Amber Treasure, The (9 page)

In the middle of the night,
Cuthbert relieved me from watch. I lay down on the ground next to the snoring
Eduard and waited for sleep to take me. As I grew drowsy, images from the day
flashed across my mind. I saw the horribly scarred face of the one-eyed Welsh
warrior chieftan leading our people into slavery and in my dreams he looked at
me, his face mocking, as if saying that I had failed these people and that he
had won. Then the chieftain vanished and next I saw Aedann, walking along with
a spear leaning against his shoulder. He glanced over at me with those
brooding, dark green eyes and then, after a moment, he laughed. ‘You thought I
was your slave,’ he seemed to say. ‘You fool: now I am free.’ A moment later
and then he too was gone and the last thing I was aware of, before oblivion
came, was the terrified expression in the eyes of the man I had killed and the
warm, sticky feeling of his blood running over my hands.

Lilla never mentioned that in his
poems.

Chapter Seven

End of Childhood

In the morning,
we led our charges back through the woods, eastwards towards the Villa. From
yet some distance away, we could see a cloud of thick, black smoke and fumes
hanging in the air over the smouldering huts and hovels of the village. One of
the buildings was still burning: the cracking and popping sounds the only ones
we could hear as we approached. At first I could see no sign of life: no
villagers, or indeed any Welsh raiders. As we crossed the meadow in which the
day before Edwin, Cuthbert and I had fought our first fight, we passed the
bodies of the warriors we had slain. They still lay in the long grass with
flies buzzing about them. A raven hopped about on one of the youngest men,
pecking away at his face. Then, when it brought its head up, I could see a
glittering scrap of bloody flesh dangling from its beak and I felt my stomach
tighten again, a surge of bile burning my throat.

Quickly, I led the women and
children in a wide arc, trying to avoid the horror of that scene, yet when I
glanced behind I could tell from the pale faces that some at least had seen it.
Oddly though, most of the women seemed undisturbed by what they could see and I
caught the fierce look in Aidith’s eyes, which seemed to say the dead raiders
were getting only what they deserved. Then, when I recalled the previous day
and the terrors that Cybilla and Aidith had suffered, I thought that maybe she
was right. Leaving the corpses to the scavengers, I halted outside the village
and sent Cuthbert ahead to scout it out. He returned after a moment and waved
at me, so we walked on through the gap in the west fence.

As we entered, the villagers
emerged from the hiding places they had run to when they first spotted us
approaching. There was a moment’s pause as we looked at each other, then a cry
of relief from Eduard’s young brother, Tomas, who was only five and now,
oblivious to everyone else, he hurtled over and flung himself at my friend.
Eduard winced in pain, but gave a huge roar and he dragged Tomas off the ground
and spun him round. Suddenly, this released the tension and we rushed over to
greet each other, embracing loved ones and sobbing with relief. Cybilla moved
past me to hug her sister, Audrey, and then held her at arm’s length, examining
an ugly gash on her cheek. Aidith and her mother were on their knees, holding
hands, both talking at the same time. I watched as, for a short while, our spirits
lifted as families were reunited. Then, one by one, we would search the faces
for others we knew: others we loved and as it became obvious how many had died
and how many were missing − the tears started.

Eduard’s father and his older
brother were both dead. He stood now in a huddle with his mother and little
brother, looking down at their bodies, laid out alongside the others behind
their hut, awaiting burial. It was the first time I could recall him ever
crying, but he was not alone. A half dozen men and young boys − those too
young to quite yet be in the Fyrd, but who had picked up weapons and fought the
raiders nonetheless − had been slain. As many other women and children
had been dragged off as captives − away to the Welsh lands to farm their
fields or lie in their beds. These were the terrified faces I had seen in the
dark last night; the ones I had been unable to save.

Was this war, I thought? Was this
the glory and the joy of battle that Lilla spoke of? All it seemed to be was
tears and death. I had longed for war to come and now I wished it never had.
Some hero I was, I thought: away hunting boars and playing at being a warrior
whilst here, our people had died and I had done nothing to prevent it. Then, I
felt a hand on my shoulder and turning round, I saw Cybilla and Audrey.

“Master Cerdic, I want to thank
you for fighting bravely and for bringing my sister back to me,” Audrey said.
Behind her the villagers were gathered and despite their sorrow, they
surrounded Eduard, Cuthbert and me and thanked us for rescuing their folk and
protecting them. Eduard wiped away his tears, then smiled and nodded: how so
easily he accepted the fate that the gods had brought him. Cuthbert looked shy,
but I could tell that he was touched. As for myself, I felt sick. I knew I did
not deserve the praise and yet I nodded. In the end I realised that they needed
to do this for us and that they in turn expected something from me. As frantic
as I was to get away and see how my own family had fared, I forced myself to
make a little speech.

“We thank you all and I want to
say that I know how you feel, your loss is my loss. We will find those that are
missing and we will make those that did this pay.”

There was silence as the
villagers looked at me with an odd respect. Audrey’s eyes filled with tears
again, but there was something about her reaction that seemed strange. She had
not lost anyone − now that Cybilla had returned − so why was she so
emotional about what I had said. Unless ... I felt a tension leap into my chest
... unless ...

I turned now and looked towards
the Villa and at once I spotted Sunniva, my sister, moving down the street
peering into the huts and searching among the villagers. Her face was pale and
her eyes red, so she could not have had much sleep and it looked like she must
have been crying. I moved towards her and she turned her head, saw me, gasped
and then ran over and hugged me.

“Cerdic! There you are. Thanks be
to Woden,” she said, with a faint smile. “We had feared the worst when one of
the other lads told us that he had last seen the three of you running towards
the village last night. We thought you had run into some of these bastards in
the woods. I could not stand to lose you as well ...”

Suddenly, her face darkened and
she moved towards the Villa.

“Come, Cerdic. Leave your friends
here!” she ordered.

I nodded at Eduard and Cuthbert
then hurried after her, her words ‘as well’ echoing in my head.

“What is it Sunniva, is someone
hurt? Is it Mother?”

She stopped running but did not
turn to look back at me.

“No, Cerdic, Mother is well,
although she wishes that the gods had chosen her instead of…” Sunniva’s speech
stumbled to a halt and then she sobbed and when she looked at me, I could see
that her face was screwed up as she fought back the tears.

“Instead of who - is it Father?”
I asked, aware that my voice was trembling. The tension in my chest was worse:
an almost unbearable tightness, as if my heart would burst.

“Father is injured, but not too
badly and he will live.” Sunniva answered, wiping her hand across her face.

“Who then, Sunniva?”

She now looked utterly shattered:
her spirit burned away by sorrow. She sighed.

“Cerdic, it’s Cuthwine: Cuthwine
is dead!”

I opened my mouth, but aghast at
what she had just said, no words came out. It couldn’t be true, could it:
Cuthwine, my brother − dead? Of all my family, he had been more the
warrior than the farmer, unlike my father. He had always seemed so strong and
so able. Yet he had died last night, fighting to defend our home.

“How ...when …?”

“During the raid, a group of
Welsh stormed the Villa. I hid beneath my bed as they burst in, but Mother took
Mildrith and the slaves out through the kitchens to hide in the fields to the
east. The raiders stole what they could, including Mother’s beautiful amber jewellery.
Cuthwine, Father and some of the villagers who were around when the attack
came, tried to delay the raiders to give the others a chance to escape. Our
people fought the raiders in the courtyard,” she explained, then for a few moments
her face distorted once more as fresh tears forced their way out. Eventually,
she spoke again.

“I crept out to the balcony and peeked
down at them and from what I could see, they had almost seen them off and three
of them certainly won’t be going back to Elmet, if that's where they were from.
Then, Cuthwine and Father seemed to have got carried away and pursued the
others out of the door. I went to your room and looked out the front of the
house and I could still see what was happening though ... though I wish I had not
...”

She cried a bit more and it took
almost a minute for her to be able to talk again. I was too stunned from what I
was hearing to say anything, so I let her take as long as she needed.

“Well, then what happened is the
raiders rallied around their chieftain, a great brute with only one eye and a
scar where the other should be. He charged forward and ... he ... oh, Cerdic
... he cut Cuthwine down with a great axe − just hacked into him. I think
he was dead before he hit the ground. Father went into a fury then and attacked
the chieftain with a wood axe and a seax. I think the anger of seeing Cuthwine
killed gave him strength and he managed to shatter the chieftain’s axe shaft.”

My heart was pounding inside me
and I could still say nothing. I was thinking back to the night before, when I
had seen just such a man going back through the woods − all the time
unaware that this man had just killed my brother.

“Well, that made the beast
furious and he smashed his shield into Father’s ribs and I heard them crack,”
she shuddered. “Father just collapsed and I thought he was dead too ... then
the one-eyed man picked up Cuthwine’s sword − the one that Uncle once had.
I think he would have killed Father with it, but just then one of the villagers
arrived and he had a bow and shot a few arrows at the raiders forcing them to
back away. They then took off, north towards Wicstun. But, Cerdic, the one-eyed
bastard took Cuthwine’s sword with him.”

It struck me as odd that my
throat could feel so dry and my eyes so moist at the same time. Cuthwine had
always been such a strong part of my life. I simply could not believe he was
dead. Sunniva and I had never been that close, but sorrow brought us together
and there between the Villa and village, we held each other and wept.
Eventually, I pulled away from her, my hands gripping her shoulders.

“How are Father and Mother now
... what about Mildrith?”

At Mildrith’s name, Sunniva
looked away and gave another great sob.

“Oh Cerdic, I don’t know where
Mildrith is. Mother said she stole back through fields to get a look at the
warriors.”

“What?” I cried, stepping away
from my sister.

“Mother tried to stop her, but
you know what Mildrith is like! She just scampered away. Mother went after her,
of course, but just then some warriors came close to the fields and she had to
hide again. When she finally came out, she could not find Aedann, Caerfydd, or
Gwen. But ... she could not find Mildrith either. Cerdic, no one knows where
our sister is!”

I stared at her and she looked
right back at me. The horror of the moment seemed too vast to bear. Cuthwine
dead and Mildrith missing: I just shook my head and holding hands, we both
walked up the track to the Villa in silence and despair. As it came into view,
I gasped. The white walls were charred and blackened where they had been set on
fire, although, being stone, it had fared better than the hovels in the
village. We went in through the main door, which was hanging from one hinge,
smashed and irreparable.

In the entrance room, which Caerfydd
had once told me was called an ‘atrium’, I stopped short. A chill shot down my
body when I saw Cuthwine lying in state there. He had been decked out in his
richest clothes and to my eyes he looked like a warrior god, slain in the last
battles that were yet to come at the end of the world. I walked over to him, stared
down at that cold, pale face where once such life had dwelt and again my tears
came.

The next day or two went by in a
blur. Only a few days before, I would have given anything to fight as a
warrior, for the songs of the poets told of the glories of battle. Now, those
words seemed almost lies to me. All those ballads and great sagas told little
of the reality of war. The burning huts in the village; the charred Villa;
Mildrith missing and the body of Cuthwine brought that reality home to me.

We buried Cuthwine the next day,
up on the north ridge, near to my grandfather. I helped my father and Sunniva
lower him into his grave. He was dressed in his finest clothes such as he had
donned for feasts and holy days. He wore his trousers and a blue tunic fastened
with a belt, from which hung a knife and a flint box. His best soft leather
boots were on his feet and he was wrapped in a great green cloak. At his feet
we laid his seax, shield and a bow. Alongside him was an ash spear. A nearby
priest came and spoke of our brother going to be with Woden, to feast with his
fellow warriors whilst he waited for the great battle that ended all days.

The words failed to bring much
succour to me. I looked around at the others. My father and sister were staring
down into the grave, their faces the colour of marble. My mother was sobbing,
totally lost in grief. Nearby, most of the village had turned up out of respect
for the family. Almost all of them looked distant; surrounded by their own
grief or worried about missing loved ones, just as we were.

After Cuthwine was buried, six
other men from the village were laid into their own graves. We stayed on that
hill top whilst all were interred. My father’s expression grew grimmer with
each inhumation. What was he thinking? Was he angry at the Elmetae or at
himself? It was his duty to protect these people. That was the price of their
service to him. Did he feel he had failed in that duty? If any of the villagers
thought so, none of them said a word. Indeed, several came over to offer their
condolences and compliment Cuthwine’s skills as a warrior. After the end of the
service, we then returned to an empty Villa, which felt too cold and too quiet,
the blackened timbers stinking of smoke and soot.

Gradually, over the next two
days, we began to get an idea of what had happened. Some hundred raiders had
come from the west, over the border from Elmet. It seems they had passed very
close to where we were hunting boar in the forest but had, somehow, missed us.
They split then: thirty headed for the village and the rest curved to the north
towards Wicstun.