Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (19 page)

Eadwulf nodded. ‘And we need to spend a night or two at our camp. But then, I think we should come back here for a couple of days, just to find out how things are going. We might see some way of killing Ivar while he’s still in Thetford.’

So far, the big man was nodding, and Eadwulf pushed on. ‘Staying here for the winter wasn’t in my plans either, to be honest. But until we learn what Ivar’s immediate intentions are, I’m not sure what our next move should be. I’ve a hunch he’ll stay in Anglia longer than he originally intended – at least long enough to see how this client king manages things.’

‘That could be anything up to a year,’ Aethelnoth said thoughtfully. ‘In which case, we could probably go home now and come back here in the spring. But, I’d be happy to go with your idea.’ He grinned. ‘I can wait another week or so to see Odella.’

Eadwulf frowned, suddenly reminded of Leoflaed and what he’d have to face when they did get back to Elston. But he refused to dwell on that right now. He was relieved, at least, that Aethelnoth had not objected to staying here a little longer; it made more sense to have one last try at getting to Ivar.

‘Come on,’ Aethelnoth urged at his sudden silence. ‘If we get a move on, we might be in time to see what Halfdan intends to do with Edmund’s head. Perhaps he’ll hoist it up on a pole or something. You can reflect on Leoflaed’s unpredictable temperament when we’re riding home.’

Nineteen

Eadwulf and Aethelnoth spent two days at their woodland camp, heading back to Thetford for one last time the following day. Tomorrow they’d set off on the long ride home.

A light mist writhed about them as they rode, the early morning November sun too feeble as yet to shift it with any degree of efficacy. Arriving in the wakening town they headed for an alehouse where they broke their fast with warm bread and ale. Then, leaving their horses to be fed and watered by the stable lad, they headed off on foot.

The streets were markedly quiet, just a few merchants setting up stalls and even fewer folk looking to purchase their wares. But, despite the menacing Danish presence, Eadwulf noticed that most of the craftsmen were working as usual in their yards. Families still needed feeding, so coin had to be earned.

Yet Thetford seemed to be functioning under the constraints of shock, Eadwulf considered, noting the nervous glances flicking their way as they passed. After witnessing the callous slaughter of their king, combined with the knowledge that their lives under Danish dominance would be extremely harsh, these people were bewildered and utterly terrified. Even the unctuous Oswald, their new king, was no more than a lap dog for the Danes, and unlikely to show lenience in his ruling for fear of facing the same end as Edmund.

But the absence of the crowds along the walkways was unnerving. Despite their disguises, two tall, muscular men, seemingly just wandering about, would certainly warrant the attention of the patrolling Danes.

‘We need to find a way of looking like merchants, Eadwulf,’ Aethelnoth said, as though reading his thoughts. ‘We stand out like a pair of women on a longship.’

‘Any suggestions?’

‘Well, first off, some kind of cart would be useful.’ Aethelnoth glanced about. ‘Like that wine merchant’s over there.’

‘Fine,’ Eadwulf agreed, ‘except that there don’t seem to be any spare carts standing around.’

Aethelnoth shot him an exasperated look. ‘We’ve got plenty of coin left, haven’t we? How about we use some of it to pay for the loan of one? We could also buy something to stick in it – like some vegetables or something.’

Eadwulf thought about the idea as they walked, and decided it had possibilities. On the lookout now for a suitable cart or small wagon, he scanned about him until Aethelnoth suddenly yanked him towards the gate of the closest yard. A group of armed warriors were heading their way. Darting into a yard criss-crossed by lines of unworked hides, they squatted down behind the fence until the patrol had passed.

‘Can I be of assistance?’

Starting at the voice so close behind them, they sprang to their feet . . . to be greeted by the squat body and amused face of a leather-worker.

‘It seems that you two like the Danes as much as I do,’ the craftsman said, still grinning. ‘Though I don’t recognise you as one of us – Thetford folk, I mean.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘But, whoever you are, you’re unlikely to avoid those Norse swine around our streets. Patrols pass this way all too often – and strapping lads like you are likely to warrant a little more than a passing glance.’

Eadwulf nodded. ‘We realise that, my friend. And you’re right, we’re both Mercian.’ He paused, wondering how much he could safely reveal to this stranger. He reasoned that, although their present predicament dictated the need to take chances, he didn’t have to be completely honest. ‘We’re here to settle certain matters with one or two of those “swine”,’ he said. ‘Peterborough’s suffered much at their hands, and my father was amongst those who died trying to save our monastery and the good monks.’

The man nodded but asked no questions, and Eadwulf gestured to an old cart he’d spotted, standing redundant further along the wattle fence. The wheels and bodywork looked reasonably sound, and would likely serve their purpose – as would the sturdy pony, tethered to a post close by. ‘Would you be willing to loan us the pony and cart for an hour or two, my friend?’ he broached. The leather-worker frowned, the beginnings of a refusal on his lips. ‘Believe me, we’ll pay you well for the service,’ Eadwulf put in quickly. ‘In advance, of course.’

The craftsman’s brow relaxed a little. ‘And I’ll get them back in one piece?’

‘We’ve every intention of making sure you do,’ Aethelnoth assured him. ‘The cart’s only needed so we’re not on foot while we mooch around. As you pointed out, we’re not particularly inconspicuous walking about.’

The leather-worker took a few moments to consider the deal, staring at the leather belts and boots displayed on a trestle table close to his wattle-walled house. A woman and four small children peeped through the open door, evidently curious as to what was taking place.

‘It’s a deal,’ the man said at last, seeming to reach a sudden decision. ‘I’ll likely see no purchases today. Most folks are too scared to linger on the streets. They might pop out for a moment or two to buy food and suchlike. But leather goods . . .?’ His face contorted as he shook his head. ‘I’ll not do much trade until things settle down a bit. And your coin could keep us fed till then.’

The deal struck, Eadwulf passed over a generous payment for a mere few hours’ use of an old cart. The craftman beamed at them gratefully, as he hitched the pony to the cart. ‘I wish you luck in your mission,’ he said. ‘And if, by chance, you manage to kill a few of them bastards, I’ll be heartily glad.’

*****

Approaching the wide space that surrounded the royal hall, it became obvious to Eadwulf and Aethelnoth that something was going on. Half a dozen warriors stood rigidly outside the hall door, watching the comings and goings around them, hands on the hilts of their swords in readiness. A few townsfolk scurried warily past, giving their oppressors wide berth, only too aware of the suspicious eyes following them.

Holding well back, the two friends glanced about for somewhere suitable to halt the cart and uncover the mounds of vegetables they’d purchased from a delighted vendor further out. The decision made, they headed to a spot some distance from the hall, but close enough to observe what would transpire, pulling up just as the wine merchant they’d spotted earlier did the same.

The young merchant looked as dirty and unkempt as they did. Murky fair hair straggled from beneath some kind of old cloth hat, and his facial features were indistinguishable through the thick layer of grime. He gave them a long, withering look before hopping down from his seat and heaving a few barrels from the back of his cart.

‘Bloody cheek,’ Aethelnoth muttered. ‘Does he think he owns this particular spot?’

Eadwulf noted his friend’s balled fists and laid a steadying hand on arm. ‘Use your head, Aethelnoth. A brawl right now is hardly going to help matters.’

‘Well, that clod’d better not give us that look again or I’ll wipe it right off his face!’

No more was said and they followed the wine merchant’s example and uncovered their own wares. But, other than the sale of a bunch of onions and a few turnips to a couple of townsfolk, trade was at a standstill. The young wine merchant did no trade at all.

Eadwulf suddenly nudged his friend and gave a cursory nod towards a horse-drawn wagon emerging from one of the streets that headed off south, towards the Danish camp. It was escorted by a further eight mounted warriors. The driver pulled up outside the hall door and one of the stationed guards disappeared inside.

‘Interesting . . .’ Eadwulf murmured. ‘I bet that wagon’s about to transport someone somewhere; someone who doesn’t ride very well.’

‘Thor’s bollocks, Eadwulf!’ Aethelnoth exclaimed. ‘Can’t you just say his bloody name? We both know you mean that rabid cur, Ivar. And we’re probably both wondering about possibilities if he–’

The big man’s mouth clamped shut at Eadwulf’s sharp dig. The hall door had opened wide and a moment later, Ivar stepped out, wrapped in a thick cloak and supported by his aides. Following behind were the ageing warrior who’d severed Edmund’s head from his body, and Ivar’s two brothers, Halfdan and Ubbi.

A sudden gasp made Eadwulf start. He turned to see the young merchant standing at his side, staring at the group outside the hall. Again he nudged Aethelnoth, whose eyes narrowed as he saw what his friend was tilting his head at. The young man suddenly realised they were both staring at him and stepped back apace.

Aethelnoth opened his mouth to spit out further retort, but held his tongue as Ivar made a move towards the covered wagon. He was helped inside by his two aides before they mounted up to join the eight riders escorting the trundling wagon.

‘So, are we to follow . . .? Because if we are,’ Aethelnoth ploughed on at Eadwulf’s hesitation, ‘we need to get the cart back to the leather-worker first. We can hardly drive off after Ivar in it. Odin knows how long we’ll be traipsing after the ugly dog. Besides, our own horses are still tethered up, unless someone’s already stolen them.’

Eadwulf nodded. ‘I suppose we’d be fools not to follow,’ he murmured. ‘Although I can’t imagine we’ll find Ivar conveniently alone. He has eleven men guarding him, too, if we include his two aides. Not good odds for us, I’d say. And they’re probably only heading for the camp, anyway.’

Aethelnoth huffed. ‘So does that mean we’re going, or not? The way I’m hearing it, you’re making excuses not to bother . . .

‘And you can piss off,’ he snarled at the young man, who’d crept a little too close again. ‘I’m not fond of eavesdroppers.’

‘Do you actually want something from us?’ Eadwulf asked, more equably than his friend. ‘You’re hovering about like a fly over a dung heap. Or perhaps you’d just like to be sociable, is that it?’

The young merchant stared at him, and then at Aethelnoth, before a great grin lit his filthy face. ‘Well, I think I can safely say my disguise is better than either of yours,’ he chirped. ‘I recognised you two as soon as I saw you.’

Eadwulf stared back . . . and recognition hit. Not the gradual swell of an incoming wave as each feature became familiar to him, but a tidal wave of certainty – carrying a small bubble of anger that was unable to keep afloat.

‘Jorund! What the . . . !’

‘He means, what in Odin’s name are you doing here – looking like . . . like
that
?’ Aethelnoth said, eyeing Jorund from head to foot. ‘You’re supposed to be safe back in Elston.’

Eadwulf gaped at his young brother, struggling to find something about this situation that made sense. ‘Jorund, at this moment I can’t think of anything rational to ask you, so perhaps you’d better just explain what you think you’re playing at.’

Jorund squirmed under the probing stare of two pairs of eyes, and Eadwulf fought back a laugh. He secretly admired his younger brother’s guts, although he wasn’t going to tell him that.

‘I just wanted to see Ubbi,’ Jorund said, his face downcast. ‘I thought he’d probably go wherever his brothers went, and you were convinced they were all heading for Anglia. I knew you wouldn’t let me go with you, so I waited until you’d been gone a few days and followed. I took the same roads that you and Aethelnoth had talked about, and when I reached Peterborough I heard people talking about the Danish camp in Thetford, so I came here . . .

‘And I look like this,’ he added, rubbing his filthy face, ‘for the same reason that you look like
that
.’ He made a show of gesturing at Eadwulf and Aethelnoth’s grimy appearance. ‘I remembered what you told me about disguising yourself in Nottingham, Eadwulf, and it seemed like a good idea. Not that anyone’s likely to recognise me now, except perhaps Ubbi. And before you ask, I stole the cart. The owner had just left it outside his gate for some reason. He gave a half-hearted shrug. But I intend to put it back later.’

Eadwulf nodded. ‘What, exactly, did you plan to do once you’d seen Ubbi?’

‘I hadn’t planned anything. I suppose I’d hoped that once Ubbi’d seen me, he’d greet me as a friend. You know, sit with me and just talk for a while. But now I know what a warrior he’s become, I don’t think he’d want to admit he’d ever met me. He looked so fearsome.’

Jorund turned his head to hide his pain and Eadwulf instantly felt the need to say something to cheer him up. ‘Ubbi’s not the only one with a warrior’s physique, Jorund,’ he said. ‘Have you taken a good look at yourself recently? You’re eighteen now, and a man – easily as tall and broad as I am, and would look just as fearsome as Ubbi in a warrior’s garb.’

‘You might need to grow that tuft you call a beard a bit longer, though,’ Aethelnoth put in, grinning pointedly at Eadwulf’s now stubbly visage.

Jorund’s attempt at a smile almost succeeded. ‘Well, that may well be, but now that I’ve seen Ubbi, and the way he and his brothers treat these people, I don’t think it’d make any difference whatever I looked like. He’d still see me as the enemy.’

He averted his eyes from Eadwulf’s level gaze. ‘It was a bad idea to come here, and now I’m sorry for it. And Leoflaed will probably never forgive me. Wigstan eventually said that if my mind was made up, I was old enough to do what I thought was best. But Leoflaed kept harping on about the dangers of travelling alone – especially with so many Danes about. She had a great rant at both me and her father when I told her I
was
going. So she’ll probably have another yell at me when we get back.’

‘You and me both, Jorund,’ Eadwulf murmured, attempting a smile. ‘My wife declared she wouldn’t have me back at all if I left.’

‘She’ll see things differently once she sets eyes on you,’ Aethelnoth assured him, yet again.

Eadwulf nodded, still unconvinced, and turned again to Jorund, wondering whether he’d witnessed Edmund’s gruesome end.

‘I only got here two days ago,’ Jorund said in response to Eadwulf’s question, ‘just after Edmund had been killed, and the streets were full of people, all crying and moaning about what had happened to their king . . .

‘And I’ve been looking round for you two since then. So where’ve you been?’

The accusatory tone in Jorund’s voice caused Eadwulf and Aethelnoth to laugh, bringing a broad smile to Jorund’s face. ‘We’ll talk about all this later,’ Eadwulf said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘But right now, we need to get out of here. For one thing, I don’t like the looks we keep getting from those guards over there; for another, we’ve a cart to return and our horses to collect. And, from what you said, you’ve got to do the same.’