Amber Treasure, The (7 page)

Every so often, I would see him
glance up at our table. He would look at me with a smug smile and lean closer
to Aidith. Or, he would stare with spite and loathing at my mother and father,
whose food and drink he now enjoyed. I once saw mother glare back at him, but
then look away. The gracious hostess could not deny him being there − the
champion of today’s games and so, nor could I. So, I sat alone, sulking and
sipping my ale.

Lilla, of course, was present.
Once enough ale had been drunk, men called for the harpist to come and sing and
tell his tales and Lilla obliged. He told the tale of my uncle and his battles
against the Welsh, of Aelle and the conquest of Eboracum. Then, having seen the
firelight reflected in Mother’s amber jewellery, he told tales of the distant
Baltic Sea, from where the jewels came and wherein the sea serpents lived.

He then told us that the tales
must go on and he was now waiting to sing songs about us; of our battles and
our glories so that, a thousand years from now, men would still talk about us
and remember what we had done. It’s what the men wanted to hear and they
hammered on the tables so hard that many jugs of ale fell over and Aedann had
to bring more, so the men could go on drinking long into the night and I
− miserable because I had lost both the sword and the girl − joined
in, until I remembered no more.

The next morning, I felt sick and
my head was pounding when Eduard kicked me awake.

“Go away, you bastard!” I yelled,
but he just laughed.

“Come on, Cerdic, everyone else
is up and ready for the hunt!”

The hunt! I had forgotten that
Aethelric had given permission for the company to go boar hunting in the royal
forests. These were west of the village and ran right up to the river, which
was the border with Elmet. Groaning, I dragged myself to my feet and was
promptly sick.

Eduard watched me for a moment.

“Better now?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Yes actually.”

“Let’s go, then!” Eduard roared
and I groaned again, holding my throbbing head. Outside, the company was
assembling and I saw, from the number of green faces, that I was not the only
one to have had too much ale last night. I searched the crowd for Hussa
noticing with distress that he looked fresh and was now swaggering about,
wearing his new sword. Aethelric and Wallace soon arrived and we were off.

It took us an hour to reach the
woods we were to hunt in. Once there, we separated into small groups, each man
taking a boar spear. This was shorter than a war spear and designed to be much
more mobile. A small cross piece, just below the point, is welded on to stop
the beast carrying on towards you if you manage to skewer it.

Wild boar hunting is dangerous. A
fully grown adult can weight much the same as a man. The beast is armed with
fearsome tusks and is enormously strong and powerful. In short bursts it can
cover ground with breathtaking speed. There was a very real danger of injury or
death, so we hunted in pairs: each looking out for the other. The forest was
dense and Eduard and I − hunting together − soon lost track of
everyone else.

We crept along, searching the
undergrowth for movement, for what seemed like hours but without success and I
had just turned round to tell Eduard we should head back, when there was a
snort from behind me. Spinning round, I saw a flash of a red and brown mass for
an instant, before something huge and hard thumped me in the abdomen −
still a little sore from the previous night’s fight − and knocked me
over, stunned and with stars flashing in my eyes.

Eduard shouted something and then
I heard him charging towards us. The next few moments were all flashing steel,
the roaring of the beast, grunts from my friend and finally a squeal of pain
and then: silence. My vision cleared and when I could see again, I saw that the
beast was dead and Eduard stood triumphantly over it. I dragged myself to my
feet and staggered across to him.

“Nice work,” I said.

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” he
answered with a grin, never one to be shy of self praise.

We took the boar back to the
glade and soon afterwards the other groups started to arrive. Aethelric drifted
around us, stopping at each man or boy who had killed a boar and congratulating
them in his vague but enthusiastic way and then he stood, looking a bit lost,
before Wallace suggested that he and Cuthwine escort the Prince and his party
back to Wicstun.

After he left, we prepared to
carry the wild pigs home, strapped to long branches. Eduard was still proudly
showing Cuthbert the boar he had killed, when Wallace looked around the company
and asked where Hussa was. We all looked up and searched the faces around us.
None of us knew where he was; indeed, no one had seen him since soon after the company
had split up some six hours before. No one, it seemed, had been his partner, as
it now emerged that he had been bragging about his sword until everyone got
bored and he went off in a sulk.

“Oh, bother the lad: we’ll have
to go and find him!” Wallace was saying, when there was a rustle of undergrowth
nearby and Hussa emerged from the trees. He looked pale, blood was drying on
his face and he had lost his boar spear.

“Where the hell have you been?”
Wallace demanded.

Hussa collapsed onto the ground
in front of him then lay there panting for a moment, before replying.

“Went off on my own, didn’t I ...
my Lord? Thought, I could kill a boar by myself.”

“Did you?” Eduard asked.

Hussa gave him a blank look.

“What do you think? I found one
alright, but it charged me. I missed it with my spear and suddenly it was on me
and I was knocked backwards, tripped on a tree and landed half way down a slope
on my arse.”

“Dammed idiot, you could have got
killed. Don’t be so foolish in future,” Wallace said. Hussa nodded.

“No Lord, I won’t.”

Well, I must admit I felt better.
Hussa had been strutting around the night before, showing off his sword and the
gods alone knew what he and Aidith had got up to. Now though, his reputation
was tarnished. Fool that he was for getting knocked down by a boar, no one
would mind that. Going off in a sulk though, that’s what folk objected to.

We shuffled off towards home,
tired, but on the whole, happy. Many men had daring tales to tell and after
all, roast pork was on the menu. Soon we were laughing and joking, exaggerating
our own glories whilst snorting in light-hearted derision at the others’
stories.

We reached the edges of the
forest, where we paused for a moment to rest and drink from a stream before the
company separated − us to go due east to the village and the rest bearing
northeast for Wicstun and beyond.

As we rested, Cuthbert confessed
to us that he had cheated and taken his bow, but had still managed to wound a
pig and slow it so his partner could kill it. He laughed as he told us the
tale.

Then, his grin faded and his eyes
widened as he stared over Grettir’s shoulders, through the trees to the east. I
turned to follow his gaze. Beyond the trees, I could see the dim, red glow of
fire and the spring evening sky was heavy with dark, black, smoke. Yet, there
was nothing else in that direction for many miles, apart from ... my home. I
felt my heart sink with the grim realisation that it could only be Cerdham and
the Villa. Around me, the company had spotted it too and were rising to their
feet, alarm spreading.

Eduard and Cuthbert set off at
once through the undergrowth, followed by several other boys from the village.
Grettir screamed after them to stop, but it was no use: they had vanished to
the east. Grettir seemed about to pursue them, when suddenly Hussa pointed
further to the north.

More fire. More smoke.

“It’s Wicstun: Wicstun is on
fire!” he shouted, sounding not just shocked, but almost affronted as if it was
a personal insult. A moment later, he set off that way, followed by most of the
other boys. Again, Grettir tried to stop them, but it was no use. The boys were
now just worrying about their families and their homes and blind panic had set
in. I spun round, staring at Grettir, then in the direction my friends had run,
and then towards Wicstun.

Wicstun was on fire!

Cerdham was on fire!

What, in Woden’s name, was going
on?

Chapter Six

Raid on the Villa

Grettir turned to
me and shouted, “Master, please follow the village lads and I'll find you
later. I'd better go with these town idiots and make sure they reach home
safely.”

Nodding, I turned and ran east in
the wake of my friends.

“I'll find you at the Villa
− or here if Cerdham is not safe,” my instructor shouted after me, as I
crashed through the branches. I saw him head off northwards, running
surprisingly quickly for a man of almost fifty odd summers and then he was
gone, invisible among the oak and beech trees.

My friends had a few moments’
lead and were already out of sight through the trees, but I could still hear
them up ahead and I set off in pursuit. While I ran, the branches whipped at my
face and then snagged and tore at my clothes. I almost tripped over a large log
buried deep in the undergrowth, staggered a few steps, managed to keep upright
and was off again.

Ahead of me, there was a sudden
yelp of alarm, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting water. I pushed
a willow branch aside then it was I who cried out, as my feet seemed to sink
into the ground and then slip away from under me. I just managed to hold onto
the branch to stop myself falling and then looked down to see I was standing on
a sandy bank of another stream that ran through the royal hunting woods. I had
slipped on the sand and would have ended up in the stream, were it not for the
branch. Eduard, it seemed, had not been so lucky and had ended up on his back
in the water. Beyond him, I could just see Cuthbert disappearing through the
woods on the far side: he had obviously managed to react in time and leap over
the stream. I could not see the other lads from the village, so I figured that
they must have become separated in the woods.

“Cuthbert − wait!” I
shouted after him but, whether he heard or not, he continued running.

“Woden’s arse!” I cursed and
looked down at Eduard who sat in the stream, drenched through. I frowned at him
then reached down and gave him my hand and heaved him up. We crossed the stream
and took to the chase again, with Eduard lumbering along behind me.

Soon, the trees began to break up
and become sparser and the undergrowth vanished. I could now see the west end
of the village and the orchard. Several of the villagers’ huts were burning.
One of them − I feared it was Eduard’s − was fully ablaze. Behind
me, I heard my friend give a shout and then a cry of despair and we paused and
both stared in horror at the scene before us.

Cuthbert was a hundred yards
ahead, approaching the fence around the village. Past him, I could now see
figures silhouetted by the fire moving about and I could hear screams of agony
and shouts of panic. What puzzled me was that no one seemed to be trying to put
out the fire: why was no one getting water from the stream to the south and how
was it possible that the whole village could be on fire? We started off again.

Suddenly, Cuthbert stopped
running and dropped into a crouch. I caught up with him a few moments later and
he turned to me, signalling for silence − one finger moving to his lips.
He then pointed the same, trembling finger, towards the village.

I peered through the gloom,
squinting to make out details against the glare of fire. Along the main street
of the village, there were shapes lying in the dirt. It took me a moment before
the realisation came to me that these lifeless lumps were the bodies of some of
the village men folk. A number were lying face down in a pool of their own
blood, whilst others looked like rag dolls that some careless child had
discarded and which had landed on a barrel here, or a sack of flour there. The
screams and sobs we had heard were from half a dozen women and as many children,
who were, even now, being rounded up by a mob of dark-haired warriors, who each
carried a spear and a shield: spears which now dripped with the blood of our
own men.

“Who are they, Cerdic?” Cuthbert
whispered.

“I’m not sure, but I guess they
are Welsh − from Elmet,” I answered. “They must be a raiding party. It
looks to me like they took the village by surprise.”

I glanced again at the bodies in
the street, noticing now that some of them had spears and axes lying nearby and
I added, “Mind you, some at least of our men tried to fight.”

Suddenly, I thought of my family
and I knew that I must get to the Villa. Eduard joined us at that point,
puffing a little he stood and stared at the sight in front of us. Then, a
moment later, he set off towards his hut. I had been right: it was his hut that
was burning so heavily. If he reached the hut, he ... we would be spotted. I
had to stop him! I launched myself forward, knocking him onto his front. He hit
the ground hard, air whooshing out of his lungs.

“What in the name of Thunor’s
balls ...!” Eduard hissed.

“Quiet Eduard, we must be quiet
or we will get caught.”

“Let me go, I’m going to kill the
bastards,” Eduard threatened, as he thrashed about to get free from me. I sat
on him, struggling to hold him down whilst I tried to work out what to do.
Eduard, though, is the strongest man I know and he was beginning to push me off
when I noticed some activity in the village.

“Stop it, Eduard: look over
there.”

Three Welsh warriors had rounded
up all the women and children and had tied their wrists behind their backs. Our
people looked miserable and terrified and most were crying. Several of the
women’s clothing had been torn and some were showing their breasts. For a
seventeen-year-old lad that gave me an odd feeling: seeing in the middle of all
this smoke, blood and death that which at another time would have been arousing,
seemed to emphasise the horror of what was going on.

A scream from a young woman
brought me back to hard reality and I felt ashamed. The Welsh were prodding the
captives with their spear butts and forcing them to begin walking towards us.
One of the young women − I think it was Aidith − had slipped and
fallen and the lead warrior, a tall stocky fellow with hair as black as night
and cold unfeeling eyes, had kicked her and snarled some words in their
outlandish speech. Almost I broke cover, so angry was I at this outrage, but
something held me back.  Common sense or cowardice? I have never been sure.

Aidith got up slowly, holding her
side and began walking again, towards the setting sun. The others, wailing and
sobbing, followed along behind like sheep afraid of a dog. No wonder they
cried, I thought, they knew they were being taken away into slavery. I thumped
the ground in frustration. How on earth could this be happening? We all thought
we were safe here. Where was our army?

Then the realisation hit me: by
Woden, we were the army!

The enemy warriors came on
towards us, leading their captives along and I realised we would be discovered
as soon as they passed through the fence. Eduard had begun to struggle again,
beneath me.

“Come on, Cerdic, we can’t let
them take our people,” he said. Nodding, though still looking terrified,
Cuthbert agreed and so did I.

I glanced past the captives and
their guards towards the Villa. I could see no more Welsh, but the sound of the
crashing of sword on shield and the screams of wounded men told me they had
moved on over there now. I spared a brief thought for my father, mother,
brother and sisters. Were they alive? Were they dead?

There was no time to think about
my family for long, because the enemy warriors were now getting very close and
I felt my belly become all knotted up, so I prayed to the Valkyries to keep my
bowels from emptying. The look of fear on Cuthbert’s face told me that he felt
the same way. Eduard, however, showed no fear; instead his expression indicated
that he had just one thought: murder!

The three Welsh warriors all
looked alarmingly strong. The lead fellow’s arms carried scars that spoke of many
battles. The other two were younger, but looked just as confident. Our only
hope here was surprise. If the raiders had come from the west, they must have
missed us as we hunted our wild pigs in the woods. As such, they would not
expect an attack from this direction. I indicated to my friends to follow me
and then ran south a little way, to where the grass in the meadow was long. I
then crouched down. The others did likewise. I pointed at Cuthbert’s bow and
then at the lead warrior. I then held up my fore and middle fingers. I wanted
two arrows fired at him. Cuthbert gulped hard, his lips twitching, but he nodded
and then pulled the bow from his shoulder, strung it and took the three arrows
he had thrust through his belt. These he stabbed into the ground in front of
him so as to have them ready for use. He took one and loaded it onto the bow
string. I held my hand up to tell him to hold fire a moment and he pointed the
bow down to the ground.

I now drew out my long seax. It
was a gift from my grandfather when I was just four, although Father had not
let me carry it until I was eight. I had no sword, but this was sharp and broad
and would have to do. Eduard was not armed and I was worried about that.
Indeed, I was worried about the whole situation. We were just three
seventeen-year-old boys. Our village’s strongest men had been killed: how could
we hope to defeat even three experienced warriors, the youngest of whom must be
five years our elder. Eduard seemed to sense my hesitation. He made a fist and
punched it against his other palm − clearly he was ready.

The warriors and their miserable
booty were now quite close. They were moving more southerly now. I looked
around and saw that the grass behind me was trodden down, so the Welsh had come
up from the Humber. They must have followed it from Elmet before striking north
and east to the village.

I whispered to Cuthbert, “Now!”

My friend nodded and then rose
out of the grass. He brought his left arm up and locked the elbow, then drew
back on the string. He aimed the arrow head at the lead warrior, who was now
only thirty paces away. Cuthbert held his breath for an instant then let the
arrow fly. There was a look of startled horror on the face of his target and
then a sickening sound as the missile punctured his chest. He gave a brief cry
of pain and fell forward onto his knees. For a moment, I didn’t move. Despite
the years of training for war, this was the first time I had seen a man
actually hit by bow or blade. Then, to my right, Eduard burst up from the grass
and charged straight for the second guard.

I recovered my senses as
Cuthbert’s second arrow left his bow and flew towards the wounded foe. It hit
him in the throat and the man’s hand flew up to grasp the arrow, shock and
disbelief showing in his wide eyes. Then he tumbled full length onto the grass;
already dead. I ran forward ten yards behind Eduard, feeling the blood pumping
through my veins and my heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer. Suddenly,
the fear was gone and all I now wanted was to kill these bastards and make them
pay for what they had done to us.

The women and children started
screaming and crouched down in the grass, shielding their heads with their
arms. As yet they did not recognise us: and why should they? We were bellowing
and screaming in fury, faces distorted with rage and vengeance − hardly
the friendly lads they all knew from around the village.

The second guard, a man of maybe
twenty summers, looked more puzzled than surprised, as if he could not quite
understand what was happening. Eduard was five yards from him, when the warrior
finally spotted him and quickly tried to bring his spear point to bear. He had
been walking along with the shaft leaning casually against his right shoulder
and it took him a few moments to swing it down to point it at Eduard. Moments
later, Eduard arrived in front of him, running so fast that he could not slow
down in time. Had he arrived a heartbeat later, he would have taken the point
firmly in the chest and his own weight would have impaled him upon it.

Fate and the Valkyries must have
been watching him that day for the point was angled still slightly up so,
although it hit him, it was deflected off his shoulder, piercing muscle and
ripping a gash right up to his neck. He gave an agonizing cry at the pain but
then ploughed headlong into the warrior. They both tumbled over and landed
heavily on the ground, which knocked the wind out of them, the guard ending up
underneath my friend.

I now arrived at the floundering
pair, knife in hand. The Welsh lad was looking up at me, eyes showing the fear
he must now feel. Realising that I must thrust my blade into him, my rage
dispersed and all I could feel was the bile rising  into my throat. I knew I had
to do this thing: think of Aidith, think of Eduard, I told myself and I moved
towards the enemy.

Fate now took a hand again and
spared me the choice. For, at that moment, the third Welsh warrior bellowed a
war cry full of hate. He was a dozen yards away, following the line of
villagers. I could see that he was some twenty-five years old and had the same
dark black hair as the other two. Indeed, there was a shape to the face and a
look in his eyes that was similar to the older warrior whom Cuthbert had shot.
The thought occurred to me then that these three might all be brothers.

I had no time to debate such
matters: he was already moving towards me. He had dropped his spear and drawn a
sword, whose blade gleamed and shone red under the sunset light. He swung it
from side to side as he closed upon me, a man set on revenge for a dead
brother. He was close now: just five yards away. I glanced down at my short
knife and sighed. So it would end here. I would be just one more youth slain
this day. After all, he was a strong and fierce warrior; I was just a boy who, only
yesterday, was practising with wicker shields on the last spring afternoon of
my childhood.