Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

"What? They went back to the north?" I was incredulous.

Again Germanus questioned Cuthric, but this time as the big man answered him I saw the bishop stiffen, and the blood drained from his face. "Dear God," he said, turning back to me, his voice gone slack with shock. "Cuthric says that Vortigern is dead." He swung back to face the Anglian and the conversation between the two became fast and filled : with tension. I could hardly bear to listen without interrupting, but eventually the elderly bishop slumped and spoke to me again.

"It's true. He's dead, slain in battle by Horsa himself.: The report was brought to Cuthric by one of his own elders, whose daughter fell enamoured of a Dane of Horsa's party, and the fellow boasted of his prowess in the fighting, and of how he had struck off the hand of the Northumbrian king the hand that had dared to threaten Horsa. Cuthric has no idea who Vortigern is, or was, nor did he suspect that you or I could know of him. To Cuthric, he was but an unknown, faceless name who happened to be a king, far in the north. God rest his soul."

"Amen," I whispered. "Do you know, I heard my father say it would come to this, when I was just a boy. He knew, even then, that naught but harm could come from bringing Outlanders into this land to live." I heaved a sigh. "So Vortigern is gone. And so is Horsa, back to the north. He will be king in Northumbria now, I suppose."

"A Danish king, in Britain? I hope not."

"How does your Cuthric come to know so much about Horsa?"

The bishop shrugged his shoulders. "He shares a common interest with you, I suspect. Horsa and his Danes are?!

a threat to the settled Anglians close by, to the north of them. " He hesitated. "I wonder, though, how much he truly knows. He says the sky was black with Horsa's banners. "

I frowned. "Why should that trouble you?"

"It rings false, somehow. The Saxons don't use banners, nor do the Anglians or Jutes. None of these people do. "

"Horsa's a Dane, not a Saxon, Bishop, and he has lived his life observing Vortigern. Now there is a man who uses banners. His emblem is—damnation, was—the wolf's head. I can't believe he's dead. Anyway, Vortigern used his banners all the time, for spectacle's sake. You understand that, do you not?" He ignored my jibe, which was ill timed, and I continued. "So you see, it's more than possible that Horsa has taken his example. Ask Cuthric what Horsa's banner was. "

That took but a moment. "He says it's a bear, not unlike yours, save that Horsa's bear is black, while yours is silver. Every one of his ships' crews has a black bear banner, but the markings on the individual banners vary. "

He turned back to talk to Cuthric again, and I watched the expressions on the faces grouped around the fire as the word spread of Vortigern's death. I was talking to Tress about it when I felt the bishop's hand on my arm. He was still deep in conversation with Cuthric, but I knew he had something he wanted me to hear. Finally he turned back to face me, his eyes troubled.

"Horsa returned to the Weald, nigh on a month ago, as Cuthric said earlier. He summoned his warriors, spent a week collecting them, then sailed away again. But less than one third of the total fleet sailed north again, with Horsa. The major portion sailed south, commanded by a senior captain. "

I felt an instant chill of premonition. "South? There's nothing to the south except the Narrow Sea. You think they crossed to Gaul, without Horsa?"

I doubt it" Again he swung away, towards Cuthric, and I leaned towards them, listening closely to the rattle of the alien language that sounded guttural and hoarse to my ears. They seemed to speak for hours, this time, but among the gibberish I suddenly heard the first word I had ever recognized upon the Anglian's lips, and it was Ironhair.

By the time Germanus had swung around to look at me I was already on my feet, the blood roaring in my ears and my body reeling from the crashing understanding that had flooded me. Ironhair! I had no need to hear another word than that accursed name to understand what had happened. Ironhair, the great collector of allies, pirates and mercenaries, had not been in Cambria when we went searching for him. He had been away, no one knew where, while in the meantime his armies had searched for Dolaucothi and its gold mines! I cursed myself because I knew at that moment what I should have known long before, because the information had been given to me by the man himself. His emissary, the man called Retorix, had suggested that I might choose to make peace with Ironhair, in order to have the time to assist my ally Vortigern in dealing with the Saxon problem in the far northeast. He had told me he knew about Horsa's Danes! How blind a fool could a man be? I should have known instantly which way the devious mind of Ironhair would lean!

. I might have fallen headlong into the fire had not Donuil sprung up at Tressa's cry and grasped me by the arm, pulling me to his chest. I saw Philip and Benedict looming behind him, all amazed, because they could not know what had occurred, what had been said. Not even I knew all, and yet I knew too much from the utterance of that one name alone.

I dragged in a deep breath and mastered myself. Donuil leaned over me, refusing to release my arm until I was seated, and I could see the concern and confusion in his face. Benedict and Philip had moved to stand behind me, and now Dedalus was there on my left, his fist clenched upon the hilt of the dagger at his side.

Tressa's fingers were digging painfully into my upper arm, and I reached up to take her wrist, nodding my head to reassure her that I was well. Then I turned immediately to face Germanus once again. My friend had aged visibly, within a matter of moments, the lines in his cheeks suddenly graven deeper before.

"What did he say?" I asked him.

He had to moisten his mouth and swallow before he could reply. "I am afraid I may have undone all your work, with this request to join me here, my friend—"

I cut him short, dismissing his apology with something approaching gruffness. "You're a bishop, not a seer, " I growled. "Whatever has happened is no fault of yours. Tell me what Cuthric said. "

The others were all listening now; the only sound to be heard was the guttering of the fire in its pit. Germanus cleared his throat, then spoke quickly.

"The first wave of Danes came into the Weald last autumn, and spent the winter in the empty forts along the Saxon Shore. I told you that. Then, less than a month ago, Horsa returned with another, larger fleet and summoned all of them to rejoin him. He had made alliance, he said, with a king from the far west, a man called Ironhair, who required assistance in pacifying his domain. In return for that assistance, he was willing to provide land holdings in the territories to his north and west, and to provide the Danes with open access to the gold mines of Dolaucothi in the land of Cambria, in addition to the riches they could all win for themselves in the process of conquering the king's enemies. Ironhair was there, with Horsa, aboard his ship, and made his promise personally to the Danish warriors. They left within the week."

"How big was Horsa's fleet?'

Germanus relayed the question, and Cuthric listened closely, then shook his head in answering. Germanus nodded. "He does not know with certainty, but he was told there were in excess of two hundred ships."

"Two hundred! God curse the man to Hades, he is determined to become a king. The lands to the northwest of Cornwall are ours. He plots against Camulod, as well as Cambria. I must return, now, Germanus. Tonight." They dissuaded me from that foolishness quickly.

Germanus thought our entire force should head homeward at first light, but I rejected that. The bulk of them would move too slowly, tied as they were to the speed of the wagons. Instead, I would ride home ahead of them with .a small escort—small enough to travel at maximum speed < and large enough to discourage interference. Our main force would follow at its own best speed.