Бернард Корнуэлл: War Lord

‘Fight for me,’ a voice said.

I turned and saw it was Guthfrith who had spoken. ‘You could have fought at Eoferwic,’ I said, ‘but you ran away.’

He hated me, yet I saw the shudder cross his face as he forced himself to speak calmly. ‘You’re a pagan, a Northumbrian. You want the Christians to win?’

‘No.’

‘Then fight for me! My men, your men, and Egil Skallagrimmrson will bring his men!’

‘And we’ll still be outnumbered six to one,’ I said curtly.

‘And if we’re behind the walls of Bebbanburg?’ Guthfrith pleaded. ‘What will that matter? Constantine will help us!’

‘Then he’ll take your kingdom,’ I said.

‘He promised not to!’ he blurted desperately.

I paused. ‘Promised?’ I asked, but he said nothing. Guthfrith had doubtless spoken in despair and spoken more than he had meant to say, and now regretted it. So Constantine had sent envoys to Eoferwic? And Guthfrith had received them? I wanted to draw Wasp-Sting, my short-sword, and ram it into his belly, but Archbishop Hrothweard was at my side and Bishop Oda had dismounted and now stood beside him.

‘Lord King,’ Bishop Oda bowed to Guthfrith, ‘I am sent with brotherly greetings from King Æthelstan.’ Oda looked at Gerbruht. ‘Release him, man, release him!’

Guthfrith just stared at Oda as if he could not believe what was happening, while Gerbruht looked at me for confirmation. I nodded reluctantly.

‘Lord Uhtred will return your sword, lord King.’ Oda spoke reassuringly, as if to a frightened child. ‘Please, Lord Uhtred?’

This was madness! Holding Guthfrith as hostage was my only chance of avoiding a slaughter. His men still had drawn swords or levelled spears and they outnumbered us. Guthfrith held out his hand, still bleeding. ‘Give it to me!’ he demanded. I did not move.

‘His sword, lord,’ Oda said.

‘You want him to fight?’ I asked angrily.

‘There will be no violence,’ Oda spoke to Guthfrith, who paused, then gave an abrupt nod. ‘Please return the king’s sword, Lord Uhtred,’ Oda said very formally. I hesitated. ‘Please, lord,’ Oda said.

‘Stand still,’ I snarled at Guthfrith. I ignored his bloody outstretched hand and stood close to him. I was taller by a head, which he did not like, and he flinched when I took hold of his gold-decorated scabbard. He probably thought I was about to steal it, but instead I slid Boar’s Tusk through the scabbard’s fleece-lined throat, then stepped back and drew Serpent-Breath. Guthfrith put a hand to his sword’s hilt, but I twitched Serpent-Breath and he went still.

‘King Æthelstan,’ Oda said, still calm, ‘beseeches a meeting with you, lord King, and he vouches for both your life and your kingdom.’

‘Much as Constantine did, no doubt,’ I put in.

Oda ignored that. ‘There is much to discuss, lord King.’

‘This!’ Guthfrith snapped, gesturing at me, then at my men. ‘Discuss this!’

‘A misunderstanding,’ Oda said, ‘nothing more. A regrettable misunderstanding.’

Archbishop Hrothweard had said nothing, just looked frightened, but now he nodded eagerly. ‘King Æthelstan’s word can be trusted, lord King.’

‘Please,’ Bishop Oda looked at me, ‘there’s no need for a drawn sword, Lord Uhtred. We meet as friends!’

And a woman screamed.

I could not see the hostages, they were hidden by Guthfrith’s men, but Finan must have seen something because he spurred his stallion forward, shouting at Guthfrith’s men to let him through, but some young fool lifted a spear and urged his horse at Finan. Finan’s sword, Soul-Stealer, swept the spear aside, lunged into the man’s chest, pierced mail, but seemed to glance off a rib. The young rider leaned back in his saddle, his nerveless hand letting go of the spear, and Finan burst past him, swung Soul-Stealer back onto the man’s neck and there was a bellowing of rage, men were turning horses to pursue Finan, which only provoked my men to follow the Irishman. It happened in an eye-blink. One moment the two sides were calm, though wary, then the scream brought a tumult of hooves, bright blades and angry shouts.

Guthfrith was faster than I expected. He shoved Oda hard, making the bishop stagger against Hrothweard, then stumbled away, shouting at his men to bring him a horse. He was heavily built, hot and tired, and I caught him easily, kicked the back of one knee and he sprawled onto the road. He swung an arm at me just as one of his men spurred hard towards us. The man lowered his spear, leaned from the saddle, and Guthfrith swung again, this time trying to hit me with a stone, but his wild swing only knocked the spear shaft aside. The butt of the spear hit me on the arm so hard that I almost dropped Serpent-Breath. Guthfrith was trying to draw his own sword, then Gerbruht barged past me and kicked the scabbard so fiercely that it wrenched the sword’s hilt from Guthfrith’s hand. The horseman had turned. His piebald stallion was sweat-whitened, its hooves skewing gravel and earth, the man wrenched the reins, his mouth open and his eyes wide beneath the grey helmet’s rim. He was young, shouting, though I heard nothing. He spurred savagely, but the horse reared instead, towering above me. The young man had been trying to move his spear from his right to his left hand, but now let the weapon fall and gripped the saddle’s high pommel as the horse flailed. Then he half fell backwards as I rammed Serpent-Breath up his thigh, ripping mail, cloth and flesh from his knee to his groin, the blade only wrenched free as his horse bolted, pounding up the road to where my men had pierced Guthfrith’s troops like a swine-horn splitting a shield wall.

‘Stop it!’ Oda shouted, ‘stop it!’

Gerbruht had seized Guthfrith and dragged him to his feet. The king had managed to retrieve his fallen sword, but I smacked his arm aside and held Serpent-Breath’s bloodied blade across his throat. ‘Enough,’ I bellowed at the horsemen, loud enough to hurt my throat. ‘Enough!’

Guthfrith tried to stab my foot with his blade, but I tightened my own on his gullet. He whimpered and I drew the edge of Serpent-Breath a finger’s width across his neck. ‘Drop the sword, you bastard,’ I whispered.

He dropped it. ‘You’re choking me,’ he croaked.

‘Good,’ I said, but released the blade’s pressure slightly.

A horseman with Guthfrith’s boar on his shield spurred towards us. He held a spear low, the blade pointing at me, but then he saw Guthfrith, saw my sword, and he curbed his horse just paces away. He kept the spear pointed at me and I saw his eyes flicking between mine and Guthfrith’s scared gaze. He was judging whether a lunge could pierce my shoulder before my sword cut the king’s throat. ‘Don’t be a fool, boy,’ I said, but that just seemed to enrage him. He stared at me, raised the spear-blade slightly and I heard the stallion panting, saw the wide whites of its eyes, then suddenly the rider’s back arched, his head went back and a second spear-blade appeared.

That second blade came from behind and shattered the boy’s spine. It slid through his guts and made a bulge in his mail coat before bursting through the iron links and thumping into the high pommel. Berg had thrust the spear and let go of it as the boy whimpered and gripped the spear-haft that now pinned him to his saddle. Berg drew his sword and wheeled his horse to face the other horsemen, but the fight was already dying. Berg looked at me. ‘There’s no fight in the bastards, lord!’ He edged his horse close to the dying boy and slashed his sword hard down to shear the spear-haft, and the rider, freed now from the saddle, fell.

There had been fight in them, but not much. They had been tired, and Finan’s assault had been so fast and so savage that most had tried to avoid battle, and the few that had welcomed it or had been forced to it had suffered. Finan was coming back now, his mail coat drenched with blood. ‘Off your horses! Weapons down!’ he was shouting at Guthfrith’s men, then turned in the saddle to threaten one fool who hesitated to obey. ‘On the ground, you miserable turd! Throw your sword on the ground!’ The sword fell. Enemies often lost their courage when Finan was in a killing mood.