Finan counted the shelters. ‘At least a hundred.’ He thought about that, then frowned. ‘At least a hundred! So what are we doing here?’ He waited for an answer, but I said nothing, just gazed at Guthfrith’s camp. ‘You’re making yourself a target?’ Finan asked.
‘For an archer? No bow will shoot in this rain. The cord will be soaked. Besides, those men are watching.’ I nodded towards a group of West Saxon horsemen who waited on the road that lay beyond Guthfrith’s camp. That road forded the River Eamotum and then led north towards the Scottish lands, and I guessed that the men guarding the ford were the same men who had accosted us on our arrival, men who were charged with keeping the peace. ‘Let’s ride further east,’ I said.
The rain’s anger lessened as we rode, the wind became fitful and a low band of brighter cloud showed above the eastern hills. We followed the river past small patches of woodland and rough pasture. ‘So Guthfrith swore loyalty to Æthelstan?’ I said.
‘But he’ll still fight for Constantine,’ Finan said.
‘Probably.’ I was thinking of Hywel’s advice to choose my side well. My family had held Bebbanburg for almost four hundred years even though it was surrounded by a kingdom ruled by incomers, by Northmen, either Danes or Norse. Now Northumbria was the last kingdom in pagan hands and both Æthelstan and Constantine were eyeing it, wanting it. ‘So why doesn’t Æthelstan just kill Guthfrith?’ I wondered aloud.
‘Because of Anlaf, of course,’ Finan answered confidently.
Anlaf. He was only a name to me, but a name that was becoming ever more familiar and ever heavier with threat. He was a young Norseman, the King of Dyflin in Ireland, who had made his reputation fast, and that reputation said he was a warrior to fear. He had conquered most of the other Norse kings of Ireland and reports from across the water claimed he had a fleet that could darken the sea. ‘Guthfrith is family to Anlaf,’ Finan went on, ‘and if Guthfrith dies then Anlaf will claim the throne by inheritance. He’ll bring his army over the water. He wants Northumbria.’
I swerved slightly northwards to the shelter of a copse and waited there, looking back the way we had come. A smudge of smoke hung in the sky from the myriad campfires of the men gathered by Æthelstan. Finan stood his horse beside mine. ‘You think Guthfrith will follow us?’ he asked.
‘I suspect the archer last night was one of his men.’
‘Likely as not.’
‘And my death would be a gift to Æthelstan,’ I added bitterly.
‘Because he wants Bebbanburg?’
‘He needs it. He needs fortresses all across the north and he knows I’ll never surrender Bebbanburg. Never.’
Finan, rain dripping from his helmet’s brow onto his grey beard, did not speak for a few heartbeats, then, ‘He owes you everything.’
‘He’s risen above me. He’s King of Britain and I’m old and irrelevant. He wants a new Britain dominated by Englaland and I’m a small pagan stone in his royal Christian shoe.’
‘So what will you do?’
I shrugged. ‘Wait till he summons me. I’ll listen to him, then make up my mind.’ I smiled wryly. ‘If I live.’ I nodded westwards. A dozen horsemen were following us, appearing between some low trees on the river bank. They were in mail, wore helmets and carried spears, swords, and shields blazoned with Guthfrith’s boar. ‘Let’s keep going.’
We went on eastwards, faster now, the horses throwing up clods of damp earth from their heavy hooves. To our right the Lauther flowed to its junction with the River Eamotum that was hidden by thick trees to our left. Another belt of trees lay ahead and, once inside them, we lost sight of the horsemen who followed us. ‘Go that way?’ Finan suggested, pointing north to where the river was edged thick with trees. We stood a chance of losing the men behind us if we went into that larger patch of woodland, but I shook my head.
‘We keep going,’ I said.
‘But …’
‘Keep going!’ I ducked under a low branch and spurred onto more wet pastureland. Ahead of us now I could see the two rivers getting ever nearer each other. ‘Can we cross them?’ Finan asked.
‘We can cross the Lauther if we have to,’ I said, pointing to the river to our right. I had sounded unenthusiastic because, though that smaller river was shallow, its water was piling and churning over a stony bed. ‘I’d rather not try,’ I added, ‘because one stumble and those bastards will be on top of us. We’d do best to stay between the rivers.’
‘They look as if they join!’
‘They do.’
Finan gave me a curious look. We were riding towards the narrow point of land where the two rivers met and Guthfrith’s horsemen were blocking our path back to the encampment, yet Finan heard the lack of concern in my voice. He glanced behind, frowned at the hurrying rivers, then looked at the thick woodland that still lay to our left. Then he gave a curt laugh. ‘Boar hunting! You can be a sneaky bastard, lord.’
‘Can be?’
He laughed again, suddenly glad he had ridden with me in the rain. We swerved northwards, heading for the trees, and behind us our pursuers came into sight. They were still a good distance away, but they must have reckoned we were trapped by the two fast-running and storm swollen rivers. I curbed the stallion, turned and faced them. If Egil was not where I suspected he was then we were indeed trapped, but I trusted the Norseman as much as I trusted Finan. ‘I’m tempting Guthfrith,’ I explained, ‘because there’s too much I don’t understand.’ Guthfrith’s horsemen, I
