The evil would come from the north.
The good weather continued, but an obstinate wind, more southerly than westerly, made us sail far into the North Sea before turning back towards the Scottish coast. It took us three days to discover Æthelstan’s fleet that was further north than I had reckoned. Coenwulf had rescued almost all his ships from the Foirthe and most were now beached on a long wide stretch of sand, beyond which I could see plumes of smoke besmirching the western sky where Æthelstan’s troops put settlements to the torch. Twelve of Coenwulf’s warships patrolled the low coast, protecting the beached ships, and two of them raced towards us, but slowed and turned away when they were close enough to see the wolf’s head on my sail.
‘What do I do?’ Gerbruht shouted from the steering platform.
We were coming from the south and I was standing in the prow, one hand on the carved sparrowhawk as I searched the low land beyond the long beach. There were tents and shelters in the fields, suggesting that much or all of Æthelstan’s army was camped here, and the gaudy tent of rich scarlet and gold, that I had last seen outside Bebbanburg’s Skull Gate, was pitched among them. ‘What’s the tide?’ I called back.
Egil answered. ‘Low! Still ebbing!’
‘Then run her ashore, but gently.’ I saw Apostol, Coenwulf’s ship, and pointed to her. ‘As close to Apostol as you can.’
As we coasted in through the low breaking waves I saw men carrying sacks to the beached ships. The harvest was being stolen. Spearhafoc’s keel grated, the ship shuddered to a stop and the sail was dropped. Egil joined me in the bows. ‘We’re going ashore?’
‘You and I.’ I pointed to the gaudy tent. ‘I suspect Æthelstan’s here.’ I left Gerbruht in charge of the ship again. ‘You can go ashore,’ I told my men, ‘but don’t pick fights!’ Most of my crew were Northmen, many wore Thor’s hammer, but few had been on land during this voyage and they deserved a spell ashore. ‘Don’t fight!’ I warned them again. ‘And back on the ship by nightfall.’
‘They’ll fight,’ Egil said as he and I walked up the beach.
‘Of course they will. They’re idiots.’
Æthelstan was not in the camp. He had ridden inland with over four hundred men and was doubtless responsible for the fires that smoked above the low hills. Two mailed men guarded his tents, but I growled at them and they reluctantly let us enter the gaudy tent where I growled again to summon ale from a servant. Then we waited.
Æthelstan returned in the late afternoon. He was in an ebullient mood and seemed pleased to see me. ‘We laid them waste!’ he boasted as he peeled off his mail coat. ‘And do sit down again. Is that ale?’
‘Good ale,’ I said.
‘We stole it from a settlement down the coast.’ He sat and gazed at me. ‘Coenwulf said you deserted the fleet.’
‘Last time we saw the fleet, lord King, it was on a lee shore and being harried by Scotsmen. So while Coenwulf got out of his own mess we went looking for Constantine’s ships.’
Æthelstan smiled, recognising my hostility to his fleet’s commander. ‘We heard that Constantine’s ships went north. Fleeing us. Fifteen of them?’
‘Fifteen, yes, but they weren’t fleeing, lord King, they didn’t even know you were here.’
‘They’ll know by now,’ he said grimly. ‘So what are they doing? Sheltering in the islands? Waiting for more ships before they attack us?’
‘Is that what Coenwulf fears?’
‘It’s what he suspects.’
‘Then he’s wrong. They sailed west.’
‘Probably gone to Cumbria,’ Egil put in, ‘you won’t see them for a long time.’
Æthelstan gazed at us both for a few heartbeats. It was plain that this was news to him. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ I answered. ‘We think he left four ships on this coast, and they’re probably staying in harbour now they’ve seen your fleet.’
‘Then you bring me good news!’ Æthelstan said happily. ‘And your son has been useful!’
‘Has he lost men?’ I asked.
‘Not one! The Scots won’t fight.’ He paused, then smiled as the tent flap was pushed aside and Ingilmundr appeared.
The tall Norseman stopped when he saw us, then forced a smile and gave me a perfunctory bow. ‘Lord Uhtred.’
‘Jarl Ingilmundr,’ I responded coldly. I had disliked him from the first moment I had met him beside the Mærse. He was a young and strikingly handsome man with a straight blade of a nose and long hair that he wore tied in a leather lace so that it hung almost to his waist. When I had first encountered him he had worn a hammer about his neck, but now a bright cross hung from a golden chain. ‘And this is Jarl Egil Skallagrimmrson.’
‘I have heard of you,’ Ingilmundr said.
‘I would expect no less!’ Egil answered happily.
‘Ingilmundr brought two hundred warriors from Wirhealum,’ Æthelstan interrupted enthusiastically, ‘and very useful men they are too!’
‘They’re Norsemen,’ Egil said mischievously.
‘They are examples,’ Æthelstan said.
‘Examples?’ I asked.
‘That all men are welcome in Englaland so long as they are Christians.’ Æthelstan patted the seat next to his, inviting Ingilmundr to sit. He also gave the hammer at my breast a rueful glance. ‘And Lord Uhtred brings us good news,’ he spoke to Ingilmundr, ‘the Scottish fleet has gone, quite gone. Gone to the west coast!’
‘They fled from you, lord King,’ Ingilmundr said as he sat.
‘It appears not. If Lord Uhtred is right they didn’t even know we were here! But everyone else has fled.’
‘Everyone else?’ I asked.
‘The bastards won’t fight! Oh, they harry us. We can’t send out small forage parties, but they won’t confront our army. We know Constantine has men, at least fifteen hundred and that doesn’t include his
