Edwin

by Edoardo Albert

  Chapter 7

  Guthlaf led the mounted men down the old north road. The night was clear, and bright with moonlight, and the men rode with the hooves of their animals wrapped in cloth. They sounded, Edwin reflected, like a legion of women pounding wet washing upon stone. But it was a sound that died away rapidly, unlike the sharp sound of metal on stone that came when iron horseshoes struck the old cobbles of the Roman road. The night was bright enough, and the road sufficiently broad, for the journey to be straightforward.

  Edwin slowed his horse so that Osfrith could catch up with him. The prince, seeing this, heeled his horse forward and brought the beast alongside his father.

  “You were the last to leave the hall,” said Edwin. “How many men did you leave to guard the queen and the little ones?”

  “There were enough.”

  “How many?”

  “I – I did not count, but I think about twenty.”

  The king shook his head. “That is not enough. I dreamed last night of men hunting the queen and the little ones through mist and rain and marsh.” Edwin looked around, swiftly adding up and assessing the worth of the men who rode with them. “Send another ten back to guard her.”

  “But father, that leaves us but forty men,” said Osfrith. “Is that enough?”

  “Forty is an army.” Edwin smiled. “I know it is, because it says so in my law. Forty will be sufficient to finish Penda. Send the men back, Osfrith.”

  The prince looked at his father. “Maybe you should ask Guthlaf, father?”

  The king did not look at his son. “I do not need to ask my warmaster’s advice. Send the men.”

  Osfrith made to answer, then shook his head, and turning his horse he urged the beast to the back of the column. From his place near the front, Edwin could hear the quiet orders, then the receding thrum of hooves cantering back up the road towards York. Edwin was not the only man to hear the hooves. Guthlaf rode back to the king.

  “Where are those men going?”

  “Lord,” said Edwin.

  Guthlaf stared at him. “What?”

  “You did not call me lord.”

  “But – but we are on campaign. I never address you as lord on campaign.”

  “Do so,” said Edwin. “From now on.”

  Guthlaf blinked, then shook his head slightly. “Where are those men going? Lord.”

  “I sent them back to guard the queen. Osfrith left only twenty men with her.”

  “But she is in the hall, and there are other men guarding the stockade. Twenty men are more than enough.”

  “Are forty men not enough to accomplish our task?”

  “Yes, yes forty are enough.”

  “Then the ten go back to guard the queen.” Edwin leaned towards his warmaster. “Ill dreams came to me last night concerning the queen. I would see her well protected in our absence.”

  “Very well. Lord.” Guthlaf swung his horse back to the head of the column. Edwin made to call after him, then stopped. He had spoken so many words over the last few days that this chance to ride in silence was too precious to squander. Besides, he could wait to send out scouts until they were closer and the chance of Penda being forewarned had lessened.

  The king drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The night grew cold and damp and he felt it penetrating into his bones. His shoulder ached now when the weather turned to autumn and its mists and fogs lay upon the land. There would be a mist by dawn, for through the night the land was breathing out and its exhalation lay low on the marshy land to either side of the road. It was no wonder the damp penetrated into his bones as it had never done before: he was getting old. He alone of the kings gathered in York had known so many summers. Edwin tried to call to mind the dim memories he had of his father, but they had worn to shadows over the years and now he could no longer see his face. He remembered being thrown, laughing, into the air and his father, laughing also, face upturned, catching him. But now his father’s face lay in shadow and the laughter sounded like his own. Edwin did not know how old Ælla was when he died, but he did know that he had already outlived his father by many years, as he had outlived most of the kings of his youth and manhood: Æthelfrith and Rædwald, Æthelbert and Sæberht, they had all gone to their ancestors. Edwin grimaced and corrected himself: they had gone to face God and his judgement. He had little doubt what God’s judgement would be on Æthelfrith, but as for Rædwald, he did not know. The warrior king, always so decisive in battle, could never make up his mind in matters of religion, so had kept two temples, one for the old gods and one for the new. As far as Edwin could see, however, gods were, like kings, jealous and unwilling to share worship. He feared that his old protector was paying for hedging his bets. But surely even that was better than the whispering descent into the shadow world that would have been Rædwald’s fate as a man who died through accident rather than battle. The new God at least judged a man by the fullness of his life rather than by the accident of his death.

  As far as Edwin knew, only Cearl among the living kings of Britain was his elder. He grimaced again. If Cearl died of old age he would be the first king to do so since… Edwin thought back over the king lists and realized that not one of the names upon the lists that had been drilled into his boyish head had died an old man. Most died in battle, a few by accident and the rest through disease. Few had ever seen their hair turn grey, as his had. The world was silver and dark, and he was king and his sons would be kings after him, their friendship sufficiently strong to ensure the kingdom would not dissolve into civil strife.

  The king looked along the column of riders and saw the unmistakeable shape of Guthlaf ahead, in the vanguard. He urged his horse on, and the warmaster, hearing the approach through the night stillness, slowed his mount so Edwin could catch up.

  “Lord,” said Guthlaf.

  “Guthlaf.” The king glanced past the warmaster and saw the man on his far side. “Bassus,” Edwin said, surprised. “I did not expect to see you here.”

  The thegn tipped back his helmet – a simple metal dome – and made the courtesy.

  “I was in York for the obeisance of the kings. Now I make my own obeisance and follow you into battle.”

  “Do you still follow the old gods?”

  “I follow my king.”

  “In all ways?”

  Bassus paused. “In all the ways a thegn should.” His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he suddenly smiled. “Which is why I ride with you this night.”

  “I am glad to have you with us,” said Edwin. He looked to Guthlaf. “Ride with me.”

  King and warmaster spurred their horses to the front of the column.

  “We should rest,” Guthlaf said to Edwin. “Camp here, then send out scouts and attack Penda in the afternoon.”

  The king shook his head. “I am restless this night, Guthlaf. I will know no rest if we stop, and besides, it were better we come upon Penda at dawn, when his men are waking, than in the noon, when they are ready.”

  “We must at least send scouts.”

  “True. But only one, maybe two men. Impress upon them that they are not to be seen; they are to find where Penda and Cearl are camped and then return, nothing else.” Edwin snorted. “I know these young hotheads, their heads stuffed full with songs of glory. Make sure they understand what they are to do and, more importantly, what they are not to do.”

  “I will.” Guthlaf made to wheel his horse back, then stopped as Edwin stayed him. “Yes, lord?”

  “How long have I been king for?”

  Guthlaf shook his head. “I – I have not counted, lord. Many, many years.”

  “You are right. It has been seventeen years. None of my forefathers ruled for more than ten.”

  Guthlaf grinned. “None of your forefathers were High King.”

  “That is – true.” Edwin bowed his head for a moment, then looked up
to see Guthlaf still waiting upon him. “Go, send out the scouts. We ride on; this pace should bring us to Penda by dawn.”

  While the warmaster made his way back down the column, picking out two men sufficiently crafty and trustworthy that they would scout, and scout alone, Edwin rode on alone at its head. The peace, after the last few days, was a balm.

  But there was a restlessness in Edwin’s heart that would not ease. It was similar to the dryness and nerves before battle – and indeed, the morrow would bring battle – but it was not battle fear. The king had fought enough battles to know that fear. No, it was a sense that despite all he had done, despite the battles won and the kingdoms conquered, despite a renown greater than any of his forefathers had known, it was not enough. As he rode, Edwin wondered if the emperors themselves, at the height of their power when they were masters of all the world, felt not a little like this. Riches, glory, power: they were not enough.

  Edwin looked up at the innumerable stars lying in the deeps of the night. Unbidden, his hand went to his chest and there found, and took out, the cross that lay upon it. The king pressed the cross to his forehead and his lips, and placed it back upon his breast, and peace fell upon his soul.

  Chapter 8

  “Penda is camped on a hillock of dry ground. The land to the north, east and west is marshy and impassable without boats. The only approach is from the south, and there are sentries guarding the way.”

  It was the darkest watch of the night. The moon had set and the stars, cold and intense, glittered from a sky so black the promise of new light seemed surely vain. Guthlaf whispered the scouts’ report to Edwin as the column rode south.

  “He believes himself secure,” said Edwin, “but all he has done is place himself in our jaws.”

  “The scouts could not get close enough to see how many men ride with Penda. But the size of the camp suggests there cannot be more than thirty; they say twenty is more likely.”

  “What we would expect. Did they see anything else?”

  “Too dark.”

  “The dawn will show us what we need to see.”

  They rode on, muffled hoofs thudding on stone until, at last, they turned off the old road. Penda and his men had taken the tracks into the marshes and meres that spread for leagues along the Humber, making a shifting, silent landscape, as much water as land. By turning off the road, Penda had made his band harder to trace, but he had also made it easier to trap. Edwin and his men knew this land; they knew it well. Penda had unwittingly placed himself into a trap. All Edwin had to do was spring it upon him.

  The warband picked its way along the narrow paths that snaked through the marshes. Blackwater glittered with starlight. The path revealed itself more by its absence than anything else, a ribbon of absolute darkness through the star-speckled rushes and reeds that lined it. The men rode in single file, with Guthlaf leading, Edwin at the centre of the column, and his sons in the rearguard. They rode silently now and the bound hooves of the horses made barely a sound on the soft ground.

  Guthlaf looked to the east. He saw the first hint of dawn, for the darkness there was drawing back towards grey. He had already passed the first marker the scouts had left for the men following: the branch broken across the way indicated that they were now within three miles of the enemy camp. Time to dismount.

  The warmaster gently brought his horse to a stop, and one by one the column drew up behind. Then, as he dismounted, the men behind followed suit, each stepping carefully to the ground, for jumping could all too easily cause a sword hilt to rap against armour, sending warning towards the enemy. The men were experienced and well rehearsed; Guthlaf had no need to issue orders, they simply followed his lead. So now he took his horse’s bridle and led the animal on along the path, searching for the second marker, as the eastern sky slowly lightened. He saw the twisted skein of rushes just as the first hint of colour washed the horizon. The rest of the world was still a place of silver and shadow, but the colours that announced the sun’s rising were gathering beyond the curve of sky. Guthlaf ran his thumb over the bundled rushes, checking the weave; yes, it was the scout sign. One mile from the enemy camp. Time to tether the horses and assign a guard before walking on to battle.

  The orders were passed by sign and touch. The scouts had left the marker by a glade lined with alder and willow; a good place to hide the horses. Guthlaf marked the two men who were to stand guard upon the animals, then made his way swiftly down the line, checking that each man had tightened all straps and buckles, muffled their sword pommels and shields, and knew the importance of silence. The preparations complete and the warmaster happy, Edwin made his way up the line to join Guthlaf at the front of the column.

  “You know the paths, Guthlaf. Lead on.”

  The warmaster led the warband on in silence, as shadows pooled in the dark places beneath tree and sedge, leaving the flats of water and grass to slowly grow into colour. Edwin saw the breath mist before his face, and by that knew that light was reaching over the edge of the world. He sniffed the air, and through the smells of marsh and earth, rich and rotten in turn, he caught smoke, the first hint of cooking fires. They were close.

  Guthlaf stopped and gestured Edwin up alongside him. He pointed, and the king saw fire bloom through a thin screen of willow and rush. Two further smoke trails ran up, thin and long, into the sky.

  Edwin pointed ahead to the willow screen, then to Guthlaf, and then to his eye. The warmaster nodded. They knew each other and their battle tactics well enough for Edwin’s instructions to need no words. Guthlaf was to lead the men, in silence, up to the trees and lay them in cover there. Then he and Edwin would see how many men Penda had with him.

  Keeping low, Guthlaf led the warband towards the line of trees. Using hand signals, he pointed the men into hiding, then with Edwin, Osfrith and Eadfrith following he crept onwards, towards the campfires.

  Lying up behind a screen of rushes, the four men observed the slowly waking camp. Edwin counted five tents. Pairs of men sat around the three fires, poking the logs. A tent flap folded back and a man emerged, stretching out his arms, then lifted his tunic and urinated into a patch of reeds. It was too far to see if Penda was abroad this morning, but he could see the Mercian pennant, limp in the dawn calm, hanging from the largest tent. Edwin had emerged in similar fashion a thousand times or more. It was exactly as he would have expected.

  The king signed Guthlaf and his sons to pull back. It was only when they were back among the willow trees, and it was possible to speak, that he asked them, “Did you see anything wrong?”

  The princes checked with each other, then both shook their heads. Guthlaf likewise said no.

  Edwin grimaced. “It was… too normal. They are expecting us.”

  Slowly, one after another, the warmaster and the princes nodded.

  “There will be more men hidden in the tents, but we should still be able to take the field; it will be hard, though – much harder than I thought.”

  “We should bring the horses in closer,” said Guthlaf. “We may need them to hand.”

  “Yes,” said Edwin. “Bring them right up to us.”

  Guthlaf gestured a man closer, whispered briefly to him, then sent him on his way. “The horses will be here,” he said.

  “Should we still make a surprise attack?” asked Osfrith.

  “The only ones who will be surprised will be us,” said Edwin. “No, Penda will have prepared some nasty tricks for us if we come charging down upon him. Instead, we will draw him to us. Guthlaf, form the shieldwall in loose formation. We march there – you see where the land narrows, and well before it rises up to his camp – and then call him forth. There we cannot be outflanked, and it will be shieldwall against shieldwall, a battle we will win.” Edwin looked to Guthlaf, Osfrith and Eadfrith in turn. “Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “Very well. Form up the men, Guthlaf. Osfrith
, you make the challenge. Eadfrith, take the left, Osfrith with me in the centre, Guthlaf on the right. Ready?”

  The answers were grim-faced nods and the lowering of helmets upon heads. The men were experienced and well trained. A few words from Guthlaf was enough to bring them from the tree cover, out upon the level muddy ground beyond and into a loose shieldwall. The warmaster swiftly dressed the line, checking swords and shield placement, while Edwin at its centre concentrated upon the enemy camp. Even now, with a shieldwall forming up in plain sight in the dawn light – the sun was not yet risen but colour had returned to the world to herald his arrival – Penda’s camp remained calm. It should have been boiling with activity: men tumbling from the tents and scrambling into armour, while orders were shouted and fires put out. But instead it remained exactly as he had seen it: three fires burning and men calmly warming themselves.

  The more he saw, the less Edwin liked what he was seeing.

  But he could not turn back now. Even with men as well trained and loyal as his, the word would get out: the High King ran without even taking the field. Even the most loyal man might seek a new hall and a new lord if such rumours spread, and every king in the land would start calculating new odds on defying him. No, he had to offer battle, but at least with the horses brought up close, they could retreat swiftly if battle turned sour.

  Edwin turned round to check. Still no sign of the horses, but they should be arriving at any moment, and he could not afford to wait any longer. He looked to Guthlaf, who was awaiting his sign, and nodded.

  “Forward!” shouted the warmaster.

  The shieldwall began to advance.

  It was only when it was moving that Edwin realized he had forgotten to ask God’s blessing. He almost ordered a stop, but Penda’s camp, up to now so still, suddenly boiled into frantic activity, with men spilling out of tents and struggling into armour. Mayhap his fears had been misplaced; in which case this was no time to stop, but rather time to attack.