For Lord and Land Page 11

  Oswiu was shocked by what he saw.

  “The king is wounded!” he shouted. “Why is he walking and not carried?” He looked accusingly first at Offa, who merely shook his head, and then, increasingly angry, at Beobrand.

  “The king refused to be borne by his men,” Beobrand said. “He insisted he would meet you not as an invalid, but as a fellow king.”

  Oswiu frowned. Beobrand noted that he was leaning slightly to the side, favouring his left foot.

  “Well, he has done that now,” Oswiu said. “I pray to God his pride, and the weakness of those who should offer him counsel, have not been his undoing.” The East Angelfolc grumbled, but Oswiu ignored them. This was his fortress and his land. He cared nought for the feelings of warriors of a sick king who had lost his kingdom. “Brytnere,” he snapped, “see to it that King Anna and his people are given lodging. And have Utta attend the king.”

  Coenred stepped forward from where he had stood in the shadows near Cuthbert.

  “I will tend to the king’s wounds, if it pleases you, lord,” he said. His voice was steady in the face of Oswiu’s anger. Beobrand felt a glow of pride for his friend. He had changed much in the years since they had first met. The Coenred who stood before Oswiu now was far from the scared boy Beobrand had encountered at Engelmynster. Oswiu glowered at Coenred before waving him away. “Very well. I know you are skilled in the arts of healing. Ensure that King Anna recovers.”

  “I will tend to him to the best of my abilities,” said Coenred, his tone sombre. “If God wills it, he will get well.”

  Oswiu fixed him with a hard stare.

  “Then pray that it is God’s will,” he snarled.

  After Brytnere, Bebbanburg’s steward, had led the men of East Angeln away, Oswiu rounded on Beobrand.

  “You fool,” he spat, his voice a sibilant hiss. “What have you done?”

  Beobrand could feel the eyes upon him of all those gathered at the gates. His gesithas squirmed. Over Oswiu’s shoulder, Beobrand caught a glimpse of Eanflæd’s beauty. He swallowed and looked away from her. He could not afford the distraction. Looking down, he met Oswiu’s glower with his ice-cold stare.

  “Lord, I have brought to your hall an ally king,” he said, keeping his tone even.

  “You dared to openly battle in my name in another kingdom?” The king was furious.

  Beobrand did not alter his tone or expression. He knew how easily he could infuriate the king and some part of him revelled in it. Perhaps, he thought, he had not grown so much in the years since first he had come here as a boy after all.

  “I fought in my name, lord,” he said. “And in the name of God,” he added, knowing that Oswiu could not dispute the righteousness of saving the Christ-following king.

  For a long moment, Oswiu did not reply. He bunched his hands into fists and Beobrand wondered whether the king meant to strike him.

  At last Oswiu shook his head.

  “You care nothing for God. This was for your own ends.” He peered at Beobrand, as if he could see his thoughts. “Why did you go to East Angeln?” he asked.

  Beobrand contemplated lying or saying something that would antagonise Oswiu. But he pushed aside the idea as that of a fool. Was he baiting the king because he was jealous of him? What did he hope to gain from this? He swallowed the bitterness that flooded his mouth whenever he saw Eanflæd and Oswiu together. This was a deadly game he played.

  “I heard of Penda’s attack. I knew that Coenred was there. He is my friend. I owe him my life.”

  “And your life is mine,” replied the king, whispering the words past his clenched jaw.

  Beobrand nodded. Oswiu had his oath, it was true.

  “I could not leave Coenred to be slain,” he went on. “When we arrived, we found King Anna battling against a band of Mercians. It seemed like the right thing to bring them north. I thought you would wish to have an ally king here with you.”

  “You had no authority,” hissed Oswiu. He drew in a deep breath, calming himself with difficulty. He stared at Beobrand, perhaps thinking about the pieces on the tafl board of the kingdoms of Albion that the thegn of Bebbanburg had moved. “By bringing Anna here,” Oswiu said at last, “you will have diverted Penda’s ire at the shaming of his sister in our direction. We have no need of further enemies. We have our fair share.”

  “Penda is already our enemy,” said Beobrand, looking about him.

  It was dark now, and the soot on the walls could not be seen. Although much of the palisade had been rebuilt, there were still sections that bore the scars of the fire Penda had lit at the gates in an attempt to raze the fortress. When the sun shone on Bebbanburg, the reminder of Penda’s enmity was clear.

  “By Christ’s bones, man, do you think I do not know that? But we have a battle to fight now, without having to contend with Penda too.”

  Oswiu’s words jarred and Beobrand thought for a heartbeat.

  “Oswine has moved against you?”

  “Yes,” replied Oswiu, his face stern. “It would seem he has finally found the bravery to meet us once more in the field.” Beobrand thought of the constant Bernician harrying of the borderlands with Deira, the steadings burnt, the crops trampled, cattle driven north. The ceorls and freemen murdered all in the name of a war that Oswine of Deira never wanted. Beobrand said nothing.

  Oswiu shifted his weight, wincing as if in pain. Again, Beobrand noted how the king limped when he moved. He wondered at it, but could not bring himself to enquire as to Oswiu’s health.

  “Wulfstan has amassed a host and marched towards the Wall,” the king went on. “Alhfrith and Ethelwin have ridden to meet him at Corebricg, but I want you there too. After all, it is your own failure to follow my commands that has led us here.” Beobrand tensed, but did not react to the king’s goading. Oswiu too, it seemed, enjoyed riling Beobrand. “This will give you a chance to finish what you should have done years ago,” Oswiu said, a cruel glint in his eye. He knew that Wulfstan was Beobrand’s friend and no doubt had his suspicions about what had occurred at Ediscum. “A chance to avenge Heremod and Fordraed’s thegns.” Beobrand held Oswiu’s gaze without blinking. Whatever Oswiu might suspect, none of Fordraed’s men yet lived, and the dead did not talk.

  “Of course, lord,” Beobrand replied. “I will do my duty, as ever. But you do not ride with us?”

  Oswiu tensed.

  “It would seem the good Lord has seen fit to test me in many ways,” he said. “Alas, I cannot walk, let alone fight.”

  “What ails you, lord?”

  Oswiu waved the question away.

  “It is just my foot. It troubles me from time to time. It will heal soon enough, as it has before, but until it does, I would be of no use in the shieldwall.”

  “I am sorry, lord,” Beobrand said. “Your presence will be missed when we stand against the Deiran host.”

  Beobrand wondered at the king’s illness. It would be a loss indeed not to have him in the shieldwall when battle commenced. Oswiu was a brave warrior and a strong leader. Morale would suffer.

  “The Almighty will restore my health, but your king had need of you two days ago when my son and warmaster rode forth.” Oswiu scowled at Beobrand. He could see the pain hidden in the king’s pinched glare and his simmering anger. “You should have been with them, Beobrand,” he went on. “I sent word to Ubbanford. Imagine my surprise when I heard that one of my thegns, the great Beobrand, and his Black Shields were not in Bernicia at all, not where their king thought them to be, but far to the south on an errand I knew nothing of.”

  “I left Cynan at Ubbanford, lord,” replied Beobrand, “with most of my men. Cynan is a good man.”

  “So you say.” Oswiu frowned. “Well, you know my thoughts on the matter. That Waelisc man of yours is not one to be trusted.”

  Beobrand felt his ire kindling within him.

  “But lord, Cynan has ever been true to me and to you. He has proven his worth many times in battle. He is as loyal as any man I know. I would
trust him with my life.”

  “Well, perhaps with your life,” replied Oswiu, with a sardonic smile, “but I do not think you should trust him to protect your lands.”

  “I do not understand your meaning, lord,” replied Beobrand. He could make no sense of Oswiu’s words, but a sliver of disquiet traced down his spine.

  “You are lucky that you have honest Bernician men like Elmer to lead your gesithas when you are away. But I think your trust of that Waelisc upstart is misplaced.”

  Beobrand’s unease grew.

  “Lord? Has something happened to Cynan?”

  “Happened to him?” Oswiu shook his head. “I would not know. But he was not where he should have been. And neither were you. My messenger returned to tell me that your Black Shields, led by Elmer, had answered my call, but that you were chasing monks in East Angeln.”

  “And Cynan?”

  Oswiu shrugged.

  “That treacherous Waelisc cur has ridden into the west. Back to his people I dare say.”

  Chapter 11

  Cynan nudged Mierawin into a trot. He dared not urge the mare to further speed for fear that one of the horses might become injured in the darkness. The moon was bright and there were few clouds to hide its light, so when the ground was open, they could see their path well enough. But there were many dips and swells, fords over burbling streams, and gnarled trees and bracken grew thick beside the track the riders followed. The moon shadows were impenetrable and could easily hide a rut, a sharp stone, a twisted root or even a badger’s sett. If one of their mounts should break a leg or pull up lame, this quest would be over before it began. He did not like to ride at night, but he’d had no choice.

  When Bassus discovered what Cynan had done, he would be furious. He might attempt to follow them. Cynan hoped that Ardith would prove persuasive enough to waylay any pursuit. Gods knew she had been convincing earlier when she had come to the barn where Sulis was being held.

  Scanning the ground ahead for any obstacle that might hurt the horses, Cynan shook his head in the darkness. By the gods, how had it come to this? Not so long before he had been talking to Sulis in the quiet gloom of the storage hut, and now he was leading a small group into the west to face an unknown foe. And for what? He glanced behind him at his companions, their faces pale smudges in the dark. He could make them out well enough by their size and how they rode. Sulis was in the middle of them. Was he a fool to jeopardise all he had for this woman? Probably. But that was a risk he had chosen to take. Now he also had two others to worry about. Beobrand had warned him that to lead men was difficult. Cynan had not truly understood his lord then. But now he knew the weight of responsibility and he wondered if he would ever be content to lead others into danger. Truth be told, he hoped he would never cease to be concerned for the men and women who put their lives in his hands, for what sort of man would he be then?

  He waited for the first rider to catch up and then kicked Mierawin on again, falling into step beside Ingwald astride his dumpy gelding.

  “How far will we go tonight?” asked Ingwald, keeping his voice quiet so that only Cynan would hear him.

  “Far enough.”

  They rode on in silence.

  “We could still go back,” the older man said. Cynan could barely make out his words over the horses’ hooves and the jangle of the harness.

  “I am not turning around,” he said. “I told you as much already. But you are free to return. And take Brinin with you. You would be doing me a service.”

  “My place is at your side, lord.” Cynan could hear the smile in his words at the use of the title. “And it would be no service to you if I were to leave you to face an enemy alone.”

  “But what enemy?” Cynan asked, not expecting an answer. He thought back to what Sulis had told him. He was resigned to aid her, he had known it as soon as he had entered the dark barn and seen her face in the lamp light. He could never turn away from helping her.

  “You say they took her boy?”

  Cynan nodded in the dark.

  “Yes. And they killed a bondsman too. And beat her man till he was almost dead.”

  “All for silver?”

  “No, for lead, which it seems can buy a man silver.” Sulis had recounted how her husband had found a cave on their land. And in that cave he had found old tools, long abandoned. But the rusted picks and spades had shown him that men had been there, though gods knew when, for he had never heard of any man digging into the earth there and he had lived in those parts all his life, as had his father and his father’s father.

  They rode on for a way, cresting a hill and gazing down onto an open moorland. There was no sign of campfires in the dark. Good, if they did not light a fire, they would be invisible to any pursuers, at least until dawn.

  “So tell me,” said Ingwald, “how does a man take lead from the ground?”

  “I do not know.” Cynan swerved Mierawin to avoid a dark pool of shadow beneath a spreading ash tree. “We can ask Sulis’ husband when we get there. She said that he spoke to a holy man who found some ancient parchments with all manner of knowledge. The priest, it seems, was able to discover the secret of how to bring forth the lead from the stone.”

  “And why does she think her son was taken? And her husband attacked?”

  “I don’t know why,” said a woman’s voice in the darkness. Both men shifted in their saddles, surprised to see that Sulis had caught up with them. She rode the small pony she had ridden into Ubbanford the afternoon before. “They were both at the cave when it happened,” she continued. Cynan had heard her account of events before, but he listened intently and said nothing. It was good that Ingwald should hear it for himself. Cynan pulled gently on Mierawin’s reins, slowing the animal almost imperceptibly so that Brinin, the final rider, would be able to close the gap and hear Sulis’ tale in her own words. If they were to risk everything for this woman whom they did not know, they should hear what she had to say.

  “They were meant to have returned before sundown, but dusk came and there was no sign of them.” Sulis’ voice held the sharp edge of despair as she recalled that night. “I wanted to ride out then, in the darkness, but Alfwold would not let me.”

  “Alfwold?” asked Ingwald.

  “My husband’s bondsman. He tends the sheep in the high pasture and helps about the place. Alfwold made me wait until morning. I did not sleep that night. I knew something terrible had happened. I was sure they were both dead.” She shivered. “We rode out into the hills before dawn and when I saw Leofman lying there beside our cart and no sound or sign of Eadwig…” Sulis’ voice trailed off and for a time they rode in silence as she composed her thoughts. Cynan turned to see Brinin riding close now. After a long while, Sulis continued. “I thought the worst at first,” she said, her voice jagged from the memory. “Leofman was so pale. But then he groaned. They had hurt him so badly,” her words caught in her throat, turning to a sob. She sniffed and none of the men looked at her in the darkness. “But my husband had put up a fight. He told us he had injured one of the men who had attacked him. Cut his arm with his seax.”

  “He knew who they were?” Brinin asked.

  “Yes,” she said, and her voice was hollow. “He said they were Sidrac’s men.”

  “Sidrac?” said Brinin.

  “He is the son of Tohrwulf, the local ealdorman.”

  “I know ealdorman Tohrwulf,” said Cynan. “He was at Caer Luel after Maserfelth. He must be very old now.”

  “He is,” she hissed. “Old and drunk. His sons rule his lands now, as if their father were already dead.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Cynan. “But he is yet a lord of Bernicia and he must follow the king’s laws. As must his sons. We will see this wrong put right. This Sidrac will pay the weregild for what he has done.”

  She did not reply but he thought he saw her shaking her head in the darkness.

  “And what of my Eadwig?”

  “Sidrac will return your son to you.”

  �
��But why did they take the boy?” asked Ingwald. “And why attack your husband?”

  “I do not know the answer to these things,” she replied, her tone bitter. “Why do men ever do the things they do? I struggled to get sense out of Leofman when we found him, but he said it was something to do with the land. The land and the lead. There are riches to be made from the metal and Sidrac is a greedy man, everyone knows it. But why he took Eadwig, I do not know.”

  She fell silent and they rode on into the night. Cynan scoured the dark land for a suitable place for them to make camp.

  “It was madness to ride all this way,” he said into the darkness, “alone and with child.”

  “Perhaps,” Sulis replied. “Madness or desperation. Who knows? I have changed, Cynan. I have been happy these last years, where I never thought I would find contentment again. But I am still the same woman you knew. I am no man’s to be threatened or commanded.” Her voice took on a hard, sharp quality which made him think of splintering ice. “If I could, I would ride in search of the men who did this thing,” she said. “I would kill them myself. But alas, I was born into the body of a woman and I have not the strength or the skill for such things.”

  Cynan could think of few stronger than this small woman who rode beside him in the night.

  “But I do?”

  “Yes, Cynan,” she replied. “You do.”

  He wondered at the nature of things. It was true that men were stronger and wielded the power over life and death of the people of middle earth, and yet, was it not the women who truly commanded them? Sulis had asked for his aid and now three warriors rode into the west at her bidding. And was it not another young woman who had convinced them to this course of action?

  He recalled the door of the barn grating as it was pulled open. The lamp light had splashed onto Ardith’s face. She had her father’s direct, icy gaze and she had stared at them both for a time before entering and demanding to know Sulis’ story.

  On hearing of the woman’s plight, Ardith had stood, smoothing her dress over her swelling belly.