Amber Treasure, The (16 page)

But, one of us did not stop
running. Aedann let go of his mother’s hand and carried on towards the horses.
Twisting his head round, he shouted back to us.

“Come on, keep running. They are
not all here yet. Keep running, you English bastards!”

Cuthbert pushed his way to the
front and pointed.

“He’s right, there are only three
of them on the road: scouts ahead of the main squadron, I figure.”

I could see it now and I glanced
behind. The Welsh were less than fifty paces away, but in front, the hammer was
not quite the threat I had thought. The other horses were coming, but were
still a hundred paces away, moving into a narrow column to pass between the
cliff and the marsh. Aedann was right: there was still a chance.

“Run!” I shouted and again we
were off. Lungs and throats burning, the company and the townsfolk ran straight
at the three cavalry. Horsemen are a threat to infantry and we fear them above
all other enemies, but not just three against over a hundred. They knew it too
and as we closed on them they spurred their mounts and veered away onto the
fields to the east.

Meanwhile, Aedann was no longer
running down the road. He had turned and headed into the little path between
bog and cliff. There, he swung his shield round, drew his sword and braced
himself in the gap. The horsemen would have to ride him down to get to the
column. Eduard and Grettir saw what he was doing and ran to join him. They had
spears as well as shields and stood either side of him, overlapping his shield
and dropping the spear points towards the coming horsemen. Three more of the company
joined them and formed a rear rank. Cuthbert had managed to scavenge half a
dozen arrows and notching one of them on the string, stood behind and to the
side of them.

The first of the company had
reached the ford. I stopped them there and we let the townsfolk start to cross.
The Welsh were closing in, seemingly keen on revenge and the rest of the company
were milling about. I knew that I had only seconds to play with.

“Shield wall: form a shield wall
now!” I shouted the order. It was the first time we had done this together since
we had practised at the Villa just a few days before and they were all clumsy
finding their places, but gradually our shield wall took shape. I started the
wall just at the end of the cliff, so as to protect our men on the path and
then slanted it across the road onto the bog beyond, angled to protect us from
the three horsemen, who were circling about over there and still posed a threat
if they chose the right moment to attack. The Welsh foot soldiers had stopped
running and with a clattering of shields and spears, were also forming up
opposite us.

Now, we finally had the
advantage. There were more of us and we held a good position. The Elmetae
hammered weapons on shields and screamed abuse at us, goading us into attacking
them. Some of the company moved forward, but I hauled them back.

“Don’t be bloody idiots −
they want us to attack. Stay still and let them come to us.”

I was not going to be a fool that
way, but I was worried about the one weakness we did have. If the Welsh cavalry
could break through the tiny group on the muddy path, they would be round
behind our main shield wall and would unleash a horror upon us. All now
depended on Aedann and his five comrades. The pounding of iron hooves on clay
told me that the moment of decision had come: the horsemen had arrived!

The leading one spurred his mount
and shouted an incomprehensible war cry as, without hesitation, he charged
towards Eduard. His lance was long and sharp and he targeted Eduard’s throat.
Eduard pulled up his shield and the lance struck it hard, just above the centre.
The blow knocked Eduard back, so that he ended up lying on top of the man
behind.

There was a cry of triumph and
the Welshman spurred on to ride them down. Aedann took one step forward and
stabbed his sword hard straight up into the man’s belly. The triumph now turned
to horror and then to agony. With a scream, he fell backwards. His horse,
dragged over by the weight, reared up onto its hind legs. Eduard, clambering
back to his feet, brought up his spear and plunged it into the beast’s groin.

There was a gut-wrenching squeal
of agony from the animal as it fell with a crash, back onto its rider, crushing
him under it. It then lay on the ground, thrashing and writhing, as its life
poured out into the marsh beside the path. One hoof caught Aedann on the knee
and he screamed as his leg gave way. The next horseman arrived and made to jump
over the still twitching body of the first horse, looking to land on Eduard.

As it left the ground, there was
a twang, followed by another and two arrows caught the rider in the throat. He
fell off the horse and landed in a deep pool of muddy water in the bog. The
weight of his armour pulled him down under the surface, where he choked on his
own blood and drowned in the filthy water. His horse spun round and headed back
the way it had come, crashing into the column behind. In the resulting chaos,
two more horses slid into the bog. Twang-twang-twang and three more arrows
followed, all finding their marks, so four dead and dying horses blocked the
narrow path. At last, the horsemen reined in and hung back. Cuthbert had one
last arrow loaded, but he did not fire, instead he stood, aiming at the horses
and waiting for them to come again.

The Welsh shield wall had fallen
silent. They had been expecting the cavalry to break through. Now that had
failed, I could see their leader studying us and counting our numbers. Was he
going to try and attack, hoping that the horses would find a gap to break
through after all?

Out in the field, the three
scouts moved over to talk to him and I could see that they were pointing across
the river. I bent my neck to look that way, but at first I saw nothing. Then,
there was movement: twenty, no thirty spearmen, moving down the road towards
the ford from the other side. I had an anxious moment as I thought of that army
we had seen earlier. Was this a part of it, already in Deira and coming to cut
us off?

Then I saw that with the spearmen
were some of the townsfolk from Wicstun. They were coming towards us and leading
what I could now plainly see were fellow Deiran warriors. With a splash, they
were across the river behind us. My knees trembling with relief I stumbled over
to their leader: a severe looking bald-headed man, who looked at me sceptically
as I approached.

“Where is your lord?” he asked.

“There he is,” I pointed at
Wallace, who was sitting on the road, looking exhausted and only just
conscious, “but he has been injured. His lieutenant was killed at Calcaria so
...”

“So, the lad took over. Did it bloody
marvellously actually − saved us all ...” Wallace said weakly and then,
struggling to his feet, he staggered over to us.

“But you have saved us all now,
Lord ... erm ...?” I hesitated, not knowing who the man was.

“Earl Harald, of Eoforwic,” he
answered. “But, it looks like the danger is over,” he added, nodding his head
towards the Welsh, who were backing off down the road. In the fields to the
west, the cavalry were also retreating leaving half a dozen men dead on the
path and in the marsh.

I blew out a long breath: the
enemy finally knew they could not beat us today, so we were safe. I went and
helped Wallace and together we led the company across the river and back into
Deira.

When we reached the far side, I
turned back to see Aedann limping across, surrounded by men from the company
who were clapping him on the back.

“For a Welsh bastard, you were
pretty good there!” Eduard said to him and with a wink at me, he carried on
down the road after the company. Grettir hung back and stood looking at Aedann,
not saying anything. Suddenly, he nodded his head at the lad: the closest that
the gruff old teacher ever got to saying he had been wrong about a man. Aedann
had proven his worth, the nod said. He glanced at me and tilted his head for a
moment, acknowledging that I had been right. Then he turned away. In a moment,
I was left alone with Aedann.

“Well then, I went to Elmet to
find and probably kill you, but you saved us all. I thank you for that. For a
slave, you sure know how to fight,” I added.

Aedann looked pained now,
reminded that here, on this side of the river, that was all he was − a
slave. He tossed the sword down onto the road.

“You had better take that. You
know what your father says about slaves having weapons.”

I reached down and picked up the
sword, then studied him for a moment. Finally, I made up my mind. I turned the
weapon round and handed him the hilt.

“You’re no slave. Take it, you’ve
earned it,” I said.

“But, your father ...”

“Take it,” I repeated and this
time he did.

“I will deal with my father,” I
added.

He grinned at me and together we
walked down the road.

Chapter Thirteen

Council of Aelle

Earl Harald led
us along the road to Eoforwic, then halted in the first settlement we came to:
a tiny village with just a couple of dozen hovels clustered around the
headman’s hut. One doubled as a rundown alehouse. Here, he allowed us to rest,
get a meal, dress our wounds and in many cases grab a few hours’ sleep.

A little later in the day, he
came and found Wallace and me in the corner of the ale house. Lilla and Grettir
were examining his arm, afraid the traumas of our ordeal had increased the risk
of infection - or worse. If it had turned black and begun to rot away there was
nothing they could do and Wallace was as good as dead.

When it was unwrapped we could
all see the arm was badly swollen and almost black, but that was bruising, for
whilst agonisingly stiff it did not smell infected. Relieved, they strapped it
up again and Wallace sat back on the bench, leant against the wall and took a
long draught of his ale. After some broth and a tankard of beer, Wallace was
more alert than he had been since his brutal attack from Samlen.

“How’s the arm, Wallace?” Harald’s
face was dark when he sat down opposite Wallace.

“Hurts like buggery, but I’ll
live; for now any way,” Wallace said and took another sup at his mug.

“Glad to hear it. Right then, I
came to tell you that after Cerdic here told me about that army you had seen in
Elmet, I sent out scouts and they confirmed that there is indeed a force of
over four hundred spears. They are camped just the other side of the border
close to the Roman road.”

“I wonder what he is planning,”
Wallace mused as he wiped the bowl with bread, chewed on it and then swilled it
down with more ale. He frowned and looked up at Harald. “Is there any news
about Owain and where he is?”

Harald shook his head. “Last I
heard, he was still in Rheged, but his army is getting bigger each day, all the
rumours say, so it can’t be long now.”

“But where ... where will they
attack?”

“I have no idea,” Harald shrugged,
“but the King might. That is the other thing I came to tell you, he must know
of Samlen One Eye’s army as quickly as possible. I was about to head off
anyway. Just yesterday, I received a summons to Godnundingham: Aelle is calling
a great council. Everyone expects he will call out the Fyrd and then it will be
war.”

“We are already at war, Harald,”
Wallace said.

Harald grunted and then nodded.
He finished off his own tankard and got up to leave.

“Get your men ready, Wallace,” he
said. Then, raising his voice so that everyone in the tavern could hear, he added,
“We will march within the hour to the King’s hall.”

There was some groaning at the
thought of setting out again, from more than one of the company, but a scowl
from Wallace silenced them and the men went back to their meals, or muttered
curses into their ale.

As a young man, Aelle had
conquered the Welsh kingdom of Eboracum including the prize, their capital: the
city he would call Eoforwic. Eoforwic was a rich city and probably the most
important city in the North. However, Aelle did not rule from there. He held
court not far from Wicstun in his halls at Godnundingham. It was to this
stronghold that we now marched.

Our road went northeast to
Eoforwic and as we marched along it I grew excited with the anticipation of
seeing the city at last. I was to be disappointed: before we reached it, Harald
led us down a branching road heading east. We would save ten miles and several
hours this way, he explained, as it cut off a big loop and saved us going north
of the city and back southeast to Godnundingham. I swallowed my disappointment:
the King’s summons had been urgent and Harald had no time to permit my
sightseeing.

It took the balance of that day
and most of the next to reach Wicstun. Harald allowed us to stop there
overnight and let the townsfolk go home. As we came close to the town, a shriek
of joy rang out from the tannery, which was a couple of hundred yards to the
north. Two auburn-hairedgirls of about my own age or younger, rushed out to us
and over to their mother and threw themselves at her, hugging her tightly to
them. The tanner, himself limping from a wound he had taken defending his
family from the raid, joined them and we passed them by and left them to their
joy. Then, as if this was an alarm signal to rouse the town, suddenly the road
ahead was full of people. They came out of their houses and workshops and
walked towards the company, searching the faces of those we brought with us,
some expectant, some not daring to hope until they had seen the ones they
looked for. Soon enough, the tears of joy and sorrow started. Joy for those we
had saved, sorrow for those we had left behind in a foreign land.

Sorrow aside, for the most part,
the people of Wicstun wanted to hold a great feast to welcome their families
− and us − home. But then, when they were told that the fighting
was not yet over and indeed that the war was probably only just beginning,
their exuberance subsided, for a while. In the end though, it was if everyone
decided to take what happiness they could today, uncertain of what the
approaching weeks would bring and soon the ale houses were full and the beer
flowing.

Eduard, Cuthbert and I were
drinking ale and eating bread in the ‘Wolves Head’ tavern, whilst we waited for
the orders to resume our march, when my father found me. Wallace had sent a
message to him about the royal summons.

He rushed over and embraced me.
It had been four days since I last saw him: he was moving about much more
easily now and although his scars were still ugly, they were beginning to fade.
He sat down and asked the question that I had been dreading.

“Mildrith ...?” he asked.

I shook my head and saw the blood
drain from his face.

“She’s alive, Father, but Samlen
has taken her with him to his army. I tried to find her but ... she was gone,
when I got there.”

He stared at me, his mouth moving
but no words coming. At last he spoke, “Is she ... I mean, did he touch her?”

I shook my head. “No ... that is,
I don’t think so - and I don’t think he will either, not yet at least,” and I
told him about Samlen’s boast.

“I’ll find her, Father. I
promise.”

He looked into my eyes then
nodded, reached out and put his hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. “We both
will,” he said.

Suddenly his eyes widened in
anger and he pushed past me with a roar. The tavern noise ceased in an instant
and all eyes turned at the cause of the commotion. Aedann had come into the
room, and on seeing him, Father had burst across it and in an instant he had
the lad by the neck pinned up against the far wall. Tightening his grip, he
reached for his hunting knife and placed the blade against Aedann’s throat.

“Master please ...” Aedann
croaked.

“Treacherous snake, I'll slit
your throat and feed you to the ravens.”

“Father, I ...”

My father turned a face that was
red with fury towards me.

“What are you doing, Cerdic?
Sitting on your arse drinking ale, while this piece of horse shit is walking
around?” Then he saw that Aedann was wearing a sword and his face grew redder,
“Walking about with a sword! Have you lost your senses? This turd betrayed us.
Woden’s balls but I am going to rip out his guts, he’s the reason Mildrith is
gone.”

I leapt across, grasped his wrist
and forced the knife away from Aedann’s throat.

“No, Father, he’s not!” I said, as
calmly as I could.

“What crap is this?”

My father’s face was now almost
purple and his eyes bulging. I knew how terrible his anger could get and my
heart was pounding like the galloping hoofs of the Elmetae cavalry, but I had
to try to explain.

“It’s not crap, it’s the truth.
Aedann did not betray us, it was ...” I hesitated now, thinking to mention
Hussa, but then feeling that this was not the best time. “... it was not Aedann,
anyway. No, he left the Villa to find his parents. He rescued us in Elmet. If it
was not for him, I would be dead now. That is why I gave him a sword. He earned
it.”

“Earned it, are you mad? He’s a
slave.”

“No, Father, he’s not. I freed
him.”

At that my father actually let go
of Aedann and turned to stare at me.

“You’re making free with my
property, boy,” he finally said, with a deep growl, “Cuthwine has not been dead
a week and now you go on as if I am dead too.”

I shook my head. I was scared of
the old man. He had a ferocious temper, particularly if he felt disrespected.
I’d rarely stood up to him before − but I would today.

“No, Father, it’s not like that.
Aedann rescued us, he fought with us and helped us free the prisoners and then
was a hero when we got away, risking his own life to save ours. He took that
sword off a man he killed and it’s his by right. I will obey you in anything
you say but,” I gritted my teeth, “... but Aedann remains free.”

He stared at me for a full minute
and around me I could hear men shuffling their feet awkwardly. Glancing at
them, though, I saw that none of them was looking away and indeed they all were
staring at us, fascinated by this exchange. This was the Wicstun Company and I
had led them for a day and brought them home. But, I was still a lad and they
wanted to know what guts I really had.

“If I agree, if I free him, what
will he do? Where will his loyalty be?” Father said, now looking at Aedann.

Aedann said nothing although he
seemed to be thinking about the question, but I answered first.

“If you are asking for loyalty,
then that is a question for after you free him, not before. Loyalty and fealty
can only come from a free man.”

Father thought about that then nodded.
“Good answer, I suppose,” he admitted, with grudging respect. “So, you’re a
hero, are you, Aedann?”

Aedann shrugged. “Too bloody
right I am, my Lord. But what I want is ... I just want to kill that one-eyed
bastard. My father is dead because of him and I want revenge.”

“On Samlen?”

Aedann nodded.

“That’s a good answer too,”
Father mused rubbing his cheek. “Very well then, Aedann son of Caerfydd the Welshman,
I release you from slavery. You’re a free man, as these men will witness.”

Aedann nodded and smiled. He then
drew his sword and I felt my father tense, expecting a blow. Aedann looked
straight into my father’s eyes and then, suddenly, he knelt in front of him and
offered up the hilt of his sword.

“I, Aedann son of Caerfydd, swear
loyalty to your house and your heirs and offer my sword in your service. I will
go where you will ... but I ask to go with Master Cerdic and to go to war.”

Then, he stood up.

“That’s all we need, a bloody
Welshman in the army,” Eduard said into his ale, but loud enough for us all to
hear. Aedann smiled and suddenly the tavern was full of laughter again.

Harald let the men sleep late the
following day but by early afternoon, we set off again, led by Harald and
Wallace. Wallace’s arm was still in a sling and he was sitting on his horse a
little stiffly, but he was alert and looking better than he had just two days
before. Northeast we went, with Father walking with us this time. We spoke of
Mother and Sunniva and how worried they were now all the family had left.
Father’s voice faltered whenever he mentioned Cuthwine or Mildrith and despite
the bright spring day, I too grew mournful and maudlin. I was not sure how to
tell him about Hussa’s part in the raid, but I just had to. I took a deep
breath.

“Father, you know I told you that
Aedann was not the traitor and that it was not him that told Samlen about
Mother’s jewellery?”

He looked across at me, as we
continued to walk, side by side.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve not told you who did
betray us, have I?”

He frowned and then shook his
head.

“Well ... I did not mention this
in front of the men in the tavern, but we know who betrayed us.”

He stopped walking and put a hand
on my shoulder.

“Go on, tell me. Who was it,
then?”

“Hussa,” I replied.

He recoiled at the name of his
son then he just stared at me, shaking his head.

“No!” he said at last, unable to
accept what he was being told.

“Hussa, Father: it was Hussa.”

So, as we resumed the march, I
now gave an account of all that occurred in Calcaria. When I had finished, he
was silent for many minutes, staring away from me at the fields we passed.

“Very well,” he said at last.
“Leave Hussa to me − I will deal with him. He’s my responsibility.”

“We will deal with him together,
Father,” I replied.

We arrived at the King’s hall
just as it became fully dark. To reach the hall, we passed through a gap in a
high rampart and the external ditch that surrounded it, and entered a courtyard
beyond. Here there were pens for livestock, a well, numerous outhouses and
craftsmen’s workshops. The gateway through the rampart was built from massive
logs, reinforced with iron bars and guarded by fierce looking warriors, who
questioned Lord Wallace and Earl Harald before permitting us entry.

We could now see the hall itself.
Granted it was a Saxon hall and as such made from wood and not built of stone.
It was, however, a vast building: rectangular in shape with a tall sloping
roof, from the centre of which a swirl of smoke emerged from some fire within.
The walls were supported by huge upright posts, perhaps a yard apart, and
additional buttresses lay up against the wall. The hall’s vast double doors
were, like the main gate, braced inside and out by iron bands: this was a
building most definitely built for defence. A couple of hundred men could hold
the ramparts for many weeks, if need be. Any assault on this place would be
costly in the lives of the attackers.