Sword of Kings

by Bernard Cornwell

  ‘He is a devil,’ she said angrily and made the sign of the cross. ‘He is vile!’

  I could guess why she spoke so fiercely, but did not ask her. ‘He’s gone,’ I reassured her instead.

  ‘He’s disappeared,’ Finan corrected me grimly, ‘but the bastard must be lurking somewhere.’

  And Waormund only had five men, which surely meant we were safe from him. And he had evidently taken the women ser-vants from the house, which suggested he had other plans for the night rather than attacking us. But why, I wondered, was Waormund even in the city? And why had Merewalh taken most of the garrison north? ‘Has the war started?’ I asked.

  ‘Probably,’ Finan said, then drained the wine. ‘God, that’s swill.’

  ‘Where is this place?’ Benedetta asked, then tried to pronounce it, ‘Werla …’

  ‘Werlameceaster?’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘A day’s march north of here,’ I said. ‘It’s an old Roman town.’

  ‘A Mercian town?’ Benedetta asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe they attack it?’ she suggested.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, but I thought it far more likely that Merewalh had taken men to garrison Werlameceaster, because the town, with its strong Roman walls, lay across one of the main roads from East Anglia, and the lords of that kingdom were now firmly allied with Wessex.

  Finan must have thought the same. ‘So maybe he’s stopping an East Anglian army from reinforcing Æthelhelm?’ he suggested.

  ‘I’d guess as much. But I have to find out.’ I stood.

  ‘How?’ Benedetta asked.

  ‘By asking Bedwin,’ I said, ‘whoever he is. He’ll be at the palace, I suppose, so I’ll start there.’

  ‘Don’t forget Waormund is here,’ Finan warned me.

  ‘I won’t go alone. You’re coming. It’s a mess,’ I said angrily. But in truth it was a mess of my own making. Because I had sworn an oath. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I’m coming!’ Benedetta said, standing.

  ‘You’re coming!’ I turned to her startled.

  My surprise had made me speak too harshly and she looked frightened for a heartbeat. ‘The queen wants me to go,’ she said uncertainly, and then, like a mare going from a stumbling walk into a smart trot, she went on more confidently, ‘she wishes me to fetch some robes she left in the palace. And some slippers.’ Finan and I still just stared at her. ‘Queen Eadgifu,’ Benedetta went on with dignity now, ‘keeps clothing in each royal house. She has need of some. When those pigs took her from Fæfresham they would not let us carry clothes.’ She paused, looking at us. ‘We need clothes!’

  There was another awkward pause as Finan and I digested that. ‘Then you’d better come,’ I said.

  I left Berg in charge of the house and the ship. I would rather have taken the young Norseman with me because he was invaluable in a fight, but after Finan he was my most reliable man. ‘Keep the doors barred,’ I told him, ‘and put a larger guard on Spearhafoc. I don’t want her burned in the night.’

  ‘You think Waormund will come back?’

  ‘I don’t know what Waormund will do,’ I told him. So far as I could tell Waormund only had the five men, far fewer than I did, but his presence in the city still troubled me. My reason said that he was helpless, trapped and outnumbered in a city possessed by his enemies, but my instinct was screaming that there was danger. ‘Maybe Æthelhelm has others hidden in the city,’ I told Berg. ‘Your job is to keep the queen and her sons safe. You don’t fight a battle if Waormund comes, you get everyone on board Spearhafoc and you take her out into the river where the queen will be safe.’

  ‘She will be safe, lord,’ Berg promised me.

  ‘And you hold the ship in the river till we come back,’ I ordered him.

  ‘And if you don’t come back?’ Berg asked, hastily adding, ‘Which you will, lord. Of course you will.’

  ‘Then you go home to Bebbanburg and you take Queen Eadgifu with you.’

  ‘I go home?’ he sounded appalled that he would have to leave without me.

  ‘You go home,’ I said.

  I took Finan and six other men, all in mail, all helmeted, and all carrying long-swords. We walked east, following the wall the Romans had built to face the river, a wall that was now much pierced by ragged holes to give access to the busy wharves. I suspected we passed the slave house where Benedetta had been treated so brutally, but if we did she said nothing. The narrow street was dark except where flame-light was cast through a door or window, and as we approached any such building the noise inside would cease at the sound of our footsteps. Babies were hushed and dogs quieted. Any person we saw, and they were very few, scurried out of our path into the shadows of a doorway or alley. The city was nervous, frightened of becoming the victim to men’s ambitions.

  We turned into the wider street that led uphill from Lundene’s bridge. We passed a big tavern called the Red Pig, an ale-house that had always been popular with Æthelhelm’s troops when they were in the city. ‘Remember the Pig?’ I asked Finan.

  He chuckled. ‘You hanged a man from the tavern sign.’

  ‘A Centishman,’ I said. A fight had started in the street and had looked as if it might turn into a riot, and the quickest way to end it had been to hang a man.

  A torch burned outside the Red Pig, but despite that flickering light Finan tripped on a slab and almost fell. He swore, then wiped his hand on his cloak. ‘Lundene,’ he said bitterly, ‘where the streets are paved with shit.’

  ‘Saxons are dirty people,’ Benedetta said.

  ‘Cities are dirty,’ I said.

  ‘They do not wash,’ Benedetta went on, ‘even the women! Most of them.’

  I found I had nothing to say. Lundene was indeed dirty, it was filthy, yet it fascinated me. We passed pillars that had once graced great buildings, but which were now surrounded by wattle and clay. Shadows lay beneath arches that led to nowhere. New buildings had been made since I left, filling the gaps between the Roman houses, some of which still had tiled roofs above three or four stone-built storeys. You could see, even in the night, that this had once been a glorious place, proud with pillars and gleaming with marble. Now, except for the streets closest to the river, it was largely abandoned and gone to ruin. Folk had always believed that the ghosts of the Romans stalked these ancient streets and so they preferred to settle in the new Saxon city built to the west and, though Alfred and his son Edward had encouraged people to move back inside the old walls, much of Lundene was still a wasteland.

  We passed a newly thatched church and turned left at the top of the hill and, ahead of us, on the city’s western hill, flaming torches lit the palace, which lay close by the cathedral that Alfred had ordered to be rebuilt. We had to cross the shallow valley where the Weala brook flowed south to the Temes. We crossed the bridge and walked uphill towards the palace that had first been built for Mercia’s kings. The entrance was a Roman arch carved with spearmen who carried long oblong shields, and it was guarded by four men who had round shields painted with Æthelstan’s symbol, the dragon holding a lightning bolt. That symbol was something of a relief. Finan had assured me that Æthelstan’s men still occupied the city, but the dragon with its jagged lightning was my first proof. ‘They’re old men,’ Finan grunted.

  ‘Probably younger than you and me,’ I said, which made him laugh.

  The old men at the gate were evidently alarmed by our approach because one hammered on the closed doors with the butt of his spear and, a moment later, three more men appeared. They pulled the doors shut behind them then lined beneath the arch and levelled their weapons. ‘Who are you?’ one of the newcomers demanded.

  ‘Is Bedwin in the palace?’ I asked.

  The man who had spoken hesitated. ‘He is,’ he finally said.

  ‘And I’m the Jarl Uhtred of Bebbanburg, here to see him.’ I rarely used the Danish title, but the man’s surly tone had angered me, and my men, hearing the arrogance in my voice, drew th
eir swords.

  There was a brief pause, then at a signal, the spears were lowered. Six of the men just gaped at me, but the surly man still wanted to keep his authority. ‘You have to surrender your weapons,’ he demanded.

  ‘Is there a king here?’

  The question seemed to confuse him. ‘No,’ he managed to say.

  ‘No, lord,’ I snarled.

  ‘No, lord.’

  ‘Then it isn’t a king’s hall tonight, is it? We keep our weapons. Open the doors.’

  He hesitated again, then relented and the high doors creaked open on their ancient iron hinges and I led my men into the lantern-lit corridor beyond. We passed the stairs where, so often, I had climbed to meet Æthelflaed, and that memory was as sharp and painful as the recollection of Gisela on the river terrace. Where were they now? I wondered. Did Gisela wait for me in Asgard, the home of the gods? Did Æthelflaed watch me from her Christian heaven? I have known many wise men, but none who could answer those questions.

  We walked through a courtyard where a wooden chapel stood above the remnants of a Roman pool, then through a broken arch into a passage made of thin Roman bricks. ‘You can put your swords in their scabbards,’ I told my men, then pushed open the crude wooden door that had replaced some piece of Roman magnificence. The feasting hall beyond was lit by a myriad rushlights and candles, but there were only a dozen men seated about the one table. They looked alarmed as we entered, then stood, not in welcome but to give themselves space to draw their swords. ‘Who are you?’ a man demanded.

  I had no chance to answer because another man answered for me. ‘He is the Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg.’ It was a tall, stern priest who had spoken and who now offered me a slight bow. ‘It is good to see you again, lord. Welcome.’

  ‘Father Oda,’ I said. ‘It’s a surprise to see you.’

  ‘A surprise, lord?’

  ‘I thought you were in Mameceaster.’

  ‘I was, and now I am here.’ His words were touched by a Danish accent. His parents had come as invaders to East Anglia, but the son had converted to Christianity and now served Æthelstan. ‘And I am surprised to see you too, lord,’ he went on, ‘but glad of it. Now come,’ he gestured me towards the table, ‘there’s wine.’

  ‘I came to see Bedwin.’

  Father Oda indicated the man at the head of the table who had challenged us when we entered and who now walked towards us. He was a tall man, dark haired, with a long face and long moustaches that hung down to the ornate silver cross at his breast. ‘I am Bedwin,’ he said, sounding anxious. Two wolfhounds growled when he spoke, but quieted at a gesture from him. He stopped some paces away, his face still showing puzzlement at our arrival, an expression that swiftly changed to resentment. Did he think I had come to usurp his place as commander of the city? ‘We were not told of your coming, lord,’ he said, and it was almost a reproof.

  ‘I came to see King Æthelstan.’

  ‘Who is in Gleawecestre,’ Bedwin said, almost as if he was ordering me to go across Britain.

  ‘You say there’s wine, father?’ I asked Oda.

  ‘Which needs drinking,’ the priest answered.

  I gestured for my men to follow me, then sat on the bench and allowed Oda to pour me a generous beaker. ‘This,’ I held a hand towards Benedetta, ‘is one of Queen Eadgifu’s attendants. She’s come to collect some of the queen’s robes. I’m sure she would like some wine too.’

  ‘Queen Eadgifu?’ Bedwin asked as if he had never heard of her.

  ‘Who is here in Lundene,’ I said, ‘with her children. She’d like to use her old chambers in this palace.’

  ‘Queen Eadgifu!’ Bedwin sounded angry. ‘What is she doing here? She should be with her husband’s corpse!’

  I drank the wine, which was much better than the swill I had drunk earlier. ‘She fled from Mercia,’ I said patiently, ‘because Lord Æthelhelm threatened her life and those of her children. I rescued her from his forces and she now seeks the protection of King Æthelstan.’ That was not quite true, Eadgifu trusted Æthelstan almost as little as she trusted Æthelhelm, but Bedwin did not need to know that.

  ‘Then she must travel to Gleawecestre,’ Bedwin said indignantly. ‘There’s no room for her here!’

  ‘Merewalh might have a different opinion,’ I suggested.

  ‘Merewalh has gone north,’ Bedwin said.

  ‘To Werlameceaster, I hear?’

  Bedwin nodded, then frowned as Father Oda refilled my beaker. It was Father Oda who answered me, his voice smooth. ‘We had a report that an East Anglian army was coming, lord,’ he explained, ‘and Merewalh thought the danger sufficient to take most of his men to Werlameceaster.’

  ‘Leaving Lundene almost defenceless,’ I said unhappily.

  ‘Indeed, lord,’ Father Oda spoke calmly, but could not hide his disapproval of what Merewalh had chosen to do. ‘But Merewalh will return when he has dissuaded the East Anglians.’

  ‘When he’s beaten the shit out of them, you mean?’

  ‘No, lord. Dissuaded them. King Æthelstan insists that we do not begin the fighting. Lord Æthelhelm must kill first. King Æthelstan will not have the blood of fellow Christians on his hands unless he is attacked.’

  ‘Yet he captured Lundene! Are you telling me there was no fighting?’

  Bedwin answered. ‘The West Saxons abandoned the city.’

  I stared at Bedwin with astonishment. ‘They abandoned it?’ It seemed unbelievable to me. Lundene was Britain’s largest city, it was the fortress that joined East Anglia to Wessex, it was the place where a king could earn a small fortune in fees and taxes, and Æthelhelm had simply given it up?

  Father Oda again offered an explanation. ‘We came, lord, they numbered fewer than two hundred men, they asked for a flag of truce, we described in some detail what fate awaited them if they insisted on defending the city and, seeing the sense of our proposals, they left.’

  ‘Some stayed,’ I said.

  ‘No, lord,’ Bedwin insisted. ‘They left.’

  ‘Waormund is here,’ I said. ‘I fought him not two hours ago.’

  ‘Waormund!’ Bedwin made the sign of the cross. I doubt he was even aware of doing it, but the fear that Waormund’s name aroused was plain on Bedwin’s face. ‘You know it was Waormund?’ he asked.

  I did not answer because none of this made sense. Æthelhelm knew as well as any man that Lundene was a prize, and not a prize to be given up lightly. Even if Ælfweard and Æthelstan agreed to keep to the terms of their father’s will, and Ælfweard would rule Wessex while Æthelstan was King of Mercia, they would still fight over Lundene, because whoever ruled Lundene was the richest king of Britain, and riches bought spears and shields. Yet Æthelhelm’s men had simply abandoned the city? Now, astonishingly, Merewalh had done the same.

  ‘You’re sure it was Waormund?’ Oda repeated Bedwin’s query.

  ‘It was Waormund,’ Finan said curtly.

  ‘He had men with him?’ the priest asked.

  ‘A few,’ I said, ‘maybe only five.’

  ‘Then he’s no danger,’ Bedwin remarked.

  I ignored his stupidity. Waormund was a one-man army, a destroyer, a killer, a man who could dominate a shield wall and change history with his sword. So why was he here? ‘How,’ I asked, ‘did you discover this East Anglian army? The one Merewalh has gone to stop.’

  ‘News came from Werlameceaster, lord,’ Bedwin said stiffly, ‘and it told of an East Anglian army ready to march into the heart of Mercia.’

  There was some sense in that. Æthelstan would be watching southwards, guarding the Temes’s crossing places, and an enemy army at his back would be a distraction at best and a looming disaster at worst, but though it all became clear to me, I could still feel the prickle of instinct telling me it was all wrong. Then, suddenly, like a mist lifting from the morning land to reveal hedgerow and spinney, it all made sense to me. ‘Have you sent patrols eastwards?’ I asked Bedwin.

  ‘Eastwards?’ he asked
, puzzled.

  ‘Towards Celmeresburh!’ Celmeresburh was a town to the north-east, a town on one of the main Roman roads leading from East Anglia’s heartland to Lundene.

  Bedwin shrugged. ‘I have few enough men to hold the city, lord, without sending men away.’

  ‘We should have sent patrols,’ Oda said quietly.

  ‘Priests should not concern themselves with such matters,’ Bedwin snapped, and I realised the two men had disagreed.

  ‘It is always wise,’ I said acidly, ‘to listen to a Dane when he talks of warfare.’ Oda smiled, though I did not. ‘Send a patrol in the morning,’ I ordered Bedwin. ‘At dawn! A strong patrol. At least fifty men, and give them your fastest horses.’

  Bedwin hesitated. He did not like me giving him orders, but I was a lord, an ealdorman, and a warrior with a reputation. Even so he bridled and was searching for the words to argue with me, but those words never came.

  Because a horn sounded in the night. It blew again and again, an urgent, even desperate call. And then it stopped abruptly.

  A church bell clanged. Then another. And I knew that my orders had been given too late because Æthelhelm’s trap was sprung.

  Because surely Waormund had been left behind to do just one thing; to open a gate in the dead of night. And somewhere along the city’s eastern ramparts there must already be slaughtered guards and an open gate, which meant that Æthelhelm’s East Anglian army was nowhere near Werlameceaster. It was coming into Lundene.

  And so the screaming began.

  Six

  I swore. Much good that did.

  Bedwin was gaping, the other men about the table were looking equally confused, each of them just waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

  ‘This way,’ I snarled at my men and grasped the sleeve of Benedetta’s robe, ‘come!’

  At that moment, of course, I did not know what was happening, but the insistent horn and the clangour of bells spoke of an attack. The only other event that might have started such an alarm was a fire, but as we ran from the palace door there was no glow in the sky. The guards were just standing there, staring eastwards. ‘What do we do, lord?’ one called to me.