Бернард Корнуэлл: War Lord

I kicked Guthfrith’s sword well away from him, then let him go. ‘You can talk to the royal bastard now,’ I told Oda.

Oda hesitated because Finan had spurred close to us. The Irishman nodded at me. ‘Young Immar took a nasty cut to the shoulder, but otherwise? We’re unhurt, lord. Can’t say as much for this bastard.’ He tossed something at Guthfrith. ‘That’s one of your beasts, lord King,’ Finan snarled and I saw he had thrown down a severed head that now rolled clumsily towards Guthfrith’s feet where it came to a bloody standstill. ‘He thought he’d take a child away,’ Finan explained to me, ‘for his amusement. But the women and bairns are safe now. Your son’s guarding them.’

‘And you, lord King, are also safe,’ Oda said, offering Guthfrith a bow, ‘and eager to meet King Æthelstan, I’m sure.’ He spoke as if nothing untoward had happened, as if there wasn’t a bloody head on the stones or a young man writhing with a shattered spear through his belly. ‘The king is eager to meet you!’ Oda spoke cheerfully. ‘He looks forward to it!’

Guthfrith said nothing. He was trembling, though whether with rage or fear I could not tell. I picked up his sword and tossed it to Gerbruht. ‘He won’t need that for a while,’ I said, which made Guthfrith scowl.

‘We must go to Eoferwic, lord King,’ Oda went on.

‘Praise God,’ Hrothweard muttered.

‘We have a ship,’ Oda said brightly. ‘We can be in Eoferwic in two days, three perhaps?’

‘Jorvik,’ Guthfrith growled, giving Eoferwic its Danish name.

‘To Jorvik indeed.’

I had spotted Boldar Gunnarson among the defeated horsemen. He was an older man, grey-bearded, with a missing eye and a leg mangled by a Saxon spear thrust. He had been one of Sigtryggr’s most trusted men, a warrior of experience and sense, and I was surprised that he had sworn allegiance to Guthfrith. ‘What choice did I have, lord?’ he asked when I summoned him. ‘I’m old, my family is in Jorvik, where would I go?’

‘But to serve Guthfrith?’

Boldar shrugged. ‘He’s not his brother,’ he allowed. Guthfrith’s brother had been Sigtryggr, my son-in-law, and a man I had liked and trusted.

‘You could have come to me when Sigtryggr died.’

‘I thought of that, lord, but Jorvik is home.’

‘Then go back there,’ I said, ‘and take Guthfrith’s men with you.’

He nodded, ‘I will.’

‘And there’ll be no trouble, Boldar!’ I warned him. ‘Leave my villagers alone! If I hear a whisper of theft or rape I’ll do the same to your family.’

He flinched at that, but nodded again. ‘There’ll be no trouble, lord,’ he paused, ‘but the wounded? Dead?’

‘Bury your dead or leave them for the crows. I don’t care. And take your wounded with you.’

‘Take them where?’ Guthfrith demanded. He was remembering he was a king and recovering his arrogance. He pushed me aside to confront Boldar. ‘Where?’

‘Home!’ I turned on him angrily, pushing him in turn. ‘Boldar takes your men home, and there’ll be no trouble!’

‘My men stay with me!’ Guthfrith insisted.

‘You’re going by ship, you miserable turd,’ I stepped closer, forcing him to retreat further, ‘and there’s no room on board. You can take four men. No more than four!’

‘Surely—’ Oda began, but I interrupted him.

‘He takes four!’

He took four.

We went back to Bebbanburg with Guthfrith, his four warriors, and with Archbishop Hrothweard who rode next to Oda. My son escorted the women south, waiting until Boldar and his men were safely gone. The ship that had brought Oda to Bebbanburg would carry him, the archbishop and the captive king south to Eoferwic. ‘King Æthelstan also wishes to see you, lord,’ Oda reminded me before they sailed.

‘He knows where I live.’

‘He would like you to come to Eoferwic.’

‘I stay here,’ I growled.

‘He commands you, lord,’ Oda said quietly. I said nothing and, when the silence had lasted long enough, Oda shrugged. ‘As you wish, lord.’

Next day we watched Oda’s ship row from the harbour. The wind was a chilly north-easterly, which filled the sail. I saw the oars brought inboard and the water seethe along her flanks and widen white behind as she passed the Farnea Islands. I watched her till she vanished in a squall of rain far to the south.

‘So we’re not going to Eoferwic?’ Finan asked.

‘We’re staying here,’ I insisted.

Æthelstan, whom I had nurtured as a boy and helped to the throne, now called himself the Monarchus Totius Brittaniae, so he could damn well sort out Britain by himself.

I was staying at Bebbanburg.

Two days later I sat with Finan and Benedetta in the morning sunlight. The hot weather of a few days before had given way to an unseasonal cold. Benedetta tucked some windblown strands of hair beneath her cap and shivered. ‘Is this summer?’

‘Better than the last two days,’ Finan said. The chill north-east wind that had driven Oda’s ship southwards had brought a sullen stubborn rain that had made me fear for the harvest, but that rain had gone and the sun shone weakly, and if the wind backed, I reckoned, the warmth would return.

‘Oda should be in Eoferwic by now,’ I said.

‘And how long before Æthelstan sends a summons to you?’ Finan asked, amused.

‘It’s probably on its way already.’

‘And you go?’ Benedetta asked.

‘If he asks nicely? Perhaps.’

‘Or perhaps not,’ Finan added.

We were watching my younger men practise their sword-craft. Berg was teaching them. ‘Roric’s useless,’ I growled.

‘He’s learning.’

‘And look at Immar! Couldn’t fight a slug!’

‘His arm is still healing.’

‘And Aldwyn! He looks like he’s cutting hay.’

‘He’s still a boy, he’ll learn.’

I leaned down and scratched the coarse hair of one of my wolfhounds. ‘And Roric’s getting fat.’

‘He’s humping one of the dairy girls,’ Finan said. ‘The fat one. I suspect she brings him butter.’

I grunted. ‘Suspect?’

‘Cream too,’ Finan went on. ‘I’ll have her watched.’

‘And have her whipped if she’s stealing.’

‘Him too?’

‘Of course.’ I yawned. ‘Who won the eating contest last night?’

Finan grinned. ‘Who do you think?’

‘Gerbruht?’

‘Eats like an ox.’

‘Good man, though.’

‘He is,’ Finan said, ‘and he won the farting contest too.’

‘ Ouff! ’ Benedetta grimaced.

‘It amuses them,’ I insisted. I had heard the laughter in the hall from the seaward ramparts where I had been watching the moon’s long reflection on the sea and thinking about Æthelstan. Wondering why he was in Eoferwic. Wondering how many years or months I had before none of it mattered to me any longer.

‘They’re easily amused,’ Finan said.

‘There’s a ship,’ I pointed northwards.

‘Saw it ten minutes ago,’ Finan said. He had the eyesight of a hawk. ‘And not a cargo ship either.’

He was right. The approaching vessel was long, low and lean, a ship made for war, not trade. Her hull was dark and her sail was almost black. ‘She’s the Trianaid ,’ I said. The name meant Trinity.

‘You know her?’ Finan sounded surprised.

‘Scottish ship. We saw her at Dumnoc a few years ago.’

‘Evil comes from the north,’ Benedetta said balefully, ‘the star and the dragon! They do not lie!’

‘It’s only one ship,’ I said, to calm her.

‘And coming here,’ Finan added. The ship, under sail, was close to Lindisfarena and turning her cross-decorated prow towards Bebbanburg’s harbour channel. ‘Silly bugger will go aground if he’s not careful.’