Better than Gold (9 page)

‘I… I have wanted to please him,' he admitted guiltily. ‘And I should not have done.'

‘You gave him respect, there is no guilt in that,' Chad told him. ‘This war is a ruthless battle for land and power.'

As they turned to look again, the great gathering moved off.

‘Will they kill my father, do you think?'

‘That's in the hands of God,' Chad said.

To
the sound of horns and a steady beating drum they set off. The king went first with his hearth-companions, eager for battle, seasoned warriors every one. They were followed by well-disciplined foot soldiers, archers and slingers, each with their own special skills. The local headman led the serfs, ploughmen and young lads, herders and farmers, armed only with axes, pikes, scythes and ploughshares. Unused to fighting, they glanced regretfully back to their wives and daughters. Last of all went the slaves. Unarmed, they led mules and rumbling carts, loaded with food, drink and grain. Egfrid glimpsed Fritha riding amongst a gang of well-wrapped women, mounted on her sturdy pony. He watched her go sadly, for she'd been a good friend to him.

‘Some do not look as though they want to go,' he said.

Chad sighed. ‘They have no choice, they must follow their lord. Every kingdom that pays tribute to Penda will send the same and when they join together as they move north, there will be many of them.'

‘What will my father do?'

Chad shook his head. ‘Oswy has already added Pictish warriors and Dalriads to his war host, but I doubt Deirans will go willingly to his cause. Oswin
wasn't
known as ‘the Good' for nothing. He was loved by his people, I think.'

‘Damn him…damn my father!' Egfrid cried angrily. ‘Will he ride north and hide in the hills, so that Penda may call him Faint-heart once again?'

Chad made no reply and in the quiet that followed the great exit, they heard the murmur of voices and light footsteps approaching. The door was opened and the queen herself stood there.

‘I'm so sorry,' she said, and held out her arms to Egfrid. ‘So sorry to keep you locked up, but it was for your own safety. I hope you understand.'

Relief that she was not angry made his face crumple as she hugged him. ‘I'm sorry too,' he said. ‘Sorry that my father has broken the peace that you worked so hard to gain.'

Cynewise nodded. ‘Not your fault,' she said. ‘I must keep you here, but if you give me your word not to escape, then I will allow you the freedom of Tamworth once again.'

‘I give my word,' he said.

They discovered when they emerged that Tamworth had turned into a ghost town. The only men of fighting age were the queen's own warrior band,
though
at least that meant Sigurd was there. The usually busy workshops were quiet, for the smiths and metalworkers had gone with Penda. Only the gentle clack of working looms rose from the websters' and spinners' huts. The stables stood almost empty, with just three horse-boys left behind. Egfrid was grateful to find Golden-mane stabled alongside Cynewise's silver-grey mare.

The days passed quietly and Egfrid worked with Chad every morning and with Sigurd in the afternoons, but more often he rode out with the queen, who was almost as restless as he was.

‘Where is Ranulf?' Egfrid asked, noticing his absence.

‘Gone to fight,' Sigurd told him, his face a blank mask.

‘I'm sorry,' Egfrid said. ‘You must fear for him.'

‘I'm proud of him,' the captain insisted.

Egfrid understood.

‘Wulfhere and his battle-master will meet the army as they travel north,' Sigurd said.

‘And what of Prince Beorn?'

‘Beorn must stay where he is and keep well out of this quarrel.'

‘Do you wish you could go too?'

Sigurd nodded. ‘It is hard to stand back while others
fight,
but I stay here to guard the queen…and you,' he added.

Weed-month passed and Harvest-month came and still there was no word of distant battles in the north. Chad and Egfrid went out to help bring in the harvest, turning brown-skinned and weather-beaten. Offerings-month dragged by and even the Night of the Dead passed with few celebrations. In Blood-month the work of slaughtering animals began.

CHAPTER
13

King's Gold

J
ust as the slaughtering of the beasts began, horses were spotted on the tracks from the north. Was this Penda returning at last? But almost at once they saw that this was just a small contingent with a wagon and few warriors.

‘Return to your chamber,' Cynewise told Egfrid sharply. ‘I know that banner. It is Wulfhere, with his battle-master Aldred.'

Chad took him by the arm and hurried him away. They watched from their window as a tall lad, well-armed and dressed in mail, rode into the courtyard ahead of the wagon. He was escorted by a small warrior band and an older, battle-scarred man.

‘Does this mean they have won?' Egfrid asked. ‘Is my father dead?'

Chad
pressed his shoulder, but said nothing.

They watched as the queen went to greet her son. He swung her round in his arms.

‘I've never seen her look so happy,' Egfrid said resentfully.

‘He's her son,' Chad said. ‘And she has feared for him, just as your mother fears for you.'

Wyn brought food to their chamber, saying nothing. It seemed a feast took place to which they were not invited, but later that night they were summoned to the hall. Wulfhere sat on his father's chair, one leg thrown over the arm, a horn of mead in his hand, the battle-scarred Aldred at his side.

Egfrid bowed politely and Wulfhere turned a smiling face to him, but the warmth of his expression slipped immediately.

‘He's wearing my old hog-skin jerkin,' he said.

Cynewise smiled. ‘And why not?' she said. ‘He is our foster-son.'

‘I have something to show you, Bernician boy,' Wulfhere said, with a sneering smile. ‘You may have my old clothes, but I've got your father's gold.'

Egfrid summoned his courage to ask the question uppermost in his mind. ‘Is my father dead?'

Wulfhere
shrugged. ‘Not dead, but disgraced. He ran as he always does when he saw that our war-host outnumbered his. We had the Welsh on our side, Ethelwald of course, and the East Anglians too. We kept your Faint-heart holed up in Stirling castle through the Month of Offerings—and he agreed to pay us three sacks of gold, to go away. Ethelwald will rule Deira now, and I have more Bernician gold in my possession than I have ever seen. Come, I will show it to you.'

Egfrid hesitated, but Wulfhere grabbed his arm and led him from the hall into the courtyard where the stumpy tower that was used as a strong room stood. He lifted the heavy wooden bar and opened the door.

‘Come, you will recognise this. You will know where it came from!'

Chad, Cynewise and Aldred followed hurriedly, speaking low to each other.

‘You need to see this, Bernician boy,' Wulfhere continued. ‘See how your father's courage fails! Let this be a lesson to you for the future: Mercia is overlord.'

Egfrid gritted his teeth. In the light of the torch that blazed from a wall sconce, he saw that the strong room was spread with the glimmer of gold. He could not help
but
gasp, for Wulfhere was right. The more he looked, the more he saw familiar fragments—broken, all broken and thrown onto trestle tops—sword pommel caps, scabbard pyramids, sword loops, the hilt plates of a seax, but all of them hacked from the weapons they once adorned.

‘Ha! I see you come to understand the coward your father is.'

Egfrid wanted to turn and walk away, but pride and a horrid curiosity forced him to stay there looking. He knew how his father valued these riches, these symbols of wealth and power, gathered over many years.

Egfrid's hand strayed towards a narrow dragon's head that once had capped his father's battle helmet with its solemn gold-wrought face. Now the sinuous head was hacked from the body.

‘And this—see this.' Wulfhere picked up two broken, highly decorated gold cheek pieces and threw them down onto the trestle. ‘Do you know these?'

Egfrid nodded silently.

‘And what is this?' Wulfhere snatched up an elaborately worked sword hilt fitting, decorated with garnets and an exquisite curled pattern of twisting creatures.

‘It is from my father's sword,' Egfrid said quietly.

‘
Where is the pommel cap?' Wulfhere asked, rummaging amongst the glittering scraps.

‘It's here,' Egfrid said, reaching into the middle of the pile. He drew out the treasured piece that had been made for his father by Frankish goldsmiths and brought by sea from Kent to Bernicia. ‘This sword was a wedding gift from my mother.'

Wulfhere laughed nastily. ‘Rumour has it that your mother refuses to speak to your father. He dared not ask for her jewel box and instead made his companions hack off their gold fittings and helmet trimmings, which were added to make up the payment demanded of him—three bags of gold. There are two more sacks like this, shared out amongst our allies.'

Egfrid's stomach tightened. It must have been deeply humiliating for his father to be forced to order this crude destruction of the precious gold fittings his followers possessed…but he had brought it upon himself.

‘See here!' Wulfhere reached out to snatch up a larger twisted gold plate plaque, fantastically wrought into the form of two eagles holding a fish between them. Egfrid had last seen it decorating Cedric's shield, the one given to him by the young wife who'd died long ago. Cedric would have hated to part with such a
treasured
possession, but it was the duty of the king's companions to give their all for him—even their lives.

‘And this…' Wulfhere went on relentlessly.

From another bag he lifted out what seemed to be a great mash of tangled strips, bent into a strange basket-like shape.

‘Look at this, boy, and tell me your father is not a coward! Penda is old and sick, but he straps himself into his saddle and rides to the fight, a true follower of Woden. Your Faint-heart kills by treachery, hides in his castle and buys his safety with the symbols of his faith!'

Egfrid's eyes widened as he suddenly understood what he looked at. It was twisted and crushed, but as Wulfhere prised the strips apart and flattened them, the gold and garnet cross that Oswy carried ahead of his household warrior-band was revealed. How could his father have allowed this desecration of the symbol of his God-given power as a Christian king? Egfrid wanted to crumble into dust at Wulfhere's feet and die. He could take no more.

Cynewise had come into the strong room behind them. ‘That is enough!' she said. ‘It is dishonourable in you, Wulfhere. The boy is humiliated enough. Chad, take Egfrid back to his guest hut, please.'

‘
Come,' Chad said quietly.

Egfrid turned and followed his tutor, neither of them speaking until they got inside and closed the door.

‘You bore that well,' Chad said at last.

Egfrid looked at his book-master. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘If I should live through this, to be a man, I swear that I will make Wulfhere cry for mercy. I will take every possession he has, and then I will kill him!'

‘Go to bed,' Chad said brusquely.

Egfrid threw himself onto his bed and beat the mattress with his fists. He bit the soft woollen covers to stop himself from howling like a wolf. Dapple whined in the corner, sensing his master's distress. Chad watched in silence.

At last Egfrid lay still, exhausted. Dapple jumped up beside him and eventually boy and dog fell into a restless sleep, while Chad knelt upright by the door and prayed all through the hours of darkness.

They were disturbed in the morning by the sound of hooves and voices. When they looked out through the shutter, they saw that the gold was being removed from the strong room and lifted back into the wagon. Aldred supervised and gave orders while Wulfhere hovered in the background.

‘
What will they do with it?' Egfrid asked.

Chad shook his head. ‘I don't know.'

At last the wagon was packed and driven out through the gate in the palisade, Wulfhere and Aldred bringing up the rear. Egfrid heard footsteps approaching and knew it was the queen.

‘I apologise for my son,' she said. ‘He is young and rash and angry…but he is my son and I would die for him.'

Egfrid, pale-faced and red-eyed, accepted her apology, unsure that his own mother would speak so fervently for him. ‘Can we come out again?' he asked.

‘You can indeed…more than that! Penda heads back to Tamworth and I will go to meet him. You must come with me, so that I know you are safe. I've had enough of skulking at home while my husband and younger son go to war.'

Egfrid exchanged a brief glance of pleasure with Chad, for he too was weary of Tamworth, and almost anything would be better than being cooped up any longer. ‘May I take Dapple with me?'