Читать книгу Warriors of the Storm - Bernard Cornwell - Страница 11

Bishop Leofstan arrived the next day. Of course he was not the bishop yet, for the time being he was just Father Leofstan, but everyone excitedly called him Bishop Leofstan and kept telling each other that he was a living saint and a scholar. The living saint’s arrival was announced by Eadger, one of my men who was with a work party in the quarry south of the River Dee where they were loading rocks onto a cart, rocks that would eventually be piled on Ceaster’s ramparts as a greeting to any Northman who tried to clamber over our walls. I was fairly certain Ragnall planned no such assault, but if he lost his mind and did try, I wanted him to enjoy a proper welcome. ‘There’s at least eighty of the bastards,’ Eadger told me.

‘Priests?’

‘There are plenty enough priests,’ he said dourly, ‘but the rest of them?’ He made the sign of the cross, ‘God knows what they are, lord, but there’s at least eighty of them, and they’re coming.’

I walked to the southern ramparts and gazed at the road beyond the Roman bridge, but saw nothing there. The city gate was closed again. All Ceaster’s gates would stay closed until Ragnall’s men had left the district, but the news of the bishop’s approach was spreading through the town, and Father Ceolnoth came running down the main street, clutching the skirt of his long robe up to his waist. ‘We should open the gates!’ he shouted. ‘He is come unto the gate of my people! Even unto Jerusalem!’

I looked at Eadger, who shrugged. ‘Sounds like the scripture, lord.’

‘Open the gates!’ Ceolnoth shouted breathlessly.

‘Why?’ I called down from the fighting platform above the arch.

Ceolnoth came to an abrupt halt. He had not seen me on the ramparts. He scowled. ‘Bishop Leofstan is coming!’

‘The gates stay closed,’ I said, then turned to look across the river. I could hear singing now.

Finan and my son joined me. The Irishman stared south, frowning. ‘Father Leofstan is coming,’ I explained the excitement. A crowd was gathering in the street, all of them watching the big closed gates.

‘So I heard,’ Finan said curtly. I hesitated. I wanted to say something comforting, but what do you say to a man who has killed his own kin? Finan must have sensed my gaze because he growled. ‘Stop your worrying about me, lord.’

‘Who said I was worried?’

He half smiled. ‘I’ll kill some of Ragnall’s men. Then I’ll kill Conall. That’ll cure whatever ails me. Sweet Jesus! What is that?’

His question was prompted by the appearance of children. They were on the road south of the bridge and, so far as I could tell, all were dressed in white robes. There must have been a score of them, and they were singing as they walked. Some of them were waving small branches in time to their song. Behind them was a group of dark-robed priests and, last of all, a shambling crowd.

Father Ceolnoth had been joined by his twin brother, and the pair had climbed to the ramparts from where they stared south with ecstatic looks on their ugly faces. ‘What a holy man!’ Ceolnoth said.

‘The gates must be open!’ Ceolberht insisted. ‘Why aren’t the gates open?’

‘Because I haven’t ordered them opened,’ I growled, ‘that’s why.’ The gates stayed closed.

The strange procession crossed the river and approached the walls. The children were waving ragged willow fronds in time to their singing, but the fronds drooped and the singing faltered when they reached the flooded ditch and realised they could go no further. Then the voices died away altogether as a young priest pushed his way through the white-robed choir and called up to us. ‘The gates! Open the gates!’

‘Who are you?’ I called back.

The priest looked outraged. ‘Father Leofstan has come!’

‘Praise God,’ Father Ceolnoth said, ‘he is come!’

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘Oh, dear Jesus!’ Ceolberht exclaimed behind me.

‘Father Leofstan!’ the young priest called. ‘Father Leofstan is your …’

‘Quiet! Hush!’ A skinny priest mounted on an ass called the command. He was so tall and the ass was so small that his feet almost dragged on the roadway. ‘The gates must be closed,’ he called to the angry young priest, ‘because there are heathens close by!’ He half fell off the ass, then limped across the ditch’s wooden bridge. He looked up at us, smiling. ‘Greetings in the name of the living God!’

‘Father Leofstan!’ Ceolnoth called and waved.

‘Who are you?’ I demanded.

‘I am Leofstan, a humble servant of God,’ the skinny priest answered, ‘and you must be the Lord Uhtred?’ I nodded for answer. ‘And I humbly ask your permission to enter the city, Lord Uhtred,’ Leofstan went on.

I looked at the grubby-robed choir, then at the shambolic crowd, and shuddered. Leofstan waited patiently. He was younger than I had expected, with a broad, pale face, thick lips, and dark eyes. He smiled. I had the impression that he always smiled. He waited patiently, still smiling, just staring at me. ‘Who are those people?’ I demanded, pointing to the shambles who followed him. They were a shambles too. I had never seen so many people in rags. There must have been almost a hundred of them; cripples, hunchbacks, the blind, and a group of evidently moon-crazed men and women who shook and gibbered and dribbled.

‘These little ones,’ Leofstan placed his hands on the heads of two of the children, ‘are orphans, Lord Uhtred, who have been placed under my humble care.’

‘And the others?’ I demanded, jerking my head at the gibbering crowd.

‘God’s children!’ Leofstan said happily. ‘They are the halt, the lame, and the blind! They are beggars and outcasts! They are the hungry, the naked and the friendless! They are all God’s children!’

‘And what are they doing here?’ I asked.

Leofstan chuckled as though my question was too easy to answer. ‘Our dear Lord commands us to look after the helpless, Lord Uhtred. What does the blessed Matthew tell us? That when I was hungry you gave me food! When I was thirsty you gave me drink, when I was a stranger, you gave me shelter, when I was naked you clothed me, and when I was sick you visited me! To clothe the naked and to give help to the poor, Lord Uhtred, is to obey God! These dear people,’ he swept an arm at the hopeless crowd, ‘are my family!’

‘Sweet suffering Jesus,’ Finan murmured, sounding amused for the first time in days.

‘Praise be to God,’ Ceolnoth said, though without much enthusiasm.

‘You do know,’ I called down to Leofstan, ‘that there’s an army of Northmen not a half-day’s march away?’

‘The heathen pursue us,’ he said, ‘they rage all about us! Yet God shall preserve us!’

‘And this city might be under siege soon,’ I persevered.

‘The Lord is my strength!’

‘And if we are besieged,’ I demanded angrily, ‘how am I supposed to feed your family?’

‘The Lord will provide!’

‘You’ll not win this one,’ Finan said softly.

‘And where do they live?’ I asked harshly.

‘The church has property here, I am told,’ Leofstan answered gently, ‘so the church will house them. They shall not come nigh thee!’

I growled, Finan grinned, and Leofstan still smiled. ‘Open the damned gates,’ I said, then went down the stone steps. I reached the street just as the new bishop limped through the long gate arch and, once inside, he dropped to his knees and kissed the roadway. ‘Blessed be this place,’ he intoned, ‘and blessed be the folk who live here.’ He struggled to his feet and smiled at me. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Lord Uhtred.’

I fingered the hammer hanging at my neck, but even that symbol of paganism could not wipe the smile from his face. ‘One of these priests,’ I gestured at the twins, ‘will show you where you live.’

‘There is a fine house waiting for you, father,’ Ceolnoth said.

‘I need no fine house!’ Leofstan exclaimed. ‘Our Lord dwelt in no mansion! The foxes have holes and the birds of the sky have their nests, but something humble will suffice for us.’

‘Us?’ I asked. ‘All of you? Your cripples as well?’

‘For my dear wife and I,’ Leofstan said, and gestured for a woman to step forward from among his accompanying priests. At least I assumed she was a woman, because she was so swathed in cloaks and robes that it was hard to tell what she was. Her face was invisible under the shadow of a deep hood. ‘This is my dear wife Gomer,’ he introduced her, and the bundle of robes nodded towards me.

‘Gomer?’ I thought I had misheard because it was a name I had never heard before.

‘A name from the scriptures!’ Leofstan said brightly. ‘And you should know, lord, that my dear wife and I have taken vows of poverty and chastity. A hovel will suffice us, isn’t that so, dearest?’

Dearest nodded, and there was the hint of a squeak from beneath the swathe of hoods, robes, and cloak.

‘I’ve taken neither vow,’ I said with too much vehemence. ‘You’re both welcome,’ I added those words grudgingly because they were not true, ‘but keep your damned family out of the way of my soldiers. We have work to do.’

‘We shall pray for you!’ He turned. ‘Sing, children, sing! Wave your fronds merrily! Make a joyful noise unto the Lord as we enter his city!’

And so Bishop Leofstan came to Ceaster.

‘I hate the bastard,’ I said.

‘No, you don’t,’ Finan said, ‘you just don’t like the fact that you like him.’

‘He’s a smiling, oily bastard,’ I said.

‘He’s a famous scholar, a living saint and a very fine priest.’

‘I hope he gets worms and dies.’

‘They say he speaks Latin and Greek!’

‘Have you ever met a Roman?’ I demanded. ‘Or a Greek? What’s the point of speaking their damned languages?’

Finan laughed. Leofstan’s arrival and my splenetic hatred of the man seemed to have cheered him, and now the two of us led a hundred and thirty men on fast horses to patrol the edge of the forest that surrounded and protected Eads Byrig. So far we had ridden the southern and eastern boundaries of the trees because those were the directions Ragnall’s men would take if they wanted to raid deep into Mercia, but not one of our scouts had seen any evidence of such raids. Today, the morning after Leofstan’s arrival, we were close to the forest’s western edge, and riding north towards the Mærse. We could see no enemy, but I was certain they could see us. There would be men standing guard at the margin of the thick woodland. ‘Do you think it’s true that he’s celibate?’ Finan asked.

‘How would I know?’

‘His wife probably looks like a shrivelled turnip, poor man.’ He slapped at a horsefly on his stallion’s neck. ‘What is her name?’

‘Gomer.’

‘Ugly name, ugly woman,’ he said, grinning.

It was a windy day with high clouds scudding fast inland. Heavier clouds were gathering above the distant sea, but now an early-morning shaft of sunlight glinted off the Mærse’s water that lay a mile ahead of us. Two more dragon-boats had rowed upriver the previous day, one with more than forty men aboard, the other smaller, but still crammed with warriors. The heavy weather threatening to the west would probably mean no boats arriving today, but still Ragnall’s strength grew. What would he do with that strength?

To find the answer to that question we had brought a score of riderless horses with us. All were saddled. Anyone watching from the forest would assume they were spare mounts, but their purpose was quite different. I let my horse slow so that Beadwulf could catch up with me. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ I told him.

‘It will be easy, lord.’

‘You’re sure?’ I asked him.

‘It will be easy, lord,’ he said again.

‘We’ll be back this time tomorrow,’ I promised him.

‘Same place?’

‘Same place.’

‘So let’s do it, lord,’ he suggested with a grin.

I wanted to know what happened both at Eads Byrig and at the river crossing to the north of the hill. I had seen the bridge of boats across the Mærse, and the density of the smoke rising from the woods on the river’s southern bank had suggested Ragnall’s main camp was there. If it was, how was it protected? And how complete were the new walls at Eads Byrig? We could have assembled a war-band and followed the Roman track that led through the forest and then turned north up the spine of the ridge, and I did not doubt we could reach Eads Byrig’s low summit, but Ragnall would be waiting for just such an incursion. His scouts would give warning of our approach and his men would flood the woodland, and our withdrawal would be a desperate fight in thick trees against an outnumbering enemy. Beadwulf, though, could scout the hill and the riverside camp like a phantom and the enemy would never know he was there.

The problem was to get Beadwulf into the forest without the enemy seeing his arrival, and that was the reason we had brought the riderless horses. ‘Draw swords!’ I called to my men as I pulled Serpent-Breath free of her scabbard. ‘Now!’ I shouted.

We spurred our horses, turning them directly eastwards and galloping for the trees as though we planned to ride clean through the forest to the distant hill. We plunged into the wood, but instead of riding straight on towards Eads Byrig, we suddenly swung the horses southwards so we were riding among the trees at the edge of the woods. A horn sounded behind us. It sounded three times, and that had to be one of Ragnall’s sentinels sending a warning that we had entered the great forest, but in truth we were merely thundering along its margin. A man ran from a thicket to our left and Finan swerved, chopped down once, and there was a bright red splash among the spring-green leaves. Our horses galloped into sunlight as we crossed a clearing dense with bracken, then we were back among the thick trunks, ducking under the low branches, and another of Ragnall’s scouts broke cover and my son rode him down, spearing his sword into the man’s back.

I galloped through a thicket of young hazel trees and elder-berries. ‘He’s gone!’ Sihtric called from behind me, and I saw Beadwulf’s riderless horse off to my right. We kept going for another half-mile, but saw no more sentries. The horn still called, answered by a distant one presumably on the hill. Ragnall’s men would be pulling on mail and buckling sword belts, but long before any could reach us we had swerved back to the open pasture and onto the cattle tracks that would lead us back to Ceaster. We paused in a fitful patch of sunlight, collected the riderless horses and waited, but no enemy showed at the woodland’s edge. Birds that had panicked to fly above the woods as we rode through the trees went back to their roosts. The horns had gone silent and the forest was quiet again.

Ragnall’s scouts would have seen a war-band go into the forest and then leave the forest. If Beadwulf had simply dropped from his saddle to find a hiding place then that enemy might have noticed that one horse had lost its rider among the trees, but I was certain no sentry would have bothered to count our riderless stallions. One more would not be noticed. Beadwulf, I reckoned, was safely hidden among our enemies. Cloud shadow raced to engulf us and a heavy drop of rain spattered on my helmet. ‘Time to go home,’ I said, and so we rode back to Ceaster.

Æthelflaed arrived that same afternoon. She was leading over eight hundred men and was in a thoroughly bad temper that was not improved when she saw Eadith. The day had turned stormy, and the long tail and mane of Æthelflaed’s mare, Gast, lifted to the gusting wind, as did Eadith’s long red hair. ‘Why,’ Æthelflaed demanded of me with no other form of greeting, ‘does she wear her hair unbound?’

‘Because she’s a virgin,’ I said, and watched Eadith hurry through the spatter of rain towards the house we shared on Ceaster’s main street.

Æthelflaed scowled. ‘She’s no maid. She’s …’ she bit back whatever she was about to say.

‘A whore?’ I suggested.

‘Tell her to bind her hair properly.’

‘Is there a proper way for a whore to bind her hair?’ I asked. ‘Most of the ones I’ve enjoyed prefer to leave it loose, but there was a black-haired girl in Gleawecestre who Bishop Wulfheard liked to hump when his wife wasn’t in the city, and he made her coil her hair around her head like ropes. He made her plait her hair first and then insisted that she …’

‘Enough!’ she snapped. ‘Tell your woman she can at least try to look respectable.’

‘You can tell her that yourself, my lady, and welcome to Ceaster.’

She scowled again, then swung down from Gast. She hated Eadith, whose brother had tried to kill her, and that was doubtless reason enough to dislike the girl, but most of the hatred stemmed from the simple fact that Eadith shared my bed. Æthelflaed had also disliked Sigunn, who had been my lover for many years but had succumbed to a fever two winters before. I had wept for her. Æthelflaed had also been my lover and perhaps still was, though in the mood that soured her arrival she was more likely to be my foe. ‘All our ships lost!’ she exclaimed. ‘And a thousand Northmen not a half-day’s march away!’

‘Two thousand by now,’ I said, ‘and at least a hundred battle-crazed Irish warriors with them.’

‘And this garrison is here to stop that happening!’ she spat. The priests who accompanied her looked at me accusingly. Æthelflaed was almost always escorted by priests, but there seemed to be more than usual, and then I remembered that Eostre’s feast was just days away and we were to enjoy the thrill of consecrating the humble, ever-smiling Leofstan. ‘So what do we do about it?’ Æthelflaed demanded.

‘I’ve no idea,’ I said, ‘I’m not a Christian. I suppose you shove the poor man into the church, stick him onto a throne, and have the usual caterwauling?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I honestly don’t see why we need a bishop anyway. We already have enough useless mouths to feed, and this wretched creature Leofstan has brought half the cripples of Mercia with him.’

‘What do we do about Ragnall!’ she snapped.

‘Oh him!’ I said, pretending surprise. ‘Why nothing, of course.’

She stared at me. ‘Nothing?’

‘Unless you can think of something?’ I suggested. ‘I can’t!’

‘Good God!’ she spat the words at me, then shivered as a blast of wind brought a slap of cold rain to the street. ‘We’ll talk in the Great Hall,’ she said, ‘and bring Finan!’

‘Finan’s patrolling,’ I said.

‘Thank God someone’s doing something here,’ she snarled, and strode towards the Great Hall, which was a monstrous Roman building at the centre of the town. The priests scuttled after her, leaving me with two close friends who had accompanied Æthelflaed north. One was Osferth, her half-brother and illegitimate son of King Alfred. He had been my liegeman for years, one of my better commanders, but he had joined Æthelflaed’s household as a councillor. ‘You shouldn’t tease her,’ he reproved me sternly.

‘Why not?’ I asked.

‘Because she’s in a bad mood,’ Merewalh said, climbing down from his horse and grinning at me. He was the commander of her household warriors, and was as reliable a man as any I have ever known. He stamped his feet, stretched his arms, then patted his horse’s neck. ‘She’s in a downright filthy mood,’ he said.

‘Why? Because of Ragnall?’

‘Because at least half the guests for Father Leofstan’s enthronement have said they’re not coming,’ Osferth said gloomily.

‘The idiots are frightened?’

‘They’re not idiots,’ he said patiently, ‘but respected churchmen. We promised them a sacred Easter celebration, a chance for joyful fellowship, and instead there’s a war here. You can’t expect the likes of Bishop Wulfheard to risk capture! Ragnall Ivarson is known for his bestial cruelty.’

‘The girls at the Wheatsheaf will be pleased Wulfheard’s staying in Gleawecestre,’ I said.

Osferth sighed heavily and set off after Æthelflaed. The Wheatsheaf was a fine tavern in Gleawecestre that employed some equally fine whores, most of whom had shared the bishop’s bed whenever his wife was absent. Merewalh grinned at me again. ‘You shouldn’t tease Osferth either.’

‘He looks more like his father every day,’ I said.

‘He’s a good man!’

‘He is,’ I agreed. I liked Osferth, even though he was a solemn and censorious man. He felt cursed by his bastardy and had struggled to overcome the curse by living a blameless life. He had been a good soldier, brave and prudent, and I did not doubt he was a good councillor to his half-sister, with whom he shared not just a father but a deep piety. ‘So Æthelflaed,’ I started walking with Merewalh towards the Great Hall, ‘is upset because a pack of bishops and monks can’t come to see Leofstan made a bishop?’

‘She’s upset,’ Merewalh said, ‘because Ceaster and Brunanburh are close to her heart. She regards them as her conquests, and she isn’t happy that the pagans are threatening them.’ He stopped abruptly and frowned. The frown was not for me, but rather for a young dark-haired man who galloped past, his stallion’s hooves splashing mud and rainwater. The man slewed the tall horse to an extravagant stop and leaped from the saddle leaving a servant to catch the sweat-stained stallion. The young man swirled a black cloak, nodded a casual acknowledgement towards Merewalh, then strode towards the Great Hall.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

‘Cynlæf Haraldson,’ Merewalh said shortly.

‘One of yours?’

‘One of hers.’

‘Æthelflaed’s lover?’ I asked, astonished.

‘Christ, no. Her daughter’s lover probably, but she pretends not to know.’

‘Ælfwynn’s lover!’ I still sounded surprised, but in truth I would have been more surprised if Ælfwynn had not taken a lover. She was a pretty and flighty girl who should have been married three or four years by now, but for whatever reason her mother had not found a suitable husband. For a time everyone had assumed Ælfwynn would marry my son, but that marriage had raised no enthusiasm, and Merewalh’s next words suggested it never would.

‘Don’t be surprised if they marry soon,’ he said sourly.

Cynlæf’s stallion snorted as it was led past me, and I saw the beast had a big C and H branded on its rump. ‘Does he do that to all his horses?’

‘His dogs too. Poor Ælfwynn will probably end up with his name burned onto her buttocks.’

I watched Cynlæf, who had paused between the big pillars that fronted the hall and was giving orders to two servants. He was a good-looking young man, long-faced and dark-eyed, with an expensive mail coat and a gaudy sword belt from which hung a scabbard of red leather studded with gold. I recognised the scabbard. It had belonged to the Lord Æthelred, Æthelflaed’s husband. A generous gift, I thought. Cynlæf saw me looking at him and bowed, before turning away and disappearing through the big Roman doors. ‘Where did he come from?’ I asked.

‘He’s a West Saxon. He was one of King Edward’s warriors, but after he met Ælfwynn he moved to Gleawecestre,’ he paused and half smiled, ‘Edward didn’t seem to mind losing him.’

‘Noble?’

‘A thegn’s son,’ he said dismissively, ‘but she thinks the sun shines out of his arse.’

I laughed. ‘You don’t like him.’

‘He’s a useless lump of self-important gristle,’ Merewalh said, ‘but the Lady Æthelflaed thinks otherwise.’

‘Can he fight?’

‘Well enough,’ Merewalh sounded grudging. ‘He’s no coward. And he’s ambitious.’

‘Not a bad thing,’ I said.

‘It is when he wants my job.’

‘She won’t replace you,’ I said confidently.

‘Don’t be so sure,’ he said gloomily.

We followed Cynlæf into the hall. Æthelflaed had settled into a chair behind the high table, and Cynlæf had taken the stool to her right, Osferth was on her left, and she now indicated that Merewalh and I should join them. The fire in the central hearth was smoky, and the brisk wind gusting through the hole in the Roman roof was swirling the smoke thick about the big chamber. The hall filled slowly. Many of my men, those who were not riding with Finan or standing guard on the high stone walls, came to hear whatever news Æthelflaed had brought. I sent for Æthelstan, and he was ordered to join us at the high table where the twin priests Ceolnoth and Ceolberht also took seats. Æthelflaed’s warriors filled the rest of the hall as servants brought water and cloths so the newly arrived guests at the high table could wash their hands. Other servants brought ale, bread, and cheese. ‘So what,’ Æthelflaed demanded as the ale was poured, ‘is happening here?’

I let Æthelstan tell the story of the burning of Brunanburh’s boats. He was embarrassed by the telling, certain he had let his aunt down by his lack of vigilance, but he still told the tale clearly and did not try to shrink from the responsibility. I was proud of him and Æthelflaed treated him gently, saying that no one could have expected ships to sail up the Mærse at night. ‘But why,’ she asked harshly, ‘did we have no warning of Ragnall’s coming?’

No one answered. Father Ceolnoth began to say something, glancing at me as he spoke, but then decided to be silent. Æthelflaed understood what he had wanted to say and looked at me. ‘Your daughter,’ she sounded disapproving, ‘is married to Ragnall’s brother.’

‘Sigtryggr isn’t supporting his brother,’ I said, ‘and I assume he doesn’t approve of what Ragnall is doing.’

‘But he must have known what Ragnall planned?’

I hesitated. ‘Yes,’ I finally admitted. It was unthinkable that Sigtryggr and Stiorra had not known, and I could only presume they had not wanted to send me any warning. Perhaps my daughter now wanted a pagan Britain, but if that was the case, why had Sigtryggr not joined the invasion?

‘And your son-in-law sent you no warning?’ Æthelflaed asked.

‘Perhaps he did,’ I said, ‘but the Irish Sea is treacherous. Perhaps his messenger drowned.’

That feeble explanation was greeted with a snort of derision from Father Ceolnoth. ‘Perhaps your daughter preferred—’ he began, but Æthelflaed cut him short before he could say more.

‘We mostly rely on the church for our news from Ireland,’ she said acidly. ‘Have you stopped corresponding with the clerics and monasteries of that land?’

I watched as she listened to the churchmen’s limping excuses. She was King Alfred’s eldest daughter, the brightest of his large brood, and as a child she had been quick, happy, and full of laughter. She had grown to be a beauty with pale gold hair and bright eyes, but marriage to Æthelred, Lord of Mercia, had etched harsh lines on her face. His death had taken away much of her unhappiness, but she was now the ruler of Mercia, and the care of that kingdom had added streaks of grey to her hair. She was handsome rather than beautiful now, stern-faced and thin, ever watchful. Watchful because there were still men who believed no woman should rule, though most men in Mercia loved her and followed her willingly. She had her father’s intelligence as well as his piety. I knew her to be passionate, but as she aged she had become ever more dependent on priests for the reassurance that the Christians’ nailed god was on her side. And perhaps he was, for her rule had been successful. We had been pushing the Danes back, taking from them the ancient lands they had stolen from Mercia, but now Ragnall had arrived to threaten all she had achieved.

‘It’s no accident,’ Father Ceolnoth insisted, ‘that he has come at Easter!’

I did not see the significance and nor, apparently, did Æthelflaed. ‘Why Easter, father?’ she asked.

‘We reconquer land,’ Ceolnoth explained, ‘and we build burhs to protect the land, and we rely on warriors to keep the burhs safe,’ that last statement was accompanied by a quick and spiteful glance in my direction, ‘but the land is not truly safe until the church has placed God’s guardian hand over the new pastures! The psalmist said as much! God is my shepherd and I shall lack for nothing.’

‘Baaaaa,’ I said, and was rewarded by a savage look from Æthelflaed.

‘So you think,’ she said, pointedly ignoring me, ‘that Ragnall wants to stop the consecration?’

‘It is why he has come now,’ Ceolnoth said, ‘and why we must thwart his evil intent by enthroning Leofstan!’

‘You believe he will attack Ceaster?’ Æthelflaed asked.

‘Why else is he here?’ Ceolnoth said heatedly. ‘He has brought over a thousand pagans to destroy us.’

‘Two thousand by now,’ I corrected him, ‘and some Christians too.’

‘Christians?’ Æthelflaed asked sharply.

‘He has Irish in his army,’ I reminded her.

‘Two thousand pagans?’ Cynlæf spoke for the first time.

I ignored him. If he wanted me to respond then he needed to use more courtesy, but he had asked a sensible question, and Æthelflaed also wanted the answer. ‘Two thousand? You’re certain he has that many?’ she demanded of me.

I stood and walked around the table so that I was at the front of the dais. ‘Ragnall brought over a thousand warriors,’ I said, ‘and he used those to occupy Eads Byrig. At least another thousand have joined him since, coming either by sea or on the roads south through Northumbria. He grows strong! But despite his strength he has not sent a single man southwards. Not one cow has been stolen from Mercia, not one child taken as a slave. He hasn’t even burned a village church! He hasn’t sent scouts to look at Ceaster, he’s ignored us.’

‘Two thousand?’ Æthelflaed again echoed Cynlæf’s question.

‘Instead,’ I said, ‘he’s made a bridge across the Mærse and his men have been going north. What lies to the north?’ I let the question hang in the smoky hall.

‘Northumbria,’ someone said helpfully.

‘Men!’ I said. ‘Danes! Northmen! Men who hold land and fear that we’ll take it from them. Men who have no king unless you count that weakling in Eoferwic. Men, my lady, who are looking for a leader who will make them safe. He’s recruiting men from Northumbria, so yes, his army grows every day.’

‘All at Eads Byrig?’ Æthelflaed asked.

‘Maybe three, four hundred men there,’ I said. ‘There isn’t enough water for more, but the rest are camped by the Mærse where Ragnall’s made a bridge of boats. I think that’s where he’s gathering his army, and by next week he’ll have three thousand men.’

The priests crossed themselves. ‘How in God’s name,’ Ceolberht asked quietly, ‘do we fight a horde like that?’

‘Ragnall,’ I went on remorselessly, talking directly to Æthelflaed now, ‘leads the largest enemy army to be seen in Britain since the days of your father. And every day that army gets bigger.’

‘We shall trust in the Lord our God!’ Father Leofstan spoke for the first time, ‘and in the Lord Uhtred too!’ he added slyly. The bishop-elect had been invited to join Æthelflaed on the high dais, but had preferred to sit at one of the lower tables. He beamed his smile at me then wagged a disapproving finger. ‘You’re trying to frighten us, Lord Uhtred!’

‘Jarl Ragnall,’ I said, ‘is a frightening man.’

‘But we have you! And you smite the heathen!’

‘I am a heathen!’

He chuckled at that. ‘The Lord will provide!’

‘Then perhaps someone can tell me,’ I turned back to the high table, ‘how the Lord will provide for us to defeat Ragnall?’

‘What has been done so far?’ Æthelflaed asked.

‘I’ve summoned the fyrd,’ I said, ‘and sent all the folk who wanted refuge to the burhs. We’ve deepened the ditch here, we’ve sharpened the stakes in the ditch, we’ve stacked missiles on the walls, and we’ve filled the storerooms. And we have a scout in the woods now, exploring the new camp as well as Eads Byrig.’

‘So now is the time to smite Ragnall!’ Father Ceolnoth said enthusiastically.

I spat towards him. ‘Will someone please tell that drivelling idiot why we cannot fight Ragnall.’

The silence was finally broken by Sihtric. ‘Because he’s protected by the walls of Eads Byrig.’

‘Not the men by the river!’ Ceolnoth pointed out. ‘They’re not protected!’

‘We don’t know that,’ I said, ‘which is why my scout is in the woods. But even if they don’t have a palisade, they do have the forest. Lead an army into a forest and it will be ambushed.’

‘You could cross the river to the east,’ Father Ceolnoth decided to offer military advice, ‘and attack the bridge from the north.’

‘And why would I do that, you spavined idiot?’ I demanded. ‘I want the bridge there! If I destroy the bridge then I’ve trapped three thousand Northmen inside Mercia. I want them out of Mercia! I want the bastards across the river.’ I paused, then decided to speak what my instinct told me was the truth, a truth I confidently expected Beadwulf to confirm. ‘And that’s what they want too.’

Æthelflaed frowned at me, puzzled. ‘They want to be across the river?’

Ceolnoth muttered something about the idea being a nonsense, but Cynlæf had understood what I was suggesting. ‘The Lord Uhtred,’ he said, investing my name with respect, ‘believes that what Ragnall really means to do is invade Northumbria. He wants to be king there.’

‘Then why is he here?’ Ceolberht asked plaintively.

‘To make the Northumbrians believe his ambitions are here,’ Cynlæf explained. ‘He’s misleading his pagan enemies. Ragnall doesn’t want to invade Mercia …’

‘Yet,’ I intervened strongly.

‘He wants to be king of the north,’ Cynlæf finished.

Æthelflaed looked at me. ‘Is he right?’

‘I think he is,’ I said.

‘So Ragnall isn’t coming to Ceaster?’

‘He knows what I did to his brother here,’ I said.

Leofstan looked puzzled. ‘His brother?’

‘Sigtryggr attacked Ceaster,’ I told the priest, ‘and we slaughtered his men, and I took his right eye.’

‘And he took your daughter to wife!’ Father Ceolnoth could not resist saying.

‘At least she gets humped,’ I said, still looking at Leofstan. I turned back to Æthelflaed. ‘Ragnall’s not interested in attacking Ceaster,’ I assured her, ‘not for a year or two, anyway. One day? Yes, if he can, but not yet. So no,’ I spoke firmly to reassure her, ‘he’s not coming here.’

And he came next morning.

The Northmen came from the forest’s edge in six great streams. They still lacked sufficient horses, so many of them came on foot, but they all came in mail and helmeted, carrying shields and weapons, emerging from the far trees beneath their banners that showed eagles and axes, dragons and ravens, ships and thunderbolts. Some flags showed the Christian cross, and those, I assumed, were Conall’s Irishmen, while one banner was Haesten’s simple emblem of a human skull held aloft on a pole. The biggest flag was Ragnall’s blood-red axe that flew in the strong wind above a group of mounted men who advanced ahead of the great horde, which slowly shook itself into a massive battle line that faced Ceaster’s eastern ramparts. A horn sounded three times from the enemy ranks as if they thought we had somehow not noticed their coming.

Finan had returned ahead of the enemy, warning me that he had seen movement in the forest, and now he joined me and my son on the ramparts and looked at the vast army, which had emerged from the distant trees and faced us across half a mile of open land. ‘No ladders,’ he said.

‘Not that I can see.’

‘The heathen are mighty!’ Father Leofstan had also come to the ramparts and called to us from some paces away. ‘Yet shall we prevail! Is that not right, Lord Uhtred?’

I ignored him. ‘No ladders,’ I said to Finan, ‘so this isn’t an attack.’

‘It’s impressive though,’ my son said, staring at the vast army. He turned as a small voice squeaked from the steps leading up to the ramparts. It was Father Leofstan’s wife, or at least it was a bundle of cloaks, robes, and hoods that resembled the bundle he had arrived with.

‘Gomer dearest!’ Father Leofstan cried, and hurried to help the bundle up the steep stairs. ‘Careful, my cherub, careful!’

‘He married a gnome,’ my son said.

I laughed. Father Leofstan was so tall, and the bundle was so small and, swathed in robes as she was, she did resemble a plump little gnome. She reached out a hand and her husband helped her up the last of the worn steps. She squeaked in relief when she reached the top, then gasped as she saw Ragnall’s army that was now advancing through the Roman cemetery. She stood close beside her husband, her head scarcely reaching his waist, and she clutched his priestly robe as if fearing she might topple off the wall’s top. I tried to see her face, but it was too deeply shadowed by her big hood. ‘Are they the pagans?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Have faith, my darling,’ Father Leofstan said cheerfully, ‘God has sent us Lord Uhtred, and God will vouchsafe us victory.’ He raised his broad face to the sky and lifted his hands, ‘Pour out Thy fury upon the heathen, oh Lord!’ he prayed, ‘vex them with Thy wrath and smite them with Thine anger!’

‘Amen,’ his wife squeaked.

‘Poor little thing,’ Finan said quietly as he looked at her. ‘She’s got to be ugly as a toad under all those clothes. He’s probably relieved he doesn’t have to plough her.’

‘Maybe she’s relieved,’ I said.

‘Or maybe she’s a beauty,’ my son said wistfully.

‘Two silver shillings says she’s a toad,’ Finan said.

‘Done!’ My son held out his hand to seal the wager.

‘Don’t be such damned fools,’ I snarled. ‘I have enough trouble with your damned church without either of you plugging the bishop’s wife.’

‘His gnome, you mean,’ my son said.

‘Just keep your dirty hands to yourself,’ I ordered him, then turned to see eleven riders spurring ahead of the massive shield wall. They came under three banners and were riding towards our ramparts. ‘It’s time to go,’ I said.

Time to meet the enemy.