The Flame Bearer (The Last Kingdom Series, Book 10) (10 page)

For a heartbeat there was no answer. Brunulf, I saw, glanced at Father Herefrith, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘That’s not unreasonable,’ Brunulf said nervously. For a man planning a war, or trying to provoke one, it was an astonishing concession.

‘We will think on the matter,’ Father Herefrith said harshly, ‘and give you our answer in two days.’

My immediate impulse was to argue, to demand we meet the next day, but there was something strange about Herefrith’s sudden change of attitude. Till this moment he had been hostile and obstructive, and now, though still hostile, he was cooperating with Brunulf. It was Herefrith who had given the signal that Brunulf should pretend to agree about paying customs’ dues, and Herefrith who had insisted on waiting for two days, and so I resisted my urge to argue. ‘We will meet you here in two days,’ I agreed instead, ‘and make sure you bring gold to that meeting.’

‘Not here,’ Father Herefrith said sharply.

‘No?’ I responded mildly.

‘The stench of your presence fouls God’s holy land,’ he snarled, then pointed northwards. ‘You see the woodland on the skyline? Just beyond it there’s a stone, a pagan stone.’ He spat the last three words. ‘We shall meet you by the stone at mid morning on Wednesday. You can bring twelve men. No more.’

Again I had to resist the urge to anger him. Instead I nodded agreement. ‘Twelve of us,’ I said, ‘at mid morning, in two days’ time, at the stone. And make sure you bring your fake charter and plenty of gold.’

‘I’ll bring you an answer, pagan,’ Herefrith said, then turned and spurred away.

‘We shall meet in two days, lord,’ Brunulf said, plainly embarrassed by the priest’s anger.

I just nodded and watched as they all rode back to the fort.

Finan watched too. ‘That sour priest will never pay,’ he said, ‘he wouldn’t pay for a morsel of bread if his own poor mother was starving.’

‘He will pay,’ I said.

But not in gold. The payment, I knew, would be in blood. In two days’ time.

Four

The stone where Father Herefrith had insisted we meet was a rough pillar, twice the height of a man, standing gaunt above a gentle and fertile valley an hour’s easy ride from the fort. It was one of the strange stones that the old people had placed all across Britain. Some stones stood in rings, some made passages, some looked like tables made for giants, and many, like the one on the valley’s southern crest, were lonely markers. We had ridden north from the fort, following a cattle path, and when I reached the stone I touched the hammer hanging at my neck and wondered what god had wanted the stone put beside the path, and why. Finan made the sign of the cross. Egil, who had grown up in the River Beina’s valley, said that his father had always called the pillar Thor’s Stone, ‘but the Saxons call it Satan’s Stone, lord.’

‘I prefer Thor’s Stone,’ I said.

‘There were Saxons living here?’ my son asked.

‘When my father arrived, yes, lord.’

‘What happened to them?’

‘Some died, some fled, and some stayed as slaves.’

The Saxons had now had their revenge because, just north of the crest on which the stone stood and beside a ford of the Beina, was a burned-out steading. The fire had been recent, and Egil confirmed that it had been one of the few places that Brunulf’s men had destroyed. ‘They forced everyone to leave,’ he said.

‘None was killed?’

He shook his head. ‘The folk were told they had to go before sundown, but that was all. They even said the man who led the Saxons was apologetic.’

‘Strange way to start a war,’ my son remarked, ‘being apologetic.’

‘They want us to draw the first blood,’ I said.

My son kicked a half-burned beam. ‘Then why burn this place?’

‘To persuade us to attack them? To provoke revenge?’ I could think of no better explanation, but why then had Brunulf been so meek when he met me?

Brunulf’s men had burned the hall, barn, and cattle byres. Judging by the size of the blackened remnants the steading had been prosperous, and the folk who lived there must have thought it a safe place because they had built no palisade. The ruins lay just yards from the river, where the ford had been trampled by the hooves of countless cattle, while upstream of the steading an elaborate fish trap had been made clear across the river. The trap had silted up, becoming a crude dam, which, in turn, had flooded the pastures to form a shallow lake. A few cottages remained unharmed, enough to offer us crowded shelter, while lengths of charred timber made good fires on which we roasted mutton ribs. I posted sentries in the woodland to our south, and more in a stand of willows on the ford’s further bank.

My son was apprehensive. More than once he left the fire and walked to the steading’s southern edge to stare at the gaunt stone on the skyline. He was imagining men there, shapes in the darkness, the glint of fire reflected from sword-blades. ‘Don’t fret,’ I told him after moonrise, ‘they won’t be coming.’

‘They want us to think that,’ my son said, ‘but how do we know what they’re thinking?’

‘They’re thinking that we’re fools,’ I told him.

‘And maybe they’re right,’ he muttered as he reluctantly sat and joined us. He looked back into the southern darkness where a glow on the clouds showed where Brunulf’s men had their fires in the fort and in the fields beyond. ‘There are three hundred of them.’

‘More than that!’ I said.

‘Suppose they decide to attack?’

‘Our sentries will let us know. That’s why we have sentries.’

‘If they come on horseback,’ he said, ‘we won’t have much time.’

‘So what would you do?’ I asked.

‘Move,’ he said, ‘go north a couple of miles.’ The flames showed the concern on his face. My son was no coward, but even the bravest man must have known what danger we faced by lighting fires to show our position so close to an enemy who outnumbered us by at least two to one.

I looked at Finan. ‘Should we move?’

He half smiled. ‘You’re running a risk, sure enough.’

‘So why am I doing that?’

Men leaned forward to listen. Redbad, a Frisian who was sworn to my son, had been playing a soft tune on his pan pipes, but he paused, his face anxious, watching me. Finan grinned, the firelight reflecting bright from his eyes. ‘Why are you doing it?’ he asked. ‘Because you know what the enemy will do, that’s why.’

I nodded. ‘And what will they do?’

Finan frowned as he thought about my question. ‘The godforsaken bastards are laying a trap, is that right?’

I nodded again. ‘The godforsaken bastards think they’re being clever, and their godforsaken trap will catch us two days from now. Why two days? Because they need tomorrow to get it ready. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe they’ll close the trap tonight, but I don’t think they will. That’s the risk. But we need to persuade them that we suspect nothing. That we’re lambs waiting for the slaughterer’s knife, and that’s why we’re staying here. So that we look like innocent little lambs.’

‘Baaaaa,’ one of my men said, and then, of course, they all had to bleat until the steading sounded like Dunholm on market day, and they all found it funny.

My son, who did not join in the laughter, waited for the noise to stop. ‘A trap?’ he asked.

‘Work it out,’ I said, then went to bed to work it out for myself.

I could have been wrong. As I lay in a flea-infested hovel listening to men singing and other men snoring I decided I was wrong about the reason for the West Saxon presence at Hornecastre. They were not there to draw men away from Constantin’s invasion, because Edward was not such a fool as to exchange a slice of Northumbria for a new monastery on Lindisfarena. He hoped to be king of all the Saxon lands one day, and he would never yield Bebbanburg’s rich hills and pastures to the Scots. And why grant Bebbanburg, one of the great fortresses of Britain, to an enemy? So I decided it was more likely an unfortunate coincidence. Constantin had marched south while the West Saxons marched north, and there was probably no connection between the two. Probably. Not that it mattered. What mattered was Brunulf’s presence in the old fort beside the river.

I thought about Brunulf and Father Herefrith. Which one had been in command?

I thought about men turning back rather than riding to meet us.

I wondered about a banner disappearing from the fort’s wall.

And strangest of all, I marvelled at the cordial tone of the confrontation. Usually, when enemies meet before fighting, it offers an opportunity for insult. That exchange of insults is almost a ritual, but Brunulf had been humble, courteous, and respectful. If the purpose of his presence on Northumbrian soil was to provoke an attack that would give Wessex a reason to break the truce, then why had he not been hostile? Father Herefrith, it was true, had been belligerent, but he was the only one who had tried to goad me to fury. It was almost as if the others had wanted to avoid a fight, but if so, why invade at all?

They had lied, of course. There was no ancient charter giving the land to East Anglia, and Saint Erpenwald’s staff, if the wretched man ever had one, must have vanished years ago, and they surely had no intention of paying gold as customs’ dues, but none of those lies was a challenge. The challenge was their presence; their mild, unthreatening presence. And yet Wessex wanted a fight? Why else be here?

And then I understood.

Suddenly.

In the middle of that night, watching through the hovel’s door at the glow of fire touching the southern clouds, I understood. The idea had been there all day, half formed, nagging at me, but suddenly it took shape. I knew why they were here.

And I was fairly sure I knew when the fight would start; in two days.

So I knew why, and I thought I knew when, but where?

That question kept me awake. I was wrapped in an otterskin cloak, lying by the door of one of the cottages and listening to the low murmur of voices around the dying fires. The charred posts, beams, and rafters of the destroyed hall had provided us with convenient firewood, and that thought made me wonder whether Brunulf really had brought logs to build a church. If indeed, he had any real intention of building anything, but that was his ostensible reason for being here, and he had gone to the trouble of digging a church’s foundations, so either he had brought logs with him or he planned to cut down trees for timber. I had not seen much mature woodland in these gentle hills, but there had been the stand of old growth oak and chestnut that had barred our path as we had ridden northwards from Hornecastre. I had been impressed by the fine trees, wondering why they had not been felled to make more pasture or to sell as timber.

After leaving Brunulf we had ridden north along the rough cattle path that led through the belt of woodland that lay like a barrier across the path on a slight, almost imperceptible ridge. That ridge stood about halfway between the ruined steading and the old fort. So Brunulf must ride through the trees if he was to meet us at the stone, and that thought brought me fully awake and alert. Of course! It was so simple! I gave up trying to sleep. I did not need to dress or pull on boots because we were all sleeping, or trying to sleep, fully clothed in case the West Saxons did attempt a surprise assault on the steading. I doubted it would come because I reckoned they had other plans, but I had ordered it because it did no harm to keep my men alert. I buckled Serpent-Breath around my waist, and walked into the night, taking the path southwards. Finan must have seen me leave because he ran to catch up. ‘Can’t sleep?’

‘They’re going to attack Wednesday morning,’ I said.

‘You know that?’

‘Not for certain. But I’ll wager Tintreg against that spavined nag you call a horse that I’m right. Brunulf will come to talk with us sometime in mid morning, and that’s when they’ll attack. On Woden’s day,’ I smiled in the night, ‘and that’s a good omen.’

We had left the steading behind and were walking up a long and very gentle slope of pastureland. I could hear the sound of the river off to my right. The moon was clouded, but just enough light came through the thinner patches to show us the path and to reveal the woodland as a great dark barrier between us and the fort. ‘The fight they want will be there,’ I said, nodding at the trees.

‘In the wood?’

‘On the far side, I think. I can’t be sure, but I think so.’

Finan walked in silence for a few paces. ‘But if they want a fight beyond the trees, why tell us to wait on this side?’

‘Because they want us to, of course,’ I said mysteriously. ‘A bigger question is how many men they’ll bring.’

‘Every man they have!’ Finan said.

‘No, they won’t.’

‘You sound very sure,’ he said dubiously.

‘Have I ever been wrong?’

‘Sweet Christ, you want the whole list?’

I laughed. ‘You met Archbishop Hrothweard. What’s he like?’

‘Oh, he’s a nice fellow,’ he spoke warmly.

‘Really?’

‘Couldn’t have been nicer. He reminded me of Father Pyrlig, except he isn’t fat.’

That was a recommendation. Pyrlig was a Welsh priest, and a man with whom it was good to drink or stand beside in the shield wall. I would have trusted my life to Pyrlig, indeed he had saved it more than once. ‘What did you talk about?’

‘The poor fellow was upset about Constantin. He asked about him.’

‘Upset?’

‘It’ll be hard to rebuild Lindisfarena without Constantin’s permission.’

‘Constantin might give permission,’ I said. ‘He’s a Christian. Of sorts.’

‘Aye, that’s what I said.’

‘Did he ask about Bebbanburg?’

‘He asked if I thought Constantin would capture it.’

‘And you said?’

‘Not in my lifetime. Unless he starves them out.’

‘Which he will,’ I said, ‘by spring.’ We walked in silence for a while. ‘It’s strange,’ I broke the silence, ‘that Brunulf is building a church and Hrothweard is rebuilding a monastery. Coincidence?’

‘People build all the time.’

‘True,’ I allowed, ‘but it’s still strange.’

‘You think they’re really building a church here?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘But they have to have a reason for being here, and that’s as good a reason as any. What they really want is a war.’