Hakon closed the distance with the stag once again and again threw his spear. The weapon struck the stag squarely, just behind the shoulder. It kicked its hind legs and darted away from the group, spear still lodged in his side. Hakon followed, fearful that he had only wounded the animal.
Suddenly, the animal tumbled and lay still. Slowing, Hakon rode up to it and looked down at its lifeless black eyes. For a long moment he stared, his heart thumping in his chest. When he was sure it was dead, he jumped from his lathered horse and knelt in the mud beside his quarry. Hakon ran his palm gently over its fur and up to the large rack that had lodged itself in the mud. It was a fine animal.
Behind him, the sounds of the hunt had faded to an occasional yell or bark. Closing his eyes, Hakon said a silent prayer of thanks for his good fortune.
“A beautiful kill, lad.”
Hakon turned to see Athelstan looking down from his steed. Mud caked the king's clothes and face. Steam rose from his horse's sweating flanks.
“I … um … I saw this stag, and—”
The king raised his hand, though his face remained stern. “No need to explain. All turned out well.” In the distance, the huntsman blew three short notes on his horn. Athelstan grabbed the rope that hung from his saddle and tossed it to Hakon. “Come. Let's get this beast of yours up to the meadow.”
Hakon smiled broadly, relieved by the king's goodwill, and set to work tying the animal up.
It was midday before they reached the estate at Sutton with their cart. The men were exhausted and soaked through from the rain. Most had not eaten since the previous night, and slumped weakly in their saddles. But despite their weariness, their spirits ran high, for their cart was full of deer and Oswald's hall was now in sight.
Hakon's spirits also lifted, though not solely from the promise of warmth and feasting. He knew the chances were slim, but he clung to the hope that Aelfwin might be there on a visit from her new home; that by some stroke of divine intervention, she had come on a whim to surprise her parents. He squinted through the downpour as if he could ascertain Aelfwin's presence just by a keen examination of the hall.
To his dismay he detected nothing that would suggest she was within. Nevertheless, his spirits did not fade. He looked forward to surrounding himself with tokens of her: her old bed, a scratched and broken brooch, a discarded childhood toy, an old cloak, a forgotten hairpin. Anything that might conjure memories of her and their time together.
Aelfwin's mother greeted the weary hunters on the threshold. She looked the same: almond skin, yellow, catlike eyes, black hair that shimmered in the hearth-light like the silk from her distant home. Not quite beautiful, but strikingly unique. Yet another reminder of the daughter she had reared. Hakon greeted her warmly.
As the men took seats within the hall, servants passed each a cup of mulled wine, then stoked the hearth fire into a furious flame. Oswald's wife made each man strip to the waist and pull off his dripping boots, to prevent him from developing a chill or cough. Servants provided blankets and hand towels to wipe the mud from their wet, goose-pimpled skin.
Within moments, the familiar warmth of alcohol began to flow through Hakon's veins and flush his cheeks. Slowly, his fingers thawed and he regained control of his jaw. His empty stomach grumbled in response to his newfound warmth and the smells that lingered in the hall. All the while, Hakon's eyes darted left and right, searching for a sign of the girl who warmed his heart. He spotted nothing.
In short order, Oswald ushered the men to the two tables near the kitchen door, where his servants set platters full of boiled beef and plates piled high with dark bread dripping with fresh butter. Like a starving dog, Hakon gulped his food down, barely pausing for breath. When the beef was gone, the servants brought out more plates, these full of smoking trout speckled with almonds and walnuts, boiled chicken smothered in newly-gathered honey, and mounds of goat cheese. Hakon cut a piece of chicken with his eating knife and devoured it unceremoniously.
Afternoon faded into evening. The eating waned and the drinking and laughter waxed. The men were in great cheer, for the day had been a successful one. They had killed twelve deer—four stags and eight doe—a worthy take in everyone's mind. Like little children, the men relived their kills, boasting of their prowess with spear and horse. To make things more challenging and more fun, each man was made to tell his story in rhyme, so even the most glorious huntsman, should he be unable to compose a poem, could be outdone by the best poet.
When Hakon's turn came, he faltered.
“Boy has tongue-fright,” teased Byrnstan. “Never have I known a Northman to be shy of speech.”
This provoked a round of laughter from the others, dousing what little courage Hakon had mustered.
“Come,” Athelstan scolded his men with quiet authority. “Let the boy speak. He has a good tale to tell.”
The men settled down and waited. Hakon composed himself, took a deep breath, and spoke:
“One rain-soaked day went I to hunt
With Athelstan's men at Sutton.
Chided I was for lack of nerve
By Byrnstan's wit and ridicule.”
The others understood immediately, and laughed in Byrnstan's direction. The giant Saxon grumbled under his breath, but held his tongue.
“Deer we spotted in muddy field,
Breaking fast on morning dew.
The signal came and chase we gave,
Iron-armed men of Wessex.”
“Follow I did the stalwart king
O'er sucking ground and moor.
Till soon I saw a proud-horned stag
Escaping through the timber.”
“Chase I gave through biting branch
With brisk charger beneath me.
Swiftly steed ran after proud stag,
Heedless to all and any.”
“Spear I cast, but miss did I
The cunning steed of forest.
O'er proud head did spearhead bite
Great weather-seasoned trunk.”
“Take aim did I yet another
At running stag's sinewy chest.
Then grant did I for staff to fly
At hunt-wearied timber beast.”
“Through blinding trees did shaft meet flesh
And vanquished did collapse.
Away stag's life did go from him
As hunted had from hunter.”
“So speak you naught of lucky shots,
Great Athelstan's men at Sutton.
For slay did I the stalwart stag
With Athelstan's men at Sutton.”
When Hakon finished, the room erupted with laughter and the sound of fists thudding against the table boards.
“Well said, lad. Well done,” came the cheers. “Your tongue is as sharp as your spears. Well done.”
Hakon beamed in acknowledgement of their praise.
The moment passed and the men turned their attention to other topics. Around them, the room grew dark as daylight gave way to evening and then to darkness. Servants lit candles and refilled cups again and again as conversation flowed about the table. Hakon, now bleary-eyed from ale, tried his best to follow the voices, but they came from everywhere at once, making it impossible to focus on any one conversation. The faces swirled about him, and so too did the room.
Tired and sick from too much food, Hakon excused himself from the board and moved to a quiet spot on the floor beside the fire, where he wrapped himself in a dry cloak and promptly passed out.
Hakon awoke to the sound of loud voices, footfalls, and action. The pounding in his head made him reluctant to open his eyes. He rolled over under his blanket and sought the elusive oblivion of sleep. Someone shook his shoulder.
“Rise,” a voice commanded. “We are leaving.”
With a grunt of protest, Hakon rolled over and sat up. His tongue felt as if someone had cloaked it with wool. Around him, men hastily donned their cloaks and grabbed at their boots, while the lady of the hall and her servants passed out
freshly-baked bread and cakes. Hakon grabbed the nearest man, one of the king's huscarles, and inquired about the commotion.
“Constantine has broken the truce and has crossed the Scottish frontier. His army rides on Northumbria.”
Chapter 10
“Sire?” The chamberlain bowed as the king rushed through the door. “The messenger from the Scottish frontier awaits you by the hearth.”
Athelstan brushed past the bowing man and stepped into the firelit hall. His men had already crowded into the room in anticipation of the king's arrival. Those who had come from the hunt packed in with them. Hakon fought his way through the pandemonium and found a seat on the hard-packed floor near the hearth. He sat gingerly, sore from the full-speed ride from Oswald's.
King Athelstan sat on his royal Seat and held up his hand for silence. “Bring the messenger to me,” he commanded of his chamberlain as an uneasy hush fell over the men.
The chamberlain motioned to a scruffy teenage boy. The boy peered about the room with red-rimmed eyes before stepping to the center and approaching the king. Floor rushes clung to his mud-caked boots as he walked across the floor. Patches of scraped skin showed through ragged holes in the garments that hung loosely from his small frame. He bowed deeply, exposing his knotted and twig-filled hair to the king.
“Do I know you?” Athelstan asked as the boy stood.
“I … I am Godwin, the son of thane Tostig, to whom you granted land and title for his valor against Gothfrith at York seven summers ago. We met then, though I was a small boy.” Godwin smiled weakly through his weariness.
Athelstan studied the boy carefully. “I remember your father well. A good man and a brave warrior. How fares he?”
The boy jerked, as if slapped by the words. “Not well, my lord. He received a severe wound to the leg three days ago. It has begun to fester.”
Athelstan's lips pursed. “We shall pray for his recovery.” His voice was soft, almost gentle. “Tell us of the Scottish border, Godwin.”
The boy straightened when the king reminded him of his errand. “King Athelstan, I have come to report that Constantine, King of the Scots, has defeated the ealdorman of York and his small host near Corbridge. We—um, the ealdorman and his men fought bravely, but they were far outnumbered by Constantine's men. The ealdorman decided it would be better to quit the field and return to the defense of York.”
Athelstan's brows slanted downward. “Are you sure of these facts?”
“I was with my father in the field, sire. I can attest to the facts I have just delivered and to the bravery of your loyal subjects. We engaged the foe despite our weakness in numbers and quit the field only after the ealdorman deemed the situation hopeless. We fled to York to defend the town and to await your grace's instructions.”
“How many men does Constantine command?”
The boy pondered the question for a moment. “I would estimate more than one thousand. Mostly Scots, but I marked a force of Strathclydemen as well as a few Northmen.”
The boy's words conjured a wave of commotion from the gathered men.
“Were these last Dubhlinn Norse?”
“I could not tell, my lord.” He looked at his feet, then up again. “In truth, I am not certain what Dubhlinn Norse look like.”
Athelstan ignored the innocent answer and raced on. “Did Constantine follow your men back to York? Does he surround the town?”
The boy looked around desperately, as if wanting help from the crowd but not knowing who to ask. Hakon felt a sudden surge of pity for him.
“I speak to you, Godwin. Not the men. Does Constantine threaten York?”
The boy wiped his palms on the legs of his grubby trousers. “I am not sure, sire. I left before we saw his army approach the town's walls.”
Athelstan transferred his dark gaze to the faces of his assembled men. They shifted and coughed under his penetrating stare, but otherwise held their silence. “Tell the men of York that we will ride on the morrow,” he said as he turned back to the boy, “and will converge on York as soon as possible. I will bring with me a force equal to that of Constantine, if not greater. We shall wipe this scourge from existence. But the ealdorman of York and his men must hold the town, if they have not already lost it. I will offer sizeable rewards if they succeed. Are my words clear?”
“Aye, sire. They are. I shall leave at once.”
The king held up a hand. “Wait. When was the last time you slept, Godwin?”
“I . . . I slept a little here and there along the way.”
“You will stay here tonight. My servants will see to it that you are fed and given a warm bed.”
“Your offer is kind, sire, but I must return to my father and York.”
Athelstan smiled warmly at the boy. “So be it. Byrnstan. Choose four good men to escort the boy back to York. And see to it that he has a fresh steed and food for his journey.”
Athelstan removed a gold ring from his finger and tossed it to the boy. “Thank you for your service, Godwin.”
The boy studied the ring blankly before bowing deeply and leaving the hall.
“My lords, we now know what we face. Constantine's actions, and the threat to York, require swift retribution. We will need to move quickly if we plan to catch Constantine. How swiftly can we summon the fyrd?”
“Maybe a fortnight.
“A fortnight? That is unacceptable!” Athelstan's sudden explosion caught everyone by surprise, including Hakon, who froze. “We do not have seven days to gather our men, let alone fourteen. Constantine may be on the verge of conquering York and Yorkshire. We must send the summons immediately and catch that rag-picker by surprise! Every day we delay may mean the death of more good men and the fall of that vital kingdom. York must not fall.”
The king stood and grabbed a spear from the rack beside his chair, then strode to the middle of the room. His dark eyes blazed in the light of the hearth fire as he studied the faces of the nobles gathered about him. “Hear me. This is what we shall do. The southwest fyrdmen from the shires of Cornwall, Devon, Somerset, and Dorset shall converge on Bath in three days' time, taking the old Roman road.” He scraped the sharp point across the rush-covered ground, creating four lines that led to a small circle that represented the town of Bath.
“We in Hampshire and Berkshire shall also head to Bath. Since we will be a day ahead, we will wait in Bath until those of the southwest fyrd can meet us.” He scraped another two lines into the ground, which converged on the circle that was Bath.
“Those in the south and southeast, namely Sussex, Kent, and Surrey, shall meet in London in three days.” To the right of the first, he drew three lines converging on another circle, which was obviously London.
“Both forces shall meet in Nottingham in five days' time.” From the two circles he scratched two lines that converged at another circle. “As we move, we will send riders ahead to rally the fyrds of other shires, and bid them come to Nottingham.”
He then scratched a final line that ended at an X, and pounded the spear point into that. The spear stood quivering from the force of the thrust. “From there, two days later, we shall converge on York. Those that do not show at Nottingham in five days, we will leave behind. I will deal with them later.”
The hall erupted with shouts of protest: “Five days to assemble the fyrd and reach Nottingham? It cannot be done!”
“Silence!” Athelstan's face was now completely red. “It can and it will be done. I need not remind any of you how important York is to us. It must not fall to that whoreson, Constantine!” The king's dark eyes scanned the men before him. Hakon had never seen such emotion, let alone such anger, in the king, and the sight made him crouch in an involuntary effort to protect himself.
The king then called out to various thanes, who stepped forward as their names were called. The king assigned a particular shire to each. “You shall ride to your assigned shire and rouse the fyrd. Leave as soon as possible. We can spare not a moment in this campaign.” He paused.
“Remember. Five days to Nottingham. Those who fail to show will be dealt with accordingly. Are there any questions?”
“No, sire,” they answered in unison.
“Good. Now ride to the shires and gather the forces. And God's speed to you all.”
The men departed in a storm of bickering. Athelstan stood still a moment longer, composing himself, before peering through the smoke of the hearth fire at the men who remained. “For those who are left, we leave tomorrow before the sun rises. See that all is prepared for the journey.”
He searched the room and rested his gaze on Hakon. He hesitated for a moment, as if trying to decide something. “Hakon,” he said finally, “you and Louis shall ride with me.”
Hakon straightened and acknowledged the king's invitation with the same curt nod he had seen the other thanes give in recognition of their tasks. But in his chest, his heart soared.
Chapter 11
Like a giant serpent, the army of Athelstan undulated along the grass-carpeted cobblestones of the ancient Roman road, their helms and spears glinting in the morning sun, the hoofbeats of more than a thousand horses deafening.
Even after six days on the road, the size of Athelstan's force and the alacrity with which it had formed was hard for Hakon to believe. Raising an army of this size, with sufficient mounts, with its supply train and its weapons, took time. After years of peace in Engla-lond, none of Athelstan's huscarles had expected the fyrd to react so quickly. But the fyrd had proven everyone wrong. The forces of each shire, of each hundred and wapentake, met when and where they were summoned. And day by day, small knobs of warriors swelled Athelstan's army into this ranging, well-armed, serpentine column.
Hakon wiped at the beads of stinging sweat that dripped into his eyes, then shifted on his wooden saddle to ease the interminable pain in his buttocks. Beside him, Louis' flushed cheeks and grit-streaked face were the picture of misery. Hakon smiled.
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