Raven: Sons of Thunder (34 page)

‘Beyond the workshop on the far side we have vegetable gardens, grain fields, and even an orchard,’ she announced proudly.

‘A safe harbour in a world of sin, sister,’ Egfrith said with a solemn smile.

‘You will have to wait in the guest house until Abbess Berta has finished compline,’ the nun said, addressing Egfrith but staring at me. I kept my hands clasped, my head bowed and my mouth shut. Then the woman showed us to a stone building with a thatch roof, opening the door and ushering us inside as though she was suddenly afraid of the other nuns seeing us. ‘I will have wine brought and maybe some bread if you and the brothers are hungry.’

‘Thank you, sister,’ Egfrith said, ‘and God bless you, child.’

The nun swept away and Penda shut the door behind her, leaving us alone in that place in which the heavy darkness was illuminated by sweet-smelling beeswax candles. I could also smell freshly baked bread and the faint aroma of fennel.

‘Stirs the juices being here,’ Penda said, scratching the long scar on his face, ‘being walled up with all these women.’

‘Where is Cynethryth, Egfrith?’ I asked, instinctively touching my sword’s hilt through the thick wool of my habit.

He sniffed loudly. ‘I believe they will have her in a cell in the dorter,’ he said, ‘but we need to move now, before compline
ends and the sisters go to their beds.’ His eyes were wide and sweat was beading on his bald pate. ‘Are you both ready?’ I looked at Penda, who nodded, then the Wessexman opened the door and we stepped into the flamelit cloister to find Cynethryth.

EGFRITH LED US ALONG THE WOODEN CLOISTER, OUR FOOTSTEPS
thumping and clumsy, it seemed to me, in this place of White Christ brides. But there was no sign of the nuns as we passed the rancid-smelling latrine and then the infirmary from which leaked a low moaning mingled with the soft cooing of another woman. Swallows arrowed across the shadowed courtyard and bats flitted between the wooden arches of the cloister, snatching moths from the air.

‘Here,’ Egfrith hissed. My heart was hammering and my mouth was as dry as smoke at the thought of seeing Cynethryth. The dorter building was next to the stone church and we could clearly hear the nuns in prayer now, which meant we still had some time. Egfrith lifted the latch and we went inside. I felt myself grimace as the wooden staircase creaked underfoot, but we soon came to another door, which Egfrith pushed open gently, stepping into a narrow corridor in which Penda and I had to stoop. Off to both sides were doors open to small cells. Each contained a bed and stool and nothing more but for a few personal effects such as wooden crosses, wimples and habits. At the end of the corridor another staircase led down
into darkness, but before that on the right was another cell, whose door was shut.

‘I’ll wager she’s in there,’ Egfrith said, pointing. ‘It is locked,’ he confirmed a moment later. ‘Cynethryth,’ he called softly against the thick oak. ‘Cynethryth, my girl, are you there?’ We put our ears to the door but heard nothing.

‘Maybe they are keeping her in one of the other buildings,’ Penda suggested. Just then we heard a door open out of sight at the bottom of the stairs.

‘We must go,’ Egfrith rasped.

‘But you think she’s in there?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know where else they would put her,’ he hissed, ‘but we have no time.’

I pushed him aside and leant back and with all my strength I kicked the door so that either the lock or my leg had to break. Luckily for me it was the lock. The splintering crack brought several gasps from up ahead, but we were inside and there was Cynethryth. She was tied to a bed and gagged, her bare arms and legs scraped raw by the coarse ropes. ‘Holy mother, you poor, poor creature,’ Egfrith whined as I took my knife and cut through the bonds. Cynethryth was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was a matted clump, her eyes were black holes and the skin of her face was stretched thin and looked brittle as old parchment. She did not seem to recognize me.

‘You’re safe, my peregrine,’ I whispered in her ear, lifting her into my arms.

‘What in the name of the Blessed Virgin is going on?’ a voice boomed and we turned to see a woman who could only be Abbess Berta herself standing in the doorway. By Óðin she was a big bitch. Behind her stood several nuns, whose eyes were plump with shock. ‘Father Egfrith? What do you think you are doing?’ Berta thundered.

‘I am taking this poor girl away from here, Reverend Mother,’ Egfrith snapped.

‘But she is in danger, Father! Her soul is black and we are trying to wrest it from the Dark One.’ As big as any Norseman, she blocked the doorway, gripping its frame, her craggy, death-white face trembling with rage.

‘You are a cruel old hag!’ Egfrith declared, pointing a bony finger at this woman who was thrice his size. ‘We’re leaving.’ Some of the nuns were clattering back down the stairs, probably going for help, so we had no more time to waste.

‘Give her to me, lad,’ Penda said, ‘and do what needs doing.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m a Christian.’

I put Cynethryth in Penda’s arms and then I strode over and punched Abbess Berta in the jaw, dropping her like a sack of stones.

‘Raven!’ Egfrith exclaimed. The nuns screamed and fought each other to get away from us, bouncing along the corridor, and we followed them down the stairs and out into the night where I took my knife and cut slits up the front and back of our habits. Then we ran, our legs free now, straight across the grass courtyard for the main gate. Once through that we were out and clumping along the gangplanks skirting the city below the convent walls. As yet there was no sign that we were being followed. Aix-la-Chapelle was quiet but not deserted. Drunken men stumbled through the streets, jeering at by-passers and whores. Small groups of imperial soldiers patrolled, their scale armour reflecting the crackling flames of braziers. Dogs fought for scraps in the mud, unseen cats shrieked in the shadows, roof thatch rustled with mice, and we ran.

When we saw the towers of the west gate we stopped and I took Cynethryth from Penda who was puffing like a carthorse. ‘There are too many guards,’ I said, eyeing the blue cloaks. There were two in each tower and eight more standing by the barred gates, talking and laughing. ‘They will ask too many questions.’

‘Can she walk?’ Penda asked, looking doubtfully at Cynethryth. I looked into her eyes, which were heavy, their lids falling closed for long stretches. She had not said a word.

I shook my head. ‘She’s exhausted, Penda,’ I said.

‘Then we’ll have to take the chance,’ he said, making for the gate.

‘Wait!’ Egfrith said. ‘There.’ He pointed to a leatherworker’s shop – a timber lean-to whose thatch roof sloped up to meet the city’s west wall. It was a little higher than the lean-tos on either side and the reach to the top of the wall was less than a spear’s length. We pushed over the leatherworker’s rain barrel and upended it against the eaves, then Penda clambered up on to the thatch and I passed Cynethryth up to him, which was easy because the poor girl weighed no more than a sack of flour. Then Penda left Cynethryth at the apex against the wall whilst he leapt for a handhold and missed. On the second attempt he cursed like Thór. His right foot had crashed through the thatch and now came a surprised cry from inside the dwelling. The Wessexman yanked his foot out just as the door clattered open and I looked down from the barrel to see a big man standing there in nothing but his linen breeks, his hair and moustache as wild as his eyes. He grabbed Egfrith round the neck and began to strangle him. I leapt down and when he saw me he tossed Egfrith aside and came.

‘Help Penda!’ I yelled at Egfrith, who was coughing and spluttering. The Frank swung a fist but I blocked it with my forearm and stepped inside, ramming my forehead into his face. He staggered backwards, blood spurting from his nose, and I ran up and swung my boot into his groin so that his eyes almost burst with pain as he toppled sideways and curled up in the mud like a dying dog, teeth gritted. Another yell tore the night and I heard boots stamping along gangplanks.

‘They’re coming, Raven!’ Penda shouted. I jumped up and together Egfrith and I lifted Cynethryth up to Penda, who was
straddling the city wall, his spiky hair silhouetted against the dark blue night sky.

‘Reach up to Penda, Cynethryth,’ I said, and she said nothing and I thought she had not heard me, but then she stretched her wasted arms up and with a great heave Penda hauled her on to the wall. Soldiers were shouting and I did not know if they were angry because we had climbed on to the leatherworker’s roof or because they had learnt about our raid on the convent. But I knew they would kill me for hitting that cow Abbess Berta and so I was up that wall like a cat up the side of a butter churn. ‘I’ll go first, Penda,’ I said, easing myself over the wall and then taking Penda’s hands so that, lying flat, he could lower me as far as possible to shorten the fall. It was still a drop of some ten feet, but the ground was wet and soft and the fall did no damage. I was about to tell Cynethryth not to worry, that I would catch her, when she jumped, and somehow I caught her, wincing at the impact of her thin bones and hoping none had broken.

‘Now you, Father,’ Penda said, as an arrow whipped close to his head. The next thing I knew he and Father Egfrith were down and I had Cynethryth in my arms and we were running between the close-packed houses then out across the moon-silvered pasture. Up ahead the woods were a dark mass and somewhere amongst those trees Black Floki and Halldor were waiting with horses. If we got to the trees we would be safe.

Behind us the gates of Aix-la-Chapelle clunked open and the next sound I heard chilled my soul and turned my bowels to ice. It was the sound of galloping hooves on damp earth. I did not dare turn and look but pumped my legs harder. In my arms Cynethryth bounced horribly. The Franks were yelling and it sounded as though there were a hundred of them.

‘Wait. Penda, you must take Cynethryth,’ I said, stopping and crouching with Cynethryth in the dewy grass. The others
squatted too and the whites of their eyes shone ferally. My chest heaved. Every breath was a tortured rasp.

‘I’ll not leave you, lad,’ Penda said with a shake of his head. I looked at Egfrith.

‘Then you will have to take her,’ I said, to which the monk nodded without a heartbeat’s hesitation. ‘Get to the trees, monk. Whatever happens.’

‘But I see no torches,’ Egfrith said, looking to the tree line.

‘That’s because they know we are being followed,’ I said. ‘Black Floki will find you. Now go. We will keep them off you.’ I do not know where the monk found the strength, but he took Cynethryth in his little arms and ran, his white legs and the girl’s pale face reflecting the moonlight as he carried her off.

Penda and I drew our swords and threw back our cowls. I grinned at him in the moonlight. Then I roared the name Óðin Spear-Shaker, jarl of the gods, and we ran towards the horses and the men carrying flames.

The riders heard us, for they yanked their reins round, the animals screeching with the thrill of it, and then galloped towards us, fish scale armour and helmets glinting. I wanted to look back to see if Egfrith had made it to the woods, but the first rider was on me. He swung his sword, but I leapt back and it flew wide. Then another rode in and his couched spear snared in the sleeve of my habit so that he had to let go as his mount took him past. I picked up the spear and turned as another Frank was upon me. One-handed, I thrust the spear into his left shoulder, then spun, scything my sword through the air, just missing a man’s back as he galloped by. Penda had taken two riders down and I saw him hack off a dismounted Frank’s arm at the shoulder before I turned to face two others whose intention was to ride either side of me, leaving their spears in my chest as they passed. Dozens of Franks had cleared the houses west of the city walls and were running across the pastureland towards us, their cloaks flying behind them. An
arrow snagged in the flapping wool between my legs and I cursed because I was not wearing my brynja and I knew it would only be moments before Frankish steel tore my flesh.

Then the flat of a sword clanged against the back of my head, sending me stumbling, but I still gripped my sword. I tried to raise it as a rider came straight at me, but the beast ploughed into me, knocking me halfway to the next world. I lay in the grass for what seemed like an age, looking up at the stars, unable to move. I felt the dew softly falling on my face and saw bats whirling above me. Then the blue cloaks were there, dragging me on to legs that I could have sworn did not belong to me.

‘You still breathing, lad?’ It was Penda. The Franks were all over him but still they seemed afraid of what he might do to them, as three men lay broken in the dew-laced grass. ‘Looks like the bastards want us alive, so we might as well kill a couple more if we can,’ he barked, almost smiling despite the arms binding him. The Wessexman was as vicious a man as I had ever known. He could kill without even trying. As for me, I had not managed to kill a single Frank, though one was nursing a bruised shoulder, and I gained a new respect for their fish scale armour. The mounted soldiers were ranging across the pasture now, their firebrands streaking through the night like lightning bolts from the heavens as they searched for Cynethryth. ‘See her safe, Floki,’ I murmured, aware that my hair was sticky with blood.