‘Æthelstan should refuse the challenge,’ Thorolf said.
‘He’ll lose Ceaster if he does,’ I responded, ‘Leof won’t last two days.’
‘Then Æthelstan fights him somewhere else, beats the bastard and takes Ceaster back.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘if I were Æthelstan I’d accept the challenge.’ No one spoke, they just gazed at the trap Anlaf had set. ‘They’ll attack all along Æthelstan’s shield wall,’ I went on, ‘but Anlaf’s best troops will be on his right. They have the highest ground so they’ll charge downhill, try to break Æthelstan’s left, then pin the rest of his army against the wider stream.’
‘Where there will be slaughter,’ Egil said.
‘Oh it will be a slaughter,’ I agreed, ‘but who gets slaughtered? If I were Æthelstan I’d let Anlaf drive my left flank back.’ My companions just looked at me, none spoke, but their faces betrayed doubt, all but for Finan, who looked amused.
Thorolf broke the uneasy silence. ‘Will they outnumber us?’
‘Probably,’ I said.
‘Certainly,’ Egil said dourly.
‘And Anlaf’s no fool,’ Thorolf went on, ‘he’ll have his best men, his úlfhéðnar on his right.’
‘I would too,’ I agreed, and silently hoped my men would not be on Æthelstan’s left wing.
Thorolf frowned at me. ‘They’re vicious fighters, lord. No one has bested them in Ireland.’
‘And they’ll bend Æthelstan’s line back against the stream,’ I said, ‘and our forces will be trapped there.’
‘Trapped and slaughtered,’ Thorolf said gloomily.
‘But you think we can win,’ Finan said to me, still amused. He looked at Thorolf. ‘He usually does.’
‘So tell us,’ Egil put in.
‘It’s so obvious what Anlaf plans,’ I explained, ‘and it’s so obvious that it’s a winning plan, but I doubt he’s thought beyond that. He expects to win this battle with one massive attack, one brutal assault by his best men on Æthelstan’s left flank, but what happens if that goes wrong?’
‘What does happen?’ Egil asked.
‘We win,’ I said.
But winning depended on Æthelstan agreeing with me.
And whatever happened, Sihtric, Egil and Thorolf were right. It would be a slaughter.
Thirteen
‘The arrogance of the man!’ Æthelstan said angrily. ‘He challenges me!’
It was two days later, days I had spent travelling south in search of the king whom I had found on the Roman road that led north along the frontiers of the Welsh kingdoms. His army had camped for the night and Æthelstan was in his gaudy tent at the centre of a vast spread of shelters and picketed horses. Bishop Oda was with him, as was his cousin Prince Edmund and half a dozen ealdormen, all of whom had peered gloomily at a scrap of linen on which I had used a piece of charcoal to draw a plan of Anlaf’s chosen battlefield.
‘Kings,’ I said drily, ‘are often arrogant.’
He gave me a sharp look, knowing I was referring to his attempts to take Bebbanburg. ‘We don’t have to accept his challenge,’ he said irritably.
‘Of course not, lord King.’
‘And if we don’t?’
‘He’ll besiege Ceaster,’ I guessed, ‘and ravage more of northern Mercia.’
‘We’re close enough to stop that,’ he said irritably.
‘So you’ll fight him,’ I said, ‘where? Outside the walls of Ceaster? But to do that you must reach the city. The first thing he’ll do is destroy the bridge over the Dee, and that will force you to make at least another two-day march inland, and give him more time.’
‘Leof will hold the city.’
‘Leof is pissing in his breeches already.’
Æthelstan frowned at me. He was wearing his hair plain, no gold-threaded curls, and was dressed in simple dark clothes. ‘How many men does Anlaf have?’ It was the third time he had asked me the question.
‘I can only guess three thousand.’ I suspected Anlaf’s numbers were far greater than that, but this was not the time to add to Æthelstan’s fears. ‘A lot,’ I went on, ‘and the Scots are still joining him.’
‘By ship! Why aren’t our ships stopping that?’ No one answered that because Æthelstan knew the answer perfectly well himself. His ships were still in the Sæfern and, besides, even if he could bring those ships north he would not have enough vessels to challenge Anlaf’s huge fleet.
‘At least three thousand,’ I went on relentlessly, ‘and doubtless more men will come from the islands, and from Ireland.’
‘And I’ll have more men if I wait.’
‘You have enough, lord King,’ I said softly.
‘I have fewer than him!’ he said angrily.
‘And your grandfather was outnumbered at Ethandun,’ I said, ‘but he won.’
‘So Steapa keeps reminding me.’
‘Steapa! Is he with you?’
‘He insisted on coming,’ he said, frowning, ‘but he’s old! Like you!’
‘Steapa,’ I said forcefully, ‘is one of the greatest warriors Wessex ever had.’
‘So people tell me.’
‘Then listen to him, lord King, use him!’
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘And should I listen to you?’
‘You’re the king. You can do what you like.’
‘And fight that arrogant bastard on a field of his choosing?’
‘He’s chosen a battlefield that gives him an advantage,’ I said carefully, ‘but it also gives us a good chance of beating him.’
No one else had spoken since I entered the tent, neither Æthelstan’s men, nor Finan, who alone had accompanied me. I had travelled south with just six men, leaving Egil, Thorolf and Sihtric in Ceaster, and had chosen Finan because he wore the cross and because Æthelstan liked him. Finan now smiled. ‘You’re right, lord King,’ the Irishman said softly, ‘Anlaf is arrogant, and he’s also savage, but he’s not a subtle man.’
Æthelstan nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘He’s won his wars in Ireland by massive attacks, lord King, by using bigger armies than his enemies. He’s famous for mounting terrifying assaults with his úlfhéðnar and inflicting dreadful slaughter. Men are frightened of him, and he
