The Harrowing

by James Aitcheson

  The one thing we learned from their expedition was that we had no chance of storming the defences, even if we had the numbers. The ramparts and palisades looked in good repair. No rotten timbers that might collapse if given a solid kick. Nowhere we could place a ladder and scale the walls. And so we had to find some other way.

  It wasn’t long before an idea came along. The next day Wihtred and I were out gathering kindling when we heard voices floating through the trees. At once we dropped what we were carrying and crouched behind a fallen trunk that the passing of the seasons had hollowed out. It sounded like they were speaking in English, but we couldn’t be sure, and even if they turned out to be friendly we didn’t want to be spotted. So far we’d been careful not to give ourselves away to the folk of Stedehamm itself. The last thing we wanted was for the enemy to get wind of our presence. This wasn’t like before, when we were constantly moving from place to place. Then it didn’t matter if the enemy learned of our whereabouts, since we were always long gone before they could catch up with us. Now things were different.

  We kept low, Wihtred and I, not speaking, hardly moving as we strained our ears. The voices grew nearer. Two of them, both belonging to women. Young-sounding, I thought, although they were speaking too softly for me to make out what they were saying. Taking care not to make any sudden move that might give us away, I peered over the hollow log, trying to catch a glimpse of them.

  And there they were. Two, just as I’d thought. Neither much older than you, girl. Sisters, although I didn’t know that until later and you wouldn’t have thought it to look at them. One was fair and short and the other dark and tall, and I supposed she was the elder of the two, although from where we were it was difficult to tell. What they were talking about, I don’t know, but they were laughing. The tall one had a knife sheath belted around her waist; they both wore gloves, and under their arms they were carrying holly boughs. Until I glimpsed those winter-green leaves I’d entirely forgotten that it was nearly Yule, as I think had everyone else in Cynehelm’s band.

  A small part of me envied them. Even in those dark days, with everything that had happened and was still happening, they could still find cause for cheer. Still they went to gather holly to decorate their homes, just as they’d done every winter in good years and in bad. Still they were able to laugh.

  ‘Can you see them?’ Wihtred asked, too loudly for my liking, although anything that came out of his mouth was always too loud, in my opinion. I waved him quiet.

  They were coming closer, picking their way around fallen boughs, under bare branches, trampling the dead bracken as they went, taking care over the thick layer of leaves that littered the ground, which the recent rain had made slippery. That was when I saw that they had a dog with them: not as large as one of Malger’s two great watch hounds, but a mangy grey-white thing that stood as high as the taller girl’s knee, with a shaggy coat and an ear that had been half bitten off. Hardly had I spotted it than it must have caught scent of us; its ears pricked up and it bounded towards us, barking, barking, barking.

  I threw myself to the ground behind the trunk, and just in time too, as I heard one of the girls call out.

  I cursed silently. Cursed the noisy beast and wished I could wring its miserable neck.

  ‘Did they see you?’ Wihtred asked, and all I could think was: shut up, shut up, shut up.

  I told him to keep down and stay still. My heart was pounding as I lay there in the dirt. If we tried to move, the wretched thing was bound to hear us, but if we stayed where we were and didn’t make a noise then maybe, just maybe, the women would think it had smelt nothing more than some rodent or bird that it wanted to chase.

  The animal was growling, and barking, and growling again, and Wihtred was whispering, asking what to do.

  Nothing, I told him. We wait.

  A rustling in the undergrowth. Footsteps, light upon the soft earth. Close, maybe ten paces away, I remember thinking. And then I could hear them talking. One was asking the dog what was the matter, and what had it found, while the other, the elder one, I think, was warning her to stay close in case there was danger, and that they should leave well alone, and, besides, everyone would be expecting them back soon. And then the first was asking, what sort of danger?

  ‘Rebels,’ the elder one said. ‘Wild men. I overheard the smith talking about some near Ascebi who were hiding out in the forest. Half-men without souls, who live up trees and eat the flesh of the people they kill.’

  I know it sounds silly, but that’s what she said. We’d heard simi­lar things before, for already those were the kinds of tales that people were telling about us, and about others like us. We reckoned the Normans were responsible for starting such rumours, to discourage folk from joining or helping us.

  The younger one asked, ‘Where’s Ascebi?’

  ‘Not far away. Herestan said there had been a hall burning near Lucteburne, too.’

  That was us, I remember thinking. We had been to Ascebi, and before coming to Stedehamm we had raided around Lucteburne, although they were all becoming one in my memory. Had those raids been last week or last month? I didn’t know any more.

  ‘The wild men wouldn’t hurt us, though, would they?’ the younger one asked. ‘I thought they only attacked the invaders—’

  I was only half-listening, because at the same time I could hear sniffing, growling and the padding of paws upon wet leaves on the other side of the trunk from where we lay. Wihtred glanced at me but I had no more ideas. Another bark; this one rang in my ears and made my blood freeze. I’ve never liked dogs, ever since I was nearly killed as a child by the steward’s deerhound.

  It was a fearsome beast, the kind that would tear other dogs apart if given the chance, and word was going around that it had gone mad and that somehow it had got loose in the sheepfold. I didn’t know what was happening, except that there was bleating and there was snarling, and the sheep, those that still lived, were running in every direction, their fleeces spattered with red, and the dead ones’ necks had been savaged and their legs broken. All us youngsters rushed to watch while the men ran in with sticks and knives to try to kill it, but it was too quick for them, and too strong, and the next thing I remember was my father shouting at me from afar to run. I just stood there as it rushed at me, baring its teeth, which had strings of flesh and wool hanging from them, its muzzle slick and red-glistening. That was the first time I was ever truly afraid for my life. And the last.

  I know, I know. I’m getting there, if you’ll let me.

  I could hear the girls’ footsteps, so close now. The younger one was talking again to the dog, asking what had got him so excited. They were going to find us sooner or later, I realised, and it might as well be sooner.

  I stood up. Wihtred hissed at me, asking what I was doing. But it was too late to have second thoughts.

  The fair-haired girl was the first to see me. ‘Ymme!’ she shouted. ‘Look out!’

  I wonder what I must have looked like to them. I hadn’t bathed in weeks; all my clothes had holes in them just as you can see now, and my face and arms were a mess of scratches and bruises.

  Ymme didn’t scream. Neither of them did. She opened her mouth as if she was about to, but then froze, not knowing whether or not to run, or what she should do.

  I said, It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you.

  They could tell that I wasn’t one of the foreigners, but at the same time they must have realised from my manner of speech that I wasn’t from those parts, and so she was suspicious.

  ‘Who’s “we”?’ Ymme asked, although I could hardly hear her above all the barking.

  I glanced down at Wihtred, still crouching behind the log, looking at me as if I had lost my mind. Show yourself, I told him, or else I’ll drag you to your feet myself, and he did so grudgingly, as sullen as ever.

  ‘Two of you?’ she asked. ‘Or are there any more
of you hiding there?’

  Just two, I said. And you can call off your dog. We’re not going to hurt you.

  The animal was running back and forth, circling me like a wolf might approach its prey, growling and snarling, but not in a crazed way like the hound that almost killed me when I was young; rather it was anxious and excited, eager to please. At the sound of her voice it stopped and lay down quietly on the ground, but it didn’t take its eyes off me. It wasn’t until she called a second time that it padded reluctantly back to her side. She crouched down, placing a hand on it to keep it still, while the younger one huddled close to her.

  ‘Who are you?’ Ymme asked us. ‘What are you doing here?’

  And I told them. I started with our names and said that there were others elsewhere, a good twelve of us in all, and that we were warriors who had been with the ætheling’s army in the north and had been fleeing the king’s men ever since. I told her just what I’ve told you, about how we were carrying on the fight against the foreigners, how we had spent the past month in raids and ambushes, travelling from place to place, and that was how we came to be hiding in the woods.

  ‘Wild men,’ said the younger one under her breath, her eyes filled at the same time with apprehension and delight.

  Ymme, though, had gone pale. ‘You have to go,’ she said. ‘All of you. You can’t stay here. Whatever it is you’re planning, you’re putting us all in danger just by being here.’

  I assured her that we weren’t going anywhere.

  ‘Why here? Of all the places you could have chosen, why Stede­hamm?’

  ‘Because of Malger,’ Wihtred blurted before I could stop him. ‘We’ve come to kill him.’

  ‘To kill him?’ asked the younger one. ‘You mean it?’

  ‘No,’ her sister said quickly. ‘No, you can’t. You mustn’t.’

  Wihtred was frowning. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you can’t!’

  Listen, I said, while silently cursing Wihtred. You mustn’t tell anyone we’re here. You have to promise us that. If word gets out—’

  ‘Do you know what will happen if you kill him?’ she asked. ‘None of us will be safe, and things will only get worse afterwards.’

  I said, Worse than they are already? We’ve seen what he’s doing. He treats your folk like they’re his slaves. He deserves only death.

  ‘But don’t you see? Killing him won’t change anything. After him there’ll be another one just like him, except the next lord will be crueller than the last and will punish us all the more harshly, and so it will go on.’

  I said, I can’t just stand by and let these wrongs go unpunished. Not after everything I’ve seen. After everything we’ve fought for.

  They began backing away, with the dog following. ‘Then take your fight somewhere else. Somewhere far away. We’ve seen enough troubles here already. I beg you, don’t bring any more upon us.’

  Help us, I said.

  It was a desperate plea, I knew it was, and there was something inevitable in the way Ymme shook her head.

  ‘No. Don’t ask us to help. Just go, please.’

  At least promise you won’t tell anyone you saw us, I said.

  ‘Only if you swear that you and your friends will leave.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Wihtred shoot me a questioning glance, but he knew better than to say anything.

  And I swore. I gave my oath to her. An oath that, even then, I wasn’t sure if I could keep.

  ‘Then you have our promise too,’ Ymme replied. She turned to go, beckoning to her sister, who was staring us up and down, partly in wonder at being in our presence, I think, but also partly in dismay because of what I’d just sworn. I remember exactly what her face looked like then, the way her cheeks shone pink with the cold of the day, her fair hair all a-tangle, and I remember as our gazes met seeing in her eyes something else. Something that I hadn’t seen in a long time, and haven’t seen since.

  Hope.

  And right then, seeing the young one’s face, I saw how much she was depending on us. How much she wanted to believe that we would do what we had intended. We were the only ones who could help her and her folk. There was no one else. And, in the end, that was what swayed me.

  It’s strange, I suppose, what makes us choose certain courses over others. But as I watched those girls and their hound disappear into the woods, I was more sure than ever that what we were doing was right.

  Malger had to die.

  *

  ‘So you didn’t mean what you said?’ Mereywn asks. ‘When you swore you’d leave.’

  ‘I thought I did,’ says Beorn. ‘I was wrong.’

  The fire has begun to dwindle; small flames dance and flicker amid the embers, and their light plays across Beorn’s face, making strange shadows of the pits of his eyes and causing his yellow teeth to gleam.

  Oslac yawns noisily, deliberately. ‘When will you get to the point?’

  ‘Am I boring you?’ he asks. ‘I thought you were the one who wanted to hear it in the first place.’

  ‘I know, and I’m thinking now that I made a mistake.’

  ‘The sooner you shut up, the quicker it’ll be over.’

  Oslac scowls again but says nothing.

  *

  Late that night, after Gamal and Sebbe had come back from their scouting, we held a council of war. It had been a few hours since we’d returned from our meeting in the woods and Cynehelm’s mood had been steadily darkening. Doubts were creeping into his mind, and the longer we spent discussing what we should do the angrier he grew. He wasn’t usually one to let his frustrations show, but he was angry then, and everyone knew it as they sat waiting for him to speak.

  This threatened to ruin everything, he said. If the girl spoke—

  She won’t, I told him.

  And why not?

  Because she gave her oath that she wouldn’t, and I believe her.

  Her oath is worth nothing to me. Not when our lives are at stake. How could you be so careless as to let them find you in the first place?

  It was fate.

  It wasn’t fate, he snapped, and he told me not to be foolish. For all we know, he said, word has already reached Malger, and his men are searching for us as we speak.

  No, I answered. They’re hardly going to venture into the woods after dark, when they could easily be ambushed.

  We have to leave, he said. Before first light, before they come looking for us.

  There were footsteps then, a rustling in the bracken, and we all looked up at once, drawing our weapons as we turned to face whoever it was, expecting the worst.

  But it was only long-faced Pybba, one of those keeping watch that night. With him, though, was another figure, shorter and clad in thick wool. It was the girl from earlier. Not Ymme. The other one, the younger of the two. Pybba said he’d found her, or rather she’d managed to find him, which we all thought strange until it emerged she’d heard him pissing against a tree. She’d said she was looking for the outlaws, and since he didn’t know what else to do with her, he decided it was best to bring her straight to us.

  She looked terrified, and no wonder, seeing all of us turned towards her with bared steel in hand. I suppose she must have had some idea of what to expect after meeting Wihtred and myself, but even so we must have looked to her a rough lot, dirt-stained, bruised and travel-worn, dark under the eyes from so many sleepless nights. At last her gaze settled upon me. Seeing a face that she recognised seemed to calm her a little.

  Leofstan asked me if this was the girl we had met that afternoon, and I said yes, one of them, anyway.

  Cynehelm asked what her name was, and after a moment’s hesitation she said in a small voice, no more than a squeak, ‘Eawen.’

  She’d brought with her a knapsack, which she presented to Cynehelm. Inside were cheese and sausage wr
apped in cloth, a brace of carrots and a few handfuls of nuts.

  ‘I’m sorry there isn’t more,’ she said. ‘This was as much as I could safely take without anything being missed.’

  She broke into tears as she said this, and none of us was sure whether they were tears of sadness or gladness. Small though her gift was, it was welcome, and we put the carrots to use straight away, tossing them into the broth that was cooking. I gave her my own bowl, ladling some out for her. She took it, cupping it in her hands as if grateful for the warmth, but she didn’t eat. Maybe she was too scared to be hungry. She was probably eleven or twelve years of age, but huddled under all those layers of wool and linen, I remember thinking how small she looked, and how thin. Skin and bone and precious little else.

  I asked, Where’s your sister?

  ‘At home,’ she said, ‘asleep like everyone else. Don’t be angry with her, please. She’s only thinking of what’s best for everyone. She thinks she’s doing the right thing.’

  I said, Has she told anyone about us?

  She shook her head.

  I asked, Are you sure?

  ‘She won’t tell. She isn’t like that. She isn’t as heartless as you think. She’s just frightened, that’s all. We all are.’

  I said, Does she know you’re here?

  She shook her head. ‘No one does. I was worried that if I didn’t try to find you tonight then you’d all be gone come the dawn.’

  You risked a lot just to bring us a few provisions, said Cynehelm. If someone notices you’re gone, there’ll be questions.

  ‘That wasn’t why I came. I came because I want to help.’

  Wihtred snorted. ‘You want to help?’

  ‘In five days Malger will be celebrating Christmas in his new hall,’ she said, undeterred, and explained that was why she and Ymme had been sent to collect the holly. Malger had invited some of his Norman friends from nearby to join him for the feast, and after that he was going to rejoin the king’s army. She said to me, ‘If you’re going to do anything, you have to do it soon.’