The Pale Horseman (40 page)

Most men came in large groups, led by their thegns, while others arrived in small bands,
but together they swelled into an army. Amulf, Ealdorman of Suth Seaxa, brought close to
four hundred men and apologised that it could not be more, but there were Danish ships off
his coast and he had been forced to leave some of his fyrd to guard the shore. The men of
Wiltunscir had been summoned by Wulfhere to join Guthrum's army, but the reeve, a grim man
named Osric, had scoured the southern part of the shire and over eight hundred men had
ignored their Ealdorman's summons and came to Alfred instead. More arrived from the
distant parts of Sumorsaete to join Wiglaf's fyrd that now numbered a thousand men, while
half that many came from Hamptonscir, including Burgweard's garrison in which were
Eadric and Cenwulf, crewmen from the Heahengel, and both embraced me, and with them was
Father Willibald, eager and nervous. Almost every man came on foot, weary and hungry,
with their boots falling apart, but they had swords and axes and spears and shields, and by
mid afternoon there were close to three thousand men in the Wilig valley and more were
still coming as I rode towards the distant hill where I thought I had seen the Danish
scouts.

Alfred sent me and, at the last moment, Father Pyrlig had offered to accompany me and
Alfred had looked surprised, appeared to think about it for a heartbeat, then nodded
assent. 'Bring Uhtred home safe, father,' he had said stiffly.

I said nothing as we rode through the growing camp, but once we were on our own I gave
Pyrlig a sour look. 'That was all arranged,' I said.

'What was?'

'You coming with me. He had your horse already saddled! So what does Alfred want?'

Pyrlig grinned. 'He wants me to talk you into becoming a Christian, of course. The king
has great faith in my powers of speech.'

'I am a Christian,' I said.

'Are you now?'

'I was baptised, wasn't I? Twice, as it happens.'

'Twice! Doubly holy, eh? How come you got it twice?'

'Because my name was changed when I was a child and my stepmother thought heaven
wouldn't recognise me under my old name.'

He laughed. 'So they washed the devil out of you the first time and slopped him back in the
second?' I said nothing to that and Pyrlig rode in silence for a time. 'Alfred wants me to
make you a good Christian,' he said after a while, 'because he wants God's blessing.'

'He thinks God will curse us because I'm fighting for him?'

Pyrlig shook his head. 'He knows, Uhtred, that the enemy are pagans. If they win then
Christ is defeated. This isn't just a war over land, it's a war about God. And Alfred, poor
man, is Christ's servant so he will do all he can for his master, and that means trying to
turn you into a pious example of Christian humility. If he can get you onto your knees
then it'll be easy to make the Danes grovel.'

I laughed, as he had meant me to. 'If it encourages Alfred,' I said, 'tell him I'm a good
Christian.'

'I planned to tell him that anyway,' Pyrlig said, 'just to cheer him up, but in truth I
wanted to come with you.'

‘Why?'

'Because I miss this life. God, I miss it! I loved being a warrior. All that
irresponsibility! I relished it. Kill and make widows, frighten children! I was good
at it, and I miss it. And I was always good at scouting. We'd see you Saxons blundering
away like swine and you never knew we were watching you. Don't worry, I'm not going to talk
Christ into you, whatever the king wants.'

Our job was to find the Danes, if they were near. Alfred had marched to the Wilig valley
to block any advance Guthrum made into the heartland of Wessex, but he still feared that
the Danes might resist the lure of destroying his small army and instead march around us to
take southern Wessex, which would leave us stranded and surrounded by Danish garrisons.
That uncertainty meant Alfred was desperate for news of the enemy, so Pyrlig and I rode
north and east up the valley until we came to where a smaller river flowed south into the
Wilig and we followed that lesser stream past a large village that had been reduced to
ashes. The small river passed through good farmland, but there were no cattle, no sheep and
the fields were unploughed and thick with weeds. We went slowly, for the horses were tired
and we were well north of our army now. The sun was low in the west, though it was early May
so the days were lengthening.

There were mayfly on the river and trout rising to them, and then a scuffling sound made
us both pause, but it was only a pair of otter cubs scrabbling down to the water through
the roots of a willow. Doves were nesting in the blackthorn, and warblers called from the
riverbank, and somewhere a woodpecker drummed intermittently. We rode in silence for a
while, turning away from the river to go into an orchard where wrynecks sang among the
pink blossom.

Pyrlig curbed his horse under the trees and pointed at a muddy patch in the grass and I
saw hoof prints sifted with fallen petals. The prints were fresh and there were a lot of
them.

'Bastards were here, weren't they?' he said, 'and not so long ago.'

I looked up the valley. There. was no one in sight. The hills rose steeply on either side
with thick woods on their lower slopes. I had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that we
were being watched, that we were blundering and the wolves were close.

'If I were a Dane,' Pyrlig spoke softly, and I suspected he shared my discomfort, 'I'd
be over there,'

he jerked his head to the western trees.

'Why?'

'Because when you saw them, they saw us, and that's the way to where they saw us. Does that
make sense?' He laughed wryly. I don't know, Uhtred, I just think the bastards are over
there.'

So we went east. We rode slowly, as if we did not have a care in the world, but once we
were in the woods we turned north. We both searched the ground for more hoof prints, but saw
none, and the feeling of being watched had gone now, though we did wait for a long time to
see if anyone was following us. There was only the wind in the trees. Yet I knew the Danes
were near, just as a hall's hounds know when there are wolves in the nearby darkness. The
hair on their necks stands up, they bare their teeth, they quiver.

We came to a place where the trees ended and we dismounted, tied the horses, and went to
the wood's edge and just watched. And at last we saw them.

Thirty or forty Danes were on the valley's farther side, above the woods, and they had
plainly ridden to the top of the hills, looked southwards, and were now coming back. They
were scattered in a long line that was riding down into the woods. 'Scouting party,'
Pyrlig said.

'They can't have seen much from that hilltop.'

'They saw us,' he said.

'I think so.'

'But they didn't attack us?' He was puzzled. 'Why not?’

'Look at me,' I said.

'I get a treat every day.'

'They thought I was a Dane,' I said. I was not in mail and had no helmet, so my long hair
fell free down my leather-clad back and my arms were bright with rings. 'And they probably
thought you were my performing bear,' I added.

He laughed. 'So shall we follow them?'

The only risk was crossing the valley, but if the enemy saw us they would probably
still assume I was a fellow Dane, so we cantered over the open ground, then rode up into
the further woods. We heard the Danes before we saw them. They were careless, talking and
laughing, unaware that any Saxons were close. Pyrlig tucked his crucifix beneath his
leather coat, then we waited until we were sure the last of the Danes had passed before
kicking the horses uphill to find their tracks and so follow them. The shadows were
lengthening, and that made me think that the Danish army must be close for the scouting
party would want to reach safety before dark, but as the hilly country flattened we saw
that they had no intention of joining Guthrum's forces that evening. The patrolling Danes
had their own camp, and as we approached it we were nearly caught by another group of
mounted scouts who rode in from the east. We heard the newcomers and swerved aside into a
thicket and watched a dozen men ride by, and then we dismounted and crept through the trees
to see how many enemy were in the camp.

There were perhaps a hundred and fifty Danes in a small pasture. The first fires were
being lit, suggesting they planned to spend the night where they were.

'All scouting parties,' Pyrlig suggested.

'Confident bastards,' I said.

These men had been sent ahead to explore the hills, and they felt safe to camp in the open
countryside, sure that no Saxon would attack them. And they were right. The West Saxon
army was a long way south and we had no warband in the area, and so the Danes would have a
quiet night and, in the morning, their scouts would ride again to watch Alfred's
movements.

'But if they're here,' Pyrlig suggested, 'then it means Guthrum is following them.'

'Maybe,' I said. Or perhaps Guthrum was marching well to the east or west and had sent
these men to make sure that Alfred was ignorant of his movements.

'We should go back,' Pyrlig said. 'Be dark soon.'

But I had heard voices and I held up a hand to silence him, and then went to my right,
keeping to the places where the undergrowth was thickest, and heart what I thought I had
heard. English.

'They've got Saxons here,' I said.

'Wulfhere's men?'

Which made sense. We were in Wiltunscir and Wulfhere's men would know this country, and
who better to guide the Danes as they watched Alfred?

The Saxons were coming into the wood and we stayed behind some hawthorn bushes until
we heard the sound of axes. They were cutting firewood. There seemed to be about a dozen of
them. Most of the men who followed Wulfhere would probably be reluctant to fight Alfred,
but some would have embraced their Ealdorman's new cause and doubtless those were the men
who had been despatched to guide the Danish scouting parties. Wulfhere would only have sent
men he could trust, fearing that less loyal men would desert to Alfred or just run away, so
these Saxons were probably from the Ealdorman's household troops, the warriors who would
profit most from being on the winner's side in the war between the Danes and the West
Saxons.

'We should get hack to Alfred before it's dark,' Pyrlig whispered.

But just then a voice sounded close and petulant. 'I will go tomorrow,' the voice
said.

'You won't, lord,' a man answered. There was the sound of splashing and I realised one of
the two men had come to the bushes for a piss and the other had followed him. 'You'll go
nowhere tomorrow,'

the second man went on, 'you'll stay here.'

'I just want to see them!' the petulant voice pleaded.

'You'll see them soon enough. But not tomorrow. You'll stay here with the guards.'

'You can't make me.'

'I can do what I like with you, lord. You might command here, but you take my orders all
the same.'

The man's voice was hard and deep. 'And my orders are that you're staying here.'

'I'll go if I want,' the first voice insisted weakly and was ignored.

Very slowly, so that the blade made no noise against the scabbard's throat, I drew
Serpent-Breath. Pyrlig watched me, puzzled.

'Walk away,' I whispered to him, 'and make some noise.' He frowned in puzzlement at that,
but I jerked my head and he trusted me.

He stood and walked towards our horses, whistling softly, and immediately the two men
followed. The one with the deep voice led. He was an old warrior, scar-faced and bulky.
'You!' he shouted, 'stop!'

And just then I stepped out from behind the hawthorn and swung Serpent-Breath once and
her blade cut under his beard and into his throat, and cut so deep that I felt her scrape
against his spine and the blood, sudden and bright in the spring dusk, sprayed across the leaf
mould. The man went down like a felled ox. The second man, the petulant man, was following
close behind and he was too astonished and much too scared to run away and so I seized his
arm and pulled him down behind the bushes.

'You can't,' he began and I placed the flat of Serpent-Breath's bloody blade against his
mouth so that he whimpered with terror.

'Not a sound,' I said to him, 'or you're dead.' Pyrlig came back then, sword drawn.

Pyrlig looked at the dead man whose breeches were still untied. He stooped to him and made
the sign of the cross on his forehead. The man's death had been quick, and the capture of his
companion had been quiet, and none of the woodcutters seemed to have taken alarm. Their
axes went on thumping, the echoes rattling in the trees.

'We're taking this one back to Alfred,' I told Pyrlig, then I moved Serpent-Breath to my
captive's throat. 'Make one sound,' I said, pressing the blade into his skin, 'and I'll gut
you from your over-used gullet to your over-used crotch. Do you understand?'

He nodded.

'Because I'm doing you the favour I owe you,' I explained, and smiled nicely.

Because my captive was Æthelwold, Alfred's nephew and the would-be king of the West
Saxons.

The man I had killed was named Osbergh and he had been the commander of Wulfhere's
household troops. His job on the day of his death was to make certain, Æthelwold got into
no trouble.

Æthelwold had a talent for misfortune. By rights he should have been the King of
Wessex, though I daresay he would have been the last king for he was impetuous and
foolish, and the twin solaces for having lost the throne to his uncle Alfred were ale and
women. Yet he had ever wanted to be a warrior. Alfred had denied him the chance, for he
dared not let Æthelwold make a name for himself on the battlefield. Æthelwold, the true
king, had to be kept foolish so that no man saw in him a rival for Alfred's throne. It would
have been far easier to have killed Æthelwold, but Alfred was sentimental about family.
Or perhaps it was his Christian conscience. But for whatever reason, Æthelwold had been
allowed to live and had rewarded his uncle's mercy by constantly making a fool of
himself.