The Empty Throne (The Warrior Chronicles, Book 8) (17 page)

She did not reply, just looked away from me to gaze eastwards where the sun was shimmering on what remained of the floods. The reflected sunlight made ripples on her face.

‘Lord Æthelred’s health is no concern of yours,’ Eardwulf said. ‘He wishes his daughter returned, and the boy too.’

‘And my wish is to take them to the Lady Æthelflaed,’ I answered.

Eardwulf smiled. He was a handsome brute and very confident of himself. He looked past me to where my men were standing in their shield wall. ‘At this moment, Lord Uhtred,’ he said, ‘my wishes will prevail.’

He was right, of course. ‘You want to test that?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he said, and his honesty surprised me. ‘I don’t want twenty or thirty of my men dead and as many others wounded. And I don’t want all your men dead either. I just want the boy, his sister, and the Lady Ælfwynn.’

‘And if I let you take them?’ I asked.

‘They will be safe,’ he lied.

‘And you just leave?’

‘Not quite.’ He smiled again. The twins Ceolnoth and Ceolberht were glaring at me. I could see they wanted to intervene, presumably to spit threats at me, but Eardwulf was calmly in control. His sister was still gazing eastwards, but turned suddenly and looked at me and I saw the sadness on her face. So she had been fond of my cousin? Or was she mourning the destruction of her power? Æthelred’s favour had made her rich and influential, but now? Only her brother’s ambitions could save her future.

‘Not quite,’ Eardwulf said again, forcing me to look back to him.

‘Not quite?’ I asked.

Eardwulf’s horse tossed its head and he calmed it with a gloved hand on its muscled neck. ‘No one,’ he said, ‘underestimates you, Lord Uhtred. You are the greatest warrior of our time. I salute you.’ He paused, as if expecting a response, but I just stared at him. ‘If I merely leave you,’ he said, ‘then I would expect you to attempt a rescue of the boy Æthelstan. Maybe of the Lady Ælfwynn too?’ He inflected it as a question, but again I said nothing. ‘So you will yield me all your weapons and all your horses, and you will give me your son and daughter as hostages for your good conduct.’

‘You will be exiled too!’ Father Ceolnoth could no longer contain himself. ‘You’ve polluted Christian land too long!”

Eardwulf held up a hand to check the priest’s spite. ‘As Father Ceolnoth says,’ he still spoke in a reasonable tone, ‘you must leave Wessex and Mercia.’

My heart was sinking. ‘Anything else?’ I snarled.

‘Nothing more, lord,’ Eardwulf said.

‘You expect me to give you my sword?’ I asked angrily.

‘It will be returned to you,’ he said, ‘in time.’

‘You want Prince Æthelstan,’ I said, ‘the Princess Eadgyth, Lady Ælfwynn, my son and my daughter?’

‘And I swear on the cross that your son and daughter will not be harmed so long as you stay far from Mercia and Wessex.’

‘And you want our weapons and horses,’ I went on.

‘Which will all be returned to you,’ Eardwulf said.

‘In time,’ I spat.

‘Jesus,’ Finan said quietly.

‘And if I don’t give you what you wish?’ I asked.

‘Then your life story ends here, Lord Uhtred.’

I pretended to consider his terms. I waited a long time. Father Ceolnoth became impatient and twice began to speak, but both times Eardwulf quietened him. He waited, sure that he knew my answer and equally sure that I was just loath to say it. Finally I nodded. ‘Then you may have what you want,’ I said.

‘A wise decision, Lord Uhtred,’ Eardwulf said. His sister looked at me with a frown as if I had just done something unexpected.

‘But to get what you want,’ I added, ‘you must take them.’ And with those words I turned my stallion and spurred towards the shield wall. Eardwulf shouted something as I went, but I did not catch the words. The shields parted and Finan, my son and I went through. The pain stabbed at me as I dismounted and I felt the pus seeping from the bloody wound. It hurt. I leaned my helmeted head against my horse, waiting for the agony to go. I must have looked as though I was praying, and so I was. Odin, Thor, help us! I even touched the silver cross in the pommel of Serpent-Breath, a keepsake from an old lover, and said a prayer to the Christian god. They all have power, all the gods, and I needed their help. I straightened and saw that Finan and my son had gone to the centre of the front rank. If they could kill Eardwulf then we might snatch victory from this disaster.

Eardwulf was still watching us, then he said something to his sister and turned back to his men. I watched them dismount and heft their shields. I watched as boys came to take the horses and as the warriors formed a shield wall, touching the shields together, overlapping them, shuffling to make the wall tight.

And I stood in the second rank and knew I must surrender. We would lose anyway, so why make widows and orphans? I suppose I had thought that Eardwulf might choose not to fight, or that his men would be reluctant to attack me, but I was wrong and, worse, Eardwulf knew exactly what to do. He would not bring his shield wall to oppose mine, instead he took time to change his formation, turning the wall into a swine-head, a wedge, that was aimed at my right flank. He would charge at us, driving his force at one end of our wall, and when he broke through he would surround the survivors and there would be a slaughter in the river’s loop.

‘We’ll turn into him as he comes,’ Finan said, tacitly taking command of my men. ‘As soon as they come we attack the side of their wedge.’

‘And go for Eardwulf,’ my son added. Eardwulf had stayed mounted at the back of the wedge, so if by some miracle we broke his men he could flee out of danger.

‘I’ve broken swine-heads before,’ Finan said, trying to give my men confidence. ‘Attack the side and they crumble!’

‘No,’ I said quietly.

‘Lord?’ he asked.

‘I can’t kill my men,’ I told Finan. ‘Whether I fight or not, he gets his way.’

‘So you’ll surrender?’

‘What choice do I have?’ I asked bitterly. I was tempted to let Finan swing our shield wall to attack the right side of Eardwulf’s wedge. It would be a rare fight and we would kill a good number of Mercians, but sheer weight of numbers must win in the end. I had no choice. It was bitter and shameful, but I would be throwing away the lives of my men, my good and loyal men.

‘It seems you might have a choice,’ Finan said, and I saw he was staring past Eardwulf towards the northern hill. ‘See?’ he asked.

There were more horsemen on the hill.

A horn sounded. It was a melancholy call, fading away before the horn was blown a second time. Eardwulf, still on horseback, turned.

Twenty horsemen had appeared on the far hill. It was one of them who had sounded the horn. The horsemen were clustered beneath a banner, though the lack of wind meant the banner hung limp, but as we watched I saw three more banners appear. Four standards held by four horsemen arrayed along the hill’s long crest. Each of the three new standard-bearers was accompanied by a group of armed riders, but whatever other horsemen followed the banners stayed on the far slope so we could not see them. What we could see was the grey of mail and the glint of sun reflecting from spearheads and helmets.

Eardwulf looked towards me, then back to the hilltop. He could count. There was no rule about it, but one standard suggested a hundred men, and there were four flags behind him. The horsemen who had first appeared had ridden back now, hidden like the others on the far slope, but the standards stayed, and then the horn called a third time and four horsemen appeared at the centre of the ridge and, accompanied by just one of the standard-bearers, spurred down the slope towards us.

‘Who are they?’ Finan asked.

‘Who knows?’ I said. Eardwulf seemed similarly puzzled because he looked at me again before turning his horse and kicking it back towards the road.

‘Æthelhelm’s men?’ I suggested, though if Æthelhelm had sent men then why had they not stayed with Eardwulf? My suspicion was that Æthelhelm and Edward had decided to let Eardwulf untangle the mess I had caused. They did not want West Saxons fighting Mercians, it was better to let the Mercians fight each other.

And the approaching horsemen were Mercians. The standard-bearer waved his flag as he rode and my heart sank because it showed Æthelred’s prancing horse. ‘That’s a pity,’ I said bleakly.

But Finan was laughing. I frowned at him, then looked back as the five horsemen galloped past Eardwulf. Their horses’ hooves threw up great splashes of water, the splashes as white as the leading rider’s cloak, and then I saw why Finan was laughing.

The rider in white was Æthelflaed.

She had ignored Eardwulf, riding past him as if he was a nobody. She wore her mail coat, though no helmet, and she did not slow as she approached the rear of Eardwulf’s men. She rode Gast, her grey mare, and the horse’s legs, belly and chest were thick with mud to show how hard she had been ridden these last two or three days. Once past the shield wedge, Æthelflaed turned the mare in a flurry of splashing water. Her standard-bearer and three men reined in beside her. She did not look at me, nor did I move to join her.

‘You will go home,’ she spoke to Eardwulf’s men. She pointed south past the fort to where his men guarded the bridge. ‘You go that way and you go now.’

None of them moved. They stood watching her, waiting for Eardwulf, who pushed his horse forward. ‘Your husband has decided …’ he began in a harsh tone.

‘Her husband is dead!’ I shouted over him.

‘Your husband …’ Eardwulf began again.

‘Is dead!’ I shouted even louder, and winced as the pain seared from my lower ribs.

Æthelflaed turned and looked at me. I could see from her face that she had not known about Æthelred’s death. Nor was I completely certain of it myself, I only had Ælfwynn’s word for it, but I suspected the girl had spoken truthfully. Æthelflaed was still frowning at me, waiting for a sign, and I nodded. ‘He’s dead, my lady,’ I said.

Æthelflaed made the sign of the cross as she turned back to Eardwulf’s shield wall. ‘Your lord is dead,’ she said to them, ‘Lord Æthelred is dead. We mourn him and we shall have masses said for his soul, which God preserve. And your duty now is to go home. So go!’

‘My lady …’ Eardwulf began again.

‘Who rules here?’ she interrupted him savagely. ‘You or I?’

It was a good question and one Eardwulf could not answer. To say that Æthelflaed ruled was to bow to her authority, while to claim that he ruled was to usurp the lordship of all Mercia. His slender claim to power depended on marrying Ælfwynn and on the support of the West Saxons, and both were slipping away. And Æthelflaed was sister to the King of Wessex. Attacking or defying her were both risks that could tip Edward’s support against him. Eardwulf had lost, and he knew it.

‘My husband prized your obedience,’ Æthelflaed spoke again to the shield wedge, ‘and he would want that obedience to continue. I will carry on his work until the Witan decides who should assume his responsibilities. Until then I look for your obedience and support.’ I noticed some men were gazing at her while others looked away, and I reckoned the latter were men sworn to Eardwulf rather than to Æthelred. Maybe a third looked uncomfortable, but the rest, like me, seemed relieved. ‘You,’ Æthelflaed looked at Eardwulf, ‘will stay in command of my household warriors and lead them back to Gleawecestre. I shall follow you. Go now, go!’

He hesitated. I could read his thoughts at that moment. He was thinking, daring to think, of drawing his sword and attacking Æthelflaed. He was so close to her! Her men were still on the far hill, too far away to offer immediate help, and he had all his men facing my few, and she was destroying his hopes. He was calculating the future. Was Æthelhelm’s support enough to deflect Edward’s rage if he killed Æthelflaed? His mouth was suddenly grim, his eyes narrow. He stared at her, and she at him, and I saw his right hand move towards his sword hilt, but Ceolnoth saw it too and the priest reached out and grasped Eardwulf’s forearm. ‘No, lord,’ I heard Father Ceolnoth say. ‘No!’

‘I will meet you in Gleawecestre,’ Æthelflaed said, her voice steady.

And Eardwulf turned away. His whole future had trembled in that instant and he had lost. And so he and his men went. I remember watching in disbelief and feeling a wave of relief as Eardwulf’s warriors retrieved their horses and, without a word, filed over the bridge and disappeared to the south.

‘Sweet Jesus Christ,’ Finan breathed.

‘Help me up,’ I told my son, and he heaved me into the saddle where I held my breath until the pain passed.

Æthelflaed signalled my men to make a gap so she could join us. ‘Is it true?’ she demanded. She offered no greeting, just the curt question.

‘I think so,’ I said.

‘You think!’

‘Your daughter heard the news,’ I said, ‘though Eardwulf denied it.’

‘Not his sister, though,’ Finan said, ‘she was weeping. She was mourning.’

‘He died on the eve of Æthelwold’s Day,’ I said, ‘the night before the wedding.’

‘It’s true, mother,’ Ælfwynn, looking nervous, had joined us.

Æthelflaed looked from her daughter to Finan, then to me. I nodded. ‘He’s dead. They want to keep it secret, but he died.’

‘God give him rest,’ Æthelflaed said, and crossed herself, ‘and God forgive me.’ There were tears in her eyes, though whether those tears were for Æthelred or for her own sinfulness I could not tell, nor would I ask. She shook her head abruptly then stared at me. Her face was stern, almost hurt, so her next words surprised me. ‘How are you?’ she asked softly.

‘In pain, of course. And glad you came. Thank you.’

‘Of course I came.’ There was anger in her voice now. ‘Marrying Ælfwynn to Eardwulf! His own daughter!’ That was why she had been riding south. Like me she kept her own people in Æthelred’s court, and one of those had sent a message to Ceaster as soon as the wedding was announced. ‘I knew I couldn’t reach Gleawecestre in time,’ she said, ‘but I had to try. Then we met your people coming north.’ Those were the men who had manned the carts blocking Gleawecestre’s streets. Those carts had probably not been needed because Eardwulf’s pursuit had been slow in starting, but the men had given Æthelflaed the news that I had snatched her daughter out of Æthelred’s palace and was coming north on the roads that led through Alencestre. ‘After that,’ she said, ‘it was just a question of finding you.’