Amber Treasure, The (25 page)

The chieftain had turned and saw
me advancing on him. He laughed and swung his monstrous sword round in a huge
arc, aiming to cut me in two. The sword never reached me. Eduard, with his
shield in front of him, just charged straight at the man. They both fell in a
heap, but it was Eduard who got up. The chieftain was writhing on the ground, a
dagger in his belly. He spat at Eduard and then died.

We had killed the Welsh who had
opened the gate and now Eduard, Aedann and I stood in the opening with the
twenty men that were all that were left from our company. Outside the gates,
five hundred enemy warriors charged towards us.

Owain reached us first, his
armour shining in the sunlight giving him the appearance of a bronze statue or
a warrior god in his full glory. His huge house troops, all wearing chain
armour and carrying vicious looking two-handed swords, charged with him. There
was no time for terror now, just cut and thrust, the ramming of shields,
wheeling round, dodging blows, staggering backwards then recovering and
advancing again.

All the time, we were being
pushed back into the camp and at that moment, I was certain we were doomed.
Harald and Sabert were leading their men down from the battlements to join us,
but I could sense it was futile. Aethelric himself was now beside me and swung
wildly with his blade at Owain, but the smile on the King of Rheged’s face told
me that he knew it was all but over.

That just got me angry, boiling
mad in fact, at the stupidity of everything. After all our efforts we would die
here and Deira would fall. My family would mourn me and as for little Mildrith,
Samlen would celebrate his victory. That made me wonder where Samlen was. No
doubt somewhere in the battle, but not where I could get to him and stop him
from touching my sister. Unless...

Unless, I could kill Owain.

Blind rage and fury gave me
strength and careless of my life, I came back at the golden king, hacking
recklessly at his armour, ignoring the pain as his guards smashed swords
against my shield or took slices out of my arms and legs. My fury took him by
surprise and he stumbled over the chieftain’s body, slipped in his guts and
then, with a cry, he fell...

I was on him in an instant and
plunged my sword into his throat.

His eyes met mine and in them was
shock and denial. His plans and dreams of glory bled away with his lifeblood
into the soil of Catraeth field and then his eyes glazed and he was dead.

Suddenly, there was a moment of silence
as all on both sides looked on in stunned disbelief, weapons stilled. Into that
silence came the other sound I remember from Catraeth, as I sit in sweat-soaked
terror recovering from my nightmares. The clear sounds of more horns. Not horns
from Elmet, Strathcyde, Rheged or even the Goddodin, but English horns
heralding an English army: Bernician horns.

Aethelfrith had come.

There was another great fanfare
off to the northwest. This came from out beyond the enemy’s left wing. For a
moment, I stared that way, but could see nothing because of the palisades.
Then, Grettir shouted from the battlements.

“Woden’s buttocks! It’s the
Bernicians. Aethelfrith is here: they have come to the battle.”

In front of me, the enemy’s
confidence waned and fear came upon their faces. A few backed away, more joined
them and with a clattering of dropped weapons and shields, they started to run.

I ran too, but up to the
battlements joined by Aethelric, Sabert and Harald and we stared out onto to
the battlefield, to see if the Bernicians had come, after all. And indeed they
had: one thousand spears had marched south from Bernicia and crossed the Tees.
Like a shadow rolling across the fields, they came onwards, moving relentlessly
to fall on the fleeing enemy.

A murmur ran amongst our men who
were crowding the battlements and I looked to see what had caused it. Then, for
the first time, I saw the man who would have such an effect on my early years.
He walked forward between two companies, surrounded by a half dozen cruel
looking house guards, yet he was taller than any of them, by several inches. He
wore a pair of leather britches and a tunic of tough brown cloth, over which he
had a shirt of metal rings. By his side a great sword hung from a shoulder
strap. His grey cloak, billowed around by the wind, served to exaggerate his
size. Crowning all was a helm of iron with metal bands and strips that were
extended to form nose and cheek guards. He was still young: perhaps twenty-five
years or so, although a light brown beard gave him the appearance of being a
few years older.

This then was the man who had
fought under his father in the siege on Lindisfarne and helped him to take
advantage of the chaos following Urien’s death. After Firebrand’s death,
Aethelfrith had unified the scattered Bernicians and finally secured a kingdom
on the Tweed. That was not enough, for he had fought battles further afield to
weaken his enemies and now he strode forward to confront the last chance those
enemies had to defeat him.

This was Aethelfrith.

When the Bernicians joined the
battle; it was over in minutes. They cut into the rear of the enemy,
obliterating the brave Goddodin cavalry and rolling up the Welsh army.

Increasingly outflanked, the
Welsh from north of the wall were dying. The Goddodin had perished. The
pressure there mounted until suddenly, the morale of the entire enemy army cracked
like an acorn under a shoe and they were running like a flood westwards towards
the pass. The Bernicians pursued them and with a shout of joy we Deirans ran
after them, eager for revenge. In the release of fear that followed, a
blood-madness overcame us. We took no prisoners and without pity slew all we
could catch.

The attempt to restore the Welsh
Kingdom of the Pennines had failed. The finest, best equipped and noblest of
the warriors of the old North were dead, captured or fleeing, scattered and
leaderless. Never again would the Welsh field an army of such quality and size:
an echo of the armies of Rome. We halted our pursuit at the pass to Rheged and
turned back, exhausted and triumphant.

After that, the armies moved
towards the enemy camps and the looting began. The dead and the wounded were
searched: for gold, for fine swords, for beads, for anything of value. Such has
ever been the reward of victory.

Suddenly, a cold terror gripped
my heart. Somewhere on one of these camps was Mildrith. No doubt somewhere also
here, if he had survived the slaughter, was Samlen, with my uncle’s sword and
the amber treasure. But all that I counted as naught if I could just find
Mildrith. I glared around me at Deiran and Bernician alike: friends who now
became enemies if they reached my sister first. With their blood burning for
loot, would they ignore other lusts if they found her?

“Mildrith! I shouted. Near me, Aedann
and Eduard heard me and the expressions on their faces, showed me they too
realised my fear.

“Mildrith!” we all shouted and
started running across the battlefield.

Chapter Eighteen

Mildrith

I stopped running
after a few moments, realising it was futile to just go on dashing like a
headless chicken around the battlefield. I needed to think. I had seen no sign
of Owain’s main camp when we pursued the Welsh across the southern half of the
battlefield and it certainly had not been down the slope that ran to the Rheged
road.

“Think, Cerdic, think,” I urged
myself.

Owain’s army had come across the
mountains down that road, but the road slanted southeast, towards Catraeth,
whilst Stanwick camp was due east of the pass. So, Owain would have swung off
the road towards the fortress. Then, with night approaching soon, he would have
set up an encampment somewhere along the way.

Aethelfrith’s charge coming from
the north had forced the fleeing Welsh to take a more southerly route at first,
so their rout and our pursuit had not taken us through their camp. Nor, at any
time, had we seen Samlen, Mildrith or Hussa. I wondered if perhaps Samlen had
spotted the disaster earlier than most on the battlefield and knew that all was
lost. What would he do? Or come to think of it, what would Hussa do?

What, on this entire battlefield,
was worth the entire value of almost everything else on it? That was an easy
question with an easy answer: the amber treasure; the treasure Samlen had
paraded on his captured girls. Certainly he would take no chances with that. He
would send it back to camp, escorted with a man he could trust: Hussa, of
course.

Now the battle was lost that was
where they would be.

“Quick lads, this way and pray to
the gods that we are the first there.”

Gasping for breath as we ran, we
headed north towards where I estimated Owain’s men had been marching from when
we had first seen them. As we ran we passed heaps of bodies from the previous
day’s battle, many mauled horrendously, ghastly pale in appearance, covered in
dried blood and pecked at by birds. Here and there we saw groups of two or
three Welsh warriors, who had tried to hide but having then been caught were
being made to suffer through their agonising final moments by vengeful Deirans
or Bernicians. Many of our army had lost friends on this battlefield and they
made the captives pay for it.

A scream broke out close by to us
as a doomed youth was held down by a dozen Deiran warriors, whilst another of
the victors approached with a burning log and moved it towards his skin. I
looked away, suddenly sickened by the sight, but I could not avoid hearing the
terrible screeching pleas for mercy nor the nauseating stench of burning flesh.

We ran on past a few larger
groups of Welshmen who were fighting desperate last ditch stands: twenty here
or thirty there, but surrounded now by many score of Angles. One group of proud
looking veterans clustered together around the tattered remains of their once
proud banner. A dozen of them locked shields and slowly retreated towards the
mountains. Around them, the battlefield was full of English warriors baying and
yelling for their blood. Fresh corpses littering the ground around the enemy
showed that these men were making us pay for each of their lives. Yet, as I
glanced back at them, I saw our men rush once more at them and, like Wallace’s
standard last night, their banner finally fell.

Up ahead was a copse of oak trees,
which we entered and passed through. Beyond it was an empty field with a slope
running away to the north, but still no camp visible.

“There!” Eduard said, pointing;
off to the west we saw a cloud of smoke that must have come from many fires. It
was at least half a mile away and feeling exhausted, I groaned. Beside me,
Eduard and Aedann looked set to collapse. Still, full of fear as I was about
Mildrith’s fate, I found enough strength to push us on again until we came to a
little hillock, beyond which we could see the smoke rising. Reaching the top,
with our lungs burning and limbs stiff, we paused now to catch our breath and I
could see that at last we had found what we were searching for. The Welsh camp
lay in the small valley beneath us, on either side of a narrow steam which had
come down from the mountains.

A dozen tents were surrounded by
at least a hundred camp fires − most long since burnt out. Three of the
tents were already on fire and − with dismay − I saw that we were
not, in fact, the first to arrive. Indeed, we were far from the first. A
hundred or so Angles − mostly Bernicians − were here before us and
were moving around the fires, looking into any sacks or bundles they found for
coins or any items of worth. Then they pressed on towards the tents, which
promised yet more loot. Was Mildrith in one of them?

I launched myself down the slope
followed by Eduard and Aedann, who came hurtling after me, our spears, shields
and swords clattering against each other as we slid and stumbled towards the
camp. Several Bernicians turned their heads at the sound and seeing us rushing
towards them, hurried to pick up their weapons and moved in our direction,
snarling at us. Before they reached me, I slid to a halt, lifted up my arms and
shouted.

“Wait there: we are Deiran, not
Welsh!”

Aedann wisely kept silent, at
this point.

“Yeh, mate, well, so what? We
rescued your hides, so we get first pickings here. Piss off!” An ugly looking
brute speaking strangely accented English, growled at us. Several other
Bernicians gathered round him and glared at us, daring us to start a fight.

“Relax friends; you can have
anything you find except ...”

“Except what, you’re keeping the
good stuff from us, then?”

“No − I’m looking for a
girl.”

They all burst out laughing. “Look,
friend, we all want one of those, you know what I mean?”

“This one is his sister, arsehole,
and if any of you have touched her, you will have me to answer to!” Eduard
shouted. The Bernicians took one look at my huge friend and his axe, still
glistening with blood and then it was they who now held out their hands.

“Hey now, we are all friends: no
need to get angry. But honestly lads, there are no girls here. You might try
the tents,” their leader said and pointed that way keen now, it seemed, to be
rid of us.

We ran that way, splitting up to
search each tent, but found that by now most had been ransacked. As we
searched, we could see no one, other than Bernicians drinking the ale they had
captured. One of them belched loudly and grinned at me.

“You seen any Welsh running away
from here, mate?” I asked the man, not expecting an answer.

He surprised me by nodding
amiably. “What? You mean about half a dozen of them along with some women?”

I stared at him. “Yes! Are you
serious?” I asked, waving Aedann and Eduard over towards me.

“Yes, of course,” the man sounded
hurt. “I was just about the first into the camp and saw several jars of beer so
I ... ah, acquired them, along with this,” he patted a bulging sack which
clinked and promised riches within. He was welcome to them − I just
wanted to know where Mildrith was.

“Which way?” I asked, urgently.

“Eh?”

“Which way did they run?”

“Oh right, erm ... let me see.”

“Hurry man, please,” I said,
stamping my foot.

“All right, don’t rush me,” he
replied, as he scratched his head and took another swig of his ale and then at
last pointed, “That way to the west, towards that forest.”

“Thanks!” I shouted, already on
the way, followed by Eduard and Aedann.

“Eh?” the man repeated and then belched
again, but by then we had left him and the camp behind and headed towards the
woods, our feet slipping and stumbling on the scrubby, rock-strewn ground, hope
reviving our energy.

The trees were a good couple of
miles away, but I thought I could see a few pines or spruce mixed in with what
would be the usual oaks and willows. The land had started to rise towards the
mountains and we came across the stream that ran through the Welsh camp and
followed it back up its course towards the woodland. Totally alone now, we
walked across the fields and meadows, so tired that we did not speak. Soon the
only sound was the tramping of our feet, the gentle rattling of the equipment
swaying on our shoulders and the gurgling of the water in the brook, fed by
melted snow in the uplands and now rushing past us over its rocky path.

After half an hour, we passed a
small stand of birch trees. When we emerged from the far side, Aedann suddenly
hissed at me and nodded with his head to our left. There, about twenty men were
coming in our direction, from the south. I turned wearily towards them, drawing
my sword then peering that way, my other hand shielding my eyes from the late
afternoon sunlight which silhouetted them. Like dark shadows they walked on,
not afraid of us, nor stopping to draw their own weapons. Still unable to see
who it was, I was about to challenge them, when Eduard suddenly laughed and
waved at the men. A moment later, I too saw who they were and felt a huge
weight had been lifted from me. First, I saw Cuthbert, walking along with his
bow in his hand. Next to him, was the bard Lilla. Finally, I saw the man who I
most wanted to see, the man who − these last few days − I had been
almost afraid to hope would come: I saw my father.

Eduard cheered when he recognised
his friend and ran straight over to give him a huge hug. Cuthbert’s face
reddened at this, but he was smiling as Eduard stepped back.

“About bloody time you got here.
How long did it take you to find the damn Bernician army, then?” Eduard
demanded.

Cuthbert looked hurt. “To be
fair, most of the fires had gone out by the time I reached them and it was a
sod of a long way ...” he defended himself and then halted when he saw that
Eduard was winking at me and miming  stirring a pot.

“Bastard!” Cuthbert said to
Eduard; they both laughed and I clapped a hand down on Cuthbert’s shoulder and
nodded at him.

“I knew that you would make it,
Cuth. Damn well done, all the same.”

“Thanks, Cerdic.”

I then walked up to my father. He
looked tired and drawn: a man not as young as once he was, but Lilla, fresh as
ever, was bouncing along beside him.

“Father,” I said, “thanks to the
gods that you came. It was ... bloody close, I can tell you!”

He studied me, a caring father
checking his son, inspecting him for damage, maybe, or perhaps assessing if the
last few days had changed him much. I saw him eyeing my various wounds, relief
softening his gaze as he registered that none was life-threatening. After a
moment he pulled me to him and gave me a hug before letting me go, then stood
with one hand on my left shoulder, looking into my eyes.

“I told you I would come, but it
took a little longer than I had hoped,” he said.

“In fact, it’s a fascinating
story worth a song; would you like to hear it?” Lilla began, but I interrupted
him.

“Another day maybe, but Father:
Samlen and Hussa still have Mildrith and they went into those woods,” I
pointed. “They might be trying to sneak over the mountains by some footpath or
...”

Father’s eyes narrowed and I
could see that the same thought had come to us both.  Samlen could injure us
still more this day if he did what he had threatened to do to Mildrith.

Turning to the men who were
following him − all that were left from the village and still more from
Wicstun – my father snapped out an order. “Right then, men, follow us. Ten of
you come with me and Lilla; the other ten go with Cerdic and his friends. We
will divide the wood between us.”

It was now getting far on through
the afternoon and the sun was westering as we again moved across the fields
towards the woodland. I was walking in the centre, with my patrol strewn out on
either side of me scouring the scrub and bushes for signs of Samlen and his
men. After a few minutes, we came across a faint track running through the
field towards the woods and we followed it. About half a mile further south, Father
and his warriors were matching our speed. We had been gone from the Welsh camp
for a good hour already now and as yet had seen nothing except a startled hare,
which Cuthbert had immediately shot with an arrow.

“Well, I’ve got my supper
arranged, what about you?” he smirked at us. Tying the hare to his belt he
scampered out of range of Eduard’s fist. A few minutes later I saw him up
ahead, waving at us to catch up. As he was to do often in the years to come, he
was scouting in front of us, using his superior stealth and speed to our advantage.

“I think there may be some of
those Goddodin in the woods over there. I saw some of that strange blue armour
glinting in the trees.”

The track continued west climbing
towards the mountains. We moved along it until we finally reached the woods.
There was quite a bit of undergrowth, but I could see no signs of the
fugitives. I turned to look at my friend who, in response to my expression,
pointed to the scrub beneath a tall elm tree. Suddenly, there was a yellow-brown
flash as the late afternoon sun reflected off something metallic.

The woods were the last bit of
cover before the bare hillsides beyond. Perhaps the Welsh were afraid to leave
them and to go where we would surely see them. Or maybe they were injured, or
even dead. Whatever the reason, we should be able to corner them here, I
thought to myself.

“Eduard, take five men and wait
here. I will take the other six and move round to the other side of the copse
to prevent escape. Wait for my whistle and then move in, fast.”

“Fine, Cerdic,” my friend said.

Reliable Eduard, not very
imaginative, but he could take orders. I led my men around the northern edge of
the wood, all the time keeping the glinting armour in sight. It did seem odd
that whoever was wearing it was not moving. They must see us, I thought. Beyond
the trees, was a ditch, along the wood’s edge and I now led my small group
along it, with Aedann just behind me and Cuthbert bringing up the rear.