Fire & Steel

by C. R. May

  Eofer snorted. “Fight a war against my own gods? My ancestors await me in Valhall. A simple fight is one thing, a religious war quite another. I will not jeopardise that long-awaited reunion for silver.”

  “You misunderstand this war, my friend,” Cerdic replied. “Which God a man turns to for succour is the least part of it. Many of the men who fight for our cause still follow the old gods of Albion, they have always held sway among the country folk.” He fingered the cross at his neck as he spoke. “God understands and loves them still. In time they flock to his light like moths to the flame of truth, and he will rejoice in it. God has sent me a vision, Eofer, a vision of the future. Nathan and his followers want to return the land to a mystical past, a land of druids and magic, but those days can never return. A spark has been lit today, the first kindling of a flame which will sweep the land of Britannia. These fields around you now are the crucible from which armies will go forth to unite the various civitates and chiefdoms, it will be one kingdom under one God, indivisible and strong.” Eofer watched as Cerdic's eyes shone with the fervour of his vision. “The process has already begun. Our cousins the Atrebates to the north have added their spears to ours. Beyond them their friends the Saxons of the Gewisse control the River Thamesis and the lands thereabouts.” He turned his charismatic smile on Eofer and the Englishman felt the power of the moment. “Wouldn't you like to play a part in the birth of a great nation, Eofer, to help inscribe the very first capitulum of its story? Think on it,” he urged. “If your people who have settled the old lands of the Iceni joined with the Gewisse, this nation would already stretch from the shores of the German Sea to the Soluente.”

  Eofer snorted. “You forget that I am a lowly thegn, the leader of a war-band. My king still lives in our homeland across the German Sea, the new settlements are just that, lands which owe my king allegiance. I have no power there.”

  Cerdic chuckled. “I think that you underestimate your influence, all men of worth have heard the tale of Eofer king's bane. Tell your prince of my plans here and remember,” he said, “there is always a place for you among us.” The Briton laid a hand on Eofer’s sleeve and fixed him with his gaze. “I offer you good land and honour, king’s bane. Dark soil in which to sink your roots. Settle your family here among us and I will make you one of my most powerful lords.”

  Horns sang in the near distance and the pair looked up to see that the horsemen from Sorbiodunum had gained the ridge. They were only a mile or so away, hurrying on beneath their long-tailed banners of scarlet and gold. As Cerdic put spur to his horse and galloped forward to meet them Hemming caught Eofer's eye and he saw the excitement written there. Both men knew that the Briton was offering them all that they craved in life. Eofer allowed his eyes to run across the wide vale before them, and he breathed in the scent of the wildflowers which lay scattered about as his mind began to construct his new hall. He would journey home for the harvest and make his plans. Come the spring he would be a lord of the Belgae.

  The returning sun was little more than a blush on the distant trees as the English riders rode out from the shadow of the great fortress. Thundering beneath the gatehouse, they slanted across the scarp and turned the heads of their mounts to the North.

  Deadbeat after two days at sea followed by a night march and battle, Cerdic's Britons and Eofer's English alike had stayed at the celebrations which marked the return of the exiles no longer than good manners required. Shown to a guest hall nearby they had quickly settled down, and soon the space had echoed to the sound of sleeping men.

  Eofer had delighted the Briton by accepting his offer of lordship, promising to return in the spring to swear his allegiance. To his surprise, Cerdic had laughed when Eofer had asked him for the best route to take, now that their ships were gone and they were about to traverse an unfamiliar country. The Briton had explained that Sorbiodunum lay at the southern end of the age-old road known as the Iceni Hill Way, which wove its way to the North-East and ended at the new English settlement of Theodford itself, his destination. The route which the English knew as the Great South Road could not have been more fortuitous, and the eorle wondered that the hand of Woden lay on this gods luck.

  Cerdic had supplied the Engle with fresh mounts and remounts for their homeward journey as compensation for the loss of their ships, and the common folk stopped their work and watched in awe as hundreds of horses swept past the dew covered fields.

  Clear of Sorbiodunum the road climbed steadily until it broke free of the woodlands, out on to a wide grassy plain. Dwynwyn, Octa's saviour, had kept to her word, and the duguth was already out of his splint and moving freely once the mash of herbs and seeds which the girl had concocted had dulled his pain. The Englishmen had found the girl's name almost unpronounceable and after gales of laughter had greeted every 'did you see us win, Dwynwyn?' and 'did you really give back a gold ring Dwynwyn?' it had quickly become obvious to Eofer that if she was to remain with his troop she would need to change her name, quickly. She, in her turn, had disliked the sound of the English names suggested by the men but finally they had settled upon the English name of the bird whose feathers she wore so proudly in her hair, Spearhafoc, the Sparrowhawk.

  They had only spoken briefly the night before, but Eofer recalled that she had promised him that he would be passing through a landscape unlike any other the following day. He still knew little about the latest member of his hearth troop and, intrigued, passed word back through the column that she ride forward to join him at its head. She came up as the sun finally broke through to bathe the downland in its golden light, and Eofer ran his eyes across a vista of hills which rolled away to east and west. The Afen, the river which they had followed from the coast, ran nearby within its deeply incised valley, and Eofer idly wondered how long it would take the water which burbled across the rocks there to pass the site of the battle of the previous day and the burnt out hulks of his ships at its mouth. A carpet of hair grass stretched up to a stand of juniper, crowning a knoll like a young lad's unruly mop. Tall stalks of meadow brome, the sunlight playing from the purple ears as they swayed gently in the breeze, reminded him of the sea which he loved so much, and he felt a pang of regret as he was reminded of Sæward and the lads. Had they saved themselves? It would be some time until he found out for sure.

  A polite cough brought his mind back from its meanderings and he saw that Spearhafoc was at his side. He was pleased to see that she rode well and, in her muted clothing of greens and browns, polished bow stave and full quiver, she certainly looked the part of a woodsman. He turned to her and smiled. “This is a beautiful place, is this the landscape you promised me?”

  Her mouth turned up into a knowing smile and her face lit up in expectation. “No,” she replied, “trust me, you will remember this day for the rest of your life, lord.”

  “Well,” he said as the horses walked on, “perhaps you can tell me a little about yourself while I await this great thing? You can begin by telling me how you learned to speak our tongue so well.”

  “In a way,” she began, “it's the reason why I am here with you now. The men who were waiting for me at the tree line after the battle were my father and brother. They were the only ones who meant anything to me there, the only ones I was desperate to save. But I didn't want to return with them.”

  Eofer took a swig from his water skin and handed it across. The day was warming up nicely and promised to become hot. Talking was thirsty work. She took a sip and smiled her thanks as she handed it back and explained.

  “My family live within the great forest which you passed. We hunt there and trade the skins and meat in the towns and villages near the coast for fish, milk, cheese, bread,” she rattled off, “the usual stuff. When Nathan took over, he settled Jutes from Cent near the coast and across the water on Ictis. You might know it as Vectis,” she added as an afterthought. “Saxons have all but taken over the lands of the Regni, our neighbours to the East,” she explained, “and Aelle's son, Cissa, was forever raiding t
he borderlands. The Jutes hate the Saxons and they were settled there to keep them at bay.”

  Eofer chuckled. “The Jutes hate everyone, especially the English.”

  She widened her eyes in surprise and he explained. “The Jutish homeland lies to the north of my own, across the German Sea in Engeln. We have had many dealings with them over the years,” he said with a wolfish smile. “They are our favourite prey.”

  A butterfly, its golden brown wings flicking erratically, settled on the ear of his horse and the beast flicked its head in irritation until it fluttered way. They shared a chuckle at the sight before she continued with her story.

  “My father was keen to make friends among the Jutes, they bought a lot of our meat and pelts and he described them as the future. One of them took a shine to me and my father promised me to him when I reached my fourteenth year. Until then I had to learn their words so that I could take my place among them when the time came.”

  “And when was that?”

  “At the end of summer, lord, after the harvest.”

  “So you ran away to join the barbarians.”

  She grimaced. “I never saw myself as what you call a wyf, sitting at a loom and sweeping out the hut every day. My own mother is a healer, respected for her craft. I learned hunting from my father and the secrets of healing men and animals from my mother. They are rare gifts for a girl born in the backwoods and I wanted to be able to use them, so when I saw the chance I ran away with you, lord.”

  He nodded, thoughtfully. Woden, the Allfather, was the god of healing and he roared through the sky at the head of the wild hunt every Jule eve. If the Allfather had sent this girl to aid him it could prove to be a powerful gift.

  “I have seen your skill at leechcræft,” he said, nodding towards the bow which bounced at the horse's flank, “but I have yet to see you loose an arrow.”

  She shot him a look and unhooked the stave from the saddle horn without a word. Bracing it against her hip she forced the bow into shape and hooked the bowstring to the nocks. Scanning the grassland to the East she nocked an arrow and sighted high. A soft grunt escaped her lips as the arrow was released and Eofer watched in bemusement as the shaft sailed into the empty sky.

  “You can hit the sky!” he exclaimed sarcastically, “very impressive.”

  Spearhafoc was already fitting another shaft to the string as Eofer glanced across his shoulder at the men following on. To a man they were raising their heads to follow the flight of the missile and the thegn hoped that the girl was not about to make a fool of herself. Looking back he saw that the shaft had reached the top of its arc as the head tipped down towards the earth. The arrow plummeted vertically into a thicker growth of sedge and immediately the air was filled with movement as a covey of quail exploded from cover. A shaft sped from Spearhafoc's bow and then another as the birds wheeled and climbed in all directions and Eofer watched as the first took a hen bird, its brown and tan plumage perfectly matched to its surroundings, full in the chest. As the body of the bird was punched back by the force of the blow, the second arrow plucked another from the air and sent it spinning away into the undergrowth. The quail had scattered now and Eofer watched as Spearhafoc nocked a final arrow, quartering the sky for what must be her final victim. One terror-stricken bird, its plumage a burnt orange as it caught the rays of the sun, had flown directly towards the men and Eofer watched in admiration as the girl hooked her foot into the bridle and leaned back until she was almost horizontal to the saddle. A sighting glance along her chest confirmed her aim and the arrow was away. The men of the column held their breath as the shaft and its target converged until, with a dip of its wing, the quail flashed past the arrow and made its escape.

  At his side the girl spat a curse as the bird lost height and sheared off into a gully, and Eofer for the first time realised that the column had come to a halt as they watched her bowmanship. The spell broken, the men whooped and bawled their delight and Eofer turned to the girl and added his own praise at her efforts.

  “That was fine shooting,” he laughed. “Was that the thing of wonder which you promised to show me this day?”

  Spearhafoc was the centre of attention for perhaps the first time in her life, and she flushed with pride as she pointed to the road ahead.

  “No lord,” she giggled self-consciously. “That awaits you just beyond that rise.”

  FIVE

  Crossing the stone bridge, Eofer had split the party into two and hobbled the horses. He would lead the first of the men forward along what was clearly a sacred way which curved towards the great megalith, dominating the skyline to the West. Despite the sanctity of the site and the eagerness of the men to visit its heart, he had been forced to post guards on their mounts. Ahead, in the near distance, the road ran below another of the hill forts which the old people had spread liberally across their land, and although Cerdic had assured them that the walls were held by men loyal to the house of Uther, it paid to take precautions. Hundreds of war horses would be enough to tempt any man, but the sight of three score English spears formed up in battle array should be enough to dissuade all but the most determined attackers he had reasoned.

  The processional route ran from the place where the Afen took a great bow to the West, following the contours of the land as it arced uphill to the great monument. It was a plain which had clearly been one of the main centres of gods worship ever since men had walked the soil of Middle-earth. Scores of barrows littered the landscape, singly and in groups, testament to the age-old connection here between men and their gods.

  Hemming walked at his side as Spearhafoc led them on, the young girl clearly fighting against the urge to move ahead faster as they travelled between the standing stones which marked the path.

  Spearhafoc spoke, and the pride which she felt for the landscape shone through her words. “Have you anything to compare in your homeland, lord? My ancestors built everything that you see here with their bare hands.”

  Eofer glanced at her and shook his head. “You are mistaken. Woden placed these stones here. He used spells and the great strength of his son Thunor to shape and move them into place at the beginning of time.”

  The Briton looked doubtful but decided that her desire to remain within the group far outweighed any feelings of pride. There was a Jutish loom waiting for her in the South, and she decided to discover more about the beliefs of the big northerners and see how closely they tied in to those of her own people.

  “Did Woden create everything, lord?”

  “No, he was the son of a god and a giant.”

  “So what came before?”

  He looked down and, recognising that the Briton seemed to be genuinely interested in the ways of his people, decided to describe how the world had begun. The sun was hot now and a light breeze pushed downy clouds away to the North-East as he loosened his shirt and instinctively fingered his hammer pendant. A warrior life had led him to be as fatalistic as any man but it paid to ward off malevolent spirits, especially in such a place as this.

  “At the beginning there was a great void, a place of silence and darkness. To the South lay the realm of fire and to the North, a world of ice. Where the cold air met the warm, the icy mist was warmed and droplets of water appeared. From these the giant, Tuisto, was born. His son, Mannus coupled with a giantess who bore him Woden. Woden killed Tuisto and created the Earth from his body.”

  She pulled a wry smile. “You are not much of a story teller, lord, but I get the idea.”

  Eofer exchanged a look with Hemming and the men laughed.

  “No,” he admitted, “storytelling has never been one of my great strengths!” He enjoyed her company, and Eofer flashed her a smile as he finally resolved the question which he had turned over in his mind over the course of the last day. “As I have decided to admit you to my hearth troop, I will introduce you to a guda, one of our priests, when we reach Theodford. He can guide you in our ways.”

  Spearhafoc's face lit up at the revelation, and she u
ttered her thanks as a life spent teasing wool and stirring great cauldrons of pottage receded into the shadows. The sacred way turned sharply south and conversation trailed away as Eofer saw that the monolith was near. Seen up close the great stones glowered over the surrounding countryside, and Spearhafoc lowered her voice as she spoke again.

  “They are called the ringing stones, lord,” she explained. “I will show you why when we reach them.”

  A single stone stood upright in the centre of the way, and the warriors removed their weapons before passing through a bank and ditch into the interior which contained the structures themselves. The men gathered around and listened to the Briton as she explained. “The final part of the causeway leads directly down to the heart of the ringing stones themselves. Belanus, The Shining One, rises on the summer solstice directly in line with the solitary stone which we passed, and the light floods down to fill the cup made by the central ring. The outer circle which surrounds them, the ringing stones themselves, represent the circle of life. At midwinter the sun sets directly in line with the sacred way and the energy captured and held within the circle at midsummer drains away, returning to Belanus, restoring the god's strength for the coming year and completing the circle.” She crossed to the nearest of the upright columns and fished out a small iron rod which hung at her neck. “Listen carefully,” she said as she leaned closer to the stone. Spearhafoc rapped the surface with the pendant and a high-pitched ringing sound carried to the awestruck men. She ushered in one of the warriors and handed him the pendant. “Let's see who has the gift among us.”