The Empty Throne (The Warrior Chronicles, Book 8) (33 page)

‘She wants God on her side,’ Finan said.

‘She should have built a palisade first,’ I growled. The moored and beached ships hid most of the river’s bank, but I thought I could see the raw sides of a newly dug channel, presumably made to carry the Mærse’s water to a ditch surrounding the new work, which was now in the hands of the Norse.

‘Jesus,’ Finan breathed, ‘there are hundreds of the bastards!’ Men were coming from the church to gaze at us and, as he had said, there were hundreds of them. Other men had been sitting around campfires. There were women and children there too, all now walking to the river’s edge to watch us.

‘Keep rowing!’ I called to my men, taking the steering-oar from my son.

Sigtryggr had captured the half-built burh, that was obvious, but the presence of so many men suggested he had not yet assaulted Ceaster. There had not been time for that, but I did not doubt he would make the attack as soon as he could. The riskiest course would have been to take his ships and men up the Dee and attack Ceaster immediately, because once inside those Roman walls he would have been immovable. That is what I would have done, but he had been more prudent. He had taken the lesser fortress, and his men would be busy making a palisade from whatever timber they could cut and from thorn bushes, they would deepen the ditch and, once the burh was finished, once he was enclosed in earth and timber and thorns, he would be almost as secure inside Brunanburh as he would have been inside Ceaster.

A man scrambled over the beached ships that were huddled together as if for protection, then leaped onto one of the moored boats, always making his way towards us. ‘Who are you?’ he shouted.

‘Keep rowing!’ It was getting darker by the minute and I feared going aground, but I dared not stop.

‘Who are you?’ the man called again.

‘Sigulf Haraldson!’ I shouted the invented name.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Who is asking?’ I called in Danish, speaking slowly.

‘Sigtryggr Olafson!’

‘Tell him we live here!’ I wondered if the man shouting at us was Sigtryggr himself, but it seemed unlikely. He was most likely one of Sigtryggr’s men, sent to challenge us.

‘You’re Danish?’ he shouted, but I ignored that question. ‘My lord invites you ashore!’

‘Tell your lord we want to be home before dark!’

‘What do you know of the Saxons in the city?’

‘Nothing! We ignore them, they ignore us!’

We had passed the ship from which the man shouted and he nimbly leaped onto another to stay near us. ‘Come ashore!’ he shouted.

‘Tomorrow!’

‘Where do you live?’ he called.

‘Upriver,’ I called back, ‘an hour’s journey.’ I snarled at my men to row harder, and Thor was with us because the
Ðrines
stayed in the channel, though more than once the oars bumped on mud and the hull twice scraped softly over a bank before finding deeper water. The man shouted more questions through the dusk, but we were gone. We had become a shadow ship in the twilight, a ghost ship vanishing into the night.

‘Pray God they didn’t recognise your voice,’ Finan said.

‘They couldn’t hear me ashore,’ I said, hoping that was true. I had not shouted as loudly as I could, hoping that only the one man on the ship would hear me. ‘And who would have recognised it?’

‘My brother?’ Eadith put in.

‘Did you see him?’ She shook her head. I turned to look astern, but the new burh was now nothing but a shadow within a shadow, a shadow flickering with firelight, while the masts of Sigtryggr’s ships were dark streaks against the western sky. The tide had ebbed and it was slack water as the
Ðrines
ghosted upriver. I did not know how far Brunanburh was from Ceaster, but reckoned it must be some miles, maybe ten? Twenty? I had no idea and none of my men had visited Æthelflaed’s new burh so could not tell me. I had visited the Mærse before, I had ridden its banks close to Ceaster, but in the gathering darkness it was impossible to recognise any landmark. I watched behind us, seeing the smudge of Brunanburh’s smoke get farther and farther away, watching until the western horizon was edged with the flame red of the dying sun and the sky above was blackness pricked with stars. I did not fear any pursuit. It was too dark for a ship to follow us, and men on foot or on horseback would be stumbling through unfamiliar country.

‘What do we do?’ Finan asked.

‘Go to Ceaster,’ I said.

And keep Æthelflaed’s throne safe.

There was a glimmer of moonlight, often hidden by clouds, but just enough to betray the river. We rowed silently until at last the hull slid onto mud and the
Ðrines
shuddered and was still. The southern bank was only some twenty paces away and the first of my men dropped overboard and waded ashore.

‘Weapons and mail,’ I ordered.

‘What about the ship?’ Finan asked.

‘We leave her,’ I said. Sigtryggr’s men would doubtless find her. The
Ðrines
would float off on the rising tide and eventually drift back downstream, but I did not have time to burn her and if I moored her then she would betray where we had gone ashore. Better to let her go wherever she wanted to drift. Wyrd bið ful
ā
ræd.

And so we went ashore, forty-seven men and one woman, and we wore our mail and carried shields and weapons. We were dressed for war, and war was coming. The presence of so many men at Brunanburh had told me that Ceaster was still in Saxon hands, but Sigtryggr would surely move against the larger fortress soon.

‘Maybe he’s decided just to stay at Brunanburh,’ Finan suggested.

‘And leave us in Ceaster?’

‘If he finishes Brunanburh’s palisade? If he makes a nuisance of himself? Perhaps he hopes we’ll pay him to leave?’

‘Then he’s a fool, because we won’t.’

‘But only a fool would attack Ceaster’s stone walls.’

‘We did,’ I said, and Finan laughed. I shook my head. ‘He won’t want to be penned up in Brunanburh. His father sent him to take land, and he’ll try. Besides, he’s young. He has a reputation to make. And Berg says he’s headstrong.’

I had talked with Berg. He had been one of Rognvald’s men, so had not seen much of Sigtryggr, but what he had seen had impressed him. ‘He’s tall, lord,’ he had told me, ‘and golden-haired like your son, and with a face like an eagle, lord, and he laughs and shouts. Men like him.’

‘You liked him?’

Berg had paused, and then, with the eagerness of the young, had blurted out, ‘He’s like a god come to earth, lord!’

I had smiled at that. ‘A god?’

‘Like a god, lord,’ he had mumbled, ashamed of the words almost as soon as he had said them.

But the god come to earth still had to make his reputation, and how better to do that than by recapturing Ceaster for the Northmen? Which was why we hurried there, and in the end it was easier to find than I had feared. We followed the river eastwards until we saw the Roman road slanting across our front and then we followed that road south. It went through a Roman cemetery, which both Northmen and Saxons had left alone because it would be so full of ghosts. We walked through it in silence, and I saw the Christians make the sign of the cross and I touched my hammer amulet. It was night, the time when the dead walk, and as we passed through the sullen dwellings of the dead, the only sound was that of our feet on the stones of the road.

And there, ahead, was Ceaster.

We reached the town just before dawn. There was a grey sword’s edge to the eastern sky, a hint of light, nothing more. The first birds sang. The pale walls of the burh were night-dark, the northern gate a shadowed blackness. If any flag flew above the gate I could not see it. There was firelight inside the walls, but it did not show any men on the parapets, and so I took just Finan and my son, and the three of us walked towards the gate. I knew we could be seen.

‘You opened this gate last time,’ Finan said to my son, ‘you might have to do it again.’

‘I had a horse that time,’ Uhtred said. He had stood on his saddle and leaped over the gate, and so we had captured the burh from the Danes. I hoped we still held it.

‘Who are you?’ a man shouted from the wall.

‘Friends,’ I called, ‘is Merewahl still in command?’

‘He is,’ the reply was grudging.

‘Fetch him.’

‘He’s asleep.’

‘I said fetch him!’ I snarled the order.

‘Who are you?’ the man asked again.

‘The man who wants to speak with Merewalh! Go!’

I heard the sentry speak to his companions, then there was silence. We waited as the sword’s edge of grey in the east widened to a blade of dull light. Cockerels crowed and a dog howled somewhere inside the town, and then at last I saw shadows on the wall. ‘I’m Merewalh!’ the familiar voice called. ‘And who are you?’

‘Uhtred,’ I said.

There was a moment’s silence. ‘Who?’ he asked again.

‘Uhtred!’ I shouted. ‘Uhtred of Bebbanburg!’

‘Lord?’ He sounded disbelieving.

‘Did Osferth reach you?’

‘Yes! And your daughter.’

‘Æthelflaed?’

‘Lord Uhtred?’ He still sounded incredulous.

‘Open the damned gate, Merewalh,’ I demanded, ‘I want breakfast.’

The gate was pushed open and we passed through. There were torches in the arch and I saw the relief on Merewalh’s face as he recognised me. A dozen men waited behind him, all with spears or drawn swords. ‘Lord!’ Merewalh strode towards me. ‘You’re healed, lord!’

‘I’m healed,’ I said. It was good to see Merewalh. He was a staunch warrior, an honest man, and a friend. He was guileless, with a round open face that beamed with pleasure at our arrival. He had been one of Æthelred’s men, though he had always protected Æthelflaed, and had suffered for that loyalty. ‘Is Æthelflaed here?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘She said she’d bring more men when she could, but we’ve heard nothing for a week now.’

I glanced at his escort who were grinning as they sheathed their swords. ‘So how many men do you have?’

‘Two hundred and ninety-two fit to fight.’

‘Does that include the fifty men Æthelflaed sent?’

‘It does, lord.’

‘So Prince Æthelstan’s here?’

‘He’s here, lord, yes.’

I turned and watched as the heavy gates were pulled shut and as the massive locking bar was dropped into its brackets. ‘And you know there are five hundred Norsemen at Brunanburh?’

‘I was told six hundred,’ he said grimly.

‘You were told?’

‘Five Saxons came yesterday. Five Mercians. They watched the Norsemen come ashore and fled here.’

‘Five Mercians?’ I asked, but did not give him time to answer. ‘Tell me, did you have men at Brunanburh?’

He shook his head. ‘The Lady Æthelflaed said to abandon it till she returned. She reckoned we couldn’t defend both Ceaster and the new burh. Once she’s here we’ll start the work there again.’

‘Five Mercians?’ I asked again. ‘Did they say who they were?’

‘Oh, I know them!’ Merewalh said confidently. ‘They were Lord Æthelred’s men.’

‘So now they serve the Lady Æthelflaed?’ I asked, and Merewalh nodded. ‘So why did she send them?’

‘She wanted them to look at Brunanburh.’

‘Look at?’

‘There are Danes on Wirhealum,’ he explained. ‘There aren’t many, and they claim to be Christians,’ he shrugged as if to suggest that claim was dubious. ‘They graze sheep mostly and we don’t trouble them if they don’t trouble us, but I suppose she thought they might have done some damage?’

‘So the five came here on Æthelflaed’s orders,’ I said, ‘and they rode straight past your south gate and didn’t ask to see you? They came to Brunanburh?’ I waited for an answer, but Merewalh said nothing. ‘Five men come here to make sure some sheep farmers hadn’t damaged an earthen wall?’ Still he said nothing. ‘You must have sent your own men to look at the new burh?’

‘I did, yes.’

‘Yet Æthelflaed didn’t trust you? She had to send five men to do a job she must have known you were doing already?’

Poor Merewalh frowned, worried by the questions. ‘I know the men, lord,’ he said, though he sounded uncertain.

‘You know them well?’

‘We all served Lord Æthelred. No, I don’t know them well.’

‘And these five,’ I suggested, ‘served Eardwulf.’

‘We all served him. He was Lord Æthelred’s household commander.’

‘But these five were close to him,’ I stated flatly, and Merewalh gave a reluctant nod. ‘And Eardwulf,’ I said, ‘is probably with Sigtryggr.’

‘Sigtryggr, lord?’

‘The man who has just brought five or six hundred Norsemen to Brunanburh.’

‘Eardwulf is with …’ he began, then turned and stared down Ceaster’s main street as if expecting to see Norsemen suddenly invading the town.

‘Eardwulf is probably with Sigtryggr,’ I repeated, ‘and Eardwulf is a traitor and an outlaw. And he’s probably coming here right now. But he’s not coming alone.’

‘Dear God,’ Merewalh said, and made the sign of the cross.

‘Say thank you to your god,’ I said. Because the killing was about to start, and we had arrived in time.

Sigtryggr came at noon.

We knew he was coming.

We knew where he would attack.

We were outnumbered, but we had the high stone walls of Ceaster and they were worth a thousand men. Sigtryggr knew that too and, like all the Northmen, he had no patience for a siege. He had no time to make ladders, no tools to dig beneath our ramparts, he had only the courage of his men and the knowledge that he had tricked us.

Except we knew what the trick was.

Welcome to Ceaster.

The sun had risen, but it was dark in the Great Hall, the gaunt Roman building at Ceaster’s centre. A fire smouldered in the central hearth, the smoke curling under the roof before finding the hole hacked through the tiles. Men slept at the hall’s edges, their snores loud in the vast space. There were tables and benches, and some men slept on the tables. Two maidservants were placing oatcakes on the stones of the hearth, while a third was bringing timber to revive the fire.

There were huge stacks of timber outside the hall. It was not firewood, but trunks of oak and elm that had been rudely trimmed. I had stopped to look at them. ‘That’s the palisade for Brunanburh?’ I asked Merewalh.