Sword Song (11 page)
“There are not many beds in Wintanceaster,” I said, “and not nearly
enough for all the invited guests, so we were very lucky to find this room.”
“And they know you very well here, Uhtred,” she said accusingly.
“It’s a tavern as well,” I said defensively.
She laughed, then reached out a long thin arm and pushed a shutter open to find the heavens were bright with stars.
The sky was still clear next morning when I went to the palace, surrendered my two swords and was ushered by a young and very serious priest to Alfred’s room. I had met him so often in that small, bare chamber that was cluttered with parchments. He was waiting there, dressed in the brown robe that made him look like a monk, and with him was Æthelred who wore his swords because, as Ealdorman of Mercia, he had been granted that privilege within the palace. A third man was in the room, Asser the Welsh monk, who glared at me with undisguised loathing. He was a slight, short man with a very pale face that was scrupulously clean-shaven. He had good cause to hate me. I had met him in Cornwalum where I had led a slaughter of the kingdom where he was an emissary and I had tried to kill Asser too, a failure I have regretted all my life. He scowled at me and I rewarded him with a cheerful grin that I knew would annoy him.
Alfred did not look up from his work, but gestured at me with his quill. The gesture was evidently a welcome. He was standing at the upright desk he used for writing and for a moment all I could hear was the quill spluttering scratchily on the skin. Æthelred smirked, looking pleased with himself, but then he always did.
“
De consolatione philosophiae
,” Alfred said without looking up from his work.
“Feels as if rain is coming, though,” I said, “there’s a haze in the west, lord, and the wind is brisk.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “What is preferable,” he asked, “and sweeter in this life than to serve and to be near to the king?”
“Nothing!” Æthelred said enthusiastically.
I made no answer because I was so astonished. Alfred liked the
formalities of good manners, but he rarely wanted obsequiousness, yet the question suggested that he wished me to express some doltish adoration of him. Alfred saw my surprise and sighed. “It is a question,” he explained, “posed in the work I am copying.”
“I look forward to reading it,” Æthelred said. Asser said nothing, just watched me with his dark Welsh eyes. He was a clever man, and about as trustworthy as a spavined weasel.
Alfred laid down the quill. “The king, in this context, Lord Uhtred, might be thought of as the representative of Almighty God, and the question suggests, does it not, the comfort to be gained from a nearness to God? Yet I fear you find no consolation in either philosophy or religion.” He shook his head, then tried to wipe the ink from his hands with a damp cloth.
“He had better find consolation from God, lord King,” Asser spoke for the first time, “if his soul is not to burn in the eternal fire.”
“Amen,” Æthelred said.
Alfred looked ruefully at his hands that were now smeared with ink. “Lundene,” he said, curtly changing the subject.
“Garrisoned by brigands,” I said, “who are killing trade.”
“That much I know,” he said icily. “The man Sigefrid.”
“One-thumbed Sigefrid,” I said, “thanks to Father Pyrlig.”
“That I also know,” the king said, “but I would dearly like to know what you were doing in Sigefrid’s company.”
“Spying on them, lord,” I said brightly, “just as you spied on Guthrum so many years ago.” I referred to a winter night when, like a fool, Alfred had disguised himself as a musician and gone to Cippanhamm when it was occupied by Guthrum in the days when he was an enemy of Wessex. Alfred’s bravery had gone badly wrong, and if I had not been there then I dare say Guthrum would have become King of Wessex. I smiled at Alfred, and he knew I was reminding him that I had saved his life, but instead of showing gratitude he just looked disgusted.
“It is not what we heard,” Brother Asser went onto the attack.
“And what did you hear, brother?” I asked him.
He held up one long slender finger. “That you arrived in Lundene
with the pirate Haesten,” a second finger joined the first, “that you were welcomed by Sigefrid and his brother, Erik,” he paused, his dark eyes malevolent, and raised a third finger, “and that the pagans addressed you as King of Mercia.” He folded the three fingers slowly, as though his accusations were irrefutable.
I shook my head in feigned wonderment. “I have known Haesten since I saved his life many years ago,” I said, “and I used the acquaintance to be invited into Lundene. And whose fault is it if Sigefrid gives me a title I neither want nor possess?” Asser did not answer, Æthelred stirred behind me while Alfred just stared at me. “If you don’t believe me,” I said, “ask Father Pyrlig.”
“He has been sent back to East Anglia,” Asser said brusquely, “to continue his mission. But we will ask him. You may be sure of that.”
“I already have asked,” Alfred said, making a calming gesture toward Asser, “and Father Pyrlig vouched for you,” he added those last words cautiously.
“And why,” I asked, “has Guthrum not taken revenge for the insults to his envoys?”
“King Æthelstan,” Alfred said, using Guthrum’s Christian name, “has abandoned any claims to Lundene. It belongs to Mercia. His troops will not trespass there. But I have promised to send him Sigefrid and Erik as captives. That is your job.” I nodded, but said nothing. “So tell me how you plan to capture Lundene?” Alfred demanded.
I paused. “You attempted to ransom the city, lord?” I asked.
Alfred looked irritated at the question, then nodded abruptly. “I offered silver,” he said stiffly.
“Offer more,” I suggested.
He gave me a very sour look. “More?”
“The city will be difficult to take, lord,” I said. “Sigefrid and Erik have hundreds of men. Haesten will join them as soon as he hears that we have marched. We would have to assault stone walls, lord, and men die like flies in such attacks.”
Æthelred again stirred behind me. I knew he wanted to dismiss my fears as cowardice, but he had just enough sense to keep silent.
Alfred shook his head. “I offered them silver,” he said bitterly, “more silver than a man can dream of. I offered them gold. They said they would take half of what I offered if I added one more thing.” He looked at me belligerently. I gave a small shrug as if to suggest that he had rejected a bargain. “They wanted Æthelflaed,” he said.
“They can have my sword instead,” Æthelred said belligerently.
“They wanted your daughter?” I asked, amazed.
“They asked,” Alfred said, “because they knew I would not grant their request, and because they wished to insult me.” He shrugged, as if to suggest that the insult was as feeble as it was puerile. “So if the Thurgilson brothers are to be thrown out of Lundene, then you must do it. Tell me how.”
I pretended to gather my thoughts. “Sigefrid does not have sufficient men to guard the whole circuit of the city walls,” I said, “so we send a large attack against the western gate, and then launch the real assault from the north.”
Alfred frowned and sifted through the parchments piled on the windowsill. He found the page he wanted and peered at the writing. “The old city, as I understand it,” he said, “has six gates. To which do you refer?”
“In the west,” I said, “the gate nearest the river. The local folk call it Ludd’s Gate.”
“And on the northern side?”
“There are two gates,” I said, “one leads directly into the old Roman fort, the other goes to the market place.”
“The forum,” Alfred corrected me.
“We take the one that leads to the market,” I said.
“Not the fort?”
“The fort is part of the walls,” I explained, “so capture that gate and we still have to cross the fort’s southern wall. But capture the market place and our men have cut off Sigefrid’s retreat.”
I was talking nonsense for a reason, though it was plausible nonsense. Launching an attack from the new Saxon town across the River Fleot onto the old city’s walls would draw defenders to Ludd’s Gate,
and if a smaller, better-trained force could then attack from the north they might find those walls lightly guarded. Once inside the city that second force could assault Sigefrid’s men from the rear and open Ludd’s Gate to let in the rest of the army. It was, in truth, the obvious way to assault the city, indeed it was so obvious that I was sure Sigefrid would be guarding against it.
Alfred pondered the idea.
Æthelred said nothing. He was waiting for his father-in-law’s opinion.
“The river,” Alfred said in a hesitant tone, then shook his head as though his thought was leading nowhere.
“The river, lord?”
“An approach by ship?” Alfred suggested, still hesitant.
I let the idea hang, and it was like dangling a piece of gristle in front of an unschooled puppy.
And the puppy duly pounced. “An assault by ship is frankly a better idea,” Æthelred said confidently. “Four or five ships? Traveling with the current? We can land on the wharves and attack the walls from behind.”
“An attack by land will be hazardous,” Alfred said dubiously, though the question suggested he was supporting his son-in-law’s ideas.
“And probably doomed,” Æthelred contributed confidently. He was not trying to hide his scorn of my plan.
“You considered a shipborne assault?” Alfred asked me.
“I did, lord.”
“It seems a very good idea to me!” Æthelred said firmly.
So now I gave the puppy the whipping it deserved. “There’s a river wall, lord,” I said. “We can land on the wharves, but we still have a wall to cross.” The wall was built just behind the wharves. It was another piece of Roman work, all masonry, brick and studded with circular bastions.
“Ah,” Alfred said.
“But of course, lord, if my cousin wishes to lead an attack on the river wall?”
Æthelred was silent.
“The river wall,” Alfred said, “it’s high?”
“High enough, and newly repaired,” I said, “but of course, I defer to your son-in-law’s experience.”
Alfred knew I did no such thing and gave me an irritable look before deciding to slap me down as I had slapped Æthelred. “Father Beocca tells me you took Brother Osferth into your service.”
“I did, lord,” I said.
“It is not what I wish for Brother Osferth,” Alfred said firmly, “so you will send him back.”
“Of course, lord.”
“He is called to serve the church,” Alfred said, suspicious of my ready agreement. He turned and stared out of his small window. “I cannot endure Sigefrid’s presence,” he said. “We need to open the river passage to shipping, and we need to do it soon.” His ink-smeared hands were clasped behind his back and I could see the fingers clenching and unclenching. “I want it done before the first cuckoo sounds. Lord Æthelred will command the forces.”
“Thank you, lord,” Æthelred said and dropped to one knee.
“But you will take Lord Uhtred’s advice,” the king insisted, turning on his son-in-law.
“Of course, lord,” Æthelred agreed untruthfully.
“Lord Uhtred is more experienced in war than you,” the king explained.
“I shall value his assistance, lord,” Æthelred lied very convincingly.
“And I want the city taken before the first cuckoo sounds!” the king reiterated.
Which meant we had perhaps six weeks. “You will summon men now?” I asked Alfred.
“I shall,” he said, “and you will each see to your provisions.”
“And I shall give you Lundene,” Æthelred said enthusiastically. “What good prayers ask, lord, meek faith receives!”
“I don’t want Lundene,” Alfred retorted with some asperity, “it belongs to Mercia, to you,” he gave a slight inclination of his head to
Æthelred, “but perhaps you will allow me to appoint a bishop and a city governor?”
“Of course, lord,” Æthelred said.
I was dismissed, leaving father and son-in-law with the sour-faced Asser. I stood in the sunshine outside and thought about how I was to take Lundene, for I knew that I would have to do it, and do it without Æthelred ever suspecting my plans. And it could be done, I thought, but only by stealth and with good fortune. Wyrd bi? ful ãræd.
I went to find Gisela. I crossed the outer courtyard to see a knot of women beside one of the doors. Eanflæd was among them and I turned to greet her. She had been a whore once, then she had become Leofric’s lover, and now she was a companion to Alfred’s wife. I doubted that Ælswith knew her companion had once been a whore, though perhaps she did and did not care because the bond between the two women was a shared bitterness. Ælswith resented that Wessex would not call the king’s wife a queen, while Eanflæd knew too much of men to be fond of any one of them. Yet I was fond of her and I veered out of my way to speak with her, but, seeing me coming, she shook her head to warn me away.
I stopped then and saw that Eanflæd had her arm about a younger woman who sat on a chair with her head bowed. She looked up suddenly and saw me. It was Æthelflaed and her pretty face was wan, drawn, and scared. She had been crying and her eyes were still bright from the tears. She seemed not to recognize me, then she did and offered me a sad reluctant smile. I smiled back, bowed, and walked on.
And thought about Lundene.
W
e had agreed at Wintanceaster that Æthelred would come downriver to Coccham, bringing with him the troops from Alfred’s household guard, his own warriors, and whatever men he could raise from his extensive lands in southern Mercia. Once he arrived we would jointly march on Lundene with the Berrocscire fyrd and my own household troops. Alfred had stressed the need for haste, and Æthelred had promised to be ready in two weeks.
Yet a whole month passed and still Æthelred had not come. The year’s first nestlings were taking wing among trees that were still not in full leaf. The pear blossom was white, and wagtails flitted in and out of their nests under the thatched eaves of our house. I watched a cuckoo staring intently at those nests, planning when to leave her egg among the wagtail’s clutch. The cuckoo had not started calling yet, but it would soon, and that was the time by which Alfred wanted Lundene captured.
I waited. I was bored, as were my household troops, who were ready for war and suffered peace. They numbered just fifty-six warriors. It was a small number, scarcely sufficient to crew a ship, but men cost money and I was hoarding my silver in those days. Five of those men were youngsters who had never faced the ultimate test of battle, which was to stand in the shield wall, and so, as we waited for
Æthelred, I put those five men through day after day of hard training. Osferth, Alfred’s bastard, was one of them. “He’s no good,” Finan said to me repeatedly.
“Give him time,” I said just as frequently.
“Give him a Danish blade,” Finan said viciously, “and pray it slits his monkish belly.” He spat. “I thought the king wanted him back in Wintanceaster?”
“He does.”
“So why don’t you send him back? He’s no use to us.”
“Alfred has too many other things on his mind,” I said, ignoring Finan’s question, “and he won’t remember Osferth.” That was not true. Alfred had a most methodical mind, and he would not have forgotten Osferth’s absence from Wintanceaster, nor my disobedience in not sending the youth back to his studies.
“But why not send him back?” Finan insisted.
“Because I liked his uncle,” I said, and that was true. I had loved Leofric and, for his sake, I would be kind to his nephew.
“Or are you just trying to annoy the king, lord?” Finan asked, then grinned and strode away without waiting for an answer. “Hook and pull, you bastard!” he shouted at Osferth. “Hook and pull!”
Osferth turned to look at Finan and was immediately struck on the head by an oak cudgel wielded by Clapa. If it had been an ax the blade would have split Osferth’s helmet and cut deep into his skull, but the cudgel just half stunned him, so he fell to his knees.
“Get up, you weakling!” Finan snarled. “Get up, hook and pull!”
Osferth tried to get up. His pale face looked miserable under the battered helmet that I had given him. He managed to stand, but immediately wobbled and knelt again.
“Give me that,” Finan said, and snatched the ax out of Osferth’s feeble hands. “Now watch! It isn’t difficult to do! My wife could do this!”
The five new men were facing five of my experienced warriors. The youngsters had been given axes, real weapons, and told to break the
shield wall that opposed them. It was a small wall, just the five overlapping shields defended by wooden clubs, and Clapa grinned as Finan approached.
“What you do,” Finan was speaking to Osferth, “is hook the ax blade over the top of the enemy bastard’s shield. Is that so difficult? Hook it, pull the shield down, and let your neighbor kill the earsling behind it. We’ll do it slowly, Clapa, to show how it’s done, and stop grinning.”
They made the hook and pull in ludicrously slow motion, the ax coming gently overhand to latch its blade behind Clapa’s shield, and Clapa then allowing Finan to pull the shield’s top down toward him. “There,” Finan turned on Osferth when Clapa’s body had been exposed to a blow, “that’s how you break a shield wall! Now we’ll do it for real, Clapa.”
Clapa grinned again, relishing a chance to clout Finan with the cudgel. Finan stepped back, licked his lips, then struck fast. He swung the ax just as he had demonstrated, but Clapa tilted the shield back to take the ax head on the wooden surface and, at the same time, rammed his cudgel under the shield in a savage thrust at Finan’s groin.
It was always a pleasure to watch the Irishman fight. He was the quickest man with a blade that I ever saw, and I have seen many. I thought Clapa’s lunge would fold him in two and drive him to the grass in agony, but Finan sidestepped, seized the lower rim of the shield with his left hand, and jerked it hard upward to drive the top iron rim into Clapa’s face. Clapa staggered backward, his nose already red with blood, and the ax was somehow dropped with the speed of a striking snake and its blade was hooked around Clapa’s ankle. Finan pulled, Clapa fell back and now it was the Irishman who grinned. “That isn’t hook and pull,” he said to Osferth, “but it works just the same.”
“Wouldn’t have worked if you’d been holding a shield,” Clapa complained.
“That thing in your face, Clapa?” Finan said, “thing that flaps open
and closed? That ugly thing you shovel food into? Keep it shut.” He tossed the ax to Osferth who tried to snatch the handle out of the air. He missed and the ax thumped into a puddle.
The spring had turned wet. Rain sheeted down, the river spread, there was mud everywhere. Boots and clothes rotted. What little grain was left in store sprouted and I sent my men hunting or fishing to provide us with food. The first calves were born, slithering bloodily into a wet world. Every day I expected Alfred to come and inspect Coccham’s progress, but in those drenched days he stayed in Wintanceaster. He did send a messenger, a pallid priest who brought a letter sewn into a greased lambskin pouch. “If you cannot read it, lord,” he suggested tentatively as I slit the pouch open, “I can…”
“I can read,” I growled. I could too. It was not an achievement I was proud of, because only priests and monks really needed the skill, but Father Beocca had whipped letters into me when I was a boy, and the lessons had proved useful. Alfred had decreed that all his lords should be able to read, not just so they could stagger their way through the gospel books the king insisted on sending as presents, but so they could read his messages.
I thought the letter might bring news of Æthelred, perhaps some explanation of why he was taking so long to bring his men to Coccham, but instead it was an order that I was to take one priest for every thirty men when I marched to Lundene. “I’m to do what?” I asked aloud.
“The king worries about men’s souls, lord,” the priest said.
“So he wants me to take useless mouths to feed? Tell him to send me grain and I’ll take some of his damned priests.” I looked back to the letter, which had been written by one of the royal clerks, but at the bottom, in Alfred’s bold handwriting, was one line. “Where is Osferth?” the line read. “He is to return today. Send him with Father Cuthbert.”
“You’re Father Cuthbert?” I asked the nervous priest.
“Yes, lord.”
“Well you can’t take Osferth back,” I said, “he’s ill.”
“Ill?”
“He’s sick as a dog,” I said, “and probably going to die.”
“But I thought I saw him,” Father Cuthbert said, gesturing out of the open door to where Finan was trying to goad Osferth into showing some skill and enthusiasm. “Look,” the priest said brightly, trying to be of assistance.
“Very likely to die,” I said slowly and savagely. Father Cuthbert turned back to speak, caught my eye and his voice faltered. “Finan!” I shouted, and waited till the Irishman came into the house with a naked sword in his hand. “How long,” I asked, “do you think young Osferth will live?”
“He’ll be lucky to survive one day,” Finan said, assuming I had meant how long Osferth would last in battle.
“You see?” I said to Father Cuthbert. “He’s sick. He’s going to die. So tell the king I shall grieve for him. And tell the king that the longer my cousin waits, the stronger the enemy becomes in Lundene.”
“It’s the weather, lord,” Father Cuthbert said. “Lord Æthelred cannot find adequate supplies.”
“Tell him there’s food in Lundene,” I said and knew I was wasting my breath.
Æthelred finally came in mid April, and our joint forces now numbered almost eight hundred men, of whom fewer than four hundred were useful. The rest had been raised from the fyrd of Berrocscire or summoned from the lands in southern Mercia that Æthelred had inherited from his father, my mother’s brother. The men of the fyrd were farmers, and they brought axes or hunting bows. A few had swords or spears, and fewer still had any armor other than a leather jerkin, while some marched with nothing but sharpened hoes. A hoe can be a fearful weapon in a street brawl, but it is hardly suitable to beat down a mailed Viking armed with shield, ax, short-sword, and long blade.
The useful men were my household troops, a similar number from Æthelred’s household, and three hundred of Alfred’s own guards who
were led by the grim-faced, looming Steapa. Those trained men would do the real fighting, while the rest were just there to make our force look large and menacing.
Yet in truth Sigefrid and Erik would know exactly how menacing we were. Throughout the winter and early spring there had been travelers coming upriver from Lundene and some were doubtless the brothers’ spies. They would know how many men we were bringing, how many of those men were true warriors, and those same spies must have reported back to Sigefrid on the day we had last crossed the river to the northern bank.
We made the crossing upstream of Coccham, and it took all day. Æthelred grumbled about the delay, but the ford we used, which had been impassable all winter, was running high again and the horses had to be coaxed over, and the supplies had to be loaded on the ships for the crossing, though not on board Æthelred’s ship, which he insisted could not carry cargo.
Alfred had given his son-in-law the
Heofonhlaf
to use for the campaign. It was the smaller of Alfred’s river ships, and Æthelred had raised a canopy over the stern to make a sheltered spot just forward of the steersman’s platform. There were cushions there, and pelts, and a table and stools, and Æthelred spent all day watching the crossing from beneath the canopy while servants brought him food and ale.
He watched with Æthelflaed who, to my surprise, accompanied her husband. I first saw her as she walked the small raised deck of the
Heofonhlaf
and, seeing me, she had raised a hand in greeting. At midday Gisela and I were summoned to her husband’s presence and Æthelred greeted Gisela like an old friend, fussing over her and demanding that a fur cloak be fetched for her. Æthelflaed watched the fuss, then gave me a blank look. “You are going back to Wintanceaster, my lady?” I asked her. She was a woman now, married to an ealdorman, and so I called her my lady.
“I am coming with you,” she said blandly.
That startled me. “You’re coming…” I began, but did not finish.
“My husband wishes it,” she said very formally, then a flash of the
old Æthelflaed showed as she gave me a quick smile, “and I’m glad. I want to see a battle.”
“A battle is no place for a lady,” I said firmly.
“Don’t worry the woman, Uhtred!” Æthelred called across the deck. He had heard my last words. “My wife will be quite safe, I have assured her of that.”
“War is no place for women,” I insisted.
“She wishes to see our victory,” Æthelred insisted, “and so she shall, won’t you, my duck?”
“Quack, quack,” Æthelflaed said so softly that only I could hear. There was bitterness in her tone, but when I glanced at her she was smiling sweetly at her husband.
“I would come if I could,” Gisela said, then touched her belly. The baby did not show yet.
“You can’t,” I said, and was rewarded by a mocking grimace, then we heard a bellow of rage from the bows of
Heofonhlaf
.
“Can’t a man sleep!” the voice shouted. “You Saxon earsling! You woke me up!”
Father Pyrlig had been sleeping under the small platform at the ship’s bows, where some poor man had inadvertently disturbed him. The Welshman now crawled into the sullen daylight and blinked at me. “Good God,” he said with disgust in his voice, “it’s the Lord Uhtred.”
“I thought you were in East Anglia,” I called to him.
“I was, but King Æthelstan sent me to make sure you useless Saxons don’t piss down your legs when you see Northmen on Lundene’s walls.” It took me a moment to remember that Æthelstan was Guthrum’s Christian name. Pyrlig came toward us, a dirty shirt covering his belly where his wooden cross hung. “Good morning, my lady,” he called cheerfully to Æthelflaed.
“It is afternoon, father,” Æthelflaed said, and I could tell from the warmth in her voice that she liked the Welsh priest.
“Is it afternoon? Good God, I slept like a baby. Lady Gisela! A pleasure. My goodness, but all the beauties are gathered here!” He beamed
at the two women. “If it wasn’t raining I would think I’d been transported to heaven. My lord,” the last two words were addressed to my cousin and it was plain from their tone that the two men were not friends. “You need advice, my lord?” Pyrlig asked.
“I do not,” my cousin said harshly.
Father Pyrlig grinned at me. “Alfred asked me to come as an adviser.” He paused to scratch a fleabite on his belly. “I’m to advise Lord Æthelred.”
“As am I,” I said.
“And doubtless Lord Uhtred’s advice would be the same as mine,” Pyrlig went on, “which is that we must move with the speed of a Saxon seeing a Welshman’s sword.”
“He means we must move fast,” I explained to Æthelred, who knew perfectly well what the Welshman had meant.
My cousin ignored me. “Are you being deliberately offensive?” he asked Pyrlig stiffly.
“Yes, lord!” Pyrlig grinned. “I am!”
“I have killed dozens of Welshmen,” my cousin said.
“Then the Danes will be no problem to you, will they?” Pyrlig retorted, refusing to take offense. “But my advice still stands, lord. Make haste! The pagans know we’re coming, and the more time you give them, the more formidable their defenses!”
We might have moved fast had we possessed ships to carry us downriver, but Sigefrid and Erik, knowing we were coming, had blocked all traffic on the Temes and, not counting
Heofonhlaf
, we could only muster seven ships, not nearly sufficient to carry our men and so only the laggards and the supplies and Æthelred’s cronies traveled by water. So we marched and it took us four days, and every day we saw horsemen to the north of us or ships downstream of us, and I knew those were Sigefrid’s scouts, making a last count of our numbers as our clumsy army lumbered ever nearer Lundene. We wasted one whole day because it was a Sunday and Æthelred insisted that the priests accompanying the army said mass. I listened to the drone of voices and watched the enemy horsemen circle around us. Haesten, I
knew, would already have reached Lundene, and his men, at least two or three hundred of them, would be reinforcing the walls.