Raven: Blood Eye (38 page)

'None taken,' I muttered. 'Penda's right,' I said, looking into the men's eyes and lingering on Saba's. There would be no convincing Eni, I knew that much, but if we could give the braver ones hope, that would be enough. Would have to be. 'We go on,' I said, 'and we take Weohstan back to Wessex. He'll be the ealdorman one day, lads, remember that. He won't forget those who crossed Offa's wall to bring him home.'

'And if he's dead?' Saba asked.

'Then he's dead.' I shrugged. 'But his father won't forget those who allowed him to put his son in the ground facing east.'

Oswyn slapped Saba's back. 'You never know, Saba,' he said. 'Ealdred might show his gratitude by giving you young Cynethryth to warm your bed.' The big man stuck out his fat tongue and waggled it. I clenched my jaw and saw that Penda was watching me, his lip curled in mirth. But in truth I was pleased, because Oswyn was the heart of the fighting men amongst them and where he went, they would follow.

We followed sheep tracks and by the afternoon found ourselves at the mouth of the Caer Dyffryn valley. Dark trees crowned the heights on both sides, disappearing to make way for pasture across the valley's slopes, and below us stood the fortress into which the Welsh had driven their livestock. In which they possibly held Weohstan. It was not a big place like King Coenwulf's fortress in Mercia, but it was too big for eleven warriors and twenty merchants and craftsmen to attack with any hope of success. Worse, we had yet to see a single Welshman, which suggested that they had been tracking our progress since we crossed King Offa's wall. If so, they would be ready for us. I rammed the butt of my ash spear into the ground and eyed the fortress. The defences comprised a ditch and mound set with a barricade of pointed timbers, the whole place built in a hollow with the river Wye on its eastern side and high pasture on its west rising to the north.

'Look there, Penda,' I said, pointing at a hilltop to the northeast which overlooked the fortress. 'Looks like a beacon. A watchtower maybe.'

'That red eye of yours sees well enough, lad,' Penda said, frowning as he tried to make out the squat structure on the distant hill. 'Whoresons are watching every move we make. We'll have to wait till dark before we try anything.'

'Dark?' Eni said, glancing anxiously at the sun which was still above us, though it had crossed the meridian.

'In the dark they won't know which direction we're coming at them from,' Penda said. 'We'll have that much, at least.' As he spoke one of the others noticed a faint line of black smoke curling up from the tor.

'They're calling for help,' Oswyn said, pointing his spear towards the rise. 'Won't be long before we're peeling the bastards off each other.'

'Don't get a hard-on, Oswyn,' Coenred blurted. 'Calling for help? They don't need any help, man. They're just spreading the good news about how they're about to dip their spears in Wessex blood.'

I thought Coenred was probably right. Behind their walls, the Welsh had little to fear from us. We were too few and had set ourselves up like the prize dish at a rich man's feast. But regardless of whether or not those in the fortress needed help, soon others would come to feed. For where there is fighting and death there are rich pickings and renown to be earned.

'We can't wait for dark now, Penda,' I said, watching the wisp of smoke make a dirty bloom against the blue sky, 'not if every blood-hungry Welshman for twenty miles is coming to repay Wessex kindness. We don't know the land like they do. In the dark we'll die cheaply.'

'The heathen's right. They'll put us down one by one,' Eafa agreed, wiping the sweat from his brow and gripping his yew bow as though it was the only thing standing between him and his fat ancestors.

Penda shrugged as though resigned to whatever was coming. 'We don't have too many choices right now, Norseman, but you're wrong if you think we won't make the black-shields pay dear. By Christ and his avenging saints, they'll know they came up against Wessexmen by tomorrow. Right, lads?' Some of the warriors nodded and murmured agreement, clasping each other's forearms in grim solidarity. Others stood ashen-faced, perhaps thinking of wives and lovers and children.

'There's another way,' I said, scanning the landscape. 'We'll make them come to us. Make them fight us on ground of our own choosing, Penda. If we go down into the valley, we'll be trapped between the walls and every bloody Welshman who comes to kill us.' I pointed to the black smoke, a dirty smear against the sky. 'We find a good bit of ground, high ground, and we dig in. They'll come to us eventually. Pride will make them.'

The men began to argue. Some suddenly thought it was our only chance, whilst others believed we should attack the fortress before reinforcements arrived.

I touched the Óðin amulet at my throat for luck. At least no one was talking about running back to Wessex now. If I have learned anything about the gods in my long life, it is that they love a stout heart and a strong sword arm, and they love a man who is not afraid to fight when the scales are tipped against him.

Eventually, Penda raised his hand and the men held their tongues. 'Raven,' he said, fixing me with cold, dark eyes, 'choose your ground.' He spat. 'Choose it well, lad,' he warned grimly, his hand resting on his sword's pommel. 'We've got guests coming.'

'There, Penda,' I said without hesitation, pointing to a place on our left where the ground rose gently at first, then more steeply until in five or six hundred paces it levelled off, home to a copse of pine and birch. Where the ground was steepest, rocks broke through the soil and I knew that any obstacle, no matter how small, would count in our favour if our enemies attacked uphill in the dark. A man can break his ankle on a stone poking through the ground.

'It'll have to do,' Penda muttered. 'The trees up there might come in useful.' He turned to Oswyn. 'Take ten lads down to the river and look for fish traps. They moved their sheep out of our way, but they won't have taken the time to bring in their traps, and we'll be glad of a bite before we do some killing.' Oswyn turned to go, but Penda grabbed the big man's shoulder. 'And bring back as many stones as you can carry,' he said, clenching a fist, 'nice smooth 'uns that'll smash Welsh skulls when they come up our hill.' Oswyn grinned and set about his task.

I was watching the Welsh fortress when Penda banged his spear's butt against my helmet. 'You won't make it disappear by staring at it, lad,' he said. 'Better get up that slope and start laying roots.' We trudged up the slope with our heavy shields, spears and swords, looking up at the place from where we would give battle to our enemies. I watched fat Eafa with his unstrung bow stave across his shoulders and I hoped he was as good with the weapon as he said he was. I was glad I had not killed him.

We spent an uneasy night on the hill, made worse because we knew that with every passing hour more Welsh warriors might be coming, drawn by the orange glow of the beacon on the north-east hill, like moths to a candle flame. Oswyn had returned at dusk with four graylings, two large salmon, a trout and several small dace. We cooked and ate the fish with hard bread and cheese, filling our bellies and limbs with strength for the coming fight, and making the most of a good fire, as there was no longer any reason for trying to remain unseen.

'Build her up, lads,' Penda said, pointing at the fire. 'And sing a song. Sing a song and for the love of Christ sing it loud.' He sat in the grass, sharpening his long knife with its white bone handle. 'The happier we look to the Welsh, the more likely they'll be to run up here waving their spears to ruin our fun. With any luck they'll be so dog-tired that they'll fall on our spears.'

I smiled at the words. I do not think Penda knew the effect he had on the warriors around him. He was not a natural leader of men in the way that Jarl Sigurd was, nor did he fill their hearts with false hope. And yet, that night the warriors on that dark hill were glad to sing their song when he told them to. For Penda was a cold-blooded killer and that much was obvious to any man, and that was what they needed him to be.

That dawn, I stood facing east feeling the gentle warmth of the rising sun on my face, and I wondered if I would ever feel it again. Below, the valley still sat in cold shadow. I could make out small figures moving around between the houses, cattle certainly, but men and women too, and I knew they were making preparations to fight.
Let them come,
I thought.
We are ready.
Our water skins were replenished and our little hilltop was lined with piles of rounded river stones. There were fewer trees up there than I had thought, which was a good thing as they did not obstruct our view of the ground falling away on all sides up which the Welsh would have to climb to kill us. Also, there was room enough on the summit for the wall we would make with our round shields and our spears.

'I like it up here,' Penda said, breaking the spell. He came to stand beside me at the edge of the flat ground and together we looked down the slope. 'I might come back here and build a house. Just there,' he said, gesturing to a pile of stones. 'A small house, mind, nothing that five or six slaves can't look after well enough.' His scarred face was tight and I could not tell if he was joking. 'I'll come up here in the summers with that redhaired girl from back home. And I'll tell her about how there used to be a fortress down there.'

'Is she your woman?' I asked, though I was sure she was not, for she was beautiful and I could not imagine Penda showing tenderness.

'Not yet, Raven, but an itch has got to be scratched, lad.' I laughed as Penda absently stroked the scar on his cheek. 'I don't know what's so funny,' he muttered. 'If you can daydream about poking Ealdorman Ealdred's scrawny daughter, I can fancy a roll in the hay with the redhead.'

'I'll wager you wouldn't be the first,' I said.

'Wouldn't want to be, lad. You can keep the sweet young virgins, keep 'em all and good luck to you. They just lie there like planks of pine. Don't even seem to enjoy it, God bless their mothers. No, Raven, give me a woman who knows what gets her wet.' He bent, snatched up a pebble and cast it high into the air so that it landed halfway down the slope. 'Let's hope we both get the chance to dip our wicks,' he said, his face as hard as stone. Then I felt a sudden churning in the depths of my stomach. For the gate of the fortress, now bathed in dawn sunlight, had opened. The Welsh were coming.

'Here they come!' I yelled to the others, who were checking their war gear and sharpening their blades one last time. Many of them were mumbling prayers and crossing themselves. Even the experienced fighters amongst them hefted their round shields and inspected their long spears as though they had never fought with the things before, as though they wondered if wood and steel would hold when the killing began. The inexperienced men looked to the warriors, mimicking their actions and asking advice, the pride they had worn previously abandoned now. The eight with bows strung the yew staves and chose the arrows they would shoot first, and those men knew they would be the safest of us all, at least in the beginning, for they would stand behind our skjaldborg, our shieldwall, pouring their wicked arrows into the advancing Welsh. But they would run out of arrows eventually and then they would take their places, filling the gaps in the wooden wall where men had fallen.

I gripped the thick ash spear. It was not Glum's any more, but mine, and its weight gave me confidence. I imagined the weapon as an extension of my body and believed I had gained some of the magic and strength of the tree from which it was fashioned. Whether there was any truth or magic in this, I could not say, but at least it helped to squash the fear that was gnawing at my bowels and tenderizing the insides beneath my sternum.

I watched the Welsh form their shieldwall with their backs to the fortress, and for some reason my mind turned to Griffin, the warrior from my village who had faced Sigurd with strength and bravery when he must have known there was no hope. Then there had been Olaf's son, white-haired Eric, who could not hide his fear as some men could, barely a warrior when he gave his life for his fellowship. Lastly, I thought of old Ealhstan, brave Ealhstan. He was feeble and mute and had had more courage than them all.

'Look how eager they are to come and die,' I shouted over my shoulder, grimacing at the tremor I heard in my own voice. Penda was building his own shieldwall so that every third man was a warrior, for then each levy man would have an experienced fighter beside him to give him heart and maintain the cohesion of the line.

'Keep your shields overlapping,' Penda barked. 'Half the width of the man's beside you. I'll gut any man who lets daylight through. And then you stand! You hear me? You bloody well stand!'