'Then we lose the fleet,' I said, 'and we build another.'
His fear was real enough. Danish ships were off the south coast again. For the moment, rather than attempt an invasion, they were being Vikings. They landed, raided, raped, burned, stole and went to sea again, but they were numerous enough for Alfred to worry that a whole army might land somewhere on the coast and march against him. We were harassed by that fear and by the knowledge that we were few and the enemy numerous, and that the enemy's horses were fattening on the new grass.
'Ascension Day,' Alfred announced on the day I returned from Hamtun.
That was the day we should be ready in ?thelingaeg, and on the Sunday after, which was the Feast of Saint Monica, we would gather the fyrd, if there was a fyrd. Reports said the Danes were readying to march and it was plain they would launch their attack south towards Wintanceaster, the town that was the capital of Wessex, and to protect it, to bar Guthrum's road south, the fyrd would gather at Egbert's Stone. I had never heard of the place, but Leofric assured me it was an important spot, the place where King Egbert, Alfred's grandfather, had given judgements.
'It isn't one stone,' he said, 'but three.'
'Three?'
'Two big pillars and another boulder on top. The giants made it in the old days.'
And so the summons was issued. Bring every man, the parchments instructed, bring every weapon and say your prayers, for what is left of Wessex will meet at Egbert's Stone to carry battle to the Danes, and no sooner was the summons sent than disaster struck. It came just a week before the fyrd was to gather.
Huppa, Ealdorman of Thornsaeta, wrote that forty Danish ships were off his coast, and that he dared not lead the fyrd away from their threat. Worse, because the Danes were so numerous, he had begged Harald of Defnascir to lend him men.
That letter almost destroyed Alfred's spirits. He had clung to his dream of surprising Guthrum by raising an unexpectedly powerful army, but all his hopes were now shredding away. He had always been thin, but suddenly he looked haggard and he spent hours in the church, wrestling with God, unable to understand why the Almighty had so suddenly turned against him. And two days after the news of the Danish fleet, Svein of the White Horse led three hundred mounted men in a raid against the hills on the edge of the swamp and, because scores of men from the Sumorsaete fyrd had gathered in ?thelingaeg, Svein discovered and stole their horses. We had neither the room nor the forage to keep many horses in ?thelingaeg itself, and so they were pastured beyond the causeway, and I watched from the fort as Svein, riding a white horse and wearing his white-plumed helmet and white cloak, rounded up the beasts and drove them away. There was nothing I could do to stop him. I had twenty men in the fort and Svein was leading hundreds.
'Why were the horses not guarded?' Alfred wanted to know.
'They were,' Wiglaf, Ealdorman of Sumorsaete, said, 'and the guards died.' He saw Alfred's anger, but not his despair. 'We haven't seen a Dane here for weeks!' he pleaded, 'how were we to know they'd come in force?'
'How many men died?'
'Only twelve.'
'Only?' Alfred asked, wincing, 'and how many horses lost?'
'Sixty-three.'
On the night before Ascension Day Alfred walked beside the river. Beocca, faithful as a hound, followed him at a distance, wanting to offer the king God's reassurance, but instead Alfred called to me.
There was a moon, and its light shadowed his cheeks and made his pale eyes look almost white.
'How many men will we have?' he asked abruptly.
I did not need to think about the answer. 'Two thousand.'
He nodded. He knew that number as well as I did.
'Maybe a few more,' I suggested.
He grunted at that. We would lead three hundred and fifty men from ?thelingaeg and Wiglaf, Ealdorman of Sumorsaete, had promised a thousand, though in truth I doubted if that many would come. The fyrd of Wiltunscir had been weakened by Wulfhere's defection, but the southern part of the shire should yield five hundred men, and we could expect some from Hamptonscir, but beyond that we would depend on whatever few men made it past the Danish garrisons that now ringed the heartland of Wessex. If Defnascir and Thornsaeta had sent their fyrds then we would have numbered closer to four thousand, but they were not coming.
'And Guthrum?' Alfred asked, 'how many will he have?’
'Four thousand.'
'More like five,' Alfred said. He stared at the river that was running low between the muddy banks.
The water rippled about the wicker fish traps. 'So should we fight?'
‘What choice do we have?'
He smiled at that. 'We have a choice, Uhtred,' he assured me. 'We can run away. We can go to Frankia. I could become a king in exile and pray that God brings me back.'
‘You think God will?'
‘No,' he admitted. If he ran away then he knew he would die in exile.
'So we fight,' I said.
'And on my conscience,' he said, 'I will for ever bear the weight of all those men who died in a hopeless cause. Two thousand against five thousand? How can 1 justify leading so few against so many?'
'You know how.'
'So I can be king?'
