‘But these five were close to him,’ I stated flatly, and Merewalh gave a reluctant nod. ‘And Eardwulf,’ I said, ‘is probably with Sigtryggr.’
‘Sigtryggr, lord?’
‘The man who has just brought five or six hundred Norsemen to Brunanburh.’
‘Eardwulf is with …’ he began, then turned and stared down Ceaster’s main street as if expecting to see Norsemen suddenly invading the town.
‘Eardwulf is probably with Sigtryggr,’ I repeated, ‘and Eardwulf is a traitor and an outlaw. And he’s probably coming here right now. But he’s not coming alone.’
‘Dear God,’ Merewalh said, and made the sign of the cross.
‘Say thank you to your god,’ I said. Because the killing was about to start, and we had arrived in time.
Eleven
Sigtryggr came at noon.
We knew he was coming.
We knew where he would attack.
We were outnumbered, but we had the high stone walls of Ceaster and they were worth a thousand men. Sigtryggr knew that too and, like all the Northmen, he had no patience for a siege. He had no time to make ladders, no tools to dig beneath our ramparts, he had only the courage of his men and the knowledge that he had tricked us.
Except we knew what the trick was.
Welcome to Ceaster.
The sun had risen, but it was dark in the Great Hall, the gaunt Roman building at Ceaster’s centre. A fire smouldered in the central hearth, the smoke curling under the roof before finding the hole hacked through the tiles. Men slept at the hall’s edges, their snores loud in the vast space. There were tables and benches, and some men slept on the tables. Two maidservants were placing oatcakes on the stones of the hearth, while a third was bringing timber to revive the fire.
There were huge stacks of timber outside the hall. It was not firewood, but trunks of oak and elm that had been rudely trimmed. I had stopped to look at them. ‘That’s the palisade for Brunanburh?’ I asked Merewalh.
He nodded. ‘There’s no large timber left on Wirhealum,’ he explained, ‘so we had to cut it here.’
‘You’ll take it by cart?’
‘Probably by ship,’ he said. The timbers were vast, each as thick as a big man’s waist and each about twice the height of a man. A trench would be dug along the summit of Brunanburh’s earthen mound and the trunks would be sunk upside down so that the tops of the trunks would be in the earth. Timber lasted longer that way. Smaller timbers would be used to make the fighting platforms and the steps. Merewalh looked gloomily at the huge piles. ‘She wants it all finished by advent.’
‘You’ll be busy!’
Men were stirring as we entered the hall. The sky was lightening, the cocks crowing, it was time to meet the day. Osferth arrived a few minutes later, yawning and scratching, and stopped to stare at me. ‘Lord!’
‘You came here safely.’
‘I did, lord.’
‘And my daughter?’
‘All safe, lord.’ He looked me up and down. ‘You’re not flinching!’
‘The pain has gone.’
‘Praise be to God,’ he said, then embraced me. ‘Finan! Sihtric! Uhtred!’ There was no hiding his pleasure at being back with his own war-band, then he saw Eadith and his eyes widened, and he looked to me for an explanation.
‘The Lady Eadith,’ I said, ‘is to be treated with honour.’
‘Of course, lord.’ He bridled at the suggestion he would treat any woman discourteously, then Finan winked at him and he looked back to her, then to me. ‘Of course, lord,’ he said again, but stiffly this time.
‘And Æthelstan?’ I asked.
‘Oh, he’s here, lord.’
The fire blazed anew and I took my men to a shadowed corner of the hall and hid there while Merewalh summoned the five Saxons who had arrived the previous day. They came smiling. The hall was crowded by then as other men woke and came to find food and ale. Most arrived without weapons or shields, though the five men all had swords at their waists. ‘Sit!’ Merewalh told them, gesturing at a table. ‘There’s ale, and the food won’t be long.’
‘They’re my brother’s men,’ Eadith whispered to me.
‘You just killed them by saying that,’ I whispered back.
She hesitated. ‘I know.’
‘Their names?’
She told me, and I watched them. They were nervous, though all but one of the five were trying to hide it. The youngest, scarcely more than a boy, looked terrified. The others were speaking too loudly and teasing each other, and one slapped the rump of the girl who brought them ale, but despite the pretended carelessness I could see their eyes were watchful. The oldest, a man called Hanulf Eralson, looked all around the hall and stared into the dark corner where we were half hidden by shadows and tables. He probably thought we were still sleeping. ‘Are you expecting a fight today, Merewalh?’ he called.
‘It must come soon.’
‘Pray God it does,’ Hanulf said heartily, ‘because they’ll never get past these walls.’
‘Lord Uhtred did,’ Merewalh pointed out.
‘Lord Uhtred always had the luck of the devil,’ Hanulf said sourly, ‘and the devil looks after his own. You have news of him?’
‘Of the devil?’
‘Of Uhtred,’ Hanulf said.
I had told Merewalh what to say if that question was asked. He crossed himself. ‘Men tell us the Lord Uhtred is dying.’
‘One pagan less,’ Hanulf said dismissively, then paused as bread and cheese were put on his table. Hanulf fondled the girl who brought the cheese and said something to make the girl blush and pull away. His men laughed, though the youngster just looked even more scared.
‘The devil looks after his own, eh?’ Finan murmured.
‘Let’s see if he looks after those five,’ I said, then turned as Æthelstan entered the hall followed by three other boys and two girls, none older than eleven or twelve. They were laughing and chasing each other, then Æthelstan saw two hounds by the hearth and dropped beside them, stroking their long backs and grey muzzles. The other children copied him, and it was interesting, I thought, that he was the indisputable leader of the small gang. He had that gift, and I did not doubt it would follow him into manhood. I watched as he stole two oatcakes from the hearth stones and split them between himself, the dogs, and the two girls.
‘So we can help you on the walls today?’ Hanulf asked Merewalh.
‘We would expect nothing less of you,’ Merewalh said.
‘Where will they attack?’
‘I wish we knew.’
‘Probably a gate?’ Hanulf suggested.
‘I would think so.’
Men were listening to the conversation. Most of Merewalh’s men knew I was in the hall and those men had been told to keep my presence secret. Most were also convinced that Hanulf simply wanted to help defend the walls. So far as they knew he and his companions were simply five Mercians who had fortuitously arrived to help defend the burh.
‘What about the land gate?’ Hanulf asked.
‘The land gate?’
‘The one we used yesterday.’
‘Oh, the North Gate!’
‘We’ll fight there,’ Hanulf offered, ‘with your permission?’
Thus I learned that Sigtryggr was not coming by sea. I had not expected it. He would have been forced to row his fleet out of the Mærse, turn south, and row up the Dee, and it would have taken him all day, bringing him at last to the South Gate. Instead he was coming overland, and the closest gate to Brunanburh would be the North Gate, the same one by which we had just entered.
‘Can I fight at the North Gate?’ Æthelstan asked Merewalh.
‘You, lord Prince,’ Merewalh said sternly, ‘will stay a long way from any fighting!’
‘Let the boy come with us!’ Hanulf suggested cheerfully.
‘You will stay in the church,’ Merewalh ordered Æthelstan, ‘and pray for our success.’
The hall was becoming lighter as the sun cl
imbed. ‘It’s time,’ I told Finan. ‘Take the bastards.’
I had drawn Serpent-Breath, but I still did not fully trust my strength, and so I let Finan and my son lead a dozen men towards the table. I followed with Eadith.
Hanulf sensed our approach. He could hardly not sense it because every man in the hall was suddenly still, and their voices hushed. He twisted on the bench, saw the approaching swords, and saw Eadith too. He gaped at her, astonished, then tried to stand, but the bench half trapped him as he wrenched the sword from his scabbard.
‘Do you really want to fight us?’ I asked. A score of Merewalh’s men had also drawn swords. Most of those men were still not sure what was happening, but they took their lead from Finan and that meant Hanulf was surrounded. Æthelstan had stood and was staring at me in surprise.
Hanulf kicked over the bench and looked to the door. There was no escape there. I thought for a heartbeat that he intended to attack us, to die in a sudden welter of one-sided battle, but instead he let the sword drop. It clattered on the floor. He said nothing.
‘All of you, drop your swords,’ I ordered. ‘And you,’ I pointed to Æthelstan, ‘come here.’
And then it was just the business of questioning them and their answers came easily. Did they hope to live if they told the truth? They confessed they were Eardwulf’s men, that they had fled Gleawecestre with him and sailed westwards in Godspellere until they encountered Sigtryggr’s fleet. Now they had come to Ceaster to open the North Gate to Sigtryggr’s men. ‘And that will be today?’ I asked.
‘Yes, lord.’
‘What signal does he give you?’
‘Signal, lord?’
‘To tell you to open the gate.’
‘He’ll lower his standard, lord.’
‘And then you would kill whatever men were in your way?’ I asked. ‘And open the gate to our enemies?’
Hanulf had nothing to say to that, but the youngest, the boy, blurted out a plea. ‘Lord!’ he began.
‘Silence!’ I snarled.
‘My son didn’t …’ another of the men began, then fell quiet when I glared at him. The boy was crying now. He could not have been much over fourteen, perhaps fifteen, and he knew what grisly fate now awaited him, but I was in no mood to hear pleas for mercy. The five men deserved none. If Hanulf had succeeded, then Sigtryggr would be inside Ceaster and almost all my men and all Merewalh’s men would be slaughtered. ‘Prince Æthelstan!’ I called. ‘Come here!’
Æthelstan hurried across the hall to stand beside me. ‘Lord?’
‘These men were among those sent to capture you at Alencestre, lord Prince,’ I told him, ‘and now they’ve come to give Ceaster to our enemies. You will decide their punishment. Osferth? Bring your nephew a chair.’ Osferth found a chair. ‘Not that one,’ I said and pointed to the largest chair in the hall, presumably the one that Æthelflaed used when she came to the burh. It had armrests and a high back, and was the chair that most resembled a throne, and I made Æthelstan sit on it. ‘One day,’ I told him, ‘you might be king of this realm and you must practise kingship just as you practise sword-skill. So now you will dispense justice.’
He looked at me. He was just a boy. ‘Justice,’ he said nervously.
‘Justice,’ I said, staring at the five men. ‘You award gold or silver for a deed well done, and you decree punishment for a crime. So dispense justice now.’ The boy frowned at me, as if to determine whether I was serious. ‘They’re waiting,’ I said harshly, ‘we’re all waiting!’
Æthelstan looked at the five men. He drew his breath. ‘You’re Christians?’ he finally asked.
‘Louder,’ I said.
‘You’re Christians?’ His voice had not yet broken.
Hanulf looked at me as if appealing to me to spare him this silliness. ‘Talk to the prince,’ I told him.
‘We’re Christians,’ he said defiantly.
‘Yet you would have allowed the pagans to capture this place?’ Æthelstan asked.
‘We were obeying our lord,’ Hanulf said.
‘Your lord is an outlaw,’ Æthelstan said, and Hanulf had nothing to say.
‘Your judgement, lord Prince,’ I demanded.
Æthelstan licked his lips nervously. ‘They must die,’ he said.
‘Louder!’
‘They must die!’
‘Louder still,’ I said, ‘and talk to them, not to me. Look them in the eye and tell them your judgement.’
The boy’s hands were gripping the armrests now, his knuckles white. ‘You must die,’ he said to the five men, ‘because you would have betrayed your country and your god.’
‘We …’ Hanulf began.
‘Quiet!’ I snarled at him, then looked to Æthelstan. ‘Quickly or slowly, lord Prince, and by what method?’
‘Method?’
‘We can hang them quickly, lord Prince,’ I explained, ‘or hang them slowly. Or we can give them the blade.’
The boy bit his lip, then turned back to the five. ‘You will die by the blade,’ he said firmly.
The four oldest men tried to snatch up their swords, but they were far too slow. All five were seized and dragged outside to the grey early light where Merewalh’s men stripped them of their mail and their clothes, leaving them in nothing but dirty shirts that hung to their knees. ‘Give us a priest,’ Hanulf pleaded. ‘At least a priest?’
Merewalh’s priest, a man called Wissian, prayed with them. ‘Not too long, father,’ I warned him, ‘we have work to do!’
Æthelstan watched the men, who had all been forced to their knees. ‘I made the right choice, lord?’ he asked me.
‘When you begin training with a sword,’ I asked him, ‘what do you learn first?’
‘To block.’
‘To block,’ I agreed, ‘and what else?’
‘To block, to swing and to lunge.’
‘You begin with those easy things,’ I said, ‘and it’s the same with justice. That decision was an easy one, which is why I let you make it.’
He frowned up at me. ‘It’s easy? To take a man’s life? To take five men’s lives?’
‘They’re traitors and outlaws. They were going to die whatever you decided.’ I watched the priest touch the men’s foreheads. ‘Father Wissian!’ I shouted. ‘The devil doesn’t want to be kept waiting while you waste time, hurry!’
‘You always say,’ Æthelstan spoke softly, ‘that one should be kept alive.’
‘I do?’
‘You do, lord,’ he said, then strode confidently to the kneeling men and pointed to the youngest. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Cengar, lord,’ the boy said.
‘Come,’ Æthelstan said, and when Cengar hesitated he tugged on his shoulder. ‘I said come.’ He brought Cengar to me. ‘Kneel,’ he commanded. ‘May I borrow your sword, Lord Uhtred?’
I gave him Serpent-Breath and watched as he clasped his small hands around the hilt. ‘Swear loyalty to me,’ he instructed Cengar.
‘You’re a mushroom-brained idiot, lord Prince,’ I said.
‘Swear,’ Æthelstan told Cengar, and Cengar clasped his hands around Æthelstan’s hands and swore loyalty. He stared up at Æthelstan as he said the words and I saw the tears running down his face.
‘You have the brains of a stunted toad,’ I told Æthelstan.
‘Finan!’ Æthelstan called, ignoring me.
‘Lord Prince?’
‘Give Cengar his clothes and weapons.’
Finan looked at me. I shrugged. ‘Do as the sparrow-brained idiot tells you.’
We killed the remaining four. It was quick enough. I made Æthelstan watch. I was tempted to let him kill Hanulf himself, but I was in haste and did not want to spend time watching a boy try to hack a man to death, and so my son killed Hanulf, spattering the Roman street with yet more blood. Æthelstan looked pale as he watched the slaughter, while Cengar still wept, perhaps because he had been forced to watch his father die. I took the boy aside. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘if you break that o
ath to the prince I will break you. I will let weasels gnaw your balls, I’ll cut your prick off slice by slice, I’ll blind you, I’ll tear your tongue out, I’ll peel the skin from your back, and I’ll break your ankles and your wrists. And after that I’ll let you live. Do you understand me, boy?’
He nodded, too scared to speak.
‘Then stop snivelling,’ I said, ‘and get busy, we have work to do.’
Then we became busy.
I did not see my own father die, though I was close by when it happened. I had been about Æthelstan’s age when the Danes invaded Northumbria and captured Eoferwic, the chief city of that country. My father took his men to join the army that attempted to recapture the city, and it had looked simple because the Danes had allowed a whole stretch of Eoferwic’s palisade to collapse, offering a path into the streets and alleys beyond. I still remember how we mocked the Danes for being so careless and stupid.
I watched our army form three wedges. Father Beocca, who had been told to look after me and keep me from trouble, said the wedge was really called a porcinum capet, or a swine-head, and for some strange reason I have never forgotten those Latin words. Beocca had been excited, certain he was about to witness a Christian victory over pagan invaders. I shared his excitement and I remember seeing the banners raised and hearing the cheers as our Northumbrian army swarmed over the low earthen mound, clambered across the wreckage of the palisade, and charged into the city.
Where they died.
The Danes had been neither careless nor stupid. They had wanted our men to enter the city because, once inside, they found the Danes had built a new wall to cordon off a killing ground, and so our army had been trapped, and Eoferwic was renamed Jorvik, and the Danes became lords of Northumbria, all except for the fortress of Bebbanburg, which was too strong even for an army of spear-Danes.
And in Ceaster, thanks to Æthelflaed, we had dozens of heavy tree trunks, all ready to be carried to Brunanburh to make the palisade.
So we used them to make a wall.
When a man enters through Ceaster’s North Gate he finds himself on a long street that runs straight southwards. There are buildings either side, Roman buildings made of stone or brick. On the right side of the street is one long building which I have always supposed to be a barracks. It had windows, but only one door, and it was easy to block those openings. On the left side were houses with alleys between, and we stopped up the alleys with tree trunks and nailed up the doors and windows of the houses. The alleys were narrow, so the trunks were laid lengthwise in them, making a fighting platform some five feet above the street, while the long street itself was blocked by more trunks, a great heap of heavy timber. Sigtryggr’s men could enter the city, but would find themselves in a street that led nowhere, a street blocked by vast timbers, a street made into a trap fashioned from wood and stone and made deadly by fire and by steel.
The Empty Throne (The Warrior Chronicles, Book 8) Page 27