Amber Treasure, The (5 page)

Quick as lightning, I pushed
Aedann into the undergrowth close at hand and then signalled to the others to
throw their swords away. We then stood, breathing quickly, our gaze fixed on
the bushes. Yet no one emerged, so Eduard circled round to come at the
suspicious thicket from the rear. Nothing happened for a good few minutes.
Then, we heard Eduard give a load bellow and with a scream, two girls came
tumbling out of the bushes: Mildrith and Aidith.

“You were spying on us!” I
accused them.

Mildrith stood up and glared at
me indignantly.

“No, we weren’t. We were … erm,”
Mildrith replied, with some hesitation.

“Picking fruit?” suggested
Aidith. Mildrith nodded vigorously.

I looked at the hazel thicket
doubtfully.

“It’s midwinter and that is a
hazel tree. There is no fruit anywhere.”

“Oh, that explains it then,”
Aidith said, with a giggle.

“Yes, no wonder we did not find
any,” Mildrith added.

“It’s a … an easy mistake to make.
A … a ... anyone could make it,” Cuthbert said to my sister. She smiled back at
him and I sighed. One day, my friend might get the courage to say something
about his feelings for her.

Just then, the winter sun broke
through the dark clouds lighting up the glade. It caught Aidith’s red hair and
I felt my throat go dry. Maybe, one day, I would get the courage up as well, I
thought.

With a crunching of leaves and
snapping of branches, Aedann pulled himself back out of the bush.

“I would think you could give a
man some warning!” he complained, spitting out holly leaves. Then, he saw
Mildrith and Aidith and he smiled at my sister.

Mildrith looked surprised. Like
me, she was not used to seeing him do this. After a moment, she smiled back.

“Hello, Aedann, you with the
boys?”

“No!” I said, quickly.

“Yes!” said Aedann, just as
quickly, striking a manly pose with the sword he carried. Mildrith giggled.

“Well, don’t let Father catch
you, will you?” she said with a wink and then dragged Aidith away.

As they left, I noticed that
Cuthbert was studying Aedann, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. I smiled to
myself. So then, Cuthbert has a rival, I thought, and Cuthbert knew it too. Oh
well, might do him some good.

Lilla came to us again at the
start of the spring. He brought shocking news from distant Rheged. What Aedann
had jokingly predicted, had come true.

Lilla had the lights extinguished
in the barn, save one that lit up his face and he spoke in a sombre, mournful
tone.

“The Warlord, Owain, ambushed the
great Firebrand in a rocky, barren land. His army was surrounded as it passed
through the mountains and slain to a man. Last to die was the great warlord
himself. Ten score he killed before they killed him, but die he did, pierced by
many blades and arrows.”

A groan broke out across the barn
as we took in what he had just said. Firebrand, the great Anglo-Saxon warlord
who had kept the Welsh on the back foot for many years, was dead. The lands he
had conquered and occupied, Lilla told us, had now risen up in rebellion. Bernician
lords vied for power and civil war had broken out. But that war did not last
long, for Firebrand had an heir. His son, Aethelfrith, was as strong and fierce
as his father and had put down the rebellions and civil war with a vengeance.

The shocks of the campaigns in
the North and West were felt even in the Villa. During this time, Deira
remained neutral in the struggles and concentrated on assimilating the new
lands King Aelle had conquered years before. However, the fighting in the North
drove scores of people south. Thus, leaderless men and bandits deprived of land
and livelihood came to Deira and the countryside became a dangerous place.
Small groups of travellers and, in particular, traders were their prey and the
people soon became afraid to travel. The King took action and called up the Fyrd
− the local levy of a portion of the warriors in each district −
and set them to clearing the woods and abandoned farmsteads of the bandits.

So it was that Cuthwine went off
to fight. He was passing twenty-two at the time. Father gave him my uncle’s sword
to carry. He left tall and proud, leading two other youths from the village and
accompanied by Grettir and was gone many months. When he returned, late in the
summer, he bore several scars and told stories of skirmishes and battles
amongst the Wolds. Once again, my spirit burned with longing to take my place
in the sagas. The Villa seemed dull indeed, compared to these strange and
exciting places. In the end, the bandits had been dispersed or slain and the
King discharged the Fyrd. The sword was hung up again in the Villa and we went
back to daily life as farmers, expecting that peace would last.

This was not to be. When Yule
time came and we feasted on roasted lamb and beef and drank the best ale and
mead to stave off the winter cold, Lilla came again to stay with us. His
courage rising after the victory over Bernicia, Owain of Rheged had − so
Lilla had heard − been gathering an army. It was not just from Rheged
over the mountains to the west, but from other Welsh lands like nearby Elmet
and more distant Manau Goddodin, up towards the land of the Picts.

“For, all these are in fact one
race and one people. Owain would unite them all and lead them against his
enemies,” Lilla said, standing in front of the fire, so that he again cast
disturbing shadows on the walls of the barn.

“I cannot say in truth who their
intended enemy is,” he went on, “but my heart tells me it is we Angles he aims
to attack.”

By ‘we Angles’ he meant slowly
recovering Bernicia, weakened and broken by civil war or Deira, the land of
farms and market towns, which had not fought a war in my lifetime: both
vulnerable kingdoms. Both might struggle to raise enough spears to oppose such
a horde; both were ripe for invasion.

War was coming: my heart told me
that this was the last winter of my youth. Fool that I was then, I felt joy and
a desperate yearning for the glory of battle. Had I known what would happen
soon, I should instead have felt dread.

Chapter Five

Hussa’s Grudge

War was coming
and King Aelle had sent word that all areas should arm and train the Fyrd and
be prepared for battle, when and if it should come. In our area of southwest
Deira, the responsibility lay with Lord Wallace of Wicstun and he took to the
task with vigour. As well as the town itself, there were a dozen or so villages
like ours under his lordship. Each of these would be called upon to provide him
with a handful of warriors. The Villa and Cerdham contributed the largest
single contingent outside the town, with twelve men and boys old enough and fit
enough for duty.

Wallace kept the local warriors
training while he gathered arms and equipment. He also sent word that there
would be a gathering of the entire Wicstun Company in a few weeks. My father
had agreed to hold this at the Villa where there was space for us to learn to
fight as one company. Prince Aethelric, the son of the King, was coming to
inspect us.

This time of year was not a
popular one to be taking men away from the land as it was spring and a time to
be ploughing, sowing and planting. Wallace told my father that he had some
resistance to his call to gather at the Villa, but this summons had the
authority of the King behind it and come they would.

Father and Grettir were
determined that Cuthwine, myself and the others would put on a good display and
so kept us practising late into the spring evenings, after the work on the
fields was done for the day.

So, one evening in April −
the first month of spring when the rains came and the weeds grew fast −
Grettir had again gathered together the men and boys from the Villa. Some from
Wicstun had also been sent over to learn from the veteran. We were being taught
about spears and stood in an arc round him in a clearing in the woods, west of
the Villa. The day had been particularly hot and so we took shelter under the
outspread branches of an ancient oak tree, which Caerfydd had once told me
dated back to the years when the Romans lived in the Villa.

“Whilst the sword is often the
mark of rank and wealth, it is the spear that defines a warrior. Slaves cannot
bear arms. If a man owns a spear he must be a free man,” Grettir was saying
looking at me, making me wonder how much he knew − or thought he knew
− about us and Aedann. He was holding a spear, made of ash and topped
with an iron head shaped like a leaf. The opposite end of the spear was capped
with an iron ferule.

“There are two ways to use a
spear,” Grettir went on. He put the spear down against the gate and picked up a
mock version. He also picked up a shield and indicated that I should do
likewise. I assumed the normal warrior's pose and braced the shield.

“I can hold the spear over arm
gripped about halfway down its length.”

He raised his right arm straight
up and angled the spear end slightly downwards.

“Thus, I can attack over the
foe’s shield against his face and upper body, or,” he said, dropping his right
arm down and bending the elbow, “you can hold it under-arm. The shaft is
grasped further back and supported against the forearm. This method gives you
greater reach and you have more strength behind the point. You can use the
spear to knock aside the enemy’s or to push against his shield and force him
back.”

As he said this, he pushed the
spear against my shield and I had to shift my weight to keep my position. “But
clearly it is more difficult to wound your foe − protected as he is.”

Grettir turned and leant the
spear and shield against the trunk of the tree and then turned back to us.
“Now, break up into pairs and practice,” he instructed.

Cuthbert, ever the optimist,
paired up with Eduard. I turned my head away but was not surprised to hear, a
few moments later, a dull thud and a yelp of pain from Cuthbert as yet again he
was beaten by my other friend. Cuthbert’s best chance was to use his natural
agility to protect himself, but he always tried to stand up, like a warrior
from the sagas, usually to unfortunate results.

Smiling to myself, I looked
around for a partner. Of the lads present all had paired up, apart from a
red-haired youth. I nodded at him and walked over. He looked familiar. Then I
realised with a start that this was the same youth I had seen every autumn over
the last several years, standing beside the road in Wicstun and again near the
blacksmith’s about six month before. His hair seemed to be getting redder, if
anything.

“Hello, I’m Cerdic: it looks as
if we have to pair up. Who are you, then?” I asked.

The boy did not reply at first.
He studied me for a moment then shrugged, before finally answering.

“I’m Hussa,” he mumbled.

He might have said more but at
that point, Grettir appeared at my elbow and shouted at us.

“Stop talking and practice. Don’t
think I won’t make you run to the Humber and back, master’s son or not.”

I looked at Hussa, quickly took
up my spear and shield and prepared to advance on him. I moved forward feinting
a thrust with the spear in order to draw his shield to his left, then quickly
pushing forward with my own in an attempt to slam it into his unprotected side.
Hussa, however, was too quick for me. He stepped back, allowing me to stumble
past him and then ramming into me with his own shield, sending me tumbling to
the ground. Then, the red-headed lad followed up and jabbed the wooden spear
end into my ribs. Nearby, I heard a clapping of hands as his manoeuvre was
appreciated by Grettir.

I got up and rubbed my bruised
side. I nodded at Hussa. “Nice move,” I said. Hussa did not acknowledge the
compliment but looked about him, as if seeing if his fellows from Wicstun had
noticed. Ah, I thought. Perhaps vanity might be a weakness in this one. I will
remember that.

“It seems noble blood or not you
can be beaten, Master Cerdic,” he muttered emphasising my rank in a way that
left me in no doubt he did not respect it in the least. I tried to ask him what
I had done to offend him, but Grettir again appeared and urged us back into the
mock fight. Hussa proved a skilled opponent. Maybe he was not strong like
Eduard or agile like Cuthbert. He was, however, cunning and surprised me more
than once with a sudden change of attack.

It was a little before dusk when
Grettir called us together. “You have done well today, lads. You all deserve
ale and meat. Even Cuthbert here,” he grinned at the rather bruised Cuthbert,
who looked surprised. But, then again, I think this was the first time Grettir
had ever praised him. After a moment, he grinned back.

As I watched the group disperse,
I suddenly realised that Eduard and Cuthbert were not the boys I once knew: we
were growing up and were now almost the warriors we had always dreamed about. I
had longed for the day when I would go away to fight, but now it seemed certain
that we would, I began to think about how I would react when battle came at
last. Idly, I thrust my spear forward in a heroic stance imaging myself, as I
often did, as a hero. I was roused from my day dreams by a sarcastic taunt from
behind me.

“The great warrior, huh!” It was
Hussa. I turned to see him twenty yards away, lurking in the shadows beneath a
beech tree. I walked over to him.

“Hussa, what is it with you? I've
never done you wrong. So why do you sneer and snarl at me like this?”

Hussa stared back at me, his dark
eyes failing to hide what seemed like an ocean of hate, though his face was
still blank − expressionless.

“Oh no, you have never done any
wrong, how could you − the beloved son of your father − ever do
wrong? But your father, ah ... that’s another tale,” he replied.

“My father, what’s this to do
with my father?”

“It has everything to do with
your father! How it angers me to see him strutting about as a lord and a close
friend to Lord Wallace. Even due to play host to the Prince tomorrow. Yet, if
we go back seventeen years he was a philanderer and a seducer of women. Women
who saw in his strong, muscular form, something they yearned for. Women like my
mother!”

“What are you saying, Hussa?” I
demanded.

“Were you hit in the head today?
Certainly you don’t seem to be thinking straight. What I’m saying is that your
father is also my father. I was born from a summer’s fling. Your dear beloved
father mated with my mother when your mother was with child − with you.”

I stared at him, unable to accept
what he was saying.

“No, it’s not true!” I exclaimed,
shaking my head.

“Why do you think your father
gives us food? Your mother found out and insisted that he cut all ties with my
mother. Wallace discovered what had happened and it was agreed that it would
all be kept a secret if your father would supply food and other goods during
each Feorm. Mother and I always hoped that one day he would acknowledge me. But
as you will recall, he still refuses even to talk to me.”

He turned away, but not before I
had seen the tears that had come to his eyes.

So, this is what those deliveries
of food down that side lane had been about all these years. But, if my father
was Hussa’s as well ...that made us half-brothers. Hussa was the rejected son, turned
away from the family and deprived of the affection and warmth I had known as a
child. I could see why that would anger him.

“Hussa ... I’m sorry, maybe
though I can talk to Father and he will, oh I don’t know, be kinder to you and
your mother.” Hussa laughed hollowly at that and still faced away from me.

“For some of us, that would be
too late,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because my mother died last
winter − with a fever. Your father never even sent a message, the
bastard.”

“Hussa, I’m sorry − I
didn’t know, really I didn’t,” I said and his head snapped round to look at me.
A scowl came to his face, giving it at last some animation.

“I don’t want sympathy, Cerdic,
from you least of all,” he said.

“Hussa, I said I'm sorry. We do
not need to be enemies.”

 “Ah, but we do. For two people’s
share of pain and rejection for seventeen years we do. For what I could have
been − son of a lord and not the bastard of a peasant − we do. It’s
your fault, Cerdic. Ah, to hell with you …,” his voice trailed off.  After
glaring at me a moment longer, he turned and went away, leaving me staring
after him wanting to say something, but really not sure what and burning with
resentment, for how could it be my fault?

The day of the muster came at
last and we were kept busy from early dawn, getting the Villa ready. Prince
Aethelric was coming and like everyone else, he would be staying the night. My
parents gave their room − the largest and best in the Villa − over
to him. It had to be swept clean and Mildrith and Sunniva were sent to the
river to collect fresh rushes and Aidith to the meadows to pick new flowers to
perfume the room. I was ejected from my room, which I shared with Cuthwine and
that was given to my parents, whilst Lord Wallace got Mildrith’s room −
she was moving in with Sunniva for the night. Cuthwine and I would be finding a
bed in the barn, with the rest of the company.

“Not that I expect we will get
much sleep tonight, Cerdic,” Cuthwine said, “far too much ale to be drunk.”

At this moment, Aidith passed
with the flowers and I let my gaze linger on her as she walked by.

“Maybe tonight you won’t get
sleep for another reason, eh brother?” Cuthwine said with a wink and an elbow
in the ribs. I was still looking the way Aidith had gone, suddenly aware that
there was more to being a man than just swords. Maybe tonight I would be lucky,
I thought.

Two lambs and a calf were
slaughtered and a huge fire pit dug to roast the animals, which were suspended
over it. They would roast all day and be ready for hungry men at nightfall.

At noon, the men started to drift
in from the villages, followed soon after by Lord Wallace, who was mounted and
leading his thirty warriors from the town. We joined them in a field and for
the first time, just short of one hundred men were gathered, all armed with
spears, axes and knives and carrying shields. A few had armour and even fewer,
swords. They looked tatty and far from ready for war. But this − what was
to be known as the Wicstun Company − would, before the first leaves of
autumn fell and with me in its ranks, achieve glory and fame amid the blood and
horror of a battlefield. The naive youth that I was would have been thrilled to
know this. Now that I know the truth, when I think back on that summer, a lump comes
to my throat. For the truth is that half these men would be dead or wounded
before those same leaves fell.

Hussa was also in the company,
but he avoided me and stood towards the other end of the line. That afternoon,
we marched back and forth and practised moving as one body, three ranks deep
and with shields locked behind other shields and spears held high, as Grettir
had taught us.

Aethelric arrived mid-afternoon,
with a small escort. He was older than I expected: a man in his mid-forties,
with grey, balding hair, more weight about his middle than you would want and a
slightly nervous look about him as if he was afraid he would get it all wrong.
Not exactly the image of a great warrior prince. I muttered this to Cuthwine,
as we stood in our ranks waiting for him to inspect us.

“That’s the problem when your
father lives a long time. A king should inherit when he is young and strong.
That’s what I think. But Aelle though old, just keeps on going. He must be not
far off seventy now.”

“Even so, you’d think the Prince
would try to look after himself a little more. Wallace is getting on a bit too,
but look at him.”

We did. Wallace was as old as
Grettir, both of them older than Aethelric, but both looking muscular despite a
predilection for ale, at least on Wallace’s part. Wallace was telling the Prince
about how he had organised the company and was pointing out veterans like
Grettir and Cuthwine.