The Betrothed Sister (46 page)

Smoke began pluming upwards once again. Falling to her knees on the tower's platform, Thea prayed for the souls of their slain. Many of their own cavalry would have also been destroyed by the dragon fire's merciless havoc. ‘Please ask our Lord to spare us, St Theodosia. If Pereiaslavl is saved, I promise that I will found my own nunnery.' She twisted her grandmother's ring. ‘I swear by my grandmother and on my mother's life that I shall devote my life to God's work.'

Padar made an impulsive, strange and deadly decision. When the Rus army held back, close to the southern bridge, he turned Argon's head away from the Dnieper. Concealed by smoke, he guided his horse forward. He allowed himself a glance over his shoulder and saw General Luke still erect on his brown stallion with his sword raised high. He was urging his army back from the flames pouring out of the ships. Padar edged his horse to the right, and with as much speed as he could get Argon to make, he rode through the fleeing Cuman horsemen, leaning low over his stallion's neck, holding on for his life. He knew it was taking a great risk but the enemy were too intent on fleeing from danger to pay attention to what appeared to be a lone horse running loose. There were so many of their own horses without riders by now. The Cuman retreat had become chaotic. In chaos danger beckoned. Padar needed to get up into the hills if he was to follow his impulsive plan to join Earl Connor. There were enemy horsemen all about him – shouts, screams, coughing and dying as many simply gave up, fell over their mounts or were enflamed. Others were intent on returning to their camp to the east. Padar cantered through many small groups of warriors who were riding forward into the valley, attempting to beat off flames, their horses maddened and uncontrollable.

Padar tore away a sleeve from below his chain mail shirt and held the cloth over his horse's muzzle. He rode away from the fleeing horsemen and along the river valley trying to find a crossing. The tributary ran fast as he steadily worked his way down its sloping banks into its stony, fast-flowing shallows, seeking a bridge he knew lay by a corn mill. He was ahead of the fleeing horsemen by the time he found it. He urged Argon over the wooden bridge and whispering into the stallion's ears, persuaded him up into the hills beyond the mill to where the air was clearer.

Once Padar gained the top of the hillside, he was exposed. Moments later, a small band of Cuman horsemen, who clearly had found relief by riding through water along the river, crossed by the same bridge and began to climb the hill after him. Padar thought, as glanced over his shoulder, I must be bold if I am to reach Connor alive. As the three horsemen picked their way up the slope, he spurred Argon onwards. For an intake of breath he looked back again. He had miscalculated these horsemen's ability. They were fast gaining on him. A moment later the horsemen were reaching for their bows and within the time it took to mutter a curse, arrows were clattering and banging about him. He raised his shield to protect his head.

He desperately dropped his shield as the riders set arrows again. He spurred Argon onwards faster but his horse was exhausted. Steam poured from Argon's nostrils. Then his stallion roared. Before Padar could create enough distance to reach for his own bow, Argon was falling, an arrow piercing his rump. Several more arrows lodged in Argon's flesh as the horse fell with a great, heart-aching whinny. Padar threw himself off and rolled behind the stallion's heaving body. Peering around his dying beast, he knew that he could not fend off the advancing horsemen. Nor could he outrun them on foot. He glanced up at the heavens. His hope of reaching Earl Connor with news of the fleeing Cumans now faded as fast as the last rays of today's dying sun. Darkness was only moments away.

There were three assailants. He was but one. He would go down facing his enemy. Could he delay them until night enclosed them? Maybe he could escape. He felt for his bow. He cursed his bad luck. It had fallen and was trapped under his horse. There was no way he could dislodge it.

Drawing Gabriel from his padded leather sheath, he stumbled to his feet. With both hands clutching the sword's leather hilt he raised Gabriel high. The Frankish sword caught the last dying light rays and flashed. His pursuers stopped and stared. The fire flames were now far behind them. He could still hear Cuman horsemen shrieking like devils as they raced along the cut. His assailants let loose another round of arrow fire. As their arrows fell all around him, he dropped low behind his fallen horse, praying for deliverance. God answered his prayer. The arrow fire paused. Taking advantage of the sudden lull Padar peered out from behind Argon.

One of his pursuers had leapt off his horse, the two others following his lead. Leaving their bows aside, they advanced on Padar, swords reaching out for him, points flicking up and down. They clearly intended to tease him just as a cat would amuse itself catching a mouse. He shuddered. His death would be slow, menacing and hideous as they tore his flesh to shreds. Yet, in that moment, Padar knew that just as he could shoot an arrow with accuracy, despite his small stature, he could also thrust his sword with precision, jump aside and outwit his enemy, except for one problem – it was one against three.

Padar raised himself up to stand facing his enemy, his sword lifted high. The riders were taken aback at this feat of courage. Padar saw this and before the three riders caught breath again, he bent his back and charged, running into the one to his right, taking him off guard. Striking with Gabriel where the man had no chain mail covering, through the legs just above the knees, Padar put all his strength into an upward thrust. With a scream the assailant dropped his weapon and fell to the turf, screaming in agony. Padar held on to his sword hilt as his enemy collapsed. He pulled Gabriel back. His sword came out covered with gore. He lifted it high again.

Immediately, the other two assailants shouted in fury and began to circle him so that he felt like an insect caught in a spider's web. These men had deadlier swords than he. Their blades were double-edged and longer than his. The one to his right, a giant of a man with a leather helmet and blackened face, a look of fury crossing his countenance, advanced and withdrew. The other laughed, dropped and kicked away his long sword, reached for and lifted high a scimitar, nonchalantly waiting aside, ready to swipe off Padar's head. This rider, Padar saw at a glance, wore no helmet. He was tall and blond, his hair plaited like a Viking of old, his eyes filled with deadly concentration as he approached and paused. He was casually waiting until his companion was done playing with Padar.

Padar jumped back, drawing the sword-wielding giant towards him. Their weapons met and whipped each other above his chest. Steel clashed on steel. He fought on, returning his assailant's sword strokes with well-measured and accurate sword play of his own. He moved with speed but his arms were aching. Gudrun's serene face momentarily flashed through his mind. In that moment he was off guard and his enemy sliced out at his sword arm. Instinctively, Padar leapt to one side but not quickly enough. Gabriel dropped onto the ground. Padar was weaponless.

The blond Cuman flew into action, bringing his scimitar closer, daring him forward. In that moment, Padar remembered something. He had been so stupid. He drew back, dropped to the ground and rolled towards the bag that hung from his horse's saddle. He reached inside the great leather pouch and felt around. He still had one pot and he had his flint. He could have saved himself and Argon. Miraculously the last pot had not broken.

He reached over his damaged arm, held the flint in his aching wrist and sparked off flint against flint and hay. Miraculously, within a breath he had ignited the cord on the pot. He hurled it just as his assailant was almost on top of him. Pulling himself from the ground he raced along the slope, away from the huge burst of flame that enveloped both the vicious blond swordsman and his own dying horse. He heard screams of agony as the Cuman burned. He felt the heat of the fire he had thrown scorching the bastard's leather jerkin. His nostrils filled with the suffocating odour of singing hair and cooking horse. He collapsed.

Blood obscured his vison. He smelled sulphur. This time it was suffocating like a stinking devil's cauldron. He coughed and spat mucus as he heard the canter of horses. They were coming for him now. It is the end, he thought. By Christos, make it quick. Sweet Lord, protect my wife and children.

A familiar voice reached through the roar of smoke and fire. ‘For the love of God's saints, Christ and all his holy angels, Padar, what are you thinking of?' Padar could not reply. He felt water slide down his throat. Someone was wiping his face with great gentleness. Imagining Gudrun, he muttered her name. ‘Are we in heaven?' he heard himself say. Someone was feeling his left arm.

‘You'll live. An arm injury but that is all, I think,' the voice said gruffly. Earl Connor gently lifted Padar onto his own horse. ‘Hold tight until we catch you another.' He turned to one of his men. Padar heard him order, ‘Bring me that sword over there if it is not too hot to lift.'

‘My weapon and my horse,' he mumbled in confusion, forgetting the smell of the burning animal, hardly able to grab hold of the horse's mane because his arm and sword hand were in agony.

He heard Connor say gruffly, ‘We have your sword. Argon is dead, burning nobly as a Viking steed should, and if we don't hurry we will be too.'

Every bump caused Padar further agonies as Earl Connor rode furiously down the slope towards his own troops. The earl's men had already cut off the fleeing Cuman army. As Padar regained partial sight, he saw two Cuman messengers ride forward bearing a white flag. The khan was surrendering.

Padar glanced back. Flames from his horse's last pyre lit up the dark sky with a yellow light that obliterated the stars. A ghastly hush ensued as, surrounded by torch light, the khan rode forward from his bedraggled and defeated army to meet Earl Connor. Though he hurt terribly, Padar sat erect on the horse Connor had given him and sighed his relief.

Later, as they were returning to the city, Padar said, ‘Earl Connor, what was that secret mission?'

‘If I told you it would not be a secret. I think you had better not say another word until we get you safely into the city. You are in need of a woman's touch, Padar. Never mind what missions I was on in Constantinople.'

For a while they rode in silence. Connor leaned over and whispered. ‘I was seeking an alliance for my wife's brother is all. There is a Saxon silversmith down in Constantinople. His name is Alfred. He was once a coiner. He has a wife called Gertrude.' He smiled at Padar's gasp. ‘Ah, I see you remember them from Exeter. They had a daughter though they never thought to. God has blessed them. She is now eleven years old …' Connor laid a finger on his lips. ‘Not a word, Padar, until this alliance is forged. They named the girl Margaret. So there you have it. They are considering. If they can bear to let her go, one day Alfred's daughter will come to dwell in Novgorod.'

Some secret, thought Padar, not knowing whether to believe a word of it.

35

The Hall

Thea stood in the midst of the outer hall, shocked into utter silence, stunned by the great numbers of their injured. By nightfall they had won the battle, but at a price. Some of their own dead had been consumed by flames but most had been injured by arrow fire. Others were sliced through by swords or speared with javelins. How could she console these men's wives and mothers? For a moment she watched Gudrun, who was helping Anya organise their makeshift infirmary. Lifting an urn, she went to help.

Gudrun was ashen faced as she trailed from pallet to pallet with water and a sponge. As Thea held the urn and Gudrun helped each wounded man she asked about Padar, who had not returned. No one had seen him since he had led the fire attack during the afternoon. The outbursts of fire and the smoke that followed, the nitrous smell, the cries of the burning and dying had confused them all. ‘You could not see for smoke, you could not breathe. I did not see him,' one said.

Another man gasped that it was impossible to even see the river once the fires started. It was with great difficulty that he found the bridge and struggled back into the fortress. He had not seen Padar either.

After many more men had returned, badly burned and with similar reports, Thea climbed to the top of the tower, leaving Anya and an anxious Gudrun in the hall. To her horror, the dragon fire was snaking over the water south of the bridge, its green tongue catching cogs, carracks and galleys that were anchored by the southern wharfs. She watched horrified until smoke gathered again, obliterating the scene. There was nothing to be done except hope and pray that the ships that carried the fire machines were spared. Concerned for her brother's safety as well as Padar's survival, her heart heavy, she dragged herself down from the tower and sent two guards out onto the wharfs to see what was happening. They returned, reporting that all was chaos out there. She feared that it was not yet over.

A messenger returned to say that the enemy was in flight. She grasped her hands so tightly with relief that her knuckles turned white. The messenger said that they could bring the dragon fire under control by using sand. The fire that was licking the water, swallowing up their barges, appeared more fearful than it actually was. Lord Edmund would remain on the
Lady Maria
, until the cogs and galleys that had ignited, burned themselves out. They must save what lives they could. The messenger breathlessly added, ‘My lady, if you could send salves and strips of linen to bind the wounds our sailors have taken it would help.' He bowed low, and rose again with difficulty, his face creased with the agony of his effort.

‘Go to the kitchen and ask for food and drink.' Thea reached forward to help him to his feet. She clasped the man's rough hands for a moment in her own and added in a quieter voice, ‘You have fought with great courage.' The bruises on the boy's face, his singed hair, the terror in his eyes and his exhaustion spoke of a terrible fight. ‘Stay in the fortress now. I shall send help to the ships, water and food. In fact, I shall take them myself.'