‘And has she?’
I had sighed. ‘You know the answer as well as I do.’
‘So tomorrow we go inland?’ he asked. ‘We’ve no horses. What happens if we get cut off from the harbour?’
I had thought of answering him by saying I needed to fulfil my oath, but of course Finan was right. There were other ways to keep my promise to Æthelstan. I could have joined him in Mercia, but instead I had chosen to believe the priest and had hoped to lead a rebellious band of Centish warriors to attack Æthelhelm from within Wessex. ‘So I’m a fool,’ I had said instead to Finan, ‘but tomorrow we find Eadgifu.’
He had heard the resolve in my voice and accepted it. ‘Amazing what a pair of good-smelling tits will make a man do,’ he had said, ‘and you should sleep.’
So I had slept, and now I was on the edge of Fæfresham, and Eadric was missing, and my closest friend was feeling doomed. ‘We’ll wait till dusk,’ I said. ‘If Eadric hasn’t returned, we’ll go back to Spearhafoc.’
‘God be praised,’ Finan said, and no sooner had he made the sign of the cross than Eadric appeared at the hedge.
He brought us a loaf of bread and a lump of cheese. ‘Cost me a shilling, lord.’
‘You went into the town?’
‘And it’s swarming with the buggers, lord. It’s not good news. Another sixty men came yesterday just before the storm struck. Came from Lundene, all of them in those silly red cloaks. They came on horseback.’ I swore and Finan made the sign of the cross. ‘The lady is still in the convent, lord,’ Eadric went on. ‘They’ve not tried to winkle her out, not yet. No news of the king’s death, you see? A shilling, lord.’
I gave him two. ‘How did you find all that out?’
‘Saw the priest! Father Rædwulf. Nice man. Gave me a blessing, he did.’
‘Who did you say you were?’
‘Told him the truth, of course! Told him we were trying to rescue the lady.’
‘And he said?’
‘He said he’d pray for us, lord.’
So my foolish dreams had ended. Here, in the damp grass behind a thorn hedge, reality had smacked me. The town was crammed with the enemy, we had come too late, and I had failed. ‘You were right,’ I told Finan ruefully.
‘I’m Irish, lord, of course I was right.’
‘We’ll go back to Spearhafoc,’ I said. ‘Burn Æthelhelm’s three ships in the harbour, then go back north.’
My father had once told me to make few oaths. ‘Oaths will bind you, boy,’ he had said, ‘and you’re a fool. You were born a fool. You jump before you think. So think before you swear an oath.’
I had been a fool again. Finan had been right, Sigtryggr had been right, Eadith had been right, and my father had been right. I had no business here. The fool’s errand was over.
Except it was not.
Because the horsemen came.
Four
There were thirty-six horsemen, all in mail, all with shields and half of them carrying long spears. They came from the east, circling below the small swell of pasture where we were crouched beside the blackthorn hedge. We had seen them, but they had not yet seen us.
My first instinct was to draw Serpent-Breath, and my first thought was that Æthelhelm’s men must have seen Eadric and followed him from the town. My second thought was the realisation that we had few shields. Men on foot who lack shields are easy meat for horsemen. My third thought was that these men were not wearing red cloaks and their shields did not show Æthelhelm’s badge of the leaping stag. The shields seemed to show some kind of animal, but the paint had faded and I did not recognise the symbol.
Then the leader of the horsemen saw us and held up his hand to check his men. The horses turned towards us, their big hooves churning the wet turf to muddy ruin. ‘What’s on the shields?’ I asked Finan.
‘Some are showing a bull’s head,’ he answered, ‘with bloody horns, and the rest are crossed swords.’
‘Then they’re Centishmen,’ I said, feeling relief, and just then the newcomers saw our shields showing the leaping stag, they saw our dark red cloaks, and their swords slid free of scabbards, their spurs went back and the spears were lowered.
‘Drop your weapons!’ I shouted to my men. ‘Drop the shields!’ The big horses were lumbering up the damp slope, spear-points glittering. I ran a few paces towards them, stopped, and rammed Serpent-Breath point first into the turf. ‘No fight!’ I shouted at the approaching horsemen. I spread my arms to show that I carried no weapons or shield.
The leading horseman curbed his stallion and held his sword aloft to check his men. The horses snorted and scraped at the wet pasture with heavy hooves. I walked on down the gentle slope as the Centish leader nudged his horse towards me. He stopped and pointed his sword towards me. ‘Are you surrendering, old man?’ he asked.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded.
‘The man who’ll kill you if you don’t surrender.’ He looked past me towards my men. If it had not been for the silver cross hanging at his neck and for the symbols on his men’s shields I might have taken him for a Dane or a Norseman. He wore his black hair very long, cascading to his waist from beneath his fine silver-chased helmet. His mail was polished, while his bridle and saddle were studded with small silver stars. His tall, mud-spattered boots were of the finest leather and carried long silver spurs. His sword, which he still held towards me, had delicate golden decorations on its crosspiece. ‘Are you surrendering or dying?’ he asked.
‘I’m asking who are you?’ I said harshly.
He looked at me as if I were a piece of dung while he decided whether or not to answer. He finally did, but with a sneer. ‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Awyrgan of Contwaraburg. And you are?’
‘I am Uhtred of
