He smiled at that. ‘Brihtwulf did,’ he said, nodding at a young man sitting to his left.
‘And he did it well,’ I spoke fervently, earning a smile from Brihtwulf, who, on Merewalh’s orders, had led the men who had rescued me. He was the youngest of Merewalh’s commanders and had brought the largest number of troops, well over a hundred men, which should have qualified him to be Merewalh’s deputy, but his youth and inexperience had counted against him. He was tall, dark-haired, strongly built, and newly wealthy, having inherited his father’s estates just two months before. Finan approved of him. ‘He’s got more silver than sense,’ the Irishman had told me, ‘but he’s a belligerent bastard. Keen to fight.’
‘Brihtwulf rescued you,’ Merewalh went on, ‘and are you now trying to rescue me from my bad judgement?’
‘It was not bad judgement,’ Heorstan said firmly. It was plain that Merewalh’s deputy supported his commander’s cautious approach. ‘We had no choice.’
‘Except the invading army didn’t exist!’ Brihtwulf commented savagely.
‘My scouts were certain of what they saw,’ Heorstan responded angrily. ‘There were men on the road from—’
‘Enough!’ I interrupted him with a snarl. It was not really my place to command this assembly, but if they started arguing over past mistakes we would never agree on the future. ‘Tell me,’ I said, turning to Merewalh, ‘if there’s no war, what is there?’
‘Talking,’ Merewalh said.
‘At Elentone,’ the plump priest added.
Elentone was a town on the Temes, the river that was the border between Wessex and Mercia. ‘Is Æthelstan at Elentone?’ I asked.
‘No, lord,’ the priest answered. ‘The king thought it unwise to go himself, so he sent envoys to speak for him. He is at Wicumun.’
‘Which is close by,’ I said. Wicumun was a settlement among the hills north of the Temes, while Elentone was on the river’s southern bank, both towns an easy march west of Lundene. Was Æthelstan truly seeking a treaty with his half-brother, Ælfweard? It was possible, I supposed, but at least he had shown sense in not risking capture by crossing into his half-brother’s country. ‘So what are these envoys talking about?’ I asked.
‘Peace, of course,’ the priest said.
‘Father Edwyn just came from Elentone,’ Merewalh explained, nodding towards the priest.
‘Where we were searching for agreement,’ Father Edwyn said, ‘and praying there will be no war.’
‘King Edward,’ I said harshly, ‘did something stupid. He left Wessex to Ælfweard and Mercia to Æthelstan and both want the other one’s country. How can there be peace without war?’ I waited for an answer, but no one spoke. ‘Will Ælfweard give up Wessex?’ Again there was silence. ‘Or will Æthelstan agree to let Ælfweard rule Mercia?’ I knew no one would answer that. ‘So there can’t be peace,’ I said flatly, ‘and they can talk as much as they like, but undoing Edward’s stupidity will be decided with swords.’
‘Men of goodwill are trying to forge an agreement,’ Father Edwyn said weakly.
I let those words fall flat. These men did not need me to tell them that Æthelhelm’s goodwill extended no further than his family. The warriors around Merewalh still stared at the ground, apparently unwilling to revive an old argument about what Merewalh should be doing with his troops. Yet it was plain to me, and it was probably plain to Merewalh too, that he was being too cautious.
‘Who has the most troops?’ I asked. ‘Æthelhelm or Æthelstan?’
For a moment no one responded, even though they all knew the answer. ‘Æthelhelm,’ Merewalh finally admitted.
‘So why is Æthelhelm talking?’ I asked. ‘If he has more men, why isn’t he attacking?’ No one answered again. ‘He’s talking,’ I went on, ‘because that gives him time. Time to assemble a great army in Lundene, time to bring all his followers from East Anglia. And he’ll go on talking until his army is so large that Æthelstan will have no chance to defeat it. You say King Æthelstan is guarding the Temes?’
‘He is,’ Merewalh said.
‘With twelve hundred men? Who are all scattered along the river?’
‘They must guard all the bridges and fords,’ Merewalh admitted.
‘And how many West Saxons guard the southern bank of the Temes?’
‘Two thousand? Three?’ Merewalh suggested uncertainly, then challenged me. ‘So what do you think King Æthelstan should do?’
‘Stop talking and start fighting,’ I said, and there were murmurs of agreement from the men on the benches. I noticed it was the younger men who nodded first, though a couple of older warriors also muttered approval. ‘You say he’s at Wicumun? Then he should attack Lundene before Æthelhelm attacks him.’
‘Lord Uhtred is right,’ Brihtwulf spoke. His flat statement had prompted no response and, emboldened by that silence, he continued. ‘We’re doing nothing here! The enemy isn’t sending men by road so we’re just getting fat. We need to fight!’
‘But how?’ Merewalh asked. ‘And where? Wessex has twice as many men as Mercia!’
‘And if you wait much longer,’ I retorted, ‘they’ll have three times as many.’
‘So what would you do?’ Heorstan asked. He had not liked the way I had peremptorily cut him off earlier, and the question was almost a sneer, certainly a challenge.
‘I would cut off the heads of Wessex,’ I answered. ‘You say Æthelhelm and his earsling nephew are in Lundene?’
‘We were told so,’ Merewalh answered.
‘And I was in Lundene not long ago,’ I went on, ‘and the men from East Anglia don’t want to fight. They don’t want to die for Wessex. They want to get home for the harvest. If we cut off Wessex’s two heads they’ll thank us.’
‘Two heads?’ Father Edwyn asked.
‘Æthelhelm and Ælfweard,’ I said harshly. ‘We find them, we kill them.’
‘Amen,’ Brihtwulf said.
‘And how,’ Heorstan asked, still with challenge in his voice, ‘would we do that?’
So I told him.
‘I was a big baby,’ Finan told me later that day.
I stared at him. ‘Big?’
‘So my ma said! She said it was like giving birth to a pig. Poor woman. They said she squealed horribly when she squeezed me out.’
‘I’m fascinated,’
