The Last Kingdom Series Books 1-3: The Last Kingdom, The Pale Horseman, The Lords of the North. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ far southern parts of Mercia, very close to the West Saxon border, and that was good because the Danes were thickest in Mercia’s north, and so we went to Cirrenceastre and found it was another Roman town, well walled with stone and timber, and that Æthelwulf’s brother, Æthelred, was now Ealdorman and lord of the place.

      We arrived when he sat in court and we waited in his hall among the petitioners and oath-takers. We watched as two men were flogged and a third branded on the face and sent into outlawry for cattle-thieving, and then a steward brought us forward, thinking we had come to seek redress for a grievance, and the steward told us to bow, and I refused and the man tried to make me bend at the waist and I struck him in the face, and that got Æthelred’s attention. He was a tall man, well over forty years old, almost hairless except for a huge beard, and as gloomy as Guthrum. When I struck the steward he beckoned to his guards who were lolling at the hall’s edges. ‘Who are you?’ he growled at me.

      ‘I am the Ealdorman Uhtred,’ I said, and the title stilled the guards and made the steward back nervously away. ‘I am the son of Uhtred of Bebbanburg,’ I went on, ‘and of Æthelgifu, his wife. I am your nephew.’

      He stared at me. I must have looked a wreck for I was travel-stained and long-haired and ragged, but I had two swords and monstrous pride. ‘You are Æthelgifu’s boy?’ he asked.

      ‘Your sister’s son,’ I said, and even then I was not certain this was the right family, but it was, and Ealdorman Æthelred made the sign of the cross in memory of his younger sister, whom he hardly remembered, and waved the guards back to the hall’s sides and asked me what I wanted.

      ‘Shelter,’ I said, and he nodded grudgingly. I told him I had been a prisoner of the Danes ever since my father’s death, and he accepted that willingly enough, but in truth he was not very interested in me, indeed my arrival was a nuisance for we were two more mouths to feed, but family imposes obligation, and Ealdorman Æthelred met his. He also tried to have me killed.

      His lands, which stretched to the River Sæfern in the west, were being raided by Britons from Wales. The Welsh were old enemies, the ones who had tried to stop our ancestors from taking England, indeed their name for England is Lloegyr, which means the Lost Lands, and they were forever raiding or thinking of raiding or singing songs about raiding, and they had a great hero called Arthur who was supposed to be sleeping in his grave and one day he was going to rise up and lead the Welsh to a great victory over the English and so take back the Lost Lands, though so far that has not happened.

      About a month after I arrived Æthelred heard that a Welsh war-band had crossed the Sæfern and were taking cattle from his lands near Fromtun and he rode to clear them out. He went westwards with fifty men, but ordered the chief of his household troops, a warrior called Tatwine, to block their retreat near the ancient Roman town of Gleawecestre. He gave Tatwine a force of twenty men that included me. ‘You’re a big lad,’ Æthelred said to me before he left, ‘have you ever fought in a shield wall?’

      I hesitated, wanting to lie, but decided that poking a sword between men’s legs at Readingum was not the same thing. ‘No, lord,’ I said.

      ‘Time you learned. That sword must be good for something, where did you get it?’

      ‘It was my father’s, lord,’ I lied, for I did not want to explain that I had not been a prisoner of the Danes, nor that the sword had been a gift, for Æthelred would have expected me to give it to him. ‘It is the only thing of my father’s I have,’ I added pathetically, and he grunted, waved me away, and told Tatwine to put me in the shield wall if it came to a fight.

      I know that because Tatwine told me so when everything was over. Tatwine was a huge man, as tall as me, with a chest like a blacksmith and thick arms on which he made marks with ink and a needle. The marks were just blotches, but he boasted that each one was a man he had killed in battle, and I once tried to count them, but gave up at thirty-eight. His sleeves hid the rest. He was not happy to have me in his band of warriors, and even less happy when Brida insisted on accompanying me, but I told him she had sworn an oath to my father never to leave my side and that she was a cunning woman who knew spells that would confuse the enemy, and he believed both lies and probably thought that once I was dead his men could have their joy of Brida while he took Serpent-Breath back to Æthelred.

      The Welsh had crossed the Sæfern high up, then turned south into the lush water meadows where cattle grew fat. They liked to come in fast and go out fast, before the Mercians could gather forces, but Æthelred had heard of their coming in good time and, as he rode west, Tatwine led us north to the bridge across the Sæfern that was the quickest route home to Wales.

      The raiders came straight into that trap. We arrived at the bridge at dusk, slept in a field, were awake before dawn and, just as the sun rose, saw the Welshmen and their stolen cattle coming towards us. They made an effort to ride further north, but their horses were tired, ours were fresh, and they realised there was no escape and so they returned to the bridge. We did the same and, dismounted, formed the shield wall. The Welsh made their wall. There were twenty-eight of them, all savage-looking men with shaggy hair and long beards and tattered coats, but their weapons looked well cared for and their shields were stout.

      Tatwine spoke some of their language and he told them that if they surrendered now they would be treated mercifully by his lord. Their only response was to howl at us, and one of them turned around, lowered his breeches, and showed us his dirty backside, which passed as a Welsh insult.

      Nothing happened then. They were in their shield wall on the road, and our shield wall blocked the bridge, and they shouted insults and Tatwine forbade our men to shout back, and once or twice it seemed as if the Welsh were going to run to their horses and try to escape by galloping northwards, but every time they hinted at such a move, Tatwine ordered the servants to bring up our horses, and the Welsh understood that we would pursue and overtake them and so they went back to the shield wall and jeered at us for not assaulting them. Tatwine was not such a fool. The Welshmen outnumbered us which meant that they could overlap us, but by staying on the bridge our flanks were protected by its Roman parapets and he wanted them to come at us there. He placed me in the centre of the line, and then stood behind me. I understood later that he was ready to step into my place when I fell. I had an old shield with a loose handle loaned to me by my uncle.

      Tatwine again tried to persuade them to surrender, promising that only half of them would be put to death, but as the other half would all lose a hand and an eye, it was not a tempting offer. Still they waited, and might have waited until nightfall had not some local people come along and one of them had a bow and some arrows, and he began shooting at the Welsh who, by now, had been drinking steadily through the morning. Tatwine had given us all some ale, but not much.

      I was nervous. More than nervous, I was terrified. I had no armour, while the rest of Tatwine’s men were in mail or good leather. Tatwine had a helmet, I had hair. I expected to die, but I remembered my lessons and slung Serpent-Breath on my back, strapping her sword belt around my throat. A sword is much quicker to draw over the shoulder, and I expected to begin the fight with Wasp-Sting. My throat was dry, a muscle in my right leg quivered, my belly felt sour, but entwined with that fear was excitement. This was what life had led to, a shield wall, and if I survived this then I would be a warrior.

      The arrows flew one after the other, mostly thumping into shields, but one lucky shaft slid past a shield and sank into a man’s chest and he fell back, and suddenly the Welsh leader lost patience and gave a great scream. And they charged.

      It was a small shield wall, not a great battle. A cattle skirmish, not a clash of armies, but it was my first shield wall, and I instinctively rattled my shield against my neighbours’ shields, to make sure they touched, and I lowered Wasp-Sting, meaning to bring her up under the rim, and I crouched slightly to receive the charge, and the Welsh were howling СКАЧАТЬ