The Flame Bearer (The Last Kingdom Series, Book 10) (6 page)

I looked north and saw that the army of horsemen had not moved. They just watched us. ‘Three hundred men?’ I guessed.

‘Three hundred and forty,’ Finan said.

‘My name,’ I said to the men who knelt in the wet heather, ‘is Uhtred of Bebbanburg.’ I saw the fear on their faces and let them feel it for a few heartbeats. ‘And who are you?’

They muttered their names. They were Einar’s men, sent to scout for us. They had ridden for much of the previous afternoon, and, not finding our trail, had camped in a shepherd’s hut in the western hills, but just before dawn the horsemen to the north had disturbed their sleep and they had run, abandoning their own horses in their panic. ‘So who are they?’ I nodded at the horsemen to the north.

‘We thought they were your men, lord!’

‘You don’t know who’s chasing you?’ I asked.

‘Enemies, lord,’ one of them said miserably and unhelpfully.

‘So tell me what happened.’

The five men had been sent by Einar to look for us, but three of the mysterious mounted scouts had discovered them in the wolf-light just before the sun rose behind the thick eastern clouds. The shepherd’s shelter had been in a hollow and they had managed to drag one of the surprised scouts from his saddle and drive off the remaining two. They had killed the one man, but, while they did that, the surviving two scouts had driven off their horses.

‘So you killed the man,’ I asked them, ‘but did you ask him who he was?’

‘No, lord,’ the oldest of the four survivors confessed. ‘We didn’t understand his language. And he struggled, lord. He drew a knife.’

‘Who did you think he was?’

The man hesitated, then muttered that he thought their victim was my follower.

‘So you just killed him?’

The man shrugged, ‘Well, yes, lord!’ They had then hurried south, only to discover they were being pursued by a whole army of horsemen.

‘You killed a man,’ I said, ‘because you thought he served me. So why shouldn’t I kill you?’

‘He was shouting, lord. We needed to silence him.’

That was reason enough and I supposed I would have done the same. ‘So what do I do with you?’ I asked. ‘Give you to those men?’ I nodded at the waiting horsemen. ‘Or just kill you?’ They had no answer to that, but nor did I expect one.

‘Be kindest just to kill the bastards,’ Finan said.

‘Lord, please!’ one of them whispered.

I ignored him because a half-dozen horsemen had left the far hilltop and were now riding towards us. They came slowly as if to assure us they meant no harm. ‘Take those four bastards back to the fort,’ I ordered Gerbruht, ‘and don’t kill them.’

‘No, lord?’ the big Frisian sounded disappointed.

‘Not yet,’ I said.

My son had come from the fort and he and Finan rode with me to meet the six men. ‘Who are they?’ my son asked.

‘It’s not my cousin,’ I said. If my cousin had pursued us he would be flaunting his banner of the wolf’s head, ‘and it’s not Einar.’

‘So who?’ my son asked.

A moment later I knew who it was. As the six horsemen drew closer I recognised the man who led them. He was mounted on a fine, tall, black stallion, and wore a long blue cloak that was spread across the horse’s rump. He had a golden cross hanging from his neck. He rode straight-backed, his head high. He knew who I was, we had met, and he smiled when he saw me staring at him. ‘It’s trouble,’ I told my companions, ‘it’s damned trouble.’

And so it was.

The man in the blue cloak was still smiling as he curbed his horse a few paces away. ‘A drawn sword, Lord Uhtred?’ he chided me. ‘Is that how you greet an old friend?’

‘I’m a poor man,’ I said, ‘I can’t afford a scabbard,’ I pushed Serpent-Breath into my left boot, sliding her carefully till the blade was safely lodged beside my calf and the hilt was up in the air.

‘An elegant solution,’ he said, mocking me. He himself was elegant. His dark blue cloak was astonishingly clean, his mail polished, his boots scoured of mud, and his beard close-trimmed like his raven-dark hair that was ringed with a golden circlet. His bridle was decorated with gold, a gold chain circled his neck, and the pommel of his sword was bright gold. He was Causantín mac Áeda, King of Alba, known to me as Constantin, and beside him, on a slightly smaller stallion, was his son, Cellach mac Causantín. Four men waited behind the father and son, two warriors and two priests, and all four glowered at me, presumably because I had not addressed Constantin as ‘lord King’.

‘Lord Prince,’ I spoke to Cellach, ‘it’s good to see you again.’

Cellach glanced at his father as if seeking permission to answer.

‘You can talk to him!’ King Constantin said, ‘but speak slowly and simply. He’s a Saxon so he doesn’t understand long words.’

‘Lord Uhtred,’ Cellach said politely, ‘it’s good to see you again too.’ Years before, when he was just a boy, Cellach had been a hostage in my household. I had liked him then and I still liked him, though I supposed one day I would have to kill him. He was about twenty now, just as handsome as his father, with the same dark hair and very bright blue eyes, but not surprisingly he lacked his father’s calm confidence.

‘Are you well, boy?’ I asked and his eyes widened slightly when I called him ‘boy’, but he managed a nod in reply. ‘So, lord King,’ I looked back to Constantin, ‘what brings you to my land?’

‘Your land?’ Constantin was amused by that. ‘This is Scotland!’

‘You must speak slowly and simply, lord,’ I told him, ‘because I don’t understand nonsense words.’

Constantin laughed at that. ‘I wish I didn’t like you, Lord Uhtred,’ he said, ‘life would be so much simpler if I detested you.’

‘Most Christians do,’ I said, looking at his dour priests.

‘I could learn to detest you,’ Constantin said, ‘but only if you choose to be my enemy.’

‘Why would I do that?’ I asked.

‘Why indeed!’ The bastard smiled, and he seemed to have all his teeth, and I wondered how he had managed to keep them. Witchcraft? ‘But you won’t be my enemy, Lord Uhtred.’

‘I won’t?’

‘Of course not! I’ve come to make peace.’

I believed that. I also believed that eagles laid golden eggs, fairies danced in our shoes at midnight, and that the moon was carved from good Sumorsæte cheese. ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘peace would be better discussed by a hearth with some pots of ale?’

‘You see?’ Constantin turned to his scowling priests, ‘I assured you Lord Uhtred would be hospitable!’

I allowed Constantin and his five companions to enter the fort, but insisted the rest of his men waited a half-mile away where they were watched by my warriors who lined Weallbyrig’s northern rampart. Constantin, feigning innocence, had asked that all his men be allowed through the gate, and I had just smiled at him for answer and he had the grace to smile back. The Scottish army could wait in the rain. There would be no fighting, not so long as Constantin was my guest, but still they were Scots, and no one but a fool would invite over three hundred Scottish warriors into a fort. A man might as well open a sheepfold to a pack of wolves.

‘Peace?’ I said to Constantin after the ale had been served, bread broken, and a flitch of cold bacon carved into slices.

‘It is my Christian duty to make peace,’ Constantin said piously. If King Alfred had said the same thing I would have known he was in earnest, but Constantin managed to mock the words subtly. He knew I did not believe him, any more than he believed himself.

I had ordered tables and benches fetched into the large chamber, but the Scottish king did not sit. Instead he wandered around the room, which was lit by five windows. It was still gloomy outside. Constantin seemed fascinated by the room. He traced a finger up the small remaining patches of plaster, then felt the almost imperceptible gap between the stone jambs and lintel of the door. ‘The Romans built well,’ he said almost wistfully.

‘Better than us,’ I said.

‘They were a great people,’ he said. I nodded. ‘Their legions marched across the world,’ he went on, ‘but they were repelled from Scotland.’

‘From or by?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘They tried! They failed! And so they built these forts and this wall to keep us from ravaging their province.’ He stroked a hand along a row of narrow bricks. ‘I would like to visit Rome.’

‘I’m told it’s in ruins,’ I said, ‘and haunted by wolves, beggars, and thieves. You’d think yourself at home, lord King.’

The two Scottish priests evidently spoke the English tongue because each of them muttered a reproof at me, while Cellach, the king’s son, looked as if he was about to protest, but Constantin was quite unmoved by my insult. ‘But what ruins!’ he said, gesturing his son to silence. ‘What marvellous ruins! Their ruins are greater than our greatest halls!’ He turned towards me with his irritating smile. ‘This morning,’ he said, ‘my men cleared Einar the White from Bebbanburg.’

I said nothing, indeed I was incapable of speech. My first thought was that Einar could no longer supply the fortress with food and that the vast problem of his ships was solved, but then I plunged into renewed despair as I understood that Constantin had not attacked Einar on my behalf. One problem was solved, but only because a much greater obstacle now stood between me and Bebbanburg.

Constantin must have sensed my gloom because he laughed. ‘Cleared him out,’ he said, ‘scoured him from Bebbanburg, sent him scurrying away! Or perhaps the wretched man is dead? I’ll know soon enough. Einar had fewer than two hundred men and I sent over four hundred.’

‘He also had the ramparts of Bebbanburg,’ I pointed out.

‘Of course he didn’t,’ Constantin said scornfully, ‘your cousin wouldn’t let a pack of Norsemen through his gates! He knows they’d never leave. If he had let Einar’s men into the fortress he’d have invited a knife in his back. No, Einar’s men were quartered in the village, and the palisade they were building outside the fort was unfinished. They’ll be gone by now.’

‘Thank you,’ I said sarcastically.

‘For doing your work?’ he asked, smiling, then came to the table and at last sat down and helped himself to some ale and food. ‘Indeed I did do your work,’ he went on. ‘You can’t besiege Bebbanburg till Einar is defeated, and now he is! He was hired to keep you away from the fortress and to supply your cousin with food. Now, I hope, he’s dead, or at least running for his miserable life.’

‘So thank you,’ I said again.

‘But his men have been replaced by my men,’ Constantin said in an even tone. ‘My men are occupying the steadings now, just as they are occupying the village at Bebbanburg. As of this morning, Lord Uhtred, my men have taken all of Bebbanburg’s land.’

I looked into his very blue eyes. ‘I thought you’d come to make peace.’

‘I have!’

‘With seven, eight hundred warriors?’

‘Oh, more,’ he said airily, ‘many more! And you have how many? Two hundred men here? And another thirty-five in Dunholm?’

‘Thirty-seven,’ I said, just to annoy him.

‘And led by a woman!’

‘Eadith is fiercer than most men,’ I said. Eadith was my wife and I had left her in charge of the small garrison that guarded Dunholm. I had also left Sihtric there in case she forgot which end of a sword did the damage.

‘I think you’ll find she’s not fiercer than my men,’ Constantin said, smiling. ‘Peace would be a very good idea for you.’

‘I have a son-in-law,’ I pointed out.

‘Ah, the formidable Sigtryggr, who can put five, six hundred men into the field? Maybe a thousand if the southern jarls support him, which I doubt! And Sigtryggr must keep men on that southern frontier to keep the jarls on his side. If indeed they are on his side. Who knows?’

I said nothing. Constantin was right, of course. Sigtryggr might be king in Eoferwic and call himself King of Northumbria, but many of the most powerful Danes on the Mercian frontier had yet to swear him loyalty. They claimed he had surrendered too much land to make peace with Æthelflaed, though I suspected they were willing to surrender themselves rather than fight in a losing war to preserve Sigtryggr’s kingdom.

‘And it’s not just the jarls,’ Constantin went on, rubbing salt into the wound. ‘I hear the West Saxons are making rude noises there.’

‘Sigtryggr’s at peace with the Saxons,’ I said.

Constantin smiled. That smile was beginning to infuriate me. ‘One result of being a Christian, Lord Uhtred, is that I feel a sympathy, even a fondness, for my fellow Christian kings. We are the Lord’s anointed, His humble servants, whose duty it is to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ across all lands. King Edward of Wessex would love to be remembered as the man who brought the pagan kingdom of Northumbria under the shelter of Christian Wessex! And your son-in-law’s peace treaty is with Mercia, not with Wessex. And many West Saxons say the treaty should never have been concluded! They say it’s time Northumbria was brought into the Christian community. Did you not know that?’

‘Some West Saxons want war,’ I conceded, ‘but not King Edward. Not yet.’

‘Your friend Ealdorman Æthelhelm seeks to persuade him otherwise.’

‘Æthelhelm,’ I said vengefully, ‘is a stinking turd.’

‘But he’s a Christian stinking turd,’ Constantin said, ‘so it’s my religious duty, surely, to encourage him?’

‘Then you’re a stinking turd too,’ I said, and the two Scottish warriors who accompanied Constantin heard my tone and stirred. Neither seemed to speak English, they had their own barbarous tongue, and one growled incomprehensibly.

Constantin raised a hand to calm the two men. ‘Am I right?’ he asked me.

I nodded reluctantly. Ealdorman Æthelhelm, my genial enemy, was the most powerful noble in Wessex, and also King Edward’s father-in-law. And it was no secret that he wanted a quick invasion of Northumbria. He wanted to be remembered as the man who forged Englaland, and whose grandson became the first King of all Englaland. ‘But Æthelhelm,’ I said, ‘does not lead the West Saxon army. King Edward does, and King Edward is younger, which means he can afford to wait.’

‘Perhaps,’ Constantin said, ‘perhaps.’ He sounded amused, as if I was being naive. He leaned across the table to pour more ale into my cup. ‘Let us talk of something else,’ he said, ‘let us talk of the Romans.’