The Last Kingdom Series Books 1–8: The Last Kingdom, The Pale Horseman, The Lords of the North, Sword Song, The Burning Land, Death of Kings, The Pagan Lord, The Empty Throne. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ and Iseult. These Danes were in a rampant mood, flushed by their easy success and if a dozen decided they wanted Iseult then they would take her whether they thought I was a Dane or not. They were hunting in packs and so it was best to stay hidden until the frenzy had passed. Across the river, at the top of the low hill on which Cippanhamm was built, I could see the town’s largest church burning. The thatched roof was whirling into the sky in great ribbons of flame and plumes of spark-riddled smoke.

      ‘What in God’s name were you doing back there?’ Leofric asked me.

      ‘Back there?’ his question confused me.

      ‘Dancing around Steapa like a gnat! He could have endured that all day!’

      ‘I wounded him,’ I said, ‘twice.’

      ‘Wounded him? Sweet Christ, he’s hurt himself worse when he was shaving!’

      ‘Doesn’t matter now, does it?’ I said. I guessed Steapa was dead by now. Or perhaps he had escaped. I did not know. None of us knew what was happening except that the Danes had come. And Mildrith? My son? They were far away, and presumably they would receive warning of the Danish attack, but I had no doubt that the Danes would keep going deep into Wessex and there was nothing I could do to protect Oxton. I had no horse, no men, and no chance of reaching the south coast before Guthrum’s mounted soldiers.

      I watched a Dane ride past with a girl across his saddle. ‘What happened to that Danish girl you took home?’ I asked Leofric, ‘the one we captured off Wales?’

      ‘She’s still in Hamtun,’ he said, ‘and now that I’m not there she’s probably in someone else’s bed.’

      ‘Probably? Certainly.’

      ‘Then the bastard’s welcome to her,’ he said. ‘She cries a lot.’

      ‘Mildrith does that,’ I said and then, after a pause, ‘Eanflæd was angry with you.’

      ‘Eanflæd? Angry with me! Why?’

      ‘Because you didn’t go to see her.’

      ‘How could I? I was in chains.’ He looked satisfied that the whore had asked after him. ‘Eanflæd doesn’t cry, does she?’

      ‘Not that I’ve seen.’

      ‘Good girl that. I reckon she’d like Hamtun.’

      If Hamtun still existed. Had a Danish fleet come from Lundene? Was Svein attacking across the Sæfern Sea? I knew nothing except that Wessex was suffering chaos and defeat. It began to rain again, a thin winter’s rain, cold and stinging. Iseult crouched lower and I sheltered her with my shield. Most of the folk who had gathered to watch the fight by the river had fled south and only a handful had come our way, which meant there were fewer Danes near our hiding place, and those that were in the northern river meadows were now gathering their spoils. They stripped corpses of weapons, belts, mail, clothes, anything of value. A few Saxon men had survived, but they were being led away with the children and younger women to be sold as slaves. The old were killed. A wounded man was crawling on hands and knees and a dozen Danes tormented him like cats playing with an injured sparrow, nicking him with swords and spears, bleeding him to a slow death. Haesten was one of the tormentors. ‘I always liked Haesten,’ I said sadly.

      ‘He’s a Dane,’ Leofric said scornfully.

      ‘I still liked him.’

      ‘You kept him alive,’ Leofric said, ‘and now he’s gone back to his own. You should have killed him.’ I watched as Haesten kicked the wounded man who called out in agony, begging to be killed, but the group of young men went on jabbing him, laughing, and the first ravens came. I have often wondered if ravens smell blood, for the sky can be clear of them all day, but when a man dies they come from nowhere on their shining black wings. Perhaps Odin sends them, for the ravens are his birds, and now they flapped down to start feasting on eyes and lips, the first course of every raven feast. The dogs and foxes would soon follow.

      ‘The end of Wessex,’ Leofric said sadly.

      ‘The end of England,’ I said.

      ‘What do we do?’ Iseult asked.

      There was no answer from me. Ragnar must be dead, which meant I had no refuge among the Danes, and Alfred was probably dead or else a fugitive, and my duty now was to my son. He was only a baby, but he was my son and he carried my name. Bebbanburg would be his if I could take it back, and if I could not take it back then it would be his duty to recapture the stronghold, and so the name Uhtred of Bebbanburg would go on till the last weltering chaos of the dying world.

      ‘We must get to Hamtun,’ Leofric said, ‘find the crew.’

      Except the Danes would surely be there already? Or else on their way. They knew where the power of Wessex lay, where the great lords had their halls, where the soldiers gathered, and Guthrum would be sending men to burn and kill and so disarm the Saxons’ last kingdom.

      ‘We need food,’ I said, ‘food and warmth.’

      ‘Light a fire here,’ Leofric grumbled, ‘and we’re dead.’

      So we waited. The small rain turned to sleet. Haesten and his new companions, now that their victim was dead, wandered away, leaving the meadow empty but for the corpses and their attendant ravens. And still we waited, but Iseult, who was as thin as Alfred, was shivering uncontrollably and so, in the late afternoon, I took off my helmet and unbound my hair so it hung loose.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Leofric asked.

      ‘For the moment,’ I said, ‘we’re Danes. Just keep your mouth shut.’

      I led them towards the town. I would have preferred to wait until dark, but Iseult was too cold to wait longer, and I just hoped the Danes had calmed down. I might look like a Dane, but it was still dangerous. Haesten might see me, and if he told others how I had ambushed the Danish ship off Dyfed then I could expect nothing but a slow death. So we went nervously, stepping past bloodied bodies along the riverside path. The ravens protested as we approached, flapped indignantly into the winter willows, and returned to their feast when we had passed. There were more corpses piled by the bridge where the young folk captured for slavery were being made to dig a grave. The Danes guarding them were drunk and none challenged us as we went across the wooden span and under the gate arch that was still hung with holly and ivy in celebration of Christmas.

      The fires were dying now, damped by rain or else extinguished by the Danes who were ransacking houses and churches. I stayed in the narrowest alleys, edging past a smithy, a hide-dealer’s shop and a place where pots had been sold. Our boots crunched through the pottery shards. A young Dane was vomiting in the alley’s entrance and he told me that Guthrum was in the royal compound where there would be a feast that night. He straightened up, gasping for breath, but was sober enough to offer me a bag of coins for Iseult. There were women screaming or sobbing in houses and their noise was making Leofric angry, but I told him to stay quiet. Two of us could not free Cippanhamm, and if the world had been turned upside down and it had been a West Saxon army capturing a Danish town it would have sounded no different. ‘Alfred wouldn’t allow it,’ Leofric said sullenly.

      ‘You’d do it anyway,’ I said. ‘You’ve done it.’

      I wanted news, but none of the Danes in the street made any sense. They had come from Gleawecestre, СКАЧАТЬ