Then Ealdred came.
Oswi warned me of their approach. He had been posted well north of Bebbanburg, watching the road that led from Egil’s land. Ealdred, I reckoned, would have followed Egil and now came south to Bebbanburg to fulfil Æthelstan’s instructions. Even before Oswi reached the fortress I cupped my hands and shouted at my men. ‘Get ready!’
I had planned a reception for Ealdred, and my men, eager to play their parts, ran to prepare themselves. They looked forward to the deception, unaware that I could be bringing the whole wrath of Saxon Britain down on Bebbanburg. Most concealed themselves in their living quarters, some filed up to the great hall to wait in the side chambers, but all donned mail, wore helmets, and carried weapons. Only a half dozen would be visible to Ealdred on the ramparts and those six had been ordered to look dishevelled and bored. Once Oswi had galloped across the sandy neck and was safe in the lower courtyard, the Skull Gate was closed and barred. ‘Must be close to two hundred of them, lord,’ he told me when he joined me on the rampart above the inner gate.
‘Scarlet cloaks?’
‘A good number of scarlet cloaks,’ he said, ‘maybe fifty?’
So Ealdred, who called himself Lord of Bebbanburg, had brought some of the king’s own bodyguard, Æthelstan’s finest troops. I smiled. ‘Well done,’ I told Oswi, then cupped my hands and called down to Berg, Egil’s younger brother, who was one of my most loyal and capable men. ‘You know what to do?’
He just grinned and waved as answer. I had given him five men who waited with him behind the Skull Gate. All were in mail, but I had deliberately given them old coats that had broken rings and were fouled with rust. Behind them the courtyard was thick with blood, buzzing with flies, and littered with slaughtered and half butchered beasts. I walked to the landward ramparts where I was hidden by deep shadow in a watch house where sentries could shelter on dirty nights and freezing days. Benedetta was with me, as was Alaina, who was over-excited. ‘Are you going to kill him?’
‘Not today.’
‘Can I?’
‘No.’ I was going to say more, but just then the first scarlet-cloaked horsemen appeared. They came in a long line on tired horses and stopped in the village to stare at Bebbanburg across the harbour. What did they see? A massive whale-shaped rock rising from the coast and crowned by great timbers and approached only by the sandy neck to the south. They stood watching for some time as the stragglers caught up, and this, I guessed, was Ealdred’s first view of the fortress and he was learning just how formidable it was. He would see my flag of the wolf’s head flying at Bebbanburg’s highest point and he could see too that the ramparts were thinly manned. I instinctively had stepped back into the deeper shadows, though there was no risk that he could see me at that distance. ‘That’s them, father?’ My son had joined us.
‘That’s them. You’ll wait in the hall?’
‘I know what to do.’
‘Let’s not kill them if we can help it.’
‘Ouff,’ Alaina said, disappointed.
‘There are priests with them,’ Benedetta said, ‘two priests.’
‘There are always priests,’ I said sourly, ‘if you want to steal something it’s good to have your god with you.’
‘They’re coming,’ my son said as the far horsemen spurred their mounts again and headed south towards the rough track that approached the Skull Gate.
I clapped my son on the shoulder. ‘Enjoy yourself.’
‘You too, father.’
‘Go with him,’ I told Benedetta.
Alaina followed her and for a moment I was tempted to call her back. She was too obviously enjoying herself, then I thought Ealdred probably deserved whatever scorn Alaina chose to give him. I turned back to the Skull Gate where Finan and a dozen men had just disappeared into the guard chamber. We were ready.
I moved to the ramparts by the inner gate, but stayed hidden. I was dressed in my war-glory; my brightest mail, the helmet with the silver wolf snarling at the crown, my arm rings glittering, high boots polished, a golden hammer at my breast, a silver-plated sword belt from which Serpent-Breath hung, and all half-covered with a lavish bearskin cloak I had taken from a dead enemy. A sentry on the fighting platform above the inner gate grinned at me and I put a finger to my lips in warning. ‘Not a word, lord,’ he said. The stench of blood was thick and would stay pungent till the rain cleaned the outer courtyard.
I heard voices calling from the Skull Gate’s far side. Someone thumped on the gate itself, presumably with a spear butt. Berg slowly climbed to the rampart. I saw him yawn prodigiously before calling down, though again I could not hear what words were spoken, but nor did I need to. Ealdred was demanding entrance, explaining he had a letter from King Æthelstan addressed to my son, and Berg was insisting that only six horsemen could pass the gate. ‘If young Lord Uhtred gives permission,’ I had told him to say, ‘then you’re all welcome, but till then? Only six.’
The altercation lasted some minutes. Berg told me later that Ealdred had crowded his horsemen by the gate, plainly intending to force an entrance if the gates were opened to permit a mere six men. ‘I told him to back the bastards way off, lord.’
‘Did he?’
‘Once he’d called me a damned pagan Norseman, lord, yes.’
The gates were finally pushed
