Bernard Cornwell - Death of Kings

‘Hundreds?’

‘Can’t cross the river to count them properly,’ he said, ‘not without getting killed, but I saw a hundred and forty-three ships.’

‘So thousands of Danes,’ I said.

‘Just waiting for us, lord.’

I found Edward in a convent to the south. Ealdorman Æthelhelm and Ealdorman Sigelf were with him, as were Bishop Erkenwald and Father Coenwulf, and I interrupted their supper to give them the news. It was a cold night, and a wet wind was rattling the shutters of the convent’s hall.

‘They want battle?’ Edward asked.

‘What they want, lord,’ I said, ‘is for us to be stupid enough to offer them battle.’

He looked puzzled at that. ‘But if we’ve found them,’ he began.

‘We must destroy them,’ Bishop Erkenwald declared.

‘They’re on the far side of a river we cannot cross,’ I explained, ‘except by the bridge that they are defending. They will slaughter us one by one until we withdraw, and then they’ll follow us like wolves behind a flock. That’s what they want, lord King. They’ve chosen the battlefield and we’re fools to accept their choice.’

‘Lord Uhtred is right,’ Ealdorman Sigelf snapped. I was so surprised that I said nothing.

‘He is,’ Æthelhelm agreed.

Edward plainly wanted to ask what we should do, but he knew the question would make him look weak. I could see him working out the alternatives and was pleased that he chose the right one. ‘The bridge you spoke of,’ he said, ‘Eanulfsbirig?’

‘Yes, lord King.’

‘We can cross it?’

‘Yes, lord King.’

‘So if we cross it we can destroy it?’

‘I would cross it, lord King,’ I said, ‘and march on Bedanford. Invite the Danes to attack us there. That way we choose the battlefield, not them.’

‘That makes sense,’ Edward said hesitantly, looking towards Bishop Erkenwald and Father Coenwulf for support. They both nodded. ‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ Edward said more confidently.

‘I ask a favour of you, lord King,’ Sigelf said, sounding unnaturally humble.

‘Whatever you wish,’ Edward said graciously.

‘Allow my men to be the rearguard, lord King? If the Danes attack, let my shields take their assault and let the men of Cent defend the army.’

Edward looked surprised and pleased at the request. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘and thank you, Lord Sigelf.’

And so the orders were sent to all the scattered troops, summoning them to the bridge at Eanulfsbirig. They were to march at first light, and at the same time Sigelf’s Centishmen would advance up the road to confront the Danes just south of Huntandon. We were doing exactly what the Danes had done. We had invaded, destroyed, and now we would withdraw, only we withdrew in chaos.

The dawn brought a bitter cold. Hoar frost touched the fields and the ditches had a skin of ice. I remember that day so well because half the sky was a bright, glittering blue and the other half, all to the east, was grey clouds. It was as though the gods had half dragged a blanket across the world, dividing the sky, and the edge of the clouds was as straight as a blade. That edge was silvered by the sun and beneath it the land was dark, and it was across that land that Edward’s troops straggled westwards. Many had plunder and wanted to use the Roman road, the same road up which Sigelf’s men were advancing. I saw a broken wagon loaded with a millstone. A man was shouting at his warriors to mend the wagon and at the same time was whipping the two helpless oxen. I was with Rollo and twenty-two men and we simply cut the two oxen out of their harness, then pushed the broken wagon with its immense burden into the ditch, shattering the thin ice. ‘That’s my stone,’ the angry man yelled.

‘And this is my sword,’ I snarled back, ‘now get your men west.’

Finan had most of my men close to Huntandon, while I had ordered Osferth to take twenty horsemen and to escort Æthelflaed west of the river. She had obeyed me meekly, which surprised me. I remembered Ludda telling me that there was another road that ran from Huntandon to Eanulfsbirig outside of the great river bend, and so I had warned Edward of that route and then sent Merewalh and his Mercians to guard it. ‘The Danes could try to cut off our retreat,’ I told Edward. ‘They could send ships upriver or use the smaller road, but Merewalh’s scouts should see them if they try either of those things.’

He had nodded. I was not sure he entirely understood what I was saying, but he was now so grateful for my advice that he would probably have nodded if I had told him to send men to guard the dark half of the moon.

‘I can’t be certain they’ll try to cut our retreat,’ I told the king, ‘but as your army crosses the bridge just keep them there. No one marches on Bedanford till we’re all across the river! Draw them up for battle. Once we have every man safe across we can march on Bedanford together. What we don’t do is string the army out along the road.’

We should have had everyone across the river by midday, but chaos ruled. Some troops were lost, others were so laden with plunder that they could only move at a snail’s pace, and Sigelf’s men became entangled with those coming the other way. The Danes should have crossed the river and attacked, but instead they stayed at Huntandon, and Finan watched them from the south. Sigelf did not reach Finan till mid afternoon, and then he arrayed his men across the road about half a mile south of the river. It was a well-chosen position. A straggly stand of trees hid some of his men who were protected on either flank by stretches of marsh, and in front by a flooded ditch. If the Danes crossed the bridge they could draw up their shield wall, but to attack Sigelf they must cross the deep, flooded ditch behind which the Centish shields, swords, axes and spears were waiting.

‘They might try to go around the marshes to attack you from behind,’ I told Sigelf.

‘I’ve fought before,’ he snapped at me.

I did not care if I was offending him. ‘So don’t stay here if they do cross the bridge,’ I told him, ‘just back away. And if they don’t cross I’ll send word when you should rejoin us.’

‘Are you in command?’ he demanded. ‘Or Edward?’

‘I am,’ I said, and he looked startled.

His son, Sigebriht, had listened to the exchange and now accompanied me as I rode north to look at the Danes. ‘Will they attack, lord?’ he asked me.

‘I understand nothing about this war,’ I told him, ‘nothing. The bastards should have attacked us weeks ago.’

‘Perhaps they’re frightened of us,’ he said, then laughed, which I thought curious, but ascribed to youthful foolishness. He was indeed foolish, yet such a handsome fool. He still wore his hair long, tied at the nape of his neck with a leather strip, and around his neck was the pink silk ribbon that still had the faint bloodstain from that morning outside Sceaftesburi. His expensive mail was polished, his gold-panelled belt shone, and his crystal-pommelled sword was sheathed in a scabbard decorated with writhing dragons made from finely-twisted gold wire. His face was strong-boned, bright-eyed, and his skin reddened by the cold. ‘So they should have attacked us,’ he said, ‘but what should we have done?’

‘Attacked them at Cracgelad,’ I said.

‘Why didn’t we?’

‘Because Edward was frightened of losing Lundene,’ I said, ‘and he was waiting for your father.’

‘He needs us,’ Sigebriht said with evident satisfaction.

‘What he needed,’ I said, ‘was an assurance of Cent’s loyalty.’

‘He doesn’t trust us?’ Sigebriht asked disingenuously.

‘Why should he?’ I asked savagely. ‘You supported Æthelwold and sent messengers to Sigurd. Of course he didn’t trust you.’