Smoke in the Wind

exactly so. There was something almost menacing about it. Eadulf signalled to Fidelma to draw rein and pointed to the shelter of the trees.

‘They are coming,’ he announced quietly. ‘That’s a Saxon war chant. Stay hidden. If anything happens. . well, ride as if the furies of hell were on your heels.’

Fidelma raised her hand in acknowledgment, turned her horse and walked it in among the cover of the trees.

Eadulf waited until she was well hidden and then began to walk his horse towards the curious percussion- like noise. As he came round the corner of a rise he saw below him what to an untrained eye would look like a strange serpent moving slowly along the path, the sun reflecting off odd scales running along the sides of the monster. To an eye which had beheld the sight before it was a double column of men, large round shields giving protection on both sides so that little could be seen of the warriors who held them. He could make out their horned metal helmets and the double-bladed battleaxes held ready.

The column marched in unison, leather boots stamping the ground. And, with a regular monotony, the arms holding the axes would be raised heavenward before striking the weapons down on the metal shield rims so that the noise was a fierce drum beat, hypnotic, unrelenting. In the pause before the next beat came the cry ‘úp the eorl! úp Eanfrith!’ and then the remorseless bang of axe on shield again. It was unnerving and it was designed to be so. Eadulf was no stranger to the sight of Saxon warriors marching in a battle phalanx and issuing the war-cry calculated to terrify their enemies.

Abruptly the column halted and was silent.

Someone must have seen Eadulf on his horse and given the order. He hoped that no one in the column of warriors was armed with a bow and would decide to use it before he came within shouting range. He guided his horse slowly down towards the waiting column.

‘Welcome, brothers!’ he called, halting about five yards away from the head of it. ‘What do you seek in this land?’

The column stood in silence and then a Saxon voice answered him.

‘Who are you who speaks our tongue?’

‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham in the land of the South Folk.’

‘A Christian?’ The voice was still suspicious.

‘I am.’

‘We are Hwicce!’ came the cold response.

Eadulf felt a coldness go through him. Here were the very people he had told Fidelma about. Saxons whose fighting prowess was legendary and who still clung to the old faith, worshipping Woden the Allfather, chief of the raven clan.

‘I have heard of the Hwicce.’ Eadulf managed a smile. ‘The Hwicce are renowned among all the kingdoms of the Saxons, Angles and Jutes. But the Hwicce I have heard of are brave and generous warriors who are courteous to strangers — even to Christian brothers in strange lands.’

There was a moment’s silence and someone muttered something and then there was a shout of laughter. Eadulf tried not to show his unease.

‘You have a way with words, Eadulf the Christian,’ came the voice. ‘Tell us what you are doing here.’

Eadulf decided to be sparing with the truth. ‘I am travelling with a companion to the kingdom of Kent, to Canterbury. A storm drove my ship ashore here a few days ago.’

‘And you, a Saxon, have encountered no animosity from these Welisc?’ demanded the voice in surprise.

‘I have encountered many expressions of dislike but I have survived. But they are Christian in this land and do not kill without good reason.’

‘Being Saxon is often considered reason enough. Doubtless, your Christian ways make these dogs spare you, Eadulf,’ the voice replied. ‘Tell me, do you know where the Welisc warriors are? Are we likely to be attacked?’

Eadulf thought quickly. Which would be more effective? The truth or some lie claiming that warriors were nearby? He felt it better to be truthful.

‘There are no warriors nearby, Hwicce. This is a land of peaceful shepherds and herders of cattle.’

‘Will you take an oath on that? Swear by the sword of Woden?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘An oath on the sword of Woden would be meaningless to me. I will swear on the cross of my Christ, though.’

‘Good enough. Do you so swear?’

‘I do. There are no large bands of Welisc warriors within a morning’s ride of us. I swear this by the Holy Cross!’

The column of warriors broke up at a word of command. The shields came down and the phalanx dissolved and Eadulf came face to face with the person whom he had been addressing. The man set down his war shield and took off his helmet. To Eadulf’s surprise, the speaker was a blond-haired youth, certainly not far advanced into his twenties. He had a handsome face, highlighted by deepset eyes so grey as to be almost violet in colour. He was tall, muscular and looked like a man to whom the profession of warrior came naturally. Eadulf took an instant liking to his open, youthful features.

‘Well met in this land of the Welisc, Eadulf the Christian,’ the young man grinned. ‘I am the Eorl Osric, thane to Eanfrith, king of the Hwicce.’

Eadulf dismounted from his horse and took a few steps towards the eorl. ‘Then well met, Osric of the Hwicce. Pax tecum!’

Osric grinned again. ‘I have no Latin, Eadulf. Speak in good Saxon. I am not Christian. The gods of my forefathers are good enough for me.’

‘I was going to ask you for a quid pro quo, but as you speak no Latin, I shall translate. Something for something. I have told you there are no Welisc warriors here. Now you tell me something.’

Osric chuckled. ‘Were you a merchant before you joined this curious brotherhood of Christ, my friend?’

‘I was hereditary gerefa of my people,’ Eadulf assured him.

‘A lawgiver. I might have known,’ replied the young thane with a wry grimace. ‘Then we shall cease to bargain. What is it that you wish to know?’

‘What are you doing on this shore? Do you mean to harm the people living here?’

Osric pointed to the woods beyond. ‘We are here to cut down the tallest tree we can find.’

It was a totally unexpected reply and Eadulf’s face showed it.

Osric was still chuckling. ‘My gerefa friend,’ he said, ‘it is quite true. Our ship has been demasted and we managed to make it into a bay beyond that point.’ He waved a hand over his shoulder. ‘We need to get a new mast. But as this is the land of Welisc we came prepared to fight for it.’

‘And that was why you were shouting your war-cry?’

‘We thought that it might frighten people off long enough for our purpose.’

He turned and snapped an order which sent his men racing towards the nearby wood searching for a tall tree.

One of the men, obviously the chief carpenter, pointed to a tall, fairly thin oak. Two axemen came forward and set to work with a will, the smack of their metal blades into wood echoing across the landscape. They did not waste time. The work was done quickly and efficiently.

‘Was it your ship that was anchored down the coast some days ago?’ asked Eadulf.

Osric turned to him with an amused grin. ‘Another question? I thought your Latin merchant’s term was question for question?’

‘If you want to ask me questions, I’ll be happy to answer them,’ Eadulf offered, feeling suddenly comfortable with the young man. Hwicce or no, pagan or no, these were his own people and he felt at ease with them.

‘Well, you are right. We have been up and down this coast during this last week or so. We have been chasing a Welisc ship.’

‘Did you by any chance raid the Welisc religious community near here. . to the south?’