Bernard Cornwell - Death of Kings

‘For God!’ Osferth shouted from close by.

‘Even for God,’ I said.

‘But…’ Wulferth began, still confused by the night’s events.

I looked him in the eye. ‘Who do you want to fight for? Wessex or the Danes?’

He hesitated, not because he was unsure of the answer, but because everything was changing and he was still trying to understand what was happening. He had expected to march south towards Lundene, and instead he was being asked to fight.

‘Well?’ I prompted him.

‘Wessex, lord.’

‘Then fight well,’ I said, ‘and you’re in charge of this flank. Form your men, tell them the king is coming.’

I had seen no sign of Sigebriht, but as the weak grey daylight suffused the east I saw him approaching from the north. He had been with the Danes, doubtless sleeping in whatever warmth and comfort Huntandon had to offer, while now he was on horseback and behind him a man carried the standard of the bull’s head. ‘Oswi!’ I shouted. ‘Find me a horse! Finan! Six men, six horses! Wulferth!’ I turned back on the thegn. ‘Lord?’

‘Find Sigelf’s banner, have a man raise it next to mine.’

There were plenty of Centish horses tethered in the woods behind our position. Oswi brought me one, ready saddled, and I hauled myself up and kicked the animal towards Sigebriht who had stopped some fifty or sixty paces away. He and his standard-bearer were with five other men, none of whom I knew. I did not want the men of Cent responding to that bull’s head flag, but luckily the rain made it hang damp and forlorn.

I curbed the horse close to Sigebriht. ‘You want to make a name for yourself, boy?’ I challenged him. ‘Kill me now.’

He looked past me to where his father’s troops were readying for battle. ‘Where’s my father?’ he asked.

‘Dead,’ I said, and drew Serpent-Breath. ‘This killed him.’

‘Then I’m ealdorman,’ he said, and he took a deep breath and I knew he was going to shout at his father’s men to demand their loyalty, but before he could speak I had kicked the borrowed horse forward and brought the blade up.

‘Talk to me, boy,’ I said, holding Serpent-Breath close to his face, ‘not to them.’

Finan had joined me and five more of my men were just paces away now.

Sigebriht was frightened, but forced himself to look brave. ‘You’ll all die,’ he said.

‘Probably,’ I agreed, ‘but we’ll take you with us.’

His horse backed away and I let it take him out of reach of my sword. I looked past him and saw contingents of Danes crossing the bridge. Why had they waited? If they had crossed the previous evening they could have joined Sigelf and been marching south by now, but something had held them back. Then I remembered those mysterious fires burning in the night, the three great blazes of burning halls or fiery villages. Had someone attacked the Danish rear? It was the only explanation for the Danish delay, but who? Yet the Danes were crossing the river now, hundreds of them, thousands, and streaming over the bridge with them were Æthelwold’s men and Beortsig’s Mercians, and I reckoned the enemy army outnumbered us by at least eight to one.

‘I give you three choices, puppy,’ I spoke to Sigebriht. ‘You can join us and fight for your rightful king, or you can fight against me, you and me, right here, or you can run away to your Danish masters.’

He looked at me, but found it difficult to hold my gaze. ‘I’ll feed your carcass to the dogs,’ he said, trying to sound scornful.

I just stared at him and he finally turned away. He and his men rode back to the Danes and I watched him go, and only when he had vanished among the enemy’s thickening ranks did I turn the horse and walk it back to our shield wall. ‘Men of Cent!’ I curbed the horse in front of them. ‘Your ealdorman was a traitor to his country and to his god! The Danes promised to make him king, but when have the Danes ever kept a promise? They wanted you to fight for them, and when you had done their work they planned to take your wives and your daughters for their pleasure! They promised Æthelwold the throne of Wessex, but do any of you think he would keep the throne longer than a month? The Danes want Wessex! They want Cent! They want our fields, they want our women, they want our cattle, they want our children! And tonight they treacherously attacked you! Why? Because they decided they didn’t need you! They have enough men without you so they decided to kill you!’

Much of what I had told them was true. I looked along the Centish ranks, along the shields and spears and axes and swords. I saw anxious faces, scared faces. ‘I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg,’ I shouted, ‘and you know who I am and who I have killed. You’ll fight alongside me now, and all we need do is hold this treacherous enemy at bay until our king reaches us. He’s coming!’ I hoped that was true, because if it was not then this day would be my death-day. ‘He’s close,’ I shouted, ‘and when he reaches us we will slaughter those Danes like wolves ravaging lambs. You!’ I pointed at a priest. ‘Why are we fighting?’

‘For the cross, lord,’ he said.

‘Louder!’

‘For the cross!’

‘Osferth! Where’s your banner?’

‘I have it, lord!’ Osferth shouted.

‘Then let us see it!’ I waited till Osferth’s cross was at the front and centre of our line. ‘That is our banner!’ I shouted, pointing Serpent-Breath at the charred cross and hoping my own gods would forgive me. ‘Today you fight for your god, for your country, for your wives and for your families, because if you lose,’ I paused again, ‘if you lose then all those things will be gone for ever!’

And from behind me, from beside the houses close to the river, the thunder began. The Danes were clashing their spears and swords against their shields, making the war-thunder, the noise to weaken a man’s heart, and it was time to dismount and take my place in the shield wall.

The shield wall.

It terrifies, there is no place more terrible than the shield wall. It is the place where we die and where we conquer and where we make our reputation. I touched Thor’s hammer, prayed that Edward was coming, and readied to fight.

In the shield wall.

I knew the Danes would try to get behind us, but that would take time. They needed to either skirt the marshland or find a way across the swamp, and neither could be done in less than an hour, probably two. I had a messenger back down the road with orders to find Edward and urge haste on him, because his troops were the only ones who could block a Danish encirclement. And if the Danes did try to surround us, they would also want to pin me in place, which meant I could expect a frontal attack to keep me busy while part of their forces looked for a way to reach our rear.

And if Edward did not come?

Then this was where I would die, where Ælfadell’s prophecy would come true, where some man would claim the boast that he had killed Uhtred.

The Danes advanced slowly. Men do not relish the shield wall. They do not rush to death’s embrace. You look ahead and see the overlapping shields, the helmets, the glint of axes and spears and swords, and you know you must go into the reach of those blades, into the place of death, and it takes time to summon the courage, to heat the blood, to let the madness overtake caution. That is why men drink before battle. My own men had no ale or mead, though the Centish forces had enough and I could see the Danes passing skins down their line. They were still beating their weapons on their willow shields and the day was lightening to cast long shadows across the frost. I had seen horsemen go east and knew they were looking for a way around my flank, but I could not worry about those men for I did have enough troops to counter them. I had to hold the Danes in front till Edward came to kill those behind.