Читать книгу The Last Kingdom Series Books 1-6 - Bernard Cornwell - Страница 23

We spent the spring, summer and autumn of the year 875 rowing up and down Wessex’s south coast. We were divided into four flotillas, and Leofric commanded Heahengel, Ceruphin and Cristenlic which meant Archangel, Cherubim and Christian. Alfred had chosen the names. Hacca, who led the whole fleet, sailed in the Evangelista which soon acquired the reputation of being an unlucky ship, though her real ill fortune was to have Hacca on board. He was a nice enough man, generous with his silver, but he hated ships, hated the sea, and wanted nothing more than to be a warrior on dry land, which meant that Evangelista was always on Hamtun’s hard undergoing repairs.

But not the Heahengel. I tugged that oar till my body ached and my hands were hard as oak, but the rowing put muscle on me, so much muscle. I was big now, big, tall and strong, and cocky and belligerent as well. I wanted nothing more than to try Heahengel against some Danish ship, yet our first encounter was a disaster. We were off the coast of Suth Seaxa, a marvellous coast of rearing white cliffs, and Ceruphin and Cristenlic had gone far out to sea while we slid inshore hoping to attract a Viking ship that would pursue us into an ambush sprung by the other two craft. The trap worked, only the Viking was better than us. He was smaller, much smaller, and we pursued him against the falling tide, gaining on him with every dip of our oars, but then he saw Ceruphin and Cristenlic slamming in from the south, their oar blades flashing back the sunlight and their bow waves seething white, and the Danish shipmaster turned his craft as if she had been mounted on a spindle and, with the strong tide now helping him, dashed back at us.

‘Turn into him!’ Leofric roared at Werferth who was at the steering oar, but instead Werferth turned away, not wanting to bring on a collision, and I saw the oars of the Danish ship slide into their holes as she neared us and then she ran down our steorbord flank, snapping our oars one by one, the impact throwing the oar shafts back into our rowers with enough force to break some men’s ribs, and then the Danish archers, they had four or five aboard, began loosing their arrows. One went into Werferth’s neck and there was blood pouring down the steering deck and Leofric was bellowing in impotent rage as the Danes, oars slid out again, sped safely away down the fast ebbing tide. They jeered as we wallowed in the waves.

‘Have you steered a boat, Earsling?’ Leofric asked me, pulling the dying Werferth aside.

‘Yes.’

‘Then steer this one.’ We limped home with only half our proper oars, and we learned two lessons. One was to carry spare oars and the second was to carry archers, except that Ealdorman Freola, who commanded the fyrd of Hamptonscir, said he could spare no bowmen, that he had too few as it was, and that the ships had already consumed too many of his other warriors, and besides, he said, we should not need archers. Hacca, his brother, told us not to make a fuss. ‘Just throw spears,’ he advised Leofric.

‘I want archers,’ Leofric insisted.

‘There are none!’ Hacca said, spreading his hands.

Father Willibald wanted to write a letter to Alfred. ‘He will listen to me,’ he said.

‘So you write to him,’ Leofric said sourly, ‘and what happens then?’

‘He will send archers, of course!’ Father Willibald said brightly.

‘The letter,’ Leofric said, ‘goes to his damn clerks, who are all priests, and they put it in a pile, and the pile gets read slowly, and when Alfred finally sees it he asks for advice, and two damned bishops have their say, and Alfred writes back wanting to know more, and by then it’s Candlemas and we’re all dead with Danish arrows in our backs.’ He glared at Willibald and I began to like Leofric even more. He saw me grinning. ‘What’s so funny, Endwerc?’ he demanded.

‘I can get you archers,’ I said.

‘How?’

With one piece of Ragnar’s gold, which we displayed in Hamtun’s marketplace and said that the gold coin, with its weird writing, would go to the best archer to win a competition that would be held one week hence. That coin was worth more than most men could earn in a year and Leofric was curious how I had come by it, but I refused to tell him. Instead I set up targets and word spread through the countryside that rich gold was to be had with cheap arrows, and over forty men arrived to test their skill and we simply marched the best twelve on board Heahengel and another ten each to Ceruphin and Cristenlic, then took them to sea. Our twelve protested, of course, but Leofric snarled at them and they all suddenly decided they wanted nothing better than to sail the Wessex coast with him. ‘For something that dribbled out of a goat’s backside,’ Leofric told me, ‘you’re not completely useless.’

‘There’ll be trouble when we get back,’ I warned him.

‘Of course there’ll be trouble,’ he agreed, ‘trouble from the shire reeve, from the Ealdorman, from the bishop and from the whole damned lot of them.’ He laughed suddenly, a very rare occurrence. ‘So let’s kill some Danes first.’

We did. And by chance it was the same ship that had shamed us, and she tried the same trick again, but this time I turned Heahengel into her and our bows smashed into her quarter and our twelve archers were loosing shafts into her crew. Heahengel had ridden up over the other ship, half sinking her and pinning her down, and Leofric led a charge over the prow, and there was blood thickening the water in the Viking bilge. Two of our men managed to tie the ships together which meant I could leave the steering oar and, without bothering to put on either helmet or mail coat, I jumped aboard with Serpent-Breath and joined the fight. There were shields clashing in the wide midships, spears jabbing, swords and axes swinging, arrows flighting overhead, men screaming, men dying, the rage of battle, the joy of blade song and it was all over before Ceruphin or Cristenlic could join us.

How I did love it. To be young, to be strong, to have a good sword and to survive. The Danish crew had been forty-six strong and all but one died, and he only lived because Leofric bellowed that we must take a prisoner. Three of our men died, and six were foully wounded and they probably all died once we got them ashore, but we bailed out the Viking ship and went back to Hamtun with her in tow, and in her blood-drenched belly we found a chest of silver that she had stolen from a monastery on Wiht. Leofric presented a generous amount to the bowmen, so that when we went ashore and were confronted by the reeve, who demanded that we give up the archers, only two of them wanted to go. The rest could see their way to becoming wealthy, and so they stayed.

The prisoner was called Hroi. His lord, whom we had killed in the battle, had been called Thurkil and he served Guthrum, who was in East Anglia where he now called himself king of that country. ‘Does he still wear the bone in his hair?’ I asked.

‘Yes, lord,’ Hroi said. He did not call me lord because I was an Ealdorman, for he did not know that. He called me lord because he did not want me to kill him when the questioning was done.

Hroi did not think Guthrum would attack this year. ‘He waits for Halfdan,’ he told me.

‘And Halfdan’s where?’

‘In Ireland, lord.’

‘Avenging Ivar?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘You know Kjartan?’

‘I know three men so called, lord.’

‘Kjartan of Northumbria,’ I said, ‘father of Sven.’

‘Earl Kjartan, you mean?’

‘He calls himself Earl now?’ I asked.

‘Yes, lord, and he is still in Northumbria.’

‘And Ragnar? Son of Ragnar the Fearless?’

‘Earl Ragnar is with Guthrum, lord, in East Anglia. He has four boats.’

We chained Hroi and sent him under guard to Wintanceaster for Alfred liked to talk with Danish prisoners. I do not know what happened to him. He was probably hanged or beheaded, for Alfred did not extend Christian mercy to pagan pirates.

And I thought of Ragnar the Younger, Earl Ragnar now, and wondered if I would meet his boats on the Wessex coast, and wondered too whether Hroi had lied and that Guthrum would invade that summer. I thought he would, for there was much fighting across the island of Britain. The Danes of Mercia had attacked the Britons in north Wales, I never did discover why, and other Danish bands raided across the West Saxon frontier, and I suspected those raids were meant to discover West Saxon weaknesses before Guthrum launched his Great Army, but no army came and, as the summer reached its height, Alfred felt safe enough to leave his forces in North Wessex to visit the fleet.

His arrival coincided with news that seven Danish ships had been seen off Heilincigae, an island which lay in shallow waters not far to Hamtun’s east, and the news was confirmed when we saw smoke rising from a pillaged settlement. Only half our ships were in Hamtun, the others were at sea, and one of the six in port, the Evangelista, was on the hard having her bottom scraped. Hacca was nowhere near Hamtun, gone to his brother’s house probably, and he would doubtless be annoyed that he had missed the king’s visit, but Alfred had given us no warning of his arrival, probably because he wanted to see us as we really were, rather than as we would have been had we known he was coming. As soon as he heard about the Danes off Heilincigae he ordered us all to sea and boarded Heahengel along with two of his guards and three priests, one of whom was Beocca who came to stand beside the steering oar.

‘You’ve got bigger, Uhtred,’ he said to me, almost reproachfully. I was a good head taller than him now, and much broader in the chest.

‘If you rowed, father,’ I said, ‘you’d get bigger.’

He giggled. ‘I can’t imagine myself rowing,’ he said, then pointed at my steering oar. ‘Is that difficult to manage?’ he asked.

I let him take it and suggested he turned the boat slightly to the steorbord and his crossed eyes widened in astonishment as he tried to push the oar and the water fought against him. ‘It needs strength,’ I said, taking the oar back.

‘You’re happy, aren’t you?’ He made it sound like an accusation.

‘I am, yes.’

‘You weren’t meant to be,’ he said.

‘No?’

‘Alfred thought this experience would humble you.’

I stared at the king who was up in the bows with Leofric, and I remembered the king’s honeyed words about me having something to teach these crews, and I realised he had known I had nothing to contribute, yet he had still given me the helmet and armour. That, I assumed, was so I would give him a year of my life in which he hoped Leofric would knock the arrogance out of my bumptious youthfulness. ‘Didn’t work, did it?’ I said, grinning.

‘He said you must be broken like a horse.’

‘But I’m not a horse, father, I’m a lord of Northumbria. What did he think? That after a year I’d be a meek Christian ready to do his bidding?’

‘Is that such a bad thing?’

‘It’s a bad thing,’ I said. ‘He needs proper men to fight the Danes, not praying lickspittles.’

Beocca sighed, then made the sign of the cross because poor Father Willibald was feeding the gulls with his vomit. ‘It’s time you were married, Uhtred,’ Beocca said sternly.

I looked at him in astonishment. ‘Married! Why do you say that?’

‘You’re old enough,’ Beocca said.

‘So are you,’ I retorted, ‘and you’re not married, so why should I be?’

‘I live in hope,’ Beocca said. Poor man, he had a squint, a palsied hand and a face like a sick weasel, which really did not make him a great favourite with women. ‘But there is a young woman in Defnascir you should look at,’ he told me enthusiastically, ‘a very well born young lady! A charming creature, and,’ he paused, evidently having run out of the girl’s qualities, or else because he could not invent any new ones, ‘her father was the shire reeve, rest his soul. A lovely girl. Mildrith, she’s called.’ He smiled at me expectantly.

‘A reeve’s daughter,’ I said flatly. ‘The king’s reeve? The shire reeve?’

‘Her father was reeve of southern Defnascir,’ Beocca said, sliding the man down the social ladder, ‘but he left Mildrith property. A fair piece of land near Exanceaster.’

‘A reeve’s daughter,’ I repeated, ‘not an Ealdorman’s daughter?’

‘She’s sixteen, I believe,’ Beocca said, gazing at the shingled beach sliding away to our east.

‘Sixteen,’ I said scathingly, ‘and unmarried, which suggests she has a face like a bag of maggots.’

‘That is hardly relevant,’ he said crossly.

‘You don’t have to sleep with her,’ I said, ‘and no doubt she’s pious?’

‘She is a devoted Christian, I’m happy to say.’

‘You’ve seen her?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but Alfred has talked of her.’

‘This is Alfred’s idea?’

‘He likes to see his men settled, to have their roots in the land.’

‘I’m not his man, father. I’m Uhtred of Bebbanburg, and the lords of Bebbanburg don’t marry pious maggot-faced bitches of low birth.’

‘You should meet her,’ he persisted, frowning at me. ‘Marriage is a wonderful thing, Uhtred, ordained by God for our happiness.’

‘How would you know?’

‘It is,’ he insisted weakly.

‘I’m already happy,’ I said. ‘I hump Brida and I kill Danes. Find another man for Mildrith. Why don’t you marry her? Good God, father, you must be near thirty! If you don’t marry soon you’ll go to your grave a virgin. Are you a virgin?’

He blushed, but did not answer because Leofric came back to the steering deck with a black scowl. He never looked happy, but he appeared grimmer than ever at that moment and I had an idea that he had been arguing with Alfred, an argument he had plainly lost. Alfred himself followed, a serene look of indifference on his long face. Two of his priests trailed him, carrying parchment, ink and quills and I realised notes were being taken. ‘What would you say, Uhtred, was the most crucial equipment for a ship?’ Alfred asked me. One of the priests dipped his quill in the ink in readiness for my answer, then staggered as the ship hit a wave. God knows what his writing looked like that day. ‘The sail?’ Alfred prompted me. ‘Spears? Archers? Shields? Oars?’

‘Buckets,’ I said.

‘Buckets?’ He looked at me with disapproval, suspecting I was mocking him.

‘Buckets to bail the ship, lord,’ I said, nodding down into Heahengel’s belly where four men scooped out sea water and chucked it over the side, though a good deal landed on the rowers. ‘What we need, lord, is a better way of caulking ships.’

‘Write that down,’ Alfred instructed the priests, then stood on tiptoe to look across the intervening low land into the sea-lake where the enemy ships had been sighted.

‘They’ll be long gone,’ Leofric growled.

‘I pray not,’ Alfred said.

‘The Danes don’t wait for us,’ Leofric said. He was in a terrible mood, so terrible that he was willing to snarl at his king. ‘They aren’t fools,’ he went on, ‘they land, they raid and they go. They’ll have sailed on the ebb.’ The tide had just turned and was flooding against us now, though I never did quite understand the tides in the long waters from the sea to Hamtun for there were twice as many high tides there as anywhere else. Hamtun’s tides had a mind of their own, or else were confused by the channels.

‘The pagans were there at dawn,’ Alfred said.

‘And they’ll be miles away by now,’ Leofric said. He spoke to Alfred as if he were another crewman, using no respect, but Alfred was always patient with such insolence. He knew Leofric’s worth.

But Leofric was wrong that day about the enemy. The Viking ships were not gone, but still off Heilincigae, all seven of them, having been trapped there by the falling tide. They were waiting for the rising water to float them free, but we arrived first, coming into the sea-lake through the narrow entrance which leads from the northern bank of the Solente. Once through the entrance a ship is in a world of marshes, sandbanks, islands and fish traps, not unlike the waters of the Gewæsc. We had a man aboard who had grown up on those waters, and he guided us, but the Danes had lacked any such expertise and they had been misled by a line of withies, stuck into the sand at low tide to mark a channel, which had been deliberately moved to entice them onto a mudbank on which they were now firmly stuck.

Which was splendid. We had them trapped like foxes in a one-hole earth and all we had to do was anchor in the sea-lake entrance, hope our anchors held against the strong currents, wait for them to float off and then slaughter them, but Alfred was in a hurry. He wanted to get back to his land forces and insisted we return him to Hamtun before nightfall, and so, against Leofric’s advice, we were ordered to an immediate attack.

That too was splendid, except that we could not approach the mudbank directly for the channel was narrow and it would mean going in single file and the lead ship would face seven Danish ships on its own, and so we had to row a long way to approach them from the south, which meant that they could escape to the sea-lake’s entrance if the tide floated them off, which it might very well do, and Leofric muttered into his beard that we were going about the battle all wrong. He was furious with Alfred.

Alfred, meanwhile, was fascinated by the enemy ships, which he had never seen so clearly before. ‘Are the beasts representations of their gods?’ he asked me, referring to the finely carved prows and sterns that flaunted their monsters, dragons and serpents.

‘No, lord, just beasts,’ I said. I was beside him, having relinquished the steering oar to the man who knew these waters, and I told the king how the carved heads could be lifted off their posts so that they did not terrify the spirits of the land.

‘Write that down,’ he ordered a priest. ‘And the wind-vanes at the mastheads?’ he asked me, looking at the nearer one which was painted with an eagle, ‘are they designed to frighten the spirits?’

I did not answer. Instead I was staring at the seven ships across the slick hump of the mudbank and I recognised one. Wind-Viper. The light-coloured strake in the bow was clear enough, but even so I would have recognised her. Wind-Viper, lovely Wind-Viper, ship of dreams, here at Heilincigae.

‘Uhtred?’ Alfred prompted me.

‘They’re just wind-vanes, lord,’ I said. And if Wind-Viper was here, was Ragnar here too? Or had Kjartan taken the ship and leased it to a shipmaster?

‘It seems a deal of trouble,’ Alfred said pettishly, ‘to decorate a ship.’

‘Men love their ships,’ I said, ‘and fight for them. You honour what you fight for, lord. We should decorate our ships.’ I spoke harshly, thinking we would love our ships more if they had beasts on their prows, and had proper names like Blood-Spiller, Sea-Wolf or Widow-Maker. Instead the Heahengel led the Ceruphin and Cristenlic through the tangled waters, and behind us were the Apostol and the Eftwyrd, which meant Judgment Day and was probably the best named of our fleet because she sent more than one Dane to the sea’s embrace.

The Danes were digging, trying to deepen the treacherous channel and so float their ships, but as we came nearer they realised they would never complete such a huge task and went back to their stranded boats to fetch armour, helmets, shields and weapons. I pulled on my coat of mail, its leather lining stinking of old sweat, and I pulled on the helmet, then strapped Serpent-Breath on my back and Wasp-Sting to my waist. This was not going to be a sea-fight, but a land battle, shield wall against shield wall, a maul in the mud, and the Danes had the advantage because they could mass where we must land and they could meet us as we came off the ships, and I did not like it. I could see Leofric hated it, but Alfred was calm enough as he pulled on his helmet. ‘God is with us,’ he said.

‘He needs to be,’ Leofric muttered, then raised his voice to shout at the steersman. ‘Hold her there!’ It was tricky to keep Heahengel still in the swirling current, but we backed oars and she slewed around as Leofric peered at the shore. I assumed he was waiting for the other ships to catch up so that we could all land together, but he had seen a spit of muddy sand projecting from the shore and had worked out that if we beached Heahengel there then our first men off the prow would not have to face a shield wall composed of seven Viking crews. The spit was narrow, only wide enough for three or four men to stand abreast and a fight there would be between equal numbers. ‘It’s a good enough place to die, Earsling,’ he told me, and led me forward. Alfred hurried behind us. ‘Wait,’ Leofric snapped at the king so savagely that Alfred actually obeyed. ‘Put her on the spit!’ Leofric yelled back to the steersman, ‘now!’

Ragnar was there. I could see the eagle wing on its pole, and then I saw him, looking so like his father that for a moment I thought I was a boy again.

‘Ready, Earsling?’ Leofric said. He had assembled his half-dozen best warriors, all of us in the prow, while behind us the bowmen readied to launch their arrows at the Danes who were hurrying towards the narrow stretch of muddy sand. Then we lurched forward as Heahengel’s bow scraped aground. ‘Now!’ Leofric shouted, and we jumped overboard into water that came up to our knees, and then we instinctively touched shields, made the wall, and I was gripping Wasp-Sting as the first Danes ran at us.

‘Kill them!’ Leofric shouted, and I thrust the shield forward and there was the great clash of iron boss on limewood, and an axe whirled overhead, but a man behind me caught it on his shield and I was stabbing under my shield, bringing the short sword up, but she rammed into a Danish shield. I wrenched her free, stabbed again, and felt a pain in my ankle as a blade sliced through water and boot. Blood swirled in the sea, but I was still standing, and I heaved forward, smelling the Danes, gulls screaming overhead, and more of the Danes were coming, but more of our men were joining us, some up to their waists in the tide, and the front of the battle was a shoving match now because no one had room to swing a weapon. It was a grunting, cursing shield battle, and Leofric, beside me, gave a shout and we heaved up and they stepped back a half-pace and our arrows slashed over our helmets and I slammed Wasp-Sting forward, felt her break through leather or mail, twisted her in flesh, pulled her back, pushed with the shield, kept my head down under the rim, pushed again, stabbed again, brute force, stout shield and good steel, nothing else. A man was drowning, blood streaming in the ripples from his twitching body, and I suppose we were shouting, but I never remember much about that. You remember the pushing, the smell, the snarling bearded faces, the anger, and then Cristenlic rammed her bows into the flank of the Danish line, crumpling men into the water, drowning and crushing them, and her crew jumped into the small waves with spears, swords and axes. A third boat arrived, more men landed, and I heard Alfred behind me, shouting at us to break their line, to kill them. I was ramming Wasp-Sting down at a man’s ankles, jabbing again and again, pushing with the shield, and then he stumbled and our line surged forward and he tried to stab up into my groin, but Leofric slammed his axe head down, turning the man’s face into a mask of blood and broken teeth. ‘Push!’ Leofric yelled, and we heaved at the enemy, and suddenly they were breaking away and running.

We had not beaten them. They were not running from our swords and spears, but rather because the rising tide was floating their ships and they ran to rescue them, and we stumbled after them, or rather I stumbled because my right ankle was bleeding and hurting, and we still did not have enough men ashore to overwhelm their crews and they were hurling themselves on board their ships, but one crew, brave men all, stayed on the sand to hold us back.

‘Are you wounded, Earsling?’ Leofric asked me.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Stay back,’ he ordered me. He was forming Heahengel’s men into a new shield wall, a wall to thump into that one brave crew, and Alfred was there now, mail armour shining bright, and the Danes must have known he was a great lord, but they did not abandon their ships for the honour of killing him. I think that if Alfred had brought the dragon banner and fought beneath it, so that the Danes could recognise him as the king, they would have stayed and fought us and might very well have killed or captured Alfred, but the Danes were always wary of taking too many casualties and they hated losing their beloved ships, and so they just wanted to be away from that place. To which end they were willing to pay the price of the one ship to save the others, and that one ship was not Wind-Viper. I could see her being pushed into the channel, could see her creeping away backwards, see her oars striking against sand rather than water, and I splashed through the small waves, skirting our shield wall and leaving the fight to my right as I bellowed at the ship. ‘Ragnar! Ragnar!’

Arrows were flicking past me. One struck my shield, another glanced off my helmet with a click and that reminded me that he would not recognise me with the helmet on and so I dropped Wasp-Sting and bared my head. ‘Ragnar!’

The arrows stopped. The shield walls were crashing, men were dying, most of the Danes were escaping, and Earl Ragnar stared at me across the widening gap and I could not tell from his face what he was thinking, but he had stopped his handful of bowmen from shooting at me, and then he cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Here!’ he shouted at me, ‘tomorrow’s dusk!’ Then his oars bit water, the Wind-Viper turned like a dancer, the blades dragged the sea and she was gone.

I retrieved Wasp-Sting and went to join the fight, but it was over. Our crews had massacred that one Danish crew, all except a handful of men who had been spared on Alfred’s orders. The rest were a bloody pile on the tideline and we stripped them of their armour and weapons, took off their clothes and left their white bodies to the gulls. Their ship, an old and leaking vessel, was towed back to Hamtun.

Alfred was pleased. In truth he had let six ships escape, but it had still been a victory and news of it would encourage his troops fighting in the north. One of his priests questioned the prisoners, noting their answers on parchment. Alfred asked some questions of his own, which the priest translated, and when he had learned all that he could he came back to where I was steering and looked at the blood staining the deck by my right foot. ‘You fight well, Uhtred.’

‘We fought badly, lord,’ I said, and that was true. Their shield wall had held, and if they had not retreated to rescue their ships they might even have beaten us back into the sea. I had not done well. There are days when the sword and shield seem clumsy, when the enemy seems quicker, and this had been one such day. I was angry with myself.

‘You were talking to one of them,’ Alfred said accusingly. ‘I saw you. You were talking to one of the pagans.’

‘I was telling him, lord,’ I said, ‘that his mother was a whore, his father a turd of hell and that his children are pieces of weasel shit.’

He flinched at that. He was no coward, Alfred, and he knew the anger of battle, but he never liked the insults that men shouted. I think he would have liked war to be decorous. He looked behind Heahengel where the dying sun’s light was rippling our long wake red. ‘The year you promised to give me will soon be finished,’ he said.

‘True, lord.’

‘I pray you will stay with us.’

‘When Guthrum comes, lord,’ I said, ‘he will come with a fleet to darken the sea and our twelve ships will be crushed.’ I thought perhaps that was what Leofric had been arguing about, about the futility of trying to stem a seaborne invasion with twelve ill-named ships. ‘If I stay,’ I asked, ‘what use will I be if the fleet dares not put to sea?’

‘What you say is true,’ Alfred said, suggesting that his argument with Leofric had been about something else, ‘but the crews can fight ashore. Leofric tells me you are as good a warrior as any he has seen.’

‘Then he has never seen himself, lord.’

‘Come to me when your time is up,’ he said, ‘and I will find a place for you.’

‘Yes, lord,’ I said, but in a tone which only acknowledged that I understood what he wanted, not that I would obey him.

‘But you should know one thing, Uhtred,’ his voice was stern, ‘if any man commands my troops that man must know how to read and write.’

I almost laughed at that. ‘So he can read the Psalms, lord?’ I asked sarcastically.

‘So he can read my orders,’ Alfred said coldly, ‘and send me news.’

‘Yes, lord,’ I said again.

They had lit beacons in Hamtun’s waters so we could find our way home, and the night wind stirred the liquid reflections of moon and stars as we slid to our anchorage. There were lights ashore, and fires, and ale, and food and laughter, and best of all the promise of meeting Ragnar next day.

Ragnar took a huge risk, of course, in going back to Heilincigae, though perhaps he reckoned, truthfully as it turned out, that our ships would need a day to recover from the fight. There were injured men to tend, weapons to sharpen, and so none of our fleet put to sea that day.

Brida and I rode horses to Hamanfunta, a village that lived off trapping eels, fishing and making salt, and a sliver of a coin found stabling for our horses and a fisherman willing to take us out to Heilincigae where no one now lived, for the Danes had slaughtered them all. The fisherman would not wait for us, too frightened of the coming night and the ghosts that would be moaning and screeching on the island, but he promised to return in the morning.

Brida, Nihtgenga and I wandered that low place, going past the previous day’s Danish dead that had already been pecked ragged by the gulls, past burned-out huts where folk had made a poor living from the sea and the marsh before the Vikings came and then, as the sun sank, we carried charred timbers to the shore and I used flint and steel to make a fire. The flames flared up in the dusk and Brida touched my arm to show me Wind-Viper, dark against the darkening sky, coming through the sea-lake’s entrance. The last of the daylight touched the sea red and caught the gilding on Wind-Viper’s beast-head.

I watched her, thinking of all the fear that such a sight brought on England. Wherever there was a creek, a harbour or a river mouth, men feared to see the Danish ships. They feared those beasts at the prow, feared the men behind the beasts and prayed to be spared the Northmen’s fury. I loved the sight. Loved Wind-Viper. Her oars rose and fell, I could hear the shafts creaking in their leather-lined holes, and I could see mailed men at her prow, and then the bows scrunched on the sand and the long oars went still.

Ragnar put the ladder against the prow. All Danish ships have a short ladder to let them climb down to a beach, and he came down the rungs slowly and alone. He was in full mail coat, helmeted, with a sword at his side and once ashore he paced to the small flames of our fire like a warrior come for vengeance. He stopped a spear’s length away and then stared at me through the black eyeholes of his helmet. ‘Did you kill my father?’ he asked harshly.

‘On my life,’ I said, ‘on Thor,’ I pulled out the hammer amulet and clutched it, ‘on my soul,’ I went on, ‘I did not.’

He pulled off his helmet, stepped forward and we embraced. ‘I knew you did not,’ he said.

‘Kjartan did it,’ I said, ‘and we watched him.’ We told him the whole story, how we had been in the high woods watching the charcoal cool, and how we had been cut off from the hall, and how it had been fired, and how the folk had been slaughtered.

‘If I could have killed one of them,’ I said, ‘I would, and I would have died doing it, but Ravn always said there should be at least one survivor to tell the tale.’

‘What did Kjartan say?’ Brida asked.

Ragnar was sitting now, and two of his men had brought bread and dried herrings and cheese and ale. ‘Kjartan said,’ Ragnar spoke softly, ‘that the English rose against the hall, encouraged by Uhtred, and that he revenged himself on the killers.’

‘And you believed him?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Too many men said he did it, but he is Earl Kjartan now, he leads three times more men than I do.’

‘And Thyra?’ I asked, ‘what does she say?’

‘Thyra?’ He stared at me, puzzled.

‘Thyra lived,’ I told him. ‘She was taken away by Sven.’

He just stared at me. He had not known that his sister lived and I saw the anger come on his face, and then he raised his eyes to the stars and he howled like a wolf.

‘It is true,’ Brida said softly, ‘your sister lived.’

Ragnar drew his sword and laid it on the sand and touched the blade with his right hand. ‘If it is the last thing I do,’ he swore, ‘I shall kill Kjartan, kill his son, and all his followers. All of them!’

‘I would help,’ I said. He looked at me through the flames. ‘I loved your father,’ I said, ‘and he treated me like a son.’

‘I will welcome your help, Uhtred,’ Ragnar said formally. He wiped the sand from the blade and slid it back into its fleece-lined scabbard. ‘You will sail with us now?’

I was tempted. I was even surprised at how strongly I was tempted. I wanted to go with Ragnar, I wanted the life I had lived with his father, but fate rules us. I was sworn to Alfred for a few more weeks, and I had fought alongside Leofric for all these months, and fighting next to a man in the shield wall makes a bond as tight as love. ‘I cannot come,’ I said, and wished I could have said the opposite.

‘I can,’ Brida said, and somehow I was not surprised by that. She had not liked being left ashore in Hamtun as we sailed to fight, she felt trammelled and useless, unwanted, and I think she yearned after the Danish ways. She hated Wessex. She hated its priests, hated their disapproval and hated their denial of all that was joy.

‘You are a witness of my father’s death,’ Ragnar said to her, still formal.

‘I am.’

‘Then I would welcome you,’ he said, and looked at me again.

I shook my head. ‘I am sworn to Alfred for the moment. By winter I shall be free of the oath.’

‘Then come to us in the winter,’ Ragnar said, ‘and we shall go to Dunholm.’

‘Dunholm?’

‘It is Kjartan’s fortress now. Ricsig lets him live there.’

I thought of Dunholm’s stronghold on its soaring crag, wrapped by its river, protected by its sheer rock and its high walls and strong garrison. ‘What if Kjartan marches on Wessex?’ I asked.

Ragnar shook his head. ‘He will not, because he does not go where I go, so I must go to him.’

‘He fears you then?’

Ragnar smiled, and if Kjartan had seen that smile he would have shivered. ‘He fears me,’ Ragnar said. ‘I hear he sent men to kill me in Ireland, but their boat was driven ashore and the skraelings killed the crew. So he lives in fear. He denies my father’s death, but he still fears me.’

‘There is one last thing,’ I said, and nodded at Brida who brought out the leather bag with its gold, jet and silver. ‘It was your father’s,’ I said, ‘and Kjartan never found it, and we did, and we have spent some of it, but what remains is yours.’ I pushed the bag towards him and made myself instantly poor.

Ragnar pushed it back without a thought, making me rich again. ‘My father loved you too,’ he said, ‘and I am wealthy enough.’

We ate, we drank, we slept, and in the dawn, when a light mist shimmered over the reed beds, the Wind-Viper went. The last thing Ragnar said to me was a question. ‘Thyra lives?’

‘She survived,’ I said, ‘so I think she must still live.’

We embraced, they went and I was alone.

I wept for Brida. I felt hurt. I was too young to know how to take abandonment. During the night I had tried to persuade her to stay, but she had a will as strong as Ealdwulf’s iron, and she had gone with Ragnar into the dawn mist and left me weeping. I hated the three spinners at that moment, for they wove cruel jests into their vulnerable threads, and then the fisherman came to fetch me and I went back home.

Autumn gales tore at the coast and Alfred’s fleet was laid up for the winter, dragged ashore by horses and oxen, and Leofric and I rode to Wintanceaster, only to discover that Alfred was at his estate at Cippanhamm. We were permitted into the Wintanceaster palace by the doorkeeper, who either recognised me or was terrified of Leofric, and we slept there, but the place was still haunted by monks, despite Alfred’s absence, and so we spent the day in a nearby tavern. ‘So what will you do, Earsling?’ Leofric asked me, ‘renew your oath to Alfred?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Don’t know,’ he repeated sarcastically. ‘Lost your decision with your girl?’

‘I could go back to the Danes,’ I said.

‘That would give me a chance to kill you,’ he said happily.

‘Or stay with Alfred.’

‘Why not do that?’

‘Because I don’t like him,’ I said.

‘You don’t have to like him. He’s your king.’

‘He’s not my king,’ I said, ‘I’m a Northumbrian.’

‘So you are, Earsling, a Northumbrian Ealdorman, eh?’

I nodded, demanded more ale, tore a piece of bread in two and pushed one piece towards Leofric. ‘What I should do,’ I said, ‘is go back to Northumbria. There is a man I have to kill.’

‘A feud?’

I nodded again.

‘There is one thing I know about bloodfeuds,’ Leofric said, ‘which is that they last a lifetime. You will have years to make your killing, but only if you live.’

‘I’ll live,’ I said lightly.

‘Not if the Danes take Wessex, you won’t. Or maybe you will live, Earsling, but you’ll live under their rule, under their law and under their swords. If you want to be a free man, then stay here and fight for Wessex.’

‘For Alfred?’

Leofric leaned back, stretched, belched and took a long drink. ‘I don’t like him either,’ he admitted, ‘and I didn’t like his brothers when they were kings here, and I didn’t like his father when he was king, but Alfred’s different.’

‘Different?’

He tapped his scarred forehead. ‘The bastard thinks, Earsling, which is more than you or I ever do. He knows what has to be done, and don’t underestimate him. He can be ruthless.’

‘He’s a king,’ I said, ‘he should be ruthless.’

‘Ruthless, generous, pious, boring, that’s Alfred,’ Leofric spoke gloomily. ‘When he was a child his father gave him toy warriors. You know, carved out of wood? Just little things. He used to line them up and there wasn’t one out of place, not one, and not even a speck of dust on any of them!’ He seemed to find that appalling, for he scowled. ‘Then when he was fifteen or so he went wild for a time. Humped every slave girl in the palace, and I’ve no doubt he lined them up too and made sure they didn’t have any dust before he rammed them.’

‘He had a bastard too, I hear,’ I said.

‘Osferth,’ Leofric said, surprising me with his knowledge, ‘hidden away in Winburnan. Poor little bastard must be six, seven years old now? You’re not supposed to know he exists.’

‘Nor are you.’

‘It was my sister he whelped him on,’ Leofric said, then saw my surprise. ‘I’m not the only good-looking one in my family, Earsling.’ He poured more ale. ‘Eadgyth was a palace servant and Alfred claimed to love her.’ He sneered, then shrugged. ‘But he looks after her now. Gives her money, sends priests to preach to her. His wife knows all about the poor little bastard, but won’t let Alfred go near him.’

‘I hate Ælswith,’ I said.

‘A bitch from hell,’ he agreed happily.

‘And I like the Danes,’ I said.

‘You do? So why do you kill them?’

‘I like them,’ I said, ignoring his question, ‘because they’re not frightened of life.’

‘They’re not Christians, you mean.’

‘They’re not Christians,’ I agreed. ‘Are you?’

Leofric thought for a few heartbeats. ‘I suppose so,’ he said grudgingly, ‘but you’re not, are you?’ I shook my head, showed him Thor’s hammer and he laughed. ‘So what will you do, Earsling,’ he asked me, ‘if you go back to the pagans? Other than follow your bloodfeud?’

That was a good question and I thought about it as much as the ale allowed me. ‘I’d serve a man called Ragnar,’ I said, ‘as I served his father.’

‘So why did you leave his father?’

‘Because he was killed.’

Leofric frowned. ‘So you can stay there so long as your Danish lord lives, is that right? And without a lord you’re nothing?’

‘I’m nothing,’ I admitted. ‘But I want to be in Northumbria to take back my father’s fortress.’

‘Ragnar will do that for you?’

‘He might do. His father would have done, I think.’

‘And if you get back your fortress,’ he asked, ‘will you be lord of it? Lord of your own land? Or will the Danes rule you?’

‘The Danes will rule.’

‘So you settle to be a slave, eh? Yes, lord, no, lord, let me hold your prick while you piss all over me, lord?’

‘And what happens if I stay here?’ I asked sourly.

‘You’ll lead men,’ he said.

I laughed at that. ‘Alfred has lords enough to serve him.’

Leofric shook his head. ‘He doesn’t. He has some good warlords, true, but he needs more. I told him, that day on the boat when he let the bastards escape, I told him to send me ashore and give me men. He refused.’ He beat the table with a massive fist. ‘I told him I’m a proper warrior, but still the bastard refused me!’

So that, I thought, was what the argument had been about. ‘Why did he refuse you?’ I asked.

‘Because I can’t read,’ Leofric snarled, ‘and I’m not learning now! I tried once, and it makes no damn sense to me. And I’m not a lord, am I? Not even a thegn. I’m just a slave’s son who happens to know how to kill the king’s enemies, but that’s not good enough for Alfred. He says I can assist,’ he said that word as if it soured his tongue, ‘one of his Ealdormen, but I can’t lead men because I can’t read, and I can’t learn to read.’

‘I can,’ I said, or the drink said.

‘You take a long time to understand things, Earsling,’ Leofric said with a grin. ‘You’re a damned lord, and you can read, can’t you?’

‘No, not really. A bit. Short words.’

‘But you can learn?’

I thought about it. ‘I can learn.’

‘And we have twelve ships’ crews,’ he said, ‘looking for employment, so we give them to Alfred and we say that Lord Earsling is their leader and he gives you a book and you read out the pretty words, then you and I take the bastards to war and do some proper damage to your beloved Danes.’

I did not say yes, nor did I say no, because I was not sure what I wanted. What worried me was that I found myself agreeing with whatever the last person suggested I did; when I had been with Ragnar I had wanted to follow him and now I was seduced by Leofric’s vision of the future. I had no certainty, so instead of saying yes or no I went back to the palace and I found Merewenna, and discovered she was indeed the maid who had caused Alfred’s tears on the night that I had eavesdropped on him in the Mercian camp outside Snotengaham, and I did know what I wanted to do with her, and I did not cry afterwards.

And next day, at Leofric’s urging, we rode to Cippanhamm.