The Burning Land Part 28

There was no dais, so Edward's chair was set on a great rug and next to him was a stool on which aethelflaed sat. Behind the brother and sister was a dark group of priests. I knew none of them, but they evidently knew me because four of the six churchmen made the sign of the cross when I approached the makeshift throne.

Steapa knelt to the aetheling, Finan bowed, and I nodded my head. Edward evidently expected more obeisance from me and waited, but when it was plain that I had offered him all I was prepared to give he forced a smile. "You did well," he said in his high voice. There was neither warmth nor conviction in the compliment.

I slapped Steapa's back. "Steapa did well, lord."

"He is a loyal warrior and a good Christian," Edward said, implying that I was neither.

"He's also a big ugly brute," I said, "and he makes Danes s.h.i.t themselves with fear."

Edward and the priests all bridled at that. Edward was steeling himself to reprove me when aethelflaed's laughter cut across the hall. Edward looked annoyed at the sound, but composed himself. "I am sorry that the Lord aelfwold died," he said.

"I share your sorrow, lord."

"My father," he said, "has sent me to capture this nest of heathen pirates." He spoke in the same way that he sat; stiffly. He was horribly conscious of his youth and of his fragile authority, but, like his father, he had intelligent eyes. He was lost in this hall, though. He was frightened of my blood-spattered face, and frightened of most of the older warriors who had been killing Danes when he was still sucking on his wet nurse's t.i.ts. "The question," he said, "is how."

"Steapa already has the answer," I said.

Edward looked relieved and Steapa looked alarmed. "Speak, Steapa," Edward said.

Steapa looked at me in fright so I answered for him. "We have to cross the moat and climb the wall," I said, "and we can only do that at low tide, and the Danes know it. They also know we have to do it quickly."

There was silence. I had stated the obvious and that clearly disappointed Edward, but what did he expect? That I would have some sorcerous scheme born from pagan wiles? Or did he believe angels would fly from the Christian heaven and attack the Danes inside the fort? There were only two ways to capture Beamfleot. One was to starve the Danes, and we did not have the time to do that, and the other was to storm the walls. Sometimes, in war, simple is the only answer. It is also likely to be a blood-soaked answer, and all the men in the hall knew it. Some looked at me reproachfully, imagining the horror of trying to scale a high palisade manned by murderous Danes. "So," I went on confidently, "we need to be busy. Weohstan," I turned to him, "your men will patrol the marshes to stop messengers leaving the fort. Beornoth, take Lord aelfwold's men and threaten the ship-forts at the creek's end. You, lord," I looked at Edward, "your men must start making ladders, and you," I pointed at the six priests, "what are you good for?"

Edward just stared at me in horror and the priests looked offended. "They can pray, Lord Uhtred?" aethelflaed suggested sweetly.

"Then pray hard," I told them.

There was silence again. Men expected a council of war, and Edward, who was notionally in charge, would have liked the pretense that he was making the decisions, but we did not have time to argue. "Ladders," Edward finally said in a puzzled voice.

"We climb them," I said savagely, "and we need at least forty."

Edward blinked. I could see he was debating whether to slap me down, but then he must have decided that victory at Beamfleot was preferable to making an enemy. He even managed a smile. "They will be made," he said graciously.

"So all we have to do," I said, "is get them across the moat, then use them to climb the wall." Edward's smile faded.

Because even he knew men would die. Too many men.

But there was no other way.

The first problem was crossing the moat, to which end I rode north the next day. I was worried that Haesten would lead his men back to relieve the siege and we sent strong scouting parties west and north to watch for the coming of that army. In the end it never did come. Haesten, it seemed, was confident of Beamfleot's strength and of the courage of its garrison, so instead of trying to destroy us he sent his raiding parties ever farther into Mercia, attacking unwalled towns and villages that had thought themselves safe because they were close to the West Saxon border. The skies over Mercia were palled with smoke.

I rode to Thunresleam and found the priest, Heahberht. I told him what I wanted, and Osferth, who was leading the eighteen men who accompanied me, gave the priest a spare horse. "I'll fall off, lord," Heahberht said nervously, staring with his one eye at the tall stallion.

"You'll be safe," I said. "Just cling on. That horse will look after you."

I had taken Osferth and his men because we were riding north into East Anglia and that was Danish territory. I did not expect trou ble. Any Dane who wished to fight the Saxons would already have ridden with Haesten, so those who had remained on their land probably wanted no part of the war, yet even so it was prudent to ride in force. We were just about to go north from the village when Osferth warned me that more hors.e.m.e.n were approaching, and I turned to see them coming from the woods that screened Beamfleot.

My first thought was that Haesten's army must have been seen far to the west and these hors.e.m.e.n rode to warn me, but then one rider raised a dragon banner and I saw it was the flag of the aetheling Edward. Edward himself was with them, accompanied by a score of warriors and a priest. "I haven't seen much East Anglian territory," he explained his presence awkwardly, "and wish to accompany you."

"You're welcome, lord," I said in a voice that made it amply clear he was not.

"This is Father Coenwulf," Edward introduced the priest who gave me a reluctant nod. He was a pale-skinned man, some ten years or so older than Edward. "Father Coenwulf was my tutor," Edward said with an affectionate tone, "and is now my confessor and friend."

"What did you teach him?" I asked Coenwulf, who made no answer, but just stared at me with indignant and very blue eyes.

"Philosophy," Edward said, "and the writings of the church fathers."

"I learned just one useful lesson as a child," I told him. "Beware the blow that comes under the shield. This is Father Heahberht," I gestured at the one-eyed priest, "and this is the aetheling Edward," I said to the village priest who almost fell from his horse in terror of meeting such an exalted prince.

Father Heahberht was our guide. I had asked him where there might be ships, and he had said that he had seen two trading ships being hauled from a river to the north less than a week before. "They aren't far away, lord," he had told me. He said the ships belonged to a Danish trader and had been beached for repairs. "But they may not be seaworthy, lord," he added nervously.

"It doesn't matter," I said, "just take us there."

It was a warm, sun-kissed day. We rode through good farmland that Father Heahberht said belonged to a man called Thorstein who had ridden with Haesten into Mercia. Thorstein had done well for himself. His land was well watered, had fine woodlands and healthy orchards. "Where's his hall?" I asked Heahberht.

"We're going there, lord."

"Is this Thorstein a Christian?" Edward wanted to know.

"He says so, lord," Heahberht stammered, blushing. He obviously wanted to say more, but fear meant he could not find the words and he just gazed slack-jawed at the aetheling. Edward waved the priest ahead of us, but the poor man had no idea how to quicken his horse so Osferth leaned over to take his bridle. They trotted ahead with Heahberht gripping the saddle's pommel for dear life.

Edward grimaced. "A country priest," he said dismissively.

"They do more harm than good," Coenwulf said. "One of our duties, lord, will be to educate the country clergy."

"He wears the short tunic!" Edward observed knowingly. The Pope himself had ordered priests to wear full-length robes, a command Alfred had enthusiastically endorsed.

"Father Heahberht," I said, "is a clever man, and a good one. But he's frightened of you."

"Of me!" Edward asked, "why?"

"Because he's a peasant," I said, "but a peasant who learned to read. Can you even imagine how hard it was for him to become a priest? And all his life he's been p.i.s.sed on by thegns. So of course he's scared of you. And he wears a short robe because he can't afford a long one, and because he lives in mud and s.h.i.t, and short robes don't get as filthy as long ones. So how would you feel if you were a peasant who meets a man who might one day be King of Wess.e.x?"

Edward said nothing, but Father Coenwulf pounced. "Might?" he demanded indignantly.

"Might indeed," I said airily. I was goading them, reminding Edward that he had a cousin, aethelwold, who had more right to the throne than Edward himself, though aethelwold, Alfred's nephew, was a poor excuse of a man.

My words silenced Edward for a while, but Father Coenwulf was made of sterner stuff. "I was surprised, lord," he broke the silence, "to discover the Lady aethelflaed here."

"Surprised?" I asked, "why? She's an adventurous lady."

"Her place," Father Coenwulf said, "is with her husband. My lord the aetheling will agree with me, is that not so, lord?"

I glanced at Edward and saw him redden. "She should not be here," he forced himself to say and I almost laughed aloud. I realized now why he had ridden with us. He was not much interested in seeing a few miles of East Anglia, instead he had come to carry out his father's instructions, and those instructions were to persuade aethelflaed to her duty. "Why tell me?" I asked the pair.

"You have influence over the lady," Father Coenwulf said grimly.

We had crossed a watershed and were riding down a long and gentle slope. The path was edged with coppiced willows and there were glimpses of water far ahead, silver sheens bright beneath the pale sky. "So," I ignored Coenwulf and looked at Edward, "your father sent you to reprove your sister?"

"It is a Christian duty to remind her of her responsibilities," he answered very stiffly.

"I hear he is recovered from his illness," I said.

"For which G.o.d be praised," Coenwulf put in.

"Amen," Edward said.

But Alfred could not live long. He was already an old man, well past forty years, and now he was looking to the future. He was doing what he always did, arranging things, tidying things, trying to impose order on a kingdom beset by enemies. He believed his baleful G.o.d would punish Wess.e.x if it were not a G.o.dly kingdom, and so he was trying to force aethelflaed back to her husband, or else, I guessed, to a nunnery. There could be no visible sin in Alfred's family, and that thought inspired me. I looked at Edward again. "Do you know Osferth?" I asked cheerfully. He blushed at that and Father Coenwulf glared as if warning me to take that subject no further. "You haven't met?" I asked Edward in pretended innocence, then called to Osferth. "Wait for us!"

Father Coenwulf tried to turn Edward's horse away, but I caught hold of the bridle and forced the aetheling to catch up with his half-brother. "Tell me," I said to Osferth, "how you would make the Mercians fight."

Osferth frowned at the question, wondering just what lay behind it. He glanced at Edward, but did not acknowledge his half-brother, though the resemblance between them was startling. They both had Alfred's long face, hollow cheeks, and thin lips. Osferth's face was harder, but he had lived harder too. His father, ashamed of his own b.a.s.t.a.r.d, had tried to make Osferth a priest, but Osferth had turned himself into a warrior, a trade to which he brought his father's intelligence. "The Mercians can fight as well as anyone," Osferth said cautiously. He knew I was playing some game and was trying to detect it and so, unseen by either Edward or Coenwulf who both rode on my left, I cupped a hand to indicate a breast and Osferth, despite having inherited his father's almost complete lack of humor, had to resist an amused smile. "They need leadership," he said confidently.

"Then we thank G.o.d for the Lord aethelred," Father Coenwulf said, refusing to look directly at Osferth.

"The Lord aethelred," I said savagely, "couldn't lead a wet wh.o.r.e to a dry bed."

"But the Lady aethelflaed is much loved in Mercia," Osferth said, now playing his part to perfection. "We saw that at Fearnhamme. It was the Lady aethelflaed who inspired the Mercians."

"You'll need the Mercians," I told Edward. "If you become king," I went on, stressing the "if" to keep him unbalanced, "the Mercians will protect your northern frontier. And the Mercians don't love Wess.e.x. They may fight for you, but they don't love you. They were a proud country once, and they don't like being told what to do by Wess.e.x. But they do love one West Saxon. And you'd shut her up in a convent?"

"She is a married..." Father Coenwulf began.

"Oh, shut your mouth," I snapped at him. "Your king used his daughter to bring me south, and here I am, and I'll stay here so long as aethelflaed asks. But don't think I'm here for you, or for your G.o.d, or for your king. If you have plans for aethelflaed then you had better count me as a part of them."

Edward was too embarra.s.sed to meet my eyes. Father Coenwulf was angry, but dared not speak, while Osferth grinned at me. Father Heahberht had listened to the conversation with a shocked expression, but now found his timid voice. "The hall is that way, lords," he said, pointing, and we turned down a track rutted by cart wheels and I saw a reed-thatched roof showing between some heavy-leaved elm trees. I kicked ahead of Edward, to see that Thorstein's home was built on a low ridge above the river. There was a village beyond the hall, its small houses straggling along the bank where dozens of fires smoked. "They dry herring here?" I asked the priest.

"And they make salt, lord."

"Is there a palisade?"

"Yes, lord."

The palisade was unmanned and the gates lay open. Thorstein had taken his warriors with Haesten, leaving only a handful of older men to protect his family and lands, and those men knew better than to put up a fight they must lose. Instead a steward welcomed us with a bowl of water. Thorstein's gray-haired wife watched from the hall door, but when I turned to her she stepped back into the shadows and the door slammed shut.

The palisade enclosed the hall, three barns, a cattle shed, and a pair of elm-timbered slipways where the two ships had been hauled high above the tideline. They were trading ships, their fat bellies patched pale where carpenters were nailing new oak strakes. "Your master is a shipbuilder?" I asked the steward.

"They've always built ships here, lord," he said humbly, meaning that Thorstein had stolen the shipyard from a Saxon.

I turned on Osferth. "Make sure the women aren't molested," I ordered, "and find a wagon and draft horses." I looked back to the steward. "We need ale and food."

"Yes, lord."

There was a long low building beside the slipways and I went to it. Sparrows quarreled beneath the thatch. Once inside I had to let my eyes adjust to the gloom, but then I saw what I was seeking. Masts and spars and sails. I ordered my men to carry all the spars and sails out to the wagon, then walked to the shed's open end to watch the river swirl past. The tide was falling, exposing long steep slicks of mud.

"Why spars and sails?" Edward asked from behind me. He was alone. "The steward brought mead," he said awkwardly. He was frightened of me, but he was making a great effort to be friendly.

"Tell me," I said, "what happened when you tried to capture Torneie."

"Torneie?" Edward sounded confused.

"You attacked Harald on his island," I said, "and you failed. I want to know why." I had heard the story from Offa, the dog-man who carried his news between the kingdoms, but I had not asked anyone who was there. All I knew was that the a.s.sault on Harald's fugitives had ended in defeat and with a great loss of men.

He frowned. "It was..." He stopped, shaking his head, perhaps remembering the men floundering through the mud to Harald's palisade. "We never got close," he said bitterly.

"Why not?"

He frowned. "There were stakes in the river. The mud was thick."

"You think Beamfleot will be any easier?" I demanded, and saw the answer on his face. "So who led the attack on Torneie?" I asked.

"aethelred and I," he said.

"You led?" I asked pointedly. "You were in front?"

He stared at me, bit his lower lip, then looked embarra.s.sed. "No."

"Your father made certain you were protected?" I asked, and he nodded. "What about Lord aethelred?" I went on, "did he lead?"

"He's a brave man," Edward said defiantly.

"You haven't answered me."

"He went with his men," Edward said evasively, "but thank G.o.d he escaped the rout."

"So why should you be King of Wess.e.x?" I asked him brutally.

"I," he said, then ran out of words and just looked at me with a pained expression. He had come into the shed trying to be friendly and I was raking him over.

"Because your father's the king?" I suggested. "In the past we've chosen the best man to be king, not the one who happened to come from between the legs of a king's wife." He frowned, offended and uncertain, voiceless. "Tell me why I shouldn't make Osferth king," I said harshly. "He's Alfred's eldest son."

"If there is no rule to the succession," he said carefully, "then the death of a king will lead to chaos."

"Rules," I sneered, "how you love rules. So because Osferth's mother was a servant he can't be king?"

"No," Edward found the courage to answer, "he can't."

"Luckily for you," I said, "he doesn't want to be king. At least I don't think he does. But you do?" I waited and eventually he responded with an almost imperceptible nod. "And you have the advantage," I went on, "of having been born between a pair of royal legs, but you still need to prove you deserve the kingship." He stared at me, saying nothing. "You want to be king," I went on, "so you must show you deserve it. You lead. You do what you didn't do at Torneie, what my cousin didn't do either. You go first into the attack. You can't expect men to die for you unless they see you're willing to die for them."

He nodded to that. "Beamfleot?" he asked, unable to disguise his fear at the prospect of that a.s.sault.

"You want to be king?" I asked. "Then you lead the a.s.sault. Now come with me, and I'll show you how."

I took him outside and led him to the top of the river bank. The tide was almost out, leaving a slippery slope of gleaming mud at least twelve feet high. "How," I asked him, "do we get up a slope like that?"

He did not answer, but just frowned as though considering the problem and then, to his utter astonishment, I shoved him hard over the edge. He cried aloud as he lost his footing, then he slipped and floundered on his royal a.r.s.e all the way down to the water where at last he managed to stand unsteadily. He was mud-smeared and indignant. Father Coenwulf evidently thought I was trying to drown the aetheling, for he rushed to my side where he stared down at the prince. "Draw your sword," I told Edward, "and climb that bank."

He drew his sword and took some tentative steps, but the slick mud defeated him so that he slithered back every time. "Try harder," I snarled. "Try really hard! There are Danes at the top of the bank and you have to kill them. So climb!"