by Millie Thom
‘Well, you’re right about one thing,’ Eadwulf acknowledged with a grimace. ‘Women do tend to say things they don’t mean when they’re distressed. Although, in all fairness, I’m sure it’s not just women who do that.’ He thought of the many times he’d blurted out the first hurtful thing that had come into his head, only to rebuke himself later for doing so. His harsh words to Sigehelm, following his return from Francia all those years ago, rang in his head, as though they’d been said only yesterday.
‘But the thing is,’ he continued, looking steadily into his friend’s brown eyes. ‘I know that Leoflaed’s temper is just her way of venting her worst fear – that I won’t come back anyway, because I’ll be dead. So I’m feeling more than a little guilty, knowing she’s sick with worry.’
Aethelnoth took a deep breath. ‘I suppose you’re right. Odella was bad enough when I told her I’d be going with you. And we’re not even married, let alone have children to consider.’
‘There’s another thing I should have told you,’ Eadwulf confessed, averting his eyes from Aethelnoth’s probing stare. ‘Leaflaed’s with child again. It’s early days, and we weren’t going to say anything for a few months yet. But, the point I’m making is that during these early weeks a woman’s emotions seem to be all over the place. So, I suppose Leoflaed’s temper could, partly, be due to that. And knowing she’s with child is making me feel even worse about leaving her.’
‘If I told you I already knew about the babe, would you be surprised?’
‘Odella again, no doubt,’ Eadwulf said, grinning at Aethelnoth’s guilty nod. ‘Well, I suppose it’s to be expected when those two spend so much time together. I can’t see them keeping secrets from each other. But now,’ he said briskly, feeling better for having unburdened his worries, ‘to the business in hand. Once we’ve found a good site for our base, our main problem will be finding a way to infiltrate the Danish camp, and pinpointing exactly where Ivar is. Then,’ he added, ‘we have the even bigger problem of actually killing him. Not to mention, without getting ourselves killed.
*****
Beyond the southern boundary of the town of Thetford, tents of the Great Army covered the Anglian countryside as far as the eye could see. Campfires glowed in the darkness of the late October evening, the aromas of roasting meat filling the air. Livestock were abundant across King Edmund’s kingdom: Blotmonath had not yet begun and cattle still grazed the pastures. Surrounded by the jarls he’d summoned for the meeting, Ivar gazed into his own campfire, considering the irony of that. Although well into November – the killing month – Blotmonath had descended upon Anglia’s people instead of its livestock. Charred villages were strewn across the kingdom, a reminder to its sanctimonious king of the might of the Norsemen. Edmund had been too stunned to rally his defences in time to save any of them . . .
The fool had really believed that paying their invaders to live in peace on his lands four years ago would still hold sway.
Ivar allowed his formidable stare to move slowly from one jarl to another, gratified to note the squirms and shudders as he did so; the depth of his hold over them. Most were almost pissing themselves, terrified his anger would erupt and they’d be stricken by some vile disease or physical disfigurement. At his side, Halfdan was shooting him wary glances. Even his own brother had never questioned Ivar’s powers, or attempted to put them to the test. Like the others sitting cross-legged around the smouldering fires, Halfdan was just too terrified of the possible consequences to try.
He kept them quivering beneath his fierce appraisal for some moments longer, enjoying, as always, the sensation of absolute control. Six battle hardened jarls, each shivering in his boots in the presence of a single, shrunken and misshapen man, who couldn’t even walk unaided. And not one of them of lower status than himself, all revered by the hundreds of warriors out there. One of them, a Norwegian whose forces had only arrived in Northumbria in the summer, had even awarded himself the title of ‘king’! Yet all had ceded to Ivar’s superior mind; the mind they believed to possess some kind of mystic powers.
Allowing his stony expression to soften, Ivar smiled round at the wary faces, suppressing the irritation he felt. The October night was cold and soon they’d need to be inside their tents, but plans for the coming weeks needed finalising – and he’d no intention of retiring before decisions had been made. He knew that most of the short-sighted fools assumed they’d come to Anglia to vegetate until the spring. But it was clear as day to Ivar that the only sensible course of action would be to make a move. Soon.
‘Winter is approaching,’ he stated, opening the discussion, ‘and with this in mind, I suggest we put to the vote what we deem the most appropriate way in which to spend the icy months. Do we simply stay cosy beneath our tents, wasting valuable time – time we could put to good use filling our coffers with silver?
‘Or do we make our move, now?’
Ivar could not have made his own opinion any clearer, and knew that few were bold enough to actually voice objections. But he wanted them to believe the decision had been a democratic one. ‘We must be united in whatever path we choose to follow,’ he said, his dark eyes again sweeping the seated men. ‘The choice is clear: we either overwinter in Anglia, putting aside all thoughts of campaigning until the spring, or we take this kingdom as we took Northumbria, so readying the way for us to move on to make our mark elsewhere.’
A well-seasoned warrior with greasy, mud-coloured braids raised his arm, his eyes holding Ivar’s in a brazen stare before he looked away, gesturing to those around him. ‘I daresay I’m not the only one here who’s all for taking the Anglian lands now, Ivar,’ the self-acclaimed king declared. ‘But before we make any vote, have you anywhere particular in mind for this “elsewhere”, or is that location also open to discussion? The way I see it, before we undertake any manoeuvre at this time of year we have to be certain it’ll be worth our while.’
Murmurs of agreement rumbled and Ivar touched steepled fingers to his lips, nodding slowly until silence settled. Bagsecg was right, of course. Manoeuvres in late autumn must be worth undertaking; worth the risks. But Ivar had already deliberated long and hard on this and his mind was made up, despite this upstart’s qualms. Bagsecg was a powerful leader in the lands north of the Skagerrak, his army almost as substantial as that of the sons of Ragnar. And Ivar had no intention of letting him assume overall control – until the time of Ivar’s own choosing. When the time was right he planned to hand joint control to his brother, Halfdan, and this churlish hulk.
‘Well then, Bagsecg,’ Ivar said, his words slow and challenging, ‘perhaps you’d be good enough to continue your deliberations. Tell us, which aspects of a winter campaign do you find undesirable? Are we to understand that your reservations are based only on the likelihood of unfavourable weather conditions?’ His held Bagsecg with an unwavering stare until the ageing warrior was compelled to look down at his hands. ‘Remember, Bagsecg, we took and held the town of Nottingham successfully throughout the winter, and on that occasion the armies challenging us were large indeed.’
Bagsecg glanced at the many eyes focused upon him. Ivar smiled to himself, knowing they’d all be speculating as to whether this ‘king’s’ boldness would extend to holding argument with the feared Ivar.
‘I’m sure I need not remind you all,’ Bagsecg began, evidently aiming for a less singular target at which to aim his objections, ‘that those large forces Ivar mentioned only appeared after we were already well ensconced behind Nottingham’s fortified walls: walls we’d already had time to further reinforce.’
The silence around the campfire deepened. The men would be holding their breaths in anticipation of a reaction from Ivar. But Ivar decided to say nothing.
Bagsecg shuffled a little and again scanned round at the men. Ivar could detect no nods or smiles of support, but Bagsecg resumed anyway. ‘Furthermore, constructing those extra defences was only possible because the weather hadn’t yet turned bitter. The snows didn’t arr
ive until the January, and when they did, they weren’t worth worrying about. But that was two years ago. Who knows how hard this winter will be and–’
‘Is this point going somewhere, Bagsecg?’ It was Halfdan who interrupted, clearly confused, or perhaps simply scornful of the weak argument. ‘Are you saying we shouldn’t make a move in October because we could have heavy snows in January?’ He looked at Ivar, who smiled back, knowing how much his brother needed encouragement. ‘Surely, the possibility of a harsh winter would be the most decisive argument in favour of taking action now.’
Bagsecg surged to his feet, jabbing his finger at Halfdan. ‘Don’t try to mock me, boy, or you may not live to see tomorrow, let alone January!’ Some of the men hooted, others just gaped. Bagsecg inhaled deeply, his exhaled breath deep and loud. ‘If you’d had the decency and patience to hear me out, you wouldn’t have needed to ask your inane questions. You might have understood my point.’
His face thunderous, Halfdan thrust himself up to face Bagsecg across the campfire, his muscular body taut and ready to spring at the older man. ‘If you’re suggesting what I think you are, I’ll take your kingly head off here and now.’ Halfdan’s words hissed through his teeth, like an overfilled cauldron boiling over. ‘Then perhaps this discussion could continue without your pathetic objections.’
The spectacle of flaring tempers amused Ivar, the prospects of a brawl appealing. But enough was enough and the hour was late. It was time for decisions. ‘Comrades,’ he said, the word cutting through the charged silence. ‘Comrades are what we are, and comrades are what we must stay.’ His swept them all with his commanding stare, instantly quelling anyone’s desire to move or speak. ‘Remember that at all times. Remember it and our campaigns in these lands will be successful. Forget it and we fail.’ He nodded slowly, as though agreeing with himself. ‘Any disharmony in our ranks, any division of our numbers, will render us weak and deserving of defeat.’
Halfdan stared at him, then nodded curtly and sat down again. Bagsecg, too, seemed mollified as he seated himself.
Ivar pursed his lips, preparing to deliver his plans for the forthcoming weeks. He did not anticipate disagreement, although there were always men like Bagsecg who thought they knew better. Still, he’d deal with any such incidents, if and when they arose.
‘First, comrades, let me remind you that within the next few days our brother, Ubbi, should make landfall on the Anglian coast with his substantial fleet.’ He paused whilst the reminder registered. ‘Edmund has already failed to resist our advances into his kingdom, although he could well be attempting to muster his forces as we speak. His shock at our somewhat unfriendly return has likely worn off by now.’ He grinned, holding the expression until everyone was compelled to grin back. ‘I don’t believe he’ll be willing to buy us off a second time, since the first so unexpectedly backfired in his pious face. This time he’ll be preparing to oppose us – just as Ubbi’s forces make their arrival known.’
‘So he’ll be trapped like a fish in a net, and Edmund will soon become king only in his Christian heaven.’ Bagsecg’s assertion resulted in cheers. But Ivar held up a hand.
‘Naturally, it would only be fair – and indeed, honourable – to give this Christ-loving king a choice,’ Ivar said, his voice dripping sarcasm. ‘A message will be sent to him as soon as Ubbi’s army lands and he’s had time to appreciate his precarious position. Edmund may well deem the need to split his forces to counter a two-pronged attack quite a daunting prospect, particularly considering the likelihood of many Anglian deaths. In which case, it would only be decent of us to offer him the opportunity to become our vassal, as we did with Ecgberht in Northumbria. Of course, Edmund will also be required to share his ancestral possessions and hoards of gold with us. We can hardly be expected to run the kingdom with a decided deficit of resources, can we?’
The men roared at the image and Ivar grinned. ‘If the fool should be misguided enough to refuse, we’ll have no choice other than to show him the folly of making that decision. And, believe me, should battle be the outcome, Edmund’s Christian armies will soon scream submission to the wrath of Odin.
‘Then, comrades,’ Ivar went on once the shouts of approval had died down, 'once East Anglia is ours, we move on to take elsewhere.’ He threw out an arm, gesturing to Bagsecg. ‘In response to your earlier query, Bagsecg, the “elsewhere” I have in mind is Wessex. Wessex intrigues me, for reasons we’ll discuss at another time. But, regarding winter campaigns, should it be necessary to deal with Anglian opposition to our generous proposal, any move on may not be for a year or so. The successful organisation of a conquered kingdom cannot be accomplished overnight.’
*****
Eadwulf and Aethelnoth selected a site for their camp in a concealed glade, little over three miles to the north of Thetford. It was away from well-trodden tracks and surrounded by dense woodland with abundant undergrowth, albeit now mostly leafless. Although they’d have preferred a site deeper into the forest, they had grazing for the horses to consider, as well as water for the beasts and themselves. Beyond the edge of the forest a small stream trickled its way across a wide stretch of meadow, satisfying both of those requirements. And once they’d managed to hack a wide enough route through the woody undergrowth, their camp could be sealed off from view. At night their mounts would be tethered in the clearing.
Since the site was to provide only a temporary base, it seemed ideal. They erected their small hide tent, which they deftly covered in branches hacked from surrounding clumps of brushwood. The short, November day was fading fast and Aethelnoth lit a small fire to provide a modicum of light, with the minimum of smoke. Their food supplies did not yet need supplementing by fresh meat and they were content with cold sustenance for a while.
‘We’ll be well snug in there,’ Aethelnoth said, sitting down to take a swig from his waterskin. ‘The wind’ll have a job squeezing through this undergrowth, and even the rain’ll have a job reaching the forest floor.’ He glanced up with a smile as Eadwulf came to squat beside him. ‘I expect we’ll be staying here at least a week.’
Eadwulf shook his head. ‘Hopefully no more than a few days; just long enough for us to get our bearings on this Danish camp and find out where Ivar is – and kill him of course.’ He paused as the enormity of the task ahead hit him for the umpteenth time; the obstacles they must overcome. But he kept his thoughts to himself. ‘You do realise, Aethelnoth, that before we go anywhere near the town or the camp, we’ll need to disguise ourselves.’
‘Will we, Eadwulf? What a good idea.’ Aethelnoth’s tone was heavy with sarcasm and his easy-going manner had vanished. Eadwulf wondered what he’d said that was so wrong.
Aethelnoth scowled. ‘Not being the idiot you seem to think I am, I’d already figured that one out all by myself. And while we’re on the subject, I don’t think for one moment we’ll manage to find a way of killing Ivar in a mere few days. It’ll probably take us that long just to work out how to get at him. Not to mention locating him in the first place.’ He looked levelly at Eadwulf. ‘You always did play the smart arse, pretend everything is so easy. But we’re not kids any more, and I’m not fond of being taken for a dolt.’
The big man turned away, staring through the undergrowth, seemingly at nothing at all.
‘I’m sorry,’ Eadwulf said tentatively to his back. ‘I hadn’t realised you felt that way. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve never looked down on you, or considered you stupid in any way at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve always valued your opinions, and envied your great strength and horsemanship. I can’t think of anyone who’d ever best you in a one-to-one . . .
‘And, of course, you’re right,’ he added at his friend’s prolonged silence. I know as well as you that this task won’t be easy; even the attempt could cost us our lives. I suppose I just don’t like to admit out loud to feeling daunted by an almost impossible undertaking.’
Aethelnoth continued to gaze into the brushwood, as though he’d
heard nothing. Eadwulf sighed. ‘What can I say to convince you of my sincerity in this?’
‘Well, you can stop behaving like Sigehelm’s star pupil, for starters,’ Aethelnoth replied at last, turning to face Eadwulf. ‘Discuss things with me before you make decisions, and ask advice when you’re troubled. I’ve seen that look on your face too often – the one that says you don’t know what to do next. But you’re just too damned pigheaded to ask for help. Your old tutor would be the first person to agree with me.’
Eadwulf said nothing for a moment as he tried to put his thoughts into order. ‘I’ve had to rely on my own gut feelings about things for too long,’ he started by way of explanation. ‘I’ve not had anyone to help me make decisions as to how I should act for a long time. So I suppose I haven’t changed much since I was a cocky little brat in Mercia. And you’re right. I’ve always thought I’ve known best – evidently because I don’t bother to listen to other people’s ideas and points of view.’
‘Well, you can start doing so right now,’ Aethelnoth declared, slapping Eadwulf on the back as he heaved himself to his feet, ‘and listen to what I have to say. First off, we’ll use this camp for as long as it takes to complete our task. Secondly, you will disguise yourself before we ride to suss out what’s happening in Thetford and the Danish camp.’
‘What about you? Surely you need some sort of disguise as well?’
‘No, I don’t. I look little different to every other man out there.’ He lifted a lock of his thick, straw-coloured mane. ‘I haven’t got bright red hair, have I? But your hair’s a bit of an eye-catcher to anyone. And the fact that you’ve shaved off your beard doesn’t help matters. There aren’t too many clean-shaven men about, Angle or Dane. Perhaps you need to just blacken your face up a bit – you know, make it look like you’re a dirty bugger.’