I left Finan on the road a half-mile south of Sigelf, then took a dozen men back to Eanulfsbirig. It was dusk as I arrived and the chaos was at last subsiding. Bishop Erkenwald had ridden back up the road and ordered the slowest, heaviest wagons abandoned, and Edward’s army was now gathering in the fields across the river. If the Danes did attack they would be forced to cross the bridge into an army, or else march around by the bad road that skirted the outside of the river bend. ‘Is Merewalh still guarding that road, lord King?’ I asked Edward.
‘He is, he says there’s no sign of the enemy.’
‘Good. Where’s your sister?’
‘I sent her back to Bedanford.’
‘And she went?’
He smiled, ‘She did!’
It was now plain that the whole army, except for my men and Sigelf’s rearguard, would be safe across the Use before nightfall and so I sent Sihtric back up the road with a message for both forces to retire as fast as possible. ‘Tell them to come to the bridge and cross it.’ Once that was done, and so long as no Danes tried to outflank us, then we would have escaped the Danish choice of battlefield. ‘And tell Finan to let Sigelf’s men go first,’ I told Sihtric. I wanted Finan as the real rearguard, because no other warrior in the army was so reliable.
‘You look tired, lord,’ Edward said sympathetically.
‘I am tired, lord King.’
‘It’ll be at least an hour before Ealdorman Sigelf reaches us,’ Edward said, ‘so rest.’
I made sure my dozen men and horses were resting, then ate a poor meal of hard bread and pounded beans. The rain was falling harder now, and an east wind made the evening cruelly cold. The king had his quarters in one of the cottages we had half destroyed to burn the bridge, but somehow his servants had found a piece of sailcloth with which to make a roof. A fire burned in the hearth, swirling smoke under the makeshift canopy. Two priests were arguing quietly as I settled close to the fire. Against the far wall was a pile of precious boxes, silver, gold and crystal, which held the relics that the king would take on campaign to ensure his god’s favour. The priests were disagreeing over whether one of the reliquaries contained a splinter from Noah’s ark or a toenail of Saint Patrick, and I ignored them.
I half dozed, and I was thinking how strange it was that all the people who had affected my life over the last three years were suddenly in one place, or close to one place. Sigurd, Beortsig, Edward, Cnut, ?thelwold, ?thelflaed, Sigebriht, all of them gathered in this cold, wet corner of East Anglia and surely, I thought, that was significant. The three Norns were weaving the threads close together, and that had to be for a purpose. I looked for a pattern in the weave, but saw none, and my thoughts drifted as I half fell asleep. I woke when Edward stooped through the low door. It was dark outside now, black dark. ‘Sigelf isn’t retreating,’ he spoke to the two priests, his tone querulous.
‘Lord King?’ one of them asked.
‘Sigelf is being stubborn,’ the king said, holding his hands to the fire. ‘He’s staying where he is! I’ve told him to retreat, but he won’t.’
‘He’s what?’ I asked, suddenly fully awake.
Edward seemed startled to see me. ‘It’s Sigelf,’ he said, ‘he’s ignoring my messengers! You sent a man to him, didn’t you? And I’ve sent five more! Five! But they come back telling me he’s refusing to retreat! He says it’s too dark and he’s waiting for the dawn, but God knows he’s risking his men. The Danes will be awake at first light.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve just sent another man with orders that they must retreat.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ he asked me, needing reassurance.
I did not answer. I stayed silent because at last I saw what the Norns were doing. I saw the pattern in the weave of all our lives and I understood, finally, the war that passed all understanding. My face must have looked shocked because Edward was staring at me. ‘Lord King,’ I said, ‘order the army to march back across the bridge, then join Sigelf. Do you understand?’
‘You want me to…’ he began, confused.
‘The whole army!’ I shouted. ‘Every man! March them to Sigelf now!’ I shouted at him as though he were my underling and not my king, because if he disobeyed me now he would not be a king much longer. Maybe it was already too late, but there was no time to explain it to him. There was a kingdom to be saved. ‘March them now,’ I snarled at him, ‘back the way we came, back to Sigelf, and hurry!’
And I ran for my horse.
I took my twelve men. We led the horses over the bridge, then mounted and followed the road towards Huntandon. It was a black night, black and cold, rain spitting into our faces and we could not ride fast. I remember being assailed by doubt. Suppose I was wrong? If I was wrong then I was leading Edward’s army back into the battleground the Danes had chosen. I was stranding them in the river loop, perhaps with Danes on every side, but I resisted the doubt. Nothing had made sense, and now it all made sense, all except for the fires that burned far to the north. There had been one smoke plume in the afternoon, now I could see three huge blazes, betrayed by their reflected glow on the low clouds. Why would the Danes be burning halls or villages in King Eohric’s land? It was another mystery, but not one I worried about because the fires were far off, a long way beyond Huntandon.
It was an hour before a sentry challenged us. It was one of my men and he led us to where Finan had the remainder in a patch of woodland. ‘I didn’t retreat,’ Finan explained, ‘because Sigelf isn’t moving. God knows why.’
‘You remember when we were in Hrofeceastre,’ I asked him, ‘talking to Bishop Swithwulf?’
‘I remember.’
‘What were they loading onto the ships?’
There was a moment’s pause as Finan realised what I was saying. ‘Horses,’ he said quietly.
‘Horses for Frankia,’ I said, ‘and Sigelf comes to Lundene and claims he doesn’t have enough horses for his men.’
‘So now a hundred of his men are part of Lundene’s garrison,’ Finan said.
‘And ready to open the gates when the Danes arrive,’ I continued, ‘because Sigelf is sworn to ?thelwold or to Sigurd or to whoever has promised him the throne of Cent.’
‘Jesus and Joseph,’ Finan said.
‘And the Danes haven’t been indecisive,’ I said, ‘they were waiting for Sigelf to declare his loyalty. Now they have it, and the Centish bastard isn’t retreating because he expects the Danes to join him, and maybe they already have, and they think we’re going west and they’ll march fast southwards and Sigelf’s men in Lundene will open the gates and the city will fall while we’re still waiting for the earslings in Bedanford.’
‘So what do we do?’ Finan asked.
‘Stop them, of course.’
‘How?’
‘By changing sides, of course,’ I said.
How else?
Thirteen
Doubt weakens the will. Suppose I was wrong? Suppose Sigelf was simply a stubborn and stupid old man who really did think it was too dark to retreat? But though the doubts assailed me I kept on, leading my men east around the marshland that anchored the right of Sigelf’s line.
The wind was sharp, the night was freezing, the rain malevolent and the darkness absolute, and if it had not been for the Centish campfires we would surely have been lost. A slew of fires marked Sigelf’s position, and there were still more just to the north, which told me that at least some Danes had now crossed the river and were sheltering from the weather in the hovels around the old Roman house. Those mysterious great fires, the big glow of burning halls, also showed much farther north, and those three I could not explain.
So much, and not just those distant fires, defied understanding. Some Danes had crossed the river, but the glow of fires on the northern bank told me that most still remained in Huntandon, which was strange if they intended to move southwards. Sigelf’s men had not moved from where I had left them, which meant there was a
