The Burning Land. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ saw the steepness of the slope, and their wild charge stopped. Scores of men were crossing the river and still more were coming from the trees on the southern bank, so in a few moments they would have more than enough warriors to overwhelm my short shield wall, but for now they paused.

      ‘Banners!’ I said. We had brought our banners, my wolf’s-head flag and Wessex’s dragon, and I wanted them flown as an invitation to Harald’s men.

      Aldhelm, tall and sallow, had come to greet me. He did not like me and his face showed that dislike, but it also showed astonishment at the number of Danes who converged on the ford.

      ‘Divide your men into two,’ I told him peremptorily, ‘and line them either side of my men. Rypere!’

      ‘Lord?’

      ‘Take a dozen men and tether those horses!’ Our abandoned horses were wandering the hilltop and I feared some would stray back over the bank.

      ‘How many Danes are there?’ Aldhelm asked.

      ‘Enough to give us a day’s good killing,’ I said, ‘now bring your men here.’

      He bridled at my tone. He was a thin man, elegant in a superb long coat of mail that had bronze crescent moons sewn to the links. He had a cloak of blue linen, lined with red cloth, and he wore a chain of heavy gold looped twice about his neck. His boots and gloves were black leather, his sword belt was decorated with golden crosses, while his long black hair, scented and oiled, was held at the nape of his neck with a comb of ivory teeth clasped in a golden frame. ‘I have my orders,’ he said distantly.

      ‘Yes, to bring your men here. We have Danes to kill.’

      He had always disliked me, ever since I had spoiled his handsome looks by breaking his jaw and his nose, though on that far day he had been armed and I had not. He could barely bring himself to look at me, instead he stared at the Danes gathering at the foot of the hill. ‘I am instructed,’ he said, ‘to preserve the Lord Æthelred’s forces.’

      ‘Your instructions have changed, Lord Aldhelm.’ A cheerful voice spoke from behind us, and Aldhelm turned to gaze in astonishment at Æthelflæd, who smiled from her high saddle.

      ‘My lady,’ he said, bowing, then glancing from her to me. ‘Is the Lord Æthelred here?’

      ‘My husband sent me to countermand his last orders,’ Æthelflæd said sweetly. ‘He is now so confident of victory that he requires you to stay here despite the numbers opposing us.’

      Aldhelm began to reply, then assumed I did not know what his last orders from Æthelred had been. ‘Your husband sent you, my lady?’ he asked instead, plainly confused by Æthelflæd’s unexpected presence.

      ‘Why else would I be here?’ Æthelflaed asked beguilingly, ‘and if there were any real danger, my lord, would my husband have allowed me to come?’

      ‘No, my lady,’ Aldhelm said, but without any conviction.

      ‘So we are going to fight!’ Æthelflæd called those words loudly, speaking to the Mercian troops. She turned her grey mare so they could see her face and hear her more clearly. ‘We are going to kill Danes! And my husband sent me to witness your bravery, so do not disappoint me! Kill them all!’

      They cheered her. She rode her horse along their front rank and they cheered her wildly. I had always thought Mercia a miserable place, defeated and sullen, kingless and downtrodden, but in that moment I saw how Æthelflæd, radiant in silver mail, was capable of lifting the Mercians to enthusiasm. They loved her. I knew they had small fondness for Æthelred, Alfred was a distant figure and, besides, King of Wessex, but Æthelflæd inspired them. She gave them pride.

      The Danes were still gathering at the foot of the hill. There must have been three hundred men who had dismounted and who now made their own shield wall. They could still only see my two hundred men, but it was time to sweeten the bait. ‘Osferth,’ I shouted, ‘get back on your horse, then come and be kingly.’

      ‘Must I, lord?’

      ‘Yes, you must!’

      We made Osferth stand his horse beneath the banners. He was cloaked, and he now wore a helmet that I draped with my own gold chain so that, from a distance, it looked like a crowned helmet. The Danes, seeing him, bellowed insults up the gentle slope. Osferth looked kingly enough, though anyone familiar with Alfred should have known the mounted figure was not Wessex’s king simply because he was not surrounded by priests, but I decided Harald would never notice the lack. I was amused to see Æthelflæd, obviously curious about her half-brother, push her horse next to his stallion.

      I turned to look back to the south where still more Danes were crossing the river and, so long as I live, I will never forget that landscape. All the country beyond the river was covered with Danish horsemen, their stallions’ hooves kicking up dust as the riders spurred towards the ford, all eager to be present at the destruction of Alfred and his kingdom. So many men wanted to cross the river that they were forced to wait in a great milling herd at the ford’s farther side.

      Aldhelm was ordering his men forward. He probably did it unwillingly, but Æthelflæd had inspired them and he was caught between her disdain and their enthusiasm. The Danes at the foot of the hill saw my short line lengthen, they saw more shields and more blades, more banners. They would still outnumber us, but now they would need half their army to make an assault on the hill. A man in a black cloak and carrying a red-hafted war axe, was marshalling Harald’s men, thrusting them into line. I guessed there were five hundred men in the enemy shield wall now, and more were coming every moment. Some of the Danes had stayed on horseback, and I supposed they planned to ride about our rear to make an attack when the shield walls met. The enemy line was only a couple of hundred paces away, close enough for me to see the ravens and axes and eagles and serpents painted on their iron-bossed shields. Some began clashing their weapons against those shields, making the thunder of war. Others bellowed that we were milksop children, or goat-begotten bastards.

      ‘Noisy, aren’t they?’ Finan remarked beside me. I just smiled. He raised his drawn sword to his helmet-framed face and kissed the blade. ‘Remember that Frisian girl we found in the marshes? She was noisy.’ It is strange what men think of before battle. The Frisian girl had escaped a Danish slaver and had been terrified. I wondered what had happened to her.

      Aldhelm was nervous, so nervous that he overcame his hatred of me and stood close. ‘What if Alfred doesn’t come?’ he asked.

      ‘Then we each have to kill two Danes before the rest lose heart,’ I said with false confidence. If Alfred’s seven hundred men did not come then we would be surrounded, cut down and slaughtered.

      Only about half the Danes had crossed the river, such was the congestion at the narrow ford, and still more horsemen were streaming from the east to join the crowd waiting to cross the Wey. Fearnhamme was filled with men pulling down thatch in search of treasure. The unmilked cow lay dead in the street. ‘What,’ Aldhelm began, then hesitated. ‘What if Alfred’s forces come late?’

      ‘Then all the Danes will be across the river,’ I said.

      ‘And attacking us,’ Finan said.

      I knew Aldhelm was thinking of retreat. Behind us, to the north, were higher hills that offered greater protection, or perhaps, if we retreated fast enough, we could cross the Temes before the Danes caught and destroyed us. For unless Alfred’s men came we would surely die, and at that moment I felt the СКАЧАТЬ