The Empty Throne (The Warrior Chronicles, Book 8)

by Bernard Cornwell

  Finan and I waited on horseback in front of the shield wall. The men behind us, like their families, were ankle deep in floodwater. Our horses and our baggage were still in the fort. All I brought to the river bend was my hoard, the leather bags of silver and gold. Almost all I possessed and almost everyone I loved was now trapped in the noose made by the river’s loop.

  The fates were laughing at me, those three hags at the foot of the tree who decide our lives. I touched the hammer at my neck. A small mist was drifting off the soaked fields as the sun rose higher. Somewhere beyond the river a lamb bleated.

  And Eardwulf led his forces off the hill.

  Five

  Eardwulf came in the full panoply of war, armed and armoured, the snake-wreathed helmet bright-polished, his horse dressed with a scarlet saddle-cloth tasselled with gold that skimmed the remaining floodwaters. His shield showed Æthelred’s prancing horse, and I wondered how long that symbol would stay painted on the willow boards. Once he had married Ælfwynn and was confirmed as the heir to Æthelred’s lands and fortune he would doubtless find his own badge. What would that be? If I were him I would take my banner of the wolf’s head, daub it with blood, and put a cross above it to show he had beaten me. He would be Eardwulf the Conqueror, and I had a sudden vision of his rise, not just to dominate Mercia, but perhaps all Britain. Did Edward and Æthelhelm know what a viper they suckled?

  Wyrd bið ful āræd. Fate is inexorable. We are given power and we lose it. I was wounded and growing old, and my strength was slipping away, and I was seeing the new man, the new lord, and he looked formidable as his men advanced across the half-flooded fields to scatter the gulls. He had formed his warriors into a battle line, spread wide across the waterlogged meadows, over two hundred horsemen on big horses. They were all in their war gear, helmeted, carrying shields, their bright-bladed spear-points stark against the faint mist that was fading as the sun rose higher. The priests followed Eardwulf, clustering around the two standard-bearers who carried Æthelred’s prancing horse banner and a flag of Saint Oswald, which showed a one-armed skeleton holding up a bright red cross.

  ‘There’s a woman there,’ Finan said.

  ‘It must be his sister,’ I said.

  Eadith had been Æthelred’s mistress. I had been told she was as ambitious and as cunning as her brother, and doubtless she was here to enjoy his victory which would be all the sweeter for being at my expense. I was hated, and I knew it. Part of it was my fault, I am arrogant. Just as Eardwulf was about to relish his victory, so I had relished victories all my life. We live in a world where the strongest win, and the strongest must expect to be disliked. Then I am a pagan, and though Christians teach that they must love their enemies, few do.

  ‘If you had your life over again,’ I asked Finan, ‘what would you do differently?’

  He gave me a curious look. ‘That’s a strange question.’

  ‘But what would you do?’

  He shrugged. ‘Kill my younger brother,’ he growled.

  ‘In Ireland?’

  ‘Where else?’

  He never spoke of what had driven him from Ireland, but there was a bitterness to his words. ‘Why?’ I asked, but he said nothing. ‘Maybe we should go there,’ I said.

  He gave me a swift unamused smile. ‘You have a death wish now, do you?’ he asked, then looked back towards the approaching horsemen. ‘It looks as if you’ll get your wish. Will you fight them?’

  ‘It’s the only threat I have.’

  ‘Aye, but will you?’

  ‘You can’t make an empty threat,’ I said, ‘you know that.’

  He nodded. ‘True.’ He watched Eardwulf’s men, his right hand caressing the hilt of his sword. ‘And what would you do differently?’ he asked after a while.

  ‘Take better care of my children.’

  He smiled at that. ‘You have good children. And you’d better stay alive to look after them now, which means you don’t fight in the front rank.’

  ‘I will not …’ I began.

  ‘You’re not strong enough!’ he insisted. ‘You stand in the second rank and I’ll kill that whore-begotten bastard before they kill me.’

  ‘Unless I kill him first,’ my son said. I did not realise he had joined us, and I felt embarrassed for what I had just said. ‘But there’s one thing I know about Eardwulf,’ Uhtred said, ‘he never fights in the front rank.’ He loosened Raven-Beak in its scabbard, then touched the cross hanging about his neck to his lips. ‘We’ll have to hack our way through to him.’

  ‘You and me,’ Finan said.

  ‘We’ll do it too,’ Uhtred said wolfishly. He looked happy. He was outnumbered, facing death or disgrace, and looked happy.

  We watched Eardwulf, his sister, and the priests leave the road and slant across the soaking fields towards the loop of the river where we waited. Eardwulf raised a hand to stop his men a hundred paces away, but he and his companions walked their horses through the shallow floods, finally stopping just ten paces away.

  ‘Lord Uhtred,’ Eardwulf greeted me. His voice was muffled by the wide cheek-pieces of his silver helmet that almost closed over his mouth. I said nothing.

  ‘You will give …’ Father Ceolnoth began.

  ‘Quiet!’ Eardwulf snapped with a surprising authority. The priest looked at him with astonishment, but went silent.

  Eardwulf pushed the cheek-pieces away from his face. ‘We’ve come to take the boy Æthelstan and the Lady Ælfwynn back to Gleawecestre,’ he said. He spoke quietly and reasonably.

  ‘Prince Æthelstan,’ I said, ‘was placed under the Lady Æthelflaed’s care. I am taking him to her, and taking her daughter too.’

  ‘Lady Æthelflaed’s husband has decided otherwise,’ Eardwulf said.

  ‘Lady Æthelflaed has no husband.’

  He looked startled at that, but recovered swiftly enough. ‘You listen to rumour, Lord Uhtred.’

  ‘Lord Æthelred is dead,’ I said.

  ‘He lives,’ Eardwulf said harshly, but I was looking at his sister and I could see the truth of my words on her face.

  She was lovely. I was prepared to hate her, but who could hate a woman so beautiful? No wonder she had found wealth and power. I knew she was the daughter of a thegn from southern Mercia, a man of no great wealth or position, but she had become Æthelred’s lover and so she and her brother had risen in status and influence. I had expected someone harsh to match the rumours of her cunning ambition, but Eadith’s pale-skinned face was intelligent, and her green eyes were glistening with tears. She had very red hair, mostly hidden beneath a cap of ermine that matched the white cape she wore over a dress of pale green linen. ‘Shouldn’t you be dressed in mourning, lady?’ I asked her.

  She did not reply, just looked away from me to gaze eastwards where the sun was shimmering on what remained of the floods. The reflected sunlight made ripples on her face.

  ‘Lord Æthelred’s health is no concern of yours,’ Eardwulf said. ‘He wishes his daughter returned, and the boy too.’

  ‘And my wish is to take them to the Lady Æthelflaed,’ I answered.

  Eardwulf smiled. He was a handsome brute and very confident of himself. He looked past me to where my men were standing in their shield wall. ‘At this moment, Lord Uhtred,’ he said, ‘my wishes will prevail.’

  He was right, of course. ‘You want to test that?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he said, and his honesty surprised me. ‘I don’t want twenty or thirty of my men dead and as many others wounded. And I don’t want all your men dead either. I just want the boy, his sister, and the Lady Ælfwynn.’

  ‘And if I let you take them?’ I asked.

  ‘They will be safe,’ he lied.

  ‘And you just leave?’

  ‘Not quite.’ He smiled again. The twins Ceolnoth and Ceolberht were glaring at me. I could see they wanted to intervene, presumably to spit threats at me, but Eardwulf was calmly in control. His sister was still gazing eastwards, but turned suddenly and looked at me an
d I saw the sadness on her face. So she had been fond of my cousin? Or was she mourning the destruction of her power? Æthelred’s favour had made her rich and influential, but now? Only her brother’s ambitions could save her future.

  ‘Not quite,’ Eardwulf said again, forcing me to look back to him.

  ‘Not quite?’ I asked.

  Eardwulf’s horse tossed its head and he calmed it with a gloved hand on its muscled neck. ‘No one,’ he said, ‘underestimates you, Lord Uhtred. You are the greatest warrior of our time. I salute you.’ He paused, as if expecting a response, but I just stared at him. ‘If I merely leave you,’ he said, ‘then I would expect you to attempt a rescue of the boy Æthelstan. Maybe of the Lady Ælfwynn too?’ He inflected it as a question, but again I said nothing. ‘So you will yield me all your weapons and all your horses, and you will give me your son and daughter as hostages for your good conduct.’

  ‘You will be exiled too!’ Father Ceolnoth could no longer contain himself. ‘You’ve polluted Christian land too long!”

  Eardwulf held up a hand to check the priest’s spite. ‘As Father Ceolnoth says,’ he still spoke in a reasonable tone, ‘you must leave Wessex and Mercia.’

  My heart was sinking. ‘Anything else?’ I snarled.

  ‘Nothing more, lord,’ Eardwulf said.

  ‘You expect me to give you my sword?’ I asked angrily.

  ‘It will be returned to you,’ he said, ‘in time.’

  ‘You want Prince Æthelstan,’ I said, ‘the Princess Eadgyth, Lady Ælfwynn, my son and my daughter?’

  ‘And I swear on the cross that your son and daughter will not be harmed so long as you stay far from Mercia and Wessex.’

  ‘And you want our weapons and horses,’ I went on.

  ‘Which will all be returned to you,’ Eardwulf said.

  ‘In time,’ I spat.

  ‘Jesus,’ Finan said quietly.

  ‘And if I don’t give you what you wish?’ I asked.

  ‘Then your life story ends here, Lord Uhtred.’

  I pretended to consider his terms. I waited a long time. Father Ceolnoth became impatient and twice began to speak, but both times Eardwulf quietened him. He waited, sure that he knew my answer and equally sure that I was just loath to say it. Finally I nodded. ‘Then you may have what you want,’ I said.

  ‘A wise decision, Lord Uhtred,’ Eardwulf said. His sister looked at me with a frown as if I had just done something unexpected.

  ‘But to get what you want,’ I added, ‘you must take them.’ And with those words I turned my stallion and spurred towards the shield wall. Eardwulf shouted something as I went, but I did not catch the words. The shields parted and Finan, my son and I went through. The pain stabbed at me as I dismounted and I felt the pus seeping from the bloody wound. It hurt. I leaned my helmeted head against my horse, waiting for the agony to go. I must have looked as though I was praying, and so I was. Odin, Thor, help us! I even touched the silver cross in the pommel of Serpent-Breath, a keepsake from an old lover, and said a prayer to the Christian god. They all have power, all the gods, and I needed their help. I straightened and saw that Finan and my son had gone to the centre of the front rank. If they could kill Eardwulf then we might snatch victory from this disaster.

  Eardwulf was still watching us, then he said something to his sister and turned back to his men. I watched them dismount and heft their shields. I watched as boys came to take the horses and as the warriors formed a shield wall, touching the shields together, overlapping them, shuffling to make the wall tight.

  And I stood in the second rank and knew I must surrender. We would lose anyway, so why make widows and orphans? I suppose I had thought that Eardwulf might choose not to fight, or that his men would be reluctant to attack me, but I was wrong and, worse, Eardwulf knew exactly what to do. He would not bring his shield wall to oppose mine, instead he took time to change his formation, turning the wall into a swine-head, a wedge, that was aimed at my right flank. He would charge at us, driving his force at one end of our wall, and when he broke through he would surround the survivors and there would be a slaughter in the river’s loop.

  ‘We’ll turn into him as he comes,’ Finan said, tacitly taking command of my men. ‘As soon as they come we attack the side of their wedge.’

  ‘And go for Eardwulf,’ my son added. Eardwulf had stayed mounted at the back of the wedge, so if by some miracle we broke his men he could flee out of danger.

  ‘I’ve broken swine-heads before,’ Finan said, trying to give my men confidence. ‘Attack the side and they crumble!’

  ‘No,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Lord?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t kill my men,’ I told Finan. ‘Whether I fight or not, he gets his way.’

  ‘So you’ll surrender?’

  ‘What choice do I have?’ I asked bitterly. I was tempted to let Finan swing our shield wall to attack the right side of Eardwulf’s wedge. It would be a rare fight and we would kill a good number of Mercians, but sheer weight of numbers must win in the end. I had no choice. It was bitter and shameful, but I would be throwing away the lives of my men, my good and loyal men.

  ‘It seems you might have a choice,’ Finan said, and I saw he was staring past Eardwulf towards the northern hill. ‘See?’ he asked.

  There were more horsemen on the hill.

  A horn sounded. It was a melancholy call, fading away before the horn was blown a second time. Eardwulf, still on horseback, turned.

  Twenty horsemen had appeared on the far hill. It was one of them who had sounded the horn. The horsemen were clustered beneath a banner, though the lack of wind meant the banner hung limp, but as we watched I saw three more banners appear. Four standards held by four horsemen arrayed along the hill’s long crest. Each of the three new standard-bearers was accompanied by a group of armed riders, but whatever other horsemen followed the banners stayed on the far slope so we could not see them. What we could see was the grey of mail and the glint of sun reflecting from spearheads and helmets.

  Eardwulf looked towards me, then back to the hilltop. He could count. There was no rule about it, but one standard suggested a hundred men, and there were four flags behind him. The horsemen who had first appeared had ridden back now, hidden like the others on the far slope, but the standards stayed, and then the horn called a third time and four horsemen appeared at the centre of the ridge and, accompanied by just one of the standard-bearers, spurred down the slope towards us.

  ‘Who are they?’ Finan asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ I said. Eardwulf seemed similarly puzzled because he looked at me again before turning his horse and kicking it back towards the road.

  ‘Æthelhelm’s men?’ I suggested, though if Æthelhelm had sent men then why had they not stayed with Eardwulf? My suspicion was that Æthelhelm and Edward had decided to let Eardwulf untangle the mess I had caused. They did not want West Saxons fighting Mercians, it was better to let the Mercians fight each other.

  And the approaching horsemen were Mercians. The standard-bearer waved his flag as he rode and my heart sank because it showed Æthelred’s prancing horse. ‘That’s a pity,’ I said bleakly.

  But Finan was laughing. I frowned at him, then looked back as the five horsemen galloped past Eardwulf. Their horses’ hooves threw up great splashes of water, the splashes as white as the leading rider’s cloak, and then I saw why Finan was laughing.

  The rider in white was Æthelflaed.

  She had ignored Eardwulf, riding past him as if he was a nobody. She wore her mail coat, though no helmet, and she did not slow as she approached the rear of Eardwulf’s men. She rode Gast, her grey mare, and the horse’s legs, belly and chest were thick with mud to show how hard she had been ridden these last two or three days. Once past the shield wedge, Æthelflaed turned the mare in a flurry of splashing water. Her standard-bearer and three men reined in beside her. She did not look at me, nor did I move to join her.

  ‘You will go home,’ she spoke to Eardwulf’s
men. She pointed south past the fort to where his men guarded the bridge. ‘You go that way and you go now.’

  None of them moved. They stood watching her, waiting for Eardwulf, who pushed his horse forward. ‘Your husband has decided …’ he began in a harsh tone.

  ‘Her husband is dead!’ I shouted over him.

  ‘Your husband …’ Eardwulf began again.

  ‘Is dead!’ I shouted even louder, and winced as the pain seared from my lower ribs.

  Æthelflaed turned and looked at me. I could see from her face that she had not known about Æthelred’s death. Nor was I completely certain of it myself, I only had Ælfwynn’s word for it, but I suspected the girl had spoken truthfully. Æthelflaed was still frowning at me, waiting for a sign, and I nodded. ‘He’s dead, my lady,’ I said.

  Æthelflaed made the sign of the cross as she turned back to Eardwulf’s shield wall. ‘Your lord is dead,’ she said to them, ‘Lord Æthelred is dead. We mourn him and we shall have masses said for his soul, which God preserve. And your duty now is to go home. So go!’

  ‘My lady …’ Eardwulf began again.

  ‘Who rules here?’ she interrupted him savagely. ‘You or I?’

  It was a good question and one Eardwulf could not answer. To say that Æthelflaed ruled was to bow to her authority, while to claim that he ruled was to usurp the lordship of all Mercia. His slender claim to power depended on marrying Ælfwynn and on the support of the West Saxons, and both were slipping away. And Æthelflaed was sister to the King of Wessex. Attacking or defying her were both risks that could tip Edward’s support against him. Eardwulf had lost, and he knew it.

  ‘My husband prized your obedience,’ Æthelflaed spoke again to the shield wedge, ‘and he would want that obedience to continue. I will carry on his work until the Witan decides who should assume his responsibilities. Until then I look for your obedience and support.’ I noticed some men were gazing at her while others looked away, and I reckoned the latter were men sworn to Eardwulf rather than to Æthelred. Maybe a third looked uncomfortable, but the rest, like me, seemed relieved. ‘You,’ Æthelflaed looked at Eardwulf, ‘will stay in command of my household warriors and lead them back to Gleawecestre. I shall follow you. Go now, go!’