by K T Findlay
Trapped, Cuthbert took a sip, and then aware that the Queen was watching him too, plucked up his courage and swallowed a large mouthful.
‘Very nice.’ he said. ‘Thank you miss.’
The Queen nodded her approval, and the women returned to their seats. Gundy walked back out to the kitchen, where her naughty girl grin returned in full force.
‘Hah! That’ll teach you, you nasty, nasty man!’ she whispered to herself.
Then she returned to her observations, revelling in the new knowledge that grown up women could be naughty sometimes too!
Grimketil sipped his drink slowly, and decided it was as good a time as any to stack the deck in his own favour.
‘Your Majesty, may I ask a question about our battle tomorrow?’ he asked loudly.
The hall fell back to a hush as everyone waited to see what he was about to do.
‘I take it that there is no archery allowed, given this is a test of manliness? It would hardly be much of a test if we stood on either side of the field and threw sticks at each other. I’m certain this is the case, but I just thought I’d ask.’
Offa nodded instantly.
‘Of course there’s no archery!’
Thomas raised his hand.
‘Excuse me Your Majesty, but there were never any discussions about weaponry when we agreed our bet. The bet was just about who would win, not how it would be fought. My warriors have been practising with the bow all year. It is hardly fair to change the game at the last minute, and take away one of our most powerful weapons.’
‘You see!’ hissed a very angry Wulfstan in his ear. ‘I told you at the time the King would do this!’
Offa looked at him sadly.
‘Wulfstan… my son… it should have been clear to you, that bows would not be allowed. There is no honour in a bow. I am sorry that you misunderstood, but on this point Grimketil is quite right.’
To a woman, the coterie was staring at Thomas, wanting to know how he was going to get them out of Grimketil’s trap.
‘Well Your Majesty, I don’t think it is as straight forward as that. Grimketil is aware I think, of just how good my warriors are with the bow, and he’s simply scared of what they’ll do to him if you let them have them.’ he replied.
Grimketil sat up straight, his face angry.
‘Your Majesty! I am not frightened! It is simply a matter of what is honourable and what is not!’
Thomas opened out his hands, as a priest might introduce a sermon to his flock.
‘Well then, if it’s honour we’re talking about, and Grimketil is allowed to stipulate one form of arm to be removed from the equation, surely I should be entitled to request the removal of another? To restore the balance? To make the bet fair, so that people cannot say the bet was won because the King changed the rules?’
Offa was deeply affronted and opened his mouth to remonstrate, but was beaten by the Queen.
‘The Prince raises a good point Your Majesty. He is not suggesting that you are cheating by this decision. He is simply telling you what others may accuse you of, perhaps even those who write the history of our land.’ she said glancing at the Archbishop, who couldn’t stop his cheeks blushing in an unwilling acknowledgement that this might indeed be the case.
Offa glared at him.
‘Quite.’ he said. ‘What are you suggesting Wulfstan?’
Thomas steepled his hands and looked at them as if deep in thought.
‘Well Your Majesty, bountiful as your coffers have been throughout the year, I didn’t feel I could justify the expense of chain mail for everyone. I know Grimketil’s men all have chain mail shirts, and it’s a significant advantage. On the other hand, a man only wears it if he doubts his own ability with sword and shield, so if we ban mail too, that might even the playing field, enhance Grimketil’s honour, and remove any possible stain on your own history. What do you think?’
Watching from further down the room, Marwig nodded his head in appreciation. ‘This young man has diplomatic skill as well as all his other talents.’ he thought to himself.
Offa saw the nod and misinterpreted it.
‘Marwig? You agree with my son on this matter?’
Marwig put on his most studious face.
‘I cannot fault the reasoning in any way whatsoever Your Majesty.’ he said, neatly avoiding taking sides.
‘Grimketil? Any objections?’ asked the King, skewering him with a look that said “You’d better not have!”
Outplayed, Grimketil grudgingly acknowledged his assent.
‘I suppose so Your Majesty.’ then looking around at his suddenly a lot less cheerful men added. ‘I really don’t think they would have been needed anyway, so my men shall not wear mail tomorrow.’
‘Then that’s settled!’ said Thomas happily. ‘You don’t mind Grimketil, if I allow my party to at least demonstrate their prowess with the bow before the battle? I promise they won’t hurt you!’
Grimketil tossed his head.
‘You can demonstrate whatever you want as far as I’m concerned. It will make no difference to the outcome.’
‘Prayer will make a difference My Lord.’ said Cuthbert oilily. ‘I shall be out there on the field of battle to make sure that God is on your side.’
Thomas had just managed to overhear the stage whispered remark and gave thanks for his youthful ears.
‘Cuthbert? Surely that would count as trying to bring another weapon into play, in theory the biggest possible weapon of all?’ he asked.
The Archbishop interjected.
‘It’s perfectly reasonable. We pray for the King and his country every day. Why shouldn’t Cuthbert pray for his lord?’
Thomas looked him straight in the eye.
‘If Cuthbert engages in verbal prayer at any point in tomorrow’s battle, I shall consider him to be acting as one of Grimketil’s soldiers and he becomes a valid target.’
‘Are you threatening a priest?’ demanded the head of the Church.
‘No.’ said Thomas calmly. ‘It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.’
‘Your Majesty!’ Jaenberht pleaded to the King. ‘I beg of you, talk sense to your son! You can now see for yourself the kind of unreasonable behaviours he inflicted upon poor Cuthbert at his manor. He must not offer violence to the Church!’
Thomas laughed.
‘I heard about Cuthbert’s claims. The King’s officials have been interviewing my people today about exactly that, getting all their versions of events, including that of Fulton, the man Cuthbert conned into being his beast of burden, before abandoning him without even a meal when they reached Canterbury. They know the truth.’
‘They are lying!’ cried Cuthbert.
Thomas give him his warmest smile.
‘My dear Cuthbert, you don’t even know what they said! You instantly assume that everyone will be against you, all of the time… but of course there’s a reason why you do that.’
‘What reason?’ asked Cuthbert, falling into the trap.
‘That you know you’re a thoroughly nasty person, empty of love, empty even of kindness, and that nobody would ever support your fantasies for any reason except fear. And of course, it’s too difficult for them to keep up with your own lies because they change all the time! They know they’d get caught out as you changed your story to suit events. Much easier for them just to tell the truth.’
Cuthbert sat white with shock at being spoken to like that in the royal hall, with everyone of consequence present to hear it.
The Archbishop started to expound again.
‘Archbishop Jaenberht,’ Thomas said, cutting him off, ‘please don’t start down the path of saying the clergy never tell lies. I understand you’ve already lost that argument. Cuthbert made a very specific threat, to personally intercede with the almighty to change the result of tomorrow’s little game. That means he will be taking an active role as one of Grimketil’s warriors, increasing his number beyond mine. If Cuthbert does that, I will take him out to rebalan
ce the numbers, and that is an end to the matter.’
‘Your soul will be damned for it if you do!’ shouted the Archbishop, goaded beyond endurance.
‘Then it is your duty as head cleric, to see that the situation doesn’t arise. Wouldn’t you say? Or are you going to suggest that you personally could offer up verbal prayers on my side to offset Cuthbert? If you do that, yourself you understand, then I’ll leave Cuthbert alone because things will be balanced again. Your call. You don’t need to decide now. Your choice will be perfectly clear on the field of battle. Now, would you mind passing the salt?’
For once in his life, Archbishop Jaenberht was completely lost for words, and being sat at the King’s own table, and right next to this infuriating brat, he couldn’t even leave! Wordlessly he handed over the salt bowl as requested.
‘Thank you so much.’ said Thomas cheerfully. Then he decided to kick things up a level. If Grimketil wanted mind games, he could have them.
‘Incidentally Grimketil,’ he said, ‘I see your sidekicks Ward and Radley aren’t with you. What’s the story there?’
Grimketil looked up from his food, not entirely unsurprised by Thomas’s question and had his story straight.
‘They took themselves off on an expedition and never returned. I am led to believe that they died of the bloody flux.’ he said smoothly.
‘Dysentery? Ooh, nasty!’
Thomas paused for a moment, before continuing.
‘I imagine you miss their companionship at moments like these.’
Grimketil shot a sour, sideways glance at Sigwulf.
‘Actually I do.’ he said.
‘Then I am delighted to be able to help you.’ said Thomas, and clapped his hands together.
Sighard and Fulton appeared, each carrying a wooden tray with a wicker basket over it. They came in from the top left corner of the room and passed in front of the royal table, generating a series of gasps and dropped jaws as the diners saw through a window in the basketry, what lay within. Then the two men walked over to Grimketil, placed the trays on the table in front of him and removed the baskets.
Grimketil recoiled in horror at the perfectly preserved heads of Ward and Radley.
‘I’ve had them as my guests since they made their appearance at my manor one moonlit night, together with an armed outlaw band, and tried to rob the place. Altogether they killed three of Marwig’s men, and four of my villagers. The only saving grace is that they haven’t needed much food and drink since then. Anyway, I’m awfully glad to be able to return them to your care, and before you say it, of course, you’re most welcome!’ said Thomas nonchalantly between mouthfuls.
Grimketil simply stared at the remains of his two men, face frozen in horror.
Thomas looked concerned. ‘They are yours, aren’t they? We were all pretty sure they were yours, especially the one we think is Ward. He recognised Berthilda and told her that you’d promised to give her to him as a wife. Anyway, we’ve managed to keep their faces well preserved so we could check.’
Offa offered his own opinion.
‘They’re Ward and Radley alright. I recognise them myself. What were they doing at Wulfstan’s village Grimketil?’
‘I, I, I do not know Your Majesty. I wasn’t even aware of them leaving. It was their own initiative.’ stammered Grimketil, frying in the King’s gaze.
‘They were killing Marwig’s men, trying to steal my horses, and did actually manage to kidnap two children, including the little girl who gave Cuthbert her beer.’ said Thomas. ‘Then they were hunted down and killed, by one of my team.’
‘By one of yours?’ said Sigwulf weakly.
‘By one of my ladies, yes.’ replied Thomas who paused before twisting the knife. ‘Just the one. Why? Did you think it had been someone else?’
‘We assumed-’ Sigwulf managed before Grimketil’s elbow whacked him in the ribs.
Thomas looked at them both, one eyebrow theatrically arched in question.
Offa’s face darkened.
‘So you did know after all.’ he said softly. ‘Not the bloody flux then? This does not reflect well upon you Grimketil, not well at all!’
‘I swear to Your Majesty that I didn’t know they’d gone!’ pleaded Grimketil desperately.
‘Oh well,’ said Thomas, with unbearably good cheer. ‘At least the Archbishop here can give them the last rites!’
19 The clash of arms
The following morning dawned bright and still, perfect weather for a sporting event, which is how most of the audience viewed the coming spectacle.
Offa and the rest of the royals were ensconced on a raised viewing platform, to ensure they could see everything that went on, while most of the rest of the populace stood around the edge of the field.
The “playing area” itself was roughly a hundred yards wide, and three hundred long, oriented east west.
Just before noon, Grimketil walked out onto the field of battle led by Cuthbert, who was saying a range of prayers very specifically asking for the Almighty’s assistance on behalf of his lord.
A few minutes later a cheer went up, indicating the appearance of the Prince’s party. And what an appearance it was!
Wulfstan rode at the head of the procession, Obsidian gleaming in the sun, but it was what the Prince was wearing that stunned everyone. On his feet were beautiful leather boots, then elegant, close fitting blue trousers. His upper body was clad in a stunning tunic, the largely blue, light weight fabric billowing loosely around him, with bright yellow slashes on the sides of the body, and on the arms. His new sword hung at his left side, along with the buckler, and on his head sat a conical helmet of polished steel.
The coterie followed, Rowena and Berthilda, Freawaru and Storm, Deena and Deana, Melody and Scarlett, then Topaz and Jade bringing up the rear. All ten were dressed identically to the Prince.
Behind them came Hengist and Kelsey, the rest of their weapons in a cart driven by Fulton, then the Gundy family, and the rest of the villagers. Every one of them was beautifully dressed in close fitting, colourful clothes, mother of pearl buttons sparkling in the sun. The audience had never seen anything like it. Not even the King and Queen looked this good!
Thomas led the coterie up to the royal pavilion, followed by the Gundy family and the villagers, while Hengist, Kelsey and Fulton went off to the far end of the field.
Lynette walked out to the front of the villagers, bowed to the King and Queen, then turned to face her people, baton held high in her right hand. The coterie walked their horses around the back of the villagers and took up their own places, all eyes on Lynette.
A couple of gentle waves of her baton and the familiar strains of Jerusalem floated out across the stillness into Thomas’s ears as he floated above, relishing every glorious note, the harmonies of a multi-part choir sending him into raptures.
He and Wulfstan had found themselves swapping places earlier that morning as everyone was getting dressed.
‘That’s good!’ Thomas had said. ‘You’re much happier with this fighting business than I am!’ which had made Melody ask Wulfstan what was so funny.
Now Wulfstan sat astride his horse in front of the King and Queen, listening to the glorious music. He was the man of the moment, and knew it. This must be what the King felt most of the time.
In front of him, Jaenberht was listening in astonishment. Used to the incessant droning of monks, the rich, soaring harmonies of the hymn lit up parts of his brain he never knew existed.
Beside him, the King and Queen were equally entranced, but nothing like as much as the princesses who looked on open mouthed at their amazing brother.
Marwig glanced sideways, and noted the one person on the royal pavilion not really appreciating things. Ecgfrith, the heir to the throne, was clearly weighing things up. The clock had been a shock for him the previous night, then Wulfstan’s sudden wealth thanks to Offa buying the additional clocks, and now all the clothes and the music. Perhaps the future wasn’t so assured as he’d
thought it was?
The song came finally to an end, and the whole place lit up with applause. It was a full three minutes before it died down enough for the villagers to make their way to their allocated space, on another platform to the left of the royal party. Wulfstan had insisted they had a good vantage point.
‘Didn’t we do well mother?’ asked Grimhild, a huge grin on her face.
‘Yes darling. We all did very well indeed. And you remember what you are to do now? Do you have everything you need?’ asked Lynette.
‘Yes mother.’ said the little girl happily, heading for the top of the platform where she’d get the best view.
Wulfstan led the coterie off to the far end of the field, where the three men were waiting with the bows and quivers.
‘Line abreast formation everyone.’ he ordered.
The coterie spread out on either side of him, Berthilda, Freawaru, Storm, Deena and Deana to his left, Melody, Rowena, Topaz, Jade and Scarlett to his right.
‘Forward into canter!’ he cried, and all eleven horses moved easily into trot, and then to canter.
Grimketil and his men stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the field, right in front of the royal family. They would fight the way they had always fought, on foot.
‘Close up the shield wall! The Prince might say it’s a demonstration but let’s take no chances!’ commanded Grimketil.
His men raised their shields, interlocking them so the shield on the left overlapped the one on its right. Grimketil in the centre, had placed Sigwulf on the far right of the line, partly to keep away his careless chatter, partly because he was such a good blade.
‘Forward gallop! Bear left! Ready bows right!’ shouted Wulfstan as they closed to within a hundred yards.
The riders urged their mounts to top speed, and keeping the line straight, aimed the horses slightly to the left, bringing their bows across to the right of their horses’ necks to aim at the cluster of men ahead of them.
‘Hold position!’ screamed Grimketil as the ground shook under his men’s feet.
As the distance between the two groups narrowed to within twenty yards, Wulfstan let them off the leash.