The Circle of Stone (Darkest Age) (15 page)

The king was silent for a moment. Then he gave a piercing whistle which made every man turn to him. ‘We head downstream!’ he shouted.

They forded the river less than half a league to the east, and did not stop until they had scaled the higher ground beyond. Below them, across the water, the fog still hung over the land
like a curtain, swaying and buckling as their enemies tried to find their way out of it. Some of the king’s men cheered when they saw their pursuers still mired below, but most were too tired: foot-sore, chilled and damp. Heored stationed guards and ordered his men to take what rest they could. Cluaran threw himself down on the ground and was asleep at once, but Edmund could not rest. His father seemed to be avoiding him, only muttering, ‘You should sleep now,’ as he walked past – but Edmund was dreading the next conversation they must have.

He sat on the ground by Cluaran, gazing into the darkness. After a while Elspeth came up to sit beside him.

‘You fought well,’ she said, and when he did not reply, ‘Do you think they’ll attack again tonight?’

They looked down at the fog-bank, and Edmund realised that it was thinning: he could see dim figures within the mist, but they moved confusedly, in all directions.

‘I think we’re safe now,’ he said. ‘Thanks to Cluaran.’ He said nothing about his own part in alerting his father.

The morning star had appeared before the fog lifted completely. By then, the fur-clad men were gone, leaving only a churned mess of footprints behind them. Heored took no rest all that night, as far as Edmund could tell: he moved among his men, checking weapons and equipment; he consulted again with his captains and relieved the guards. Elspeth slept after a while, and Edmund waited for his father to summon him.

But when the sun finally rose, Heored had not said one word to him.

The ground was cold beneath Elspeth when she woke, and her pack dug into her neck. Squinting against the morning light, she opened her eyes. Somewhere behind her, she heard the sound of deep voices: Heored was in conference with his captains. She pulled herself up on her elbows. Eolande lay near her, still sleeping deeply, with Cluaran and Cathbar a little further off. There was no sign of Edmund, and she guessed he must be with his father.

Wulf! She looked around with sudden exasperation. She was sure the child had been curled up between herself and Eolande, but he was not there now. ‘Why can he never stay where he’s put?’ she muttered, scrambling to her feet.

The flat top of the hill was no more than fifty feet wide, and Elspeth stepped carefully between men who slept crouching, knees drawn to their chests or slumped against each other. She skirted the hastily thrown-up tent where Heored and his men still talked, and headed for the edge of the plateau, but Wulf was nowhere to be seen. How far could the child have wandered this time? She found herself at the edge of the makeshift camp, staring down the hillside to the river and the field beyond where their enemies had massed the night before. It was deserted now: the faint yellow glow from the east showed only a plain of churned mud. The fog had dispersed, leaving wisps of vapour hovering over the ground. There was still no sign of Wulf.

Someone was standing guard a little lower down the hillside, his hood pulled up against the chill morning breeze. It was unlikely that he would have seen the child and not stopped him, but Elspeth walked down to ask him anyway. He turned as she approached, and she saw that it was Edmund.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he said. ‘I told the sentry I’d take his place.’

‘I thought you were with your father,’ she said – and stopped in alarm, his face was so white and unhappy.

‘He didn’t call me,’ Edmund said. He looked away from her, down the hill. ‘I told him last night, Elspeth. Told him I was Ripente. I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.’

‘Forgive you!’ she echoed. ‘What does he have to forgive you for? That’s foolish talk,’ she insisted when he did not answer. ‘I’ve seen how proud he is of you! He just needs time to understand.’

‘Maybe,’ Edmund said, but he did not look back at her.

Following his gaze down to the misty field, Elspeth said, ‘Have you seen Wulf? He’s wandered off again.’

‘Again!’ Edmund turned sharply. ‘Has the boy no sense at all?’

They found Wulf easily enough on the other side of the hill, picking up stones on the slope behind Heored’s makeshift tent. He waved at Elspeth, and seemed surprised when she scrambled down to him and grabbed him by the arm. ‘I was bored,’ he explained innocently when she scolded him.

‘There are bad men around here, Wulf!’ she said as she led him back up the hill. ‘You must stay close to us!’ But the child only stared at her blankly.

The voices inside the tent rose as they reached it.

‘We must fight them!’ Heored was saying. ‘They’ve killed two scouts and attacked our camp. They must learn that the men of Sussex are not to be treated so. And there are my cousin’s injuries still to avenge.’

‘By your leave,’ protested one of the captains – Elspeth thought she recognised the voice as Teobald – ‘we’ve no proof that these are even the same men. What if the raiders of Northumbria have gone back to their homes, and these are just bandits – or even barbarians from Frisia or Saxony?’

‘They’re the same men.’ Heored’s voice was grim. ‘They attack defenceless villagers. They kill women and children. It sticks in my throat that such villains have escaped punishment for so long.’ As another captain raised his voice to object, they heard a crash from inside the tent, and the wall nearest them shook as if Heored had jumped to his feet.

‘No more talk,’ the king growled. ‘We attack today.’

Edmund took Elspeth’s arm and walked swiftly away from the tent. ‘Last night, I asked my father to protect the villagers,’ he said.

‘You see!’ Elspeth exclaimed. ‘He does trust you – he listened to you.’

But Edmund shook his head. ‘Not any more.’

‘Rouse up, all!’

Heored was striding towards them. ‘We move against the marauders today! Collect your packs and sharpen your weapons!’ He turned to Edmund. ‘Here, boy.’

Elspeth saw hope flare in her friend’s face: perhaps Heored had seen reason already, realising how useful a Ripente might be to them in the planned attack. But all Heored said was: ‘You’ll command a group of archers: we must play to our strengths today. Look to your bow.’ He gestured to where a few bowmen were assembling at the camp’s edge, and turned away with a brief nod.

Edmund stared after him for a moment, his face stricken. Then he squared his shoulders and walked towards the bowmen before Elspeth could speak to him.

No one paid Elspeth any attention. She found Eolande and asked her to take care of Wulf. She expected the child to protest: the Fay woman always seemed a little awkward with him, and he had made it clear he preferred Elspeth’s and Edmund’s company to hers. But now he made no complaint, and Elspeth guessed he was sulking with her for having dragged him away from his game.

The camp was suddenly full of movement and shouted orders. Elspeth found a spot at the very edge of the summit and made a few practice feints with her sword, testing the grip. The weapon felt easier in her hand now, and she knew that she was gaining in skill, even left-handed. Last night, fighting side by side with Cathbar, she had matched his speed, if not his strength, and after the men had fled he had clapped her on the shoulder and called her a fine pupil. If there was fighting to be done today, she told herself, she would be part of it again, even if Heored did not choose to give her orders.
She remembered Wyn and her son, and their devastated village: there were more reasons for this battle than the honour of Heored’s kingdom.

The king had already sent a small group of men to retrieve weapons and supplies from their camp, and two more to follow in the footsteps of yesterday’s scouts and find their adversaries’ encampment.

‘Go carefully,’ the king warned them. ‘We can’t lose any more good men.’

You could use Edmund’s skill and not risk anyone!
Elspeth thought in frustration. But Heored did not even look at his son.

There would be a delay while they waited for the advance party to return, and Heored allowed his men to break out breakfast rations. But they had hardly started eating when they heard a cry from the foot of the hill: the scouts had returned.

‘Enemy men approaching, my lord!’ one of them called.

Elspeth joined the general rush to the hill’s edge. A small party of men were crossing the muddy field towards them. As she watched, they splashed through the river which separated them from the hill. She grasped the hilt of her sword, and felt the men around her doing the same. She saw that Edmund already had an arrow fitted to his bow, and so did most of the archers with him, but the king held up a hand to halt them. One of the approaching men held a spear, and attached to it, a fluttering rag of white.

There were five of them, all dressed in the same furs that their attackers had worn last night – but these men walked smartly, in formation. As they drew closer Elspeth heard one of the captains draw in his breath sharply.

‘The king was right,’ he said. ‘They
are
the men we followed from Northumbria – look at that shield-boss!’

Each of the five men held a round shield as well as a sword, and each shield was embossed with the shape of a leaping wolf.

Heored walked to the edge of the hill as the party approached, forcing them to stand lower down, looking up at the Sussex men. The spear-holder, a tall man with a handsome, arrogant face, seemed unconcerned. He planted the spear in the ground, its pennant bobbing like apple blossom, and waited for silence before he spoke.

‘I bring word from Olav Haaksen, earl of all the lands south of the river,’ he said, his ringing voice as arrogant as his face.

Heored inclined his head:
Speak
.

‘Earl Olav bids you to a parley,’ the man went on. ‘Invaders though you are, he wishes no quarrel with you.’

‘A strange message,’ Heored said coldly, ‘for a leader who only yesterday killed two of my men and sent his followers to sack my camp.’

‘That was a group of hotheads, acting without orders,’ the messenger replied. ‘But you cannot deny that your presence is a threat to our land.’

‘Our presence!’ Heored echoed. ‘Your peace-loving earl has been massacring his own villagers!’

‘Not so.’ The messenger’s voice was calm. ‘Some of our villages have been sacked by bandits; these are dangerous times. It is Earl Olav’s business to deal with the marauders on his lands, and none of your concern.’ Heored glared at him, and the man gazed impassively back. ‘What answer shall I give the earl?’ he asked.

‘How do I know your master can be trusted?’ Heored demanded.

‘There is a sacred hill east of here,’ the messenger said, ‘with a temple dedicated to Freya. By long custom, no weapon may be borne there. If you agree, you can meet there in peace.’

Elspeth heard a murmur among the men surrounding her. A truce sworn at a shrine was binding, whatever the god involved.

‘Very well,’ said Heored. ‘When does Earl Olav wish to meet?’

‘At once,’ came the reply.

The whole of Heored’s army followed the messenger eastwards along the river. The king still feared treachery, and would not split his followers, and the men walked with their swords and bows at the ready, casting suspicious glances around them. Edmund, remembering the hedges alive with men last night, was glad of the bright sunlight which showed the fields empty in all directions.

He found himself walking beside his father at the column’s head. Heored walked in silence, and Edmund, with so much that he wanted to say to his father, could not find the words.

Then Heored turned to look at him.

‘Your friend, the shipman’s girl, fought well yesterday,’ he said. ‘And the minstrel saved us last night, with those arts of his. But these are strange companions for a king’s son! A girl who battles alongside soldiers . . . a man who charms the weather . . . And now you say you are Ripente.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t understand the paths you’re taking, Edmund. I fear I’ve neglected your teaching: I should have taken you with me sooner.’

‘How could your teaching have stopped me being what I am?’ The words burst from Edmund before he could stop himself. ‘Father – I am Ripente. I’m sorry it grieves you, but I’m no traitor, and nor are my friends. I would trust Cluaran or Elspeth with my life; I have done.’ His throat was too tight to continue.

‘We’ll talk of this later,’ Heored said. ‘That must be our meeting-place.’

They were approaching a low, rounded hill, bare of trees and so regular in shape that it might have been a giant burial mound. On top was a simple wooden building: square, with a pitched roof. Clustered around the foot of the hill was a small crowd of men, dressed identically in leather armour and breastplates.

The soldiers parted to let another man through, taller and stockier than the others, dressed in a long fur cloak. His face was weathered, with a great hawk-nose above a curved blond moustache.

‘Earl Olav,’ said the messenger walking on the other side of Edmund’s father, ‘I bring to you King Heored of Sussex, his son and his liege men.’

It was agreed that no more than twenty on each side would attend the parley in the temple, while the rest of the Sussex men waited a respectful distance below. Cathbar would be one of those at the parley, Edmund saw with relief, and after some thought his father included Cluaran as well. Both of his companions were still dressed in the armour of the Sussex men, though the armourer had clearly taken fewer pains with
Cluaran’s gear than he had with Edmund’s: the minstrel’s breastplate was too big for him, and the cloak too long.

When Edmund stepped up as well, his father at first shook his head. ‘You’d do better waiting down here,’ he said, and Edmund saw an unfamiliar flash of anxiety in his eyes. ‘There’s something about this earl that I still don’t trust.’

‘I don’t care,’ Edmund said stubbornly. ‘My place is with you.’

Heored nodded, laying his arm for a moment around his son’s shoulders. ‘Keep your wits about you, then.’