‘If the East Anglians change sides,’ Finan sounded dubious.
‘If,’ I agreed.
‘They won’t fight unless they see we’re losing,’ Brihtwulf put in.
‘Then we mustn’t lose,’ I said. We had gone around two hundred paces, perhaps a third of the way across the long bridge. Father Oda had filed through the barricade last, lingering to talk with the horseman who commanded its guard, and he now hurried to catch up with us. ‘It seems King Æthelstan is to the north-west of the city,’ he said.
‘So he’s threatening the fort?’ I asked.
‘They’ve seen his banners,’ the priest said, ignoring my question, ‘and it appears he is here in force.’
‘The fort is the last place I’d assault,’ I said sourly.
‘Me too,’ Brihtwulf muttered. He was walking beside me.
‘And surely,’ Oda went on, ‘we’ll be of no use to the king if we’re south of the river?’
‘I thought you Danes were supposed to be good at warfare?’ I said.
Oda bridled at that, but decided to take no offence. ‘It is the fate of Englaland,’ he said as we neared the southern end of the bridge. ‘That’s what we decide today, lord, the fate of Englaland.’
‘And that fate,’ I said, ‘will be decided here.’
‘How?’
So I told him as we walked. We were not hurrying, despite the horseman’s last urgent request. As we neared the southern bank I could see more of the troops who still watched the fort from Suðgeweork’s houses, but they were making no apparent effort to assault the strong wooden ramparts. At the bridge’s end was a timber gateway with a fighting platform from which Æthelhelm’s flag with its leaping stag flapped in the brisk wind. Beneath it the gates were open and a harassed-looking man was beckoning to us. ‘Hurry!’ he called plaintively. ‘Up to the ramparts!’
‘Up to the ramparts!’ I echoed to my men.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ the harassed man said as we passed.
‘Onto the ramparts!’ Brihtwulf called.
I stepped aside, drawing Finan with me. I beckoned for my six men, Oswi, Gerbruht, Folcbald, Immar, Beornoth and Immar to join me, then let the rest of the men pass us by. The fort was not large, but a quick look around the walls showed only about forty spearmen on the fighting platforms. A dozen guarded the wooden arch above the gate that led south, a gate that probably needed twice that number if it was to be adequately defended. No wonder the harassed man had been pleased to see us. ‘Who are you?’ I asked him.
‘Hyglac Haruldson,’ he answered, ‘and you?’
‘Osbert,’ I said, using the name I had been given at birth before the death of my elder brother made my father give me his own name.
‘East Anglian?’ Hyglac asked. He was younger than me, but still looked old. He had sunken cheeks because of missing teeth, a short grey beard, grey hair showing beneath his helmet, and deep lines around his eyes and mouth. It was a warm morning, too warm to be wearing leather-lined mail, and his face was running with sweat.
‘East Anglian,’ I said, ‘and you?’
‘Hamptonscir,’ he said shortly.
‘And you command the fort?’
‘I do.’
‘How many men do you have?’
‘Till you came? I had forty-two. We were supposed to have more, but they never came.’
‘We’re here now,’ I said, looking at my troops who were climbing the ladders that led to the timber ramparts, ‘and if I were you I’d shut the bridge gates.’ Hyglac frowned at that. ‘I’m not saying it’s likely,’ I went on, ‘but a small group of men could sneak around the fort and climb up to the bridge.’
‘I suppose they’re better closed,’ Hyglac allowed. He did not sound convinced, but was so relieved that we had arrived to bolster his garrison that he would probably have agreed to fight stark naked if I had suggested it.
I told Gerbruht and Folcbald to push the great gates shut so that the men guarding the barricade at the bridge’s northern end could see nothing of what happened inside the small fort. ‘Are all your men West Saxons?’ I asked Hyglac.
‘All of them.’
‘So you’re one of Lord Æthelhelm’s tenants?’
He seemed surprised to be asked. ‘I hold land from the abbot at Basengas,’ he said, ‘and he ordered me to bring my men.’ Which meant that the abbot at Basengas had received gold from Æthelhelm who had always paid generously for the clergy’s support. ‘Do you know what’s happening?’ Hyglac asked.
‘Pretty boy is to the city’s north-east,’ I said, ‘that’s all I know.’
‘Some of them are here too,’ Hyglac said, ‘too many! But you’re here, thank God, and they’ll not capture us now.’
I nodded south. ‘How many are out there?’
‘Maybe seventy. Maybe more. They’re in the alleys, they’re hard to count.’
‘And they haven’t attacked?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do you have horses?’ I asked Hyglac.
‘We left them in the city,’ he said. ‘There’s a stable there,’ he nodded towards the smaller of the two thatched buildings that lay inside the fort. ‘If you need it,’ he added, perhaps thinking we had horsemen following us across the bridge.
‘We came by boat,’ I said. Both the buildings looked new and both were made of stout timbers. I assumed the larger was to house the garrison, which in peacetime would surely not number more than twenty men, just sufficient to stand guard over whoever collected the custom dues from the merchants entering or leaving the city. I nodded towards the larger building. ‘That looks sturdy enough.’
‘Sturdy?’ Hyglac asked.
‘To keep prisoners,’ I explained.
He grimaced. ‘Lord Æthelhelm won’t like that. He says we’re not to take prisoners. We’re to kill them all. Every last man.’
‘All of them?’
‘More land, you see? He says he’ll share out Mercian land to us. And give us all
