‘Our sentries will let us know. That’s why we have sentries.’
‘If they come on horseback,’ he said, ‘we won’t have much time.’
‘So what would you do?’ I asked.
‘Move,’ he said, ‘go north a couple of miles.’ The flames showed the concern on his face. My son was no coward, but even the bravest man must have known what danger we faced by lighting fires to show our position so close to an enemy who outnumbered us by at least two to one.
I looked at Finan. ‘Should we move?’
He half smiled. ‘You’re running a risk, sure enough.’
‘So why am I doing that?’
Men leaned forward to listen. Redbad, a Frisian who was sworn to my son, had been playing a soft tune on his pan pipes, but he paused, his face anxious, watching me. Finan grinned, the firelight reflecting bright from his eyes. ‘Why are you doing it?’ he asked. ‘Because you know what the enemy will do, that’s why.’
I nodded. ‘And what will they do?’
Finan frowned as he thought about my question. ‘The godforsaken bastards are laying a trap, is that right?’
I nodded again. ‘The godforsaken bastards think they’re being clever, and their godforsaken trap will catch us two days from now. Why two days? Because they need tomorrow to get it ready. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe they’ll close the trap tonight, but I don’t think they will. That’s the risk. But we need to persuade them that we suspect nothing. That we’re lambs waiting for the slaughterer’s knife, and that’s why we’re staying here. So that we look like innocent little lambs.’
‘Baaaaa,’ one of my men said, and then, of course, they all had to bleat until the steading sounded like Dunholm on market day, and they all found it funny.
My son, who did not join in the laughter, waited for the noise to stop. ‘A trap?’ he asked.
‘Work it out,’ I said, then went to bed to work it out for myself.
I could have been wrong. As I lay in a flea-infested hovel listening to men singing and other men snoring I decided I was wrong about the reason for the West Saxon presence at Hornecastre. They were not there to draw men away from Constantin’s invasion, because Edward was not such a fool as to exchange a slice of Northumbria for a new monastery on Lindisfarena. He hoped to be king of all the Saxon lands one day, and he would never yield Bebbanburg’s rich hills and pastures to the Scots. And why grant Bebbanburg, one of the great fortresses of Britain, to an enemy? So I decided it was more likely an unfortunate coincidence. Constantin had marched south while the West Saxons marched north, and there was probably no connection between the two. Probably. Not that it mattered. What mattered was Brunulf’s presence in the old fort beside the river.
I thought about Brunulf and Father Herefrith. Which one had been in command?
I thought about men turning back rather than riding to meet us.
I wondered about a banner disappearing from the fort’s wall.
And strangest of all, I marvelled at the cordial tone of the confrontation. Usually, when enemies meet before fighting, it offers an opportunity for insult. That exchange of insults is almost a ritual, but Brunulf had been humble, courteous, and respectful. If the purpose of his presence on Northumbrian soil was to provoke an attack that would give Wessex a reason to break the truce, then why had he not been hostile? Father Herefrith, it was true, had been belligerent, but he was the only one who had tried to goad me to fury. It was almost as if the others had wanted to avoid a fight, but if so, why invade at all?
They had lied, of course. There was no ancient charter giving the land to East Anglia, and Saint Erpenwald’s staff, if the wretched man ever had one, must have vanished years ago, and they surely had no intention of paying gold as customs’ dues, but none of those lies was a challenge. The challenge was their presence; their mild, unthreatening presence. And yet Wessex wanted a fight? Why else be here?
And then I understood.
Suddenly.
In the middle of that night, watching through the hovel’s door at the glow of fire touching the southern clouds, I understood. The idea had been there all day, half formed, nagging at me, but suddenly it took shape. I knew why they were here.
And I was fairly sure I knew when the fight would start; in two days.
So I knew why, and I thought I knew when, but where?
That question kept me awake. I was wrapped in an otterskin cloak, lying by the door of one of the cottages and listening to the low murmur of voices around the dying fires. The charred posts, beams, and rafters of the destroyed hall had provided us with convenient firewood, and that thought made me wonder whether Brunulf really had brought logs to build a church. If indeed, he had any real intention of building anything, but that was his ostensible reason for being here, and he had gone to the trouble of digging a church’s foundations, so either he had brought logs with him or he planned to cut down trees for timber. I had not seen much mature woodland in these gentle hills, but there had been the stand of old growth oak and chestnut that had barred our path as we had ridden northwards from Hornecastre. I had been impressed by the fine trees, wondering why they had not been felled to make more pasture or to sell as timber.
After leaving Brunulf we had ridden north along the rough cattle path that led through the belt of woodland that lay like a barrier across the path on a slight, almost imperceptible ridge. That ridge stood about halfway between the ruined steading and the old fort. So Brunulf must ride through the trees if he was to meet us at the stone, and that thought brought me fully awake and alert. Of course! It was so simple! I gave up trying to sleep. I did not need to dress or pull on boots because we were all sleeping, or trying to sleep, fully clothed in case the West Saxons did attempt a surprise assault on the steading. I doubted it would come because I reckoned they had other plans, but I had ordered it because it did no harm to keep my men alert. I buckled Serpent-Breath around my waist, and walked into the night, taking the path southwards. Finan must have seen me leave because he ran to catch up. ‘Can’t sleep?’
‘They’re going to attack Wednesday morning,’ I said.
‘You know that?’
‘Not for certain. But I’ll wager Tintreg against that spavined nag you call a horse that I’m right. Brunulf will come to talk with us sometime in mid morning, and that’s when they’ll attack. On Woden’s day,’ I smiled in the night, ‘and that’s a good omen.’
We had left the steading behind and were walking up a long and very gentle slope of pastureland. I could hear the sound of the river off to my right. The moon was clouded, but just enough light came through the thinner patches to show us the path and to reveal the woodland as a great dark barrier between us and the fort. ‘The fight they want will be there,’ I said, nodding at the trees.
‘In the wood?’
‘On the far side, I think. I can’t be sure, but I think so.’
Finan walked in silence for a few paces. ‘But if they want a fight beyond the trees, why tell us to wait on this side?’
‘Because they want us to, of course,’ I said mysteriously. ‘A bigger question is how many men they’ll bring.’
‘Every man they have!’ Finan said.
‘No, they won’t.’
‘You sound very sure,’ he said dubiously.
‘Have I ever been wrong?’
‘Sweet Christ, you want the whole list?’
I laughed. ‘You met Archbishop Hrothweard. What’s he like?’
‘Oh, he’s a nice fellow,’ he spoke warmly.
‘Really?’
‘Couldn’t have been nicer. He reminded me of Father Pyrlig, except he isn’t fat.’
That was a recommendation. Pyrlig was a Welsh priest, and a man with whom it was good to drink or stand beside in the shield wall. I would have trusted my life to Pyrlig, indeed he had saved it more than once. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘The poor fellow was upset about Constantin. He asked about him.’
‘Upset?’
‘It’ll b
e hard to rebuild Lindisfarena without Constantin’s permission.’
‘Constantin might give permission,’ I said. ‘He’s a Christian. Of sorts.’
‘Aye, that’s what I said.’
‘Did he ask about Bebbanburg?’
‘He asked if I thought Constantin would capture it.’
‘And you said?’
‘Not in my lifetime. Unless he starves them out.’
‘Which he will,’ I said, ‘by spring.’ We walked in silence for a while. ‘It’s strange,’ I broke the silence, ‘that Brunulf is building a church and Hrothweard is rebuilding a monastery. Coincidence?’
‘People build all the time.’
‘True,’ I allowed, ‘but it’s still strange.’
‘You think they’re really building a church here?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘But they have to have a reason for being here, and that’s as good a reason as any. What they really want is a war.’
‘Which you’re going to give them?’
‘Am I?’
‘If you fight,’ Finan said suspiciously, ‘then yes.’
‘I’ll tell you what I plan,’ I said. ‘On Wednesday we rid ourselves of these bastards, then we go south and smack King Edward to stop any similar nonsense, and after that we capture Bebbanburg.’
‘That simple?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that simple.’
Finan laughed, then saw my face in the moonlight. ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘you’re going to fight Constantin and your cousin? How in hell do we do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but I’m going back to Bebbanburg this year. And I’m going to capture it.’ I gripped my hammer and saw Finan put a finger on the cross he wore. I had no idea how I would capture the fortress, I just knew my enemies believed they had scared me away from my father’s lands, and I would let them believe that until my swords turned that land red.
We had reached the gaunt stone that stood tall beside the path. I touched it, wondering if it still possessed some dark power. ‘He was very specific,’ I said.
‘The priest?’
‘About meeting us here. Why not meet us by the woodland?’ I asked. ‘Or closer to the fort?’
‘You tell me.’
‘He wants us to be here,’ I said, still touching the great stone pillar, ‘so that we can’t see what happens on the other side of the trees.’
Finan still looked puzzled, but I gave him no time to ask questions. Instead I walked on south towards the trees and whistled through my fingers. I heard a brief answering whistle, then Eadric appeared at the woodland’s edge. He was probably the best of my scouts, an older man with a poacher’s uncanny ability to move silently through tangled woods. He carried a horn, which he would blow if the West Saxons came from the fort, but he said all had been quiet since sundown. ‘They haven’t even sent out scouts, lord,’ he said, evidently disgusted by the enemy’s lack of precautions.
‘If I’m right …’ I began.
‘… which he always is,’ Finan put in.
‘There’ll be men leaving the fort tomorrow. I want you to watch for them.’
Eadric scratched his beard, then grimaced. ‘What if they leave from the far side?’
‘They will,’ I said confidently. ‘Can you find a place to watch the southern walls?’
He hesitated. The land around the fort was mostly flat with few coppices or other hiding places. ‘There’s bound to be a ditch,’ he finally allowed.
‘I need to know how many men leave,’ I said, ‘and which direction they take. You’ll have to bring the news back after dark tomorrow.’
‘I’ll have to find a place tonight then,’ he said cautiously, meaning that he would be seen if he tried to find a hiding place in the daylight, ‘and if they find me tomorrow …’ he left the sentence unfinished.
‘Say you’re a deserter, show them your cross, and tell them you’re tired of serving a pagan bastard.’
‘Well, that’s true enough,’ he said, making Finan laugh.
The three of us followed the track through the wood till I could see the fort’s ramparts outlined by the glow of the fires burning in its courtyard. The cattle path led gently downhill for over a mile, running straight as a Roman road across the pastureland. Two mornings from now Brunulf would follow that path, bringing eleven men and, doubtless, an apologetic refusal to pay any gold to Sigtryggr. ‘If Brunulf has any sense,’ I said, ‘and I suspect he does, he’ll send scouts to make sure we’re not ambushing the path in the wood.’ The woodland was the key. It was a massive tract of old trees, of fallen trunks, of tangling ivy, and thorny undergrowth. I wondered why it was not being tended, why no foresters had thinned out the brush or pollarded the trees, and why no charcoal was being made here, or great oaks turned into valuable timber. Probably, I thought, because there was a dispute about ownership, and, until a law court gave a judgement, no one could claim rights over the wood. ‘And if we do set an ambush here,’ I went on, ‘and Brunulf sends scouts first, he’ll find it.’
‘So no ambush,’ Finan said.
‘It’s the only place,’ I said, ‘so it has to be here.’
‘Sweet Jesus,’ Finan swore in frustration.
Eadric grunted. ‘If you asked me to scout it, lord, I wouldn’t search the whole wood. It’s too big. I’d just search maybe a bowshot either side of the path?’
‘And if I was Brunulf,’ Finan added, ‘I wouldn’t fear an ambush here at all.’
‘No?’ I asked. ‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s in full view of the fort! When he’s riding to the place where he knows we’re meeting him? If we wanted to kill him why wouldn’t we wait till he reaches the stone? Why kill him in view of the fort?’
‘You’re probably right,’ I said, and that thought gave me a little comfort even as it mystified Finan even further. ‘But tomorrow he’ll probably send scouts here,’ I was talking to Eadric now, ‘just to look at the land before Woden’s day, so tell your men to get out of here before dawn.’
I sounded certain, but of course the doubts harried me. On Woden’s day would Brunulf search the wood before riding through it? Eadric was right, it was a large wood, but a horseman could gallop along the edges quickly enough, even if searching the thick undergrowth would take time. But I could see nowhere else that would serve as well for an ambush. ‘And why,’ Finan asked me again, ‘do you want to ambush him here at all? You’ll just attract three hundred angry Saxons from the fort! If you wait till he’s at the stone,’ he jerked his head back towards the steading, ‘we can slaughter the lot of them and no one in the fort will know a thing. They won’t see it!’
‘That’s true,’ I said, ‘that’s very true.’
‘So why?’ he asked.
I grinned at him. ‘I’m thinking like my enemy. You should always plan your battles from the enemy’s point of view.’
‘But …’
I hushed him. ‘Not so loud. You might wake three hundred angry Saxons.’ There was no chance of waking men so far away, but I was enjoying mystifying Finan. ‘Let’s go this way,’ I said, and led my companions westwards, walking on the open ground beside the tree line. By daylight we would have been seen from the fort’s walls, but I doubted our dark clothing would show against the black loom of the dense wood. The ground sloped towards the river, and it was a deceptive slope, steeper than it appeared. If one of Brunulf’s scouts rode this way he would soon lose sight of the track and would surely conclude that no one planning an ambush against men on the road would wait in this lower wood, simply because they could not see their prey. That gave me some hope. ‘We won’t need more than fifty men,’ I said, ‘all of them mounted. We’ll conceal them in these lower trees and have some scouts higher up the slope to tell us when Brunulf is almost at the wood.’
‘But …’ Finan began again.
‘Fifty should be enough,’ I interrupted him, ‘but that really depends on how many men leave the fort tomorrow.’
‘Fifty
men!’ Finan protested. ‘And the West Saxons have over three hundred.’ He jerked his head southwards. ‘Three hundred! And only a mile away.’
‘Poor innocent bastards,’ I said, ‘and they have no idea what’s about to happen to them!’ I turned back towards the track. ‘Let’s try and sleep.’
Instead I lay awake, worrying I might be wrong.
Because if I was, Northumbria was doomed.
I grew angry the next day.
The Lady Æthelflaed, ruler of Mercia, had made peace with Sigtryggr, and Sigtryggr had yielded valuable land and formidable burhs to secure that peace. That surrender of land had offended some of the powerful Danish jarls in southern Northumbria, and those men were now refusing to serve him, though whether that meant they would refuse to fight when the invasion came was something we did not yet know. What I did know was that West Saxon envoys had witnessed the treaty, they had travelled to Ledecestre’s church to see the oaths taken, and they had brought written approval from King Edward for the peace his sister had negotiated.
No one was fooled, of course. Sigtryggr might have purchased peace, but only for a while. The West Saxons had conquered East Anglia, making that once proud country part of Wessex, while Æthelflaed had restored the frontier of Mercia to where it had been before the Danes came to ravage Britain. Yet the years of war had left the armies of Wessex, Mercia, and Northumbria blood-battered, and so the peace treaty had been largely welcomed because it gave all three countries a chance to train new young warriors, to repair walls, to forge spear-blades, and to bind the willow shields with iron. And it gave Mercia and Wessex the time to create new and bigger armies that would eventually surge northwards and so unite the Saxon people into one new land called Englaland.
Now Wessex wanted to break the peace, and that made me angry.
Or rather, a faction in the West Saxon court wanted the peace broken. I knew because my people in Wintanceaster kept me informed. Two priests, a tavern-keeper, one of the household warriors, King Edward’s wine steward, and a dozen other folk sent messages that were carried north by merchants. Some of the messages were written, others were whispered quietly and retold to me weeks later, but in the last year all confirmed that Æthelhelm, Edward’s chief advisor and father-in-law, was pushing for a swift invasion of Northumbria. Frithestan, the Bishop of Wintanceaster and a fierce supporter of Æthelhelm, had preached a vituperous Christmas sermon complaining that the north still lay under pagan power, and demanding to know why Wessex’s Christian warriors were not doing the nailed god’s will by destroying Sigtryggr and every other Dane or Norse south of the Scottish border. Edward’s wife, Ælflæd, had rewarded the bishop’s Christmas sermon by giving him an elaborately embroidered stole, a maniple hemmed with garnets, and two tail-feathers from the cockerel that had crowed three times when someone said something that the nailed god did not like. Edward gave the bishop nothing, which confirmed rumours that Edward and his wife disagreed, not only about the desirability of invading Northumbria, but just about everything else. Edward was no coward, he had led his armies well in East Anglia, but he wanted time to impose his authority on the lands he had conquered; there were bishops to appoint, churches to build, land to be given to his followers, and walls to be strengthened around his newly captured towns. ‘In time,’ he had promised his council, ‘in time we will take the north. But not yet.’
The Flame Bearer Page 8