“Let’s hope they are,” he said, hurrying after his comrades. “We need to finish once and for all what you started. And, if what Fleameld says is true, the bitch needs to die too.”
Leofman tried to rise again, but Cynan was ready this time and held him still with an effort. The voices of the six men became muffled with the distance and as Cynan and the others watched, the men at the stables led horses out to them. They spoke briefly, then the six men mounted and kicked their horses into a canter south.
Leofman was struggling beneath Cynan’s grip.
“Stay still, you fool,” hissed the Waelisc warrior into the older man’s ear. He watched as the men at the stable made their way back into the hall and the doors swung shut behind them. Somewhere close to the buildings a cock crowed. Cynan finally released his hold on Leofman.
With a groan, the old man pushed himself up.
“What is it, man?” said Cynan. “We have made provision for this. Sulis is safe.”
Imagining that Sidrac’s men might return in search of vengeance, they knew they could not leave Sulis alone and unprotected at the farm. Leofman had told them of a small hut in the hills where he or Alfwold would sleep on occasion. It was remote and only his family knew of it, and so they had packed provisions onto her pony and sent Sulis off to stay in the bothy until they returned.
Leofman’s face was twisted in horror.
“Sulis is in danger. You heard them.”
The man was trembling with emotion. Cynan could sense their plan falling apart soon after the first sighting of the enemy.
“You said that nobody knew of the bothy,” he said, desperately trying to allay Leofman’s fears.
“I thought that was so,” Leofman replied, his whisper taut with anguish. “I thought only Eadwig, Sulis and I knew about it now. But there was another.” He let out a shuddering breath. “A man I believed was dead.”
“Who?” asked Cynan. “Who is this man?”
“His name is Ludeca.”
“The tall one with the strange neck?”
“Aye. I’d thought him dead for years.”
Cynan’s mind was spinning.
“We cannot chase after them now,” he said. “To do so would be to lose this chance to free Eadwig. With so many of Sidrac’s men gone, we won’t get another opportunity like this again.”
Leofman stared at Cynan for several heartbeats. His face was pale in the shadow of the bracken and the trees. At last he nodded.
“It is worse than him knowing the place where Sulis is hiding,” he said, his voice almost a sob. He rubbed a hand across his face. “I think I finally understand what Sidrac plans, and why he took Eadwig.”
“How so?” asked Cynan. The cockerel crowed loudly in the distance and all of the men started. If they were not careful, they would be seen now that the sun was up. He pulled Leofman down again. “How so?” he repeated in a harsh whisper.
Leofman met his gaze with the look of one close to despair.
“Ludeca is my brother.”
PART TWO
RESCUE AND RETRIBUTION
Chapter 22
“It all makes sense now,” said Leofman, breathless with the shock of what he had witnessed. “Don’t you see?” Cynan had pulled the big man back down to lie prostrate in the wet undergrowth. The scent of the earth and rotting leaves went some small way to cover the stink of the midden, but not enough for them to breathe freely.
Cynan nodded. With the discovery of Leofman’s brother, Sidrac’s plan was becoming clearer.
“If you die,” he said, “Eadwig becomes the owner of your land.” He glanced over at the hall. There was no further movement there, but surely soon the rest of the household would be out and about their chores. “If this Ludeca is your kin,” he went on, “he can claim Eadwig on your death.”
“And control of the mine,” finished Brinin.
“There is more cunning in this plan than my brother ever had,” said Leofman. “I cannot understand how he came to be part of it.”
“You thought him dead?” asked Ingwald in a hushed tone.
“Aye.” Leofman sighed and stared at the curling leaf of a fern that was bejewelled with drops of rain. His features clouded as he looked far back into a past he clearly thought he would never revisit. “I thought he’d been killed years ago…” His voice trailed off and they all grew silent once more.
Cynan’s head was filled with questions. But they could wait. Now was not the time for conversation.
“How Ludeca still lives and how he became involved with Sidrac are questions for another time. Now we need to focus on the job in hand. We have been given a gift here.”
“A gift?” hissed Leofman. “Those men have ridden in search of me and Sulis. They will not find me, but she is alone.”
Cynan thought of Sulis, slender and elegant of limb, but with the round swell of her stomach impeding her movement, causing her to waddle. She was certainly no weakling to be fearful of men, but she was small and would be defenceless against the six warriors who had ridden south. If they found her.
“I like it no more than you,” he said. “But think. Six of Sidrac’s gesithas are no longer in the hall. You said he had no more than a dozen or so warriors in his household. His numbers are halved. This makes our position stronger. We must rescue Eadwig and then we will ride to Sulis’ aid.” He fixed Leofman in his stare. “Pray that they do not find her.”
Leofman did not look convinced that the Lord would answer his prayers. The old man began muttering under his breath and Ingwald clasped his shoulder.
“Do not fear,” he said. “Sulis is a strong woman.”
Leofman shook his head as if he thought Ingwald was a simpleton. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp hiss cut him off.
“Lord,” whispered Halinard, who had not taken his gaze from the hall and the outbuildings while they had been talking.
Cynan followed the Frank’s pointing finger. Two men had walked out of the hall and were making their way in their direction. A couple of hounds, one long-legged and rangy, the other squat and strong, bounded before them. Cynan cursed. Those dogs would uncover their hiding place as easily as if they had been a brace of partridges.
“Is that him?” he hissed.
There was a pause as Leofman peered at the approaching men. Cynan’s blood rushed in his ears as he prepared for action. The dogs would be upon them in an eye-blink.
“Is that Sidrac?” he repeated, anxiety sharpening his tone. The taller of the two was young and walked with the easy swagger of one used to being obeyed. He matched the brief description Leofman had given them of the son of Tohrwulf. Leofman remained silent and Cynan wanted to slap the man. Why had he come with them, if not to help them at this moment? “Is it?” Cynan repeated, knowing that the time for action was upon them. The nearest hound, a scruffy-looking brown and white lurcher, raised its head from where it was sniffing something in the mud and stared right at him. With a bark, it bounded towards the trees.
“Aye, that’s him,” said Leofman at last.
Cynan let out his breath in a rush.
“Halinard, Ingwald, take the one in the blue kirtle. Brinin, with me.” The dog was close and it slowed its run, perhaps uncertain of what it sensed beneath the trees. Its barking had become incessant now, high-pitched and piercing. Sidrac and the other man were still not as close as Cynan would have liked.
“What is it, Slætan?” called the short, stocky man in the blue kirtle. “What have you found there?” He altered his course and began walking towards where Cynan and the others were hidden. They could wait no longer.
“Ready, men?” whispered Cynan, unsure if they would hear him over the dog’s barking. The second animal, a thick-chested, wire-haired mutt with a wide jaw, loped over to see what the first dog had found. Without waiting for a response from the men lurking in the foliage, Cynan sprang up and ran at Sidrac, drawing his sword as he went.
“Now!” he bellowed.
He heard the leaves
and branches snapping as the others burst out of the undergrowth behind him. For a single heartbeat, both of the dogs stopped barking in shock and the two men’s mouths fell open in almost comical surprise. Cynan was past the hounds and the shorter man in an instant and speeding towards Sidrac.
The lord of the hall was fast. After the moment of shock, he spun about and sprinted back towards the hall. Cynan pounded after him. Behind them, he heard crashing, shouting, growling and barking.
Sidrac was hollering as he ran.
“We are under attack,” he shouted. “To arms! To arms!”
The man was quick and if he had been any further away when Cynan had set off in pursuit he might well have reached the sanctuary of his hall. But Cynan was not only a great horseman, he was also one of the fastest runners in Beobrand’s warband and often won foot races against the warriors of other lords. He frequently spent his time training his body, sprinting up and down the valley and hills surrounding Ubbanford. He was glad of that as he chased after Sidrac. He was close to the hall now. As Cynan watched, the doors swung open and men piled out. He could hear the rest of his own men still a ways behind. If he did not capture Sidrac now, he would have to face half a dozen armed men alone. He reached out his left hand in desperation and felt his fingertips brush the man’s woollen mantle. Snagging his fingers into the cloth, he clutched it tight and yanked Sidrac backward. Sidrac was strong. He did not fall, but tried to shake himself free, all the while screaming at his men to come to his aid. Sidrac dropped his hand to the seax that hung from his belt. Cynan pulled him back hard and placed the cold edge of his sword blade against his throat. Behind them, the dogs were still filling the morning with their raucous yapping.
“Tell your men to halt,” Cynan whispered into Sidrac’s ear. He could smell ale and oats on his breath. They had come to a halt now, and Cynan wrapped his left arm around Sidrac, holding him as close as a lover. Sidrac said nothing. He snarled and attempted to shake his captor off. Cynan pressed the sharp edge of his sword into the man’s neck, breaking his skin. “Now,” he hissed. “And stop struggling or die.”
Sidrac grew still.
“You’re a dead man,” he said.
“So people keep telling me,” replied Cynan. “And yet it is my sword at your throat, so call your men off now, or I will paint them in your lifeblood.” He applied pressure on the blade and Sidrac gasped.
“Stay where you are,” he said, his voice strained. There were seven men, each in different stages of readiness for a fight. Three bore shields, a couple held spears, the rest had seaxes or swords. None of them wore a byrnie, but all had the rough faces and hard eyes of killers. Cynan recognised Hunberht, his right arm still in its sling. The man scowled at Cynan. He held a sword in his left hand. A couple of the warriors with shields began to creep to Cynan’s left. Cynan pressed the blade again into the soft flesh beneath Sidrac’s chin. “Don’t move, Hussa,” Sidrac said. Both of the men halted.
Running footsteps approached from behind, but Cynan did not turn. He trusted it was Brinin.
“Good,” he said to the glowering men before the hall’s doors. “Do as I say and…” he glanced over his shoulder to see how his other comrades fared. Brinin, his scar dark in the morning sunlight came to halt and took up position close to Beobrand. Further away, the dogs were still barking, jumping forwards to snap at Halinard and Ingwald. The animals seemed too frightened to attack, but were dogging their steps as they made their way towards the hall. Behind them lay the crumpled form of the man who had been with Sidrac at the midden. The sun lifted above the peaks and its light gleamed from the naked blades in the warriors’ hands. Both Ingwald’s and Halinard’s swords were smeared in blood. Cynan had meant to say that nobody needed to die, but now he altered his words. “Do as I say,” he repeated, “and nobody else needs to die.”
“Who are you?” snapped Sidrac, making no effort to struggle, but clearly not cowed.
“Who I am is unimportant,” said Cynan.
“You killed Aescferth.”
Cynan recalled the man’s clumsy attacks beside the oak.
“Then you know who I am,” he said. “I did not wish for bloodshed, but Aescferth had it coming.”
“He was not much more than a child,” said Sidrac.
“He was old enough to torture a man,” said Cynan, his tone bitter and chill.
“He was too young to die.”
“Any man old enough to stand against me with a sword is old enough to die.”
Sidrac tried to turn to look at Cynan, but the Waelisc man reapplied pressure on his sword, to prevent him from moving and to keep him facing his men and the hall.
“What do you want?” snarled Sidrac.
“I want to talk to you,” replied Cynan. “But first I want you to command one of your men to tie up those dogs. Over in the stable. I don’t wish to kill those dumb beasts, but if they keep on their yapping, I think I might be tempted to.”
The barking had grown progressively louder as Halinard and Ingwald approached.
“One of you,” shouted Cynan to the gathered men, “drop your weapons and take those dogs to the barn there and tie them up.”
“They were Cynehelm’s animals,” said the youngest of the men, a scrawny, tall man about the same age as Beobrand’s son, Octa.
“I care nought whose dogs they were,” snapped Cynan. “Take them away from here, or we’ll kill them.”
The young man looked to Sidrac, who gave the smallest of nods.
“Go on now, Raedmund,” he said.
The boy dropped his spear to the wet earth and moved towards the animals. Their hackles were raised and they were still growling and snarling at Ingwald and Halinard. For a time it seemed that the young warrior would not be able to coax them away, but in the end, he plucked up the courage to grab the taller hound by the scruff and drag it towards the stable. He called out to the stockier dog and it reluctantly followed. The men waited in silence until the dogs quietened down and Raedmund returned.
“So,” said Sidrac, his voice calm once more, “what is it you want?”
Before Cynan could answer, Leofman’s booming voice said, “You know full well what we want, you bastard. Bring me my son, now.”
Cynan turned to see the tall warrior limping towards them, squinting into the rising sun. In his hand he held his great axe.
“Leofman, son of Hutha,” said Sidrac, “it seems you have saved us a trip to find you.”
“You’ll pay for what you did to my arm, you old fucker,” said Hunberht, taking a step forward.
“Maybe one day,” said Cynan, shaking Sidrac for emphasis and renewing the pressure on his throat. “But for now, fetch Eadwig out of the hall.”
Sidrac hesitated.
“We know what you were planning, Sidrac,” said Cynan. “The game is up. You will not take Leofman’s land. With Leofman alive, holding his heir is no use to you.”
Sidrac stiffened and Cynan prepared to react if the man tried to free himself. But he did not move, instead he spoke.
“I could use the boy to get what I wanted from Leofman here. What do you say, old man? You sign a new deed giving me the mine and I give you back your son?”
Leofman made to respond, but Cynan cut him off.
“You are in no position to barter with anybody, Sidrac. Have one of your men bring out the boy and we will exchange you for him.”
“How do I know you will let me go?”
“You don’t, but I am the one with the blade at your neck, so you’ll have to trust me.”
After a long moment, Sidrac sighed.
“Go on, Raedmund,” he said. “Bring out the boy.”
The young man slipped inside the hall and moments later returned with a small boy. At only seven years of age, Eadwig was tiny next to the tall youth, but he did not pull away from the hand Raedmund placed on his shoulder. He glared in defiance at Sidrac, and Cynan recognised Sulis in the boy’s angry stare.
“I told you my pa would come for me,�
�� Eadwig said.
“I am here, Eadwig,” said Leofman, his voice breaking with emotion at seeing his son.
“Now you will let the boy go, and we will leave,” said Cynan. “If you follow us, we will kill your lord.”
Hunberht took another step closer. He was barely two spear-lengths away now.
“What is to say you will not just kill him when you get away from here.”
“Easy now, Hunberht,” said Sidrac, in the tone a rider might use for a particularly skittish horse that was hard to control. “We’ll just have to trust them.”
“Well, I don’t trust this Waelisc scum,” Hunberht said, spitting into the mud. “The offer to fight you with my left hand still stands.”
“There will be no fighting here today,” said Sidrac. His tone was still soothing, but carried the hard edge of a command. “Let the boy go.”
Raedmund looked from Sidrac and then down at the boy, but did not release him.
“Do as I tell you,” snapped Sidrac.
Raedmund stooped to whisper something to the boy. Eadwig listened, his eyes wide. Raedmund nodded and pushed him towards Leofman. Eadwig rushed away, past Cynan and Sidrac and into his father’s arms. No sooner had he enveloped his son in his embrace, than both father and son began to sob.
“There is no time for that now,” said Cynan. “Start getting the boy to safety.”
Nodding, Leofman began leading Eadwig away. Cynan watched the faces of the men who stood before the hall. Their hatred and anger at being humiliated were clear in their expressions. His thoughts were a maelstrom in his mind. Whichever way he turned to look at the situation, he could see no way out of this for Leofman, Sulis and Eadwig while Sidrac yet plotted for their land and the mine. The thegn would not forgive this slight and he had set his mind on the silver he could make from the lead that could be brought from the ground. Leofman would never persuade him to leave his family in peace. Cynan and his men would not be able to stay to protect them for ever. And if they allowed all of Sidrac’s men to gather into one warband again, there would be no way that Cynan, Halinard, Brinin and Ingwald could prevail against them.
For Lord and Land Page 21