“I asked if you were a fool,” answered Beobrand, his tone brittle and freezing, like shattered ice. “Or perhaps you have been drinking more than water. Is your mind addled?”
“My flask is filled with water from the river and I am no fool, you bastard.”
“Then you must be braver than I thought, for only the bravest of men, fools or drunks threaten me. And none have lived to speak of it for long.”
Beobrand kicked Sceadugenga into a canter, leaving Heremod behind. Heremod swallowed, frowning after him.
Beobrand rode at the head of the column as the sun began to dip into the west. The path rolled out ahead of him, leading them ever onwards towards Wulfstan’s hall. Towards lies and broken oaths.
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