Warriors of the Storm. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ he said, grinning.

      It was a windy day with high clouds scudding fast inland. Heavier clouds were gathering above the distant sea, but now an early-morning shaft of sunlight glinted off the Mærse’s water that lay a mile ahead of us. Two more dragon-boats had rowed upriver the previous day, one with more than forty men aboard, the other smaller, but still crammed with warriors. The heavy weather threatening to the west would probably mean no boats arriving today, but still Ragnall’s strength grew. What would he do with that strength?

      To find the answer to that question we had brought a score of riderless horses with us. All were saddled. Anyone watching from the forest would assume they were spare mounts, but their purpose was quite different. I let my horse slow so that Beadwulf could catch up with me. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ I told him.

      ‘It will be easy, lord.’

      ‘You’re sure?’ I asked him.

      ‘It will be easy, lord,’ he said again.

      ‘We’ll be back this time tomorrow,’ I promised him.

      ‘Same place?’

      ‘Same place.’

      ‘So let’s do it, lord,’ he suggested with a grin.

      I wanted to know what happened both at Eads Byrig and at the river crossing to the north of the hill. I had seen the bridge of boats across the Mærse, and the density of the smoke rising from the woods on the river’s southern bank had suggested Ragnall’s main camp was there. If it was, how was it protected? And how complete were the new walls at Eads Byrig? We could have assembled a war-band and followed the Roman track that led through the forest and then turned north up the spine of the ridge, and I did not doubt we could reach Eads Byrig’s low summit, but Ragnall would be waiting for just such an incursion. His scouts would give warning of our approach and his men would flood the woodland, and our withdrawal would be a desperate fight in thick trees against an outnumbering enemy. Beadwulf, though, could scout the hill and the riverside camp like a phantom and the enemy would never know he was there.

      The problem was to get Beadwulf into the forest without the enemy seeing his arrival, and that was the reason we had brought the riderless horses. ‘Draw swords!’ I called to my men as I pulled Serpent-Breath free of her scabbard. ‘Now!’ I shouted.

      We spurred our horses, turning them directly eastwards and galloping for the trees as though we planned to ride clean through the forest to the distant hill. We plunged into the wood, but instead of riding straight on towards Eads Byrig, we suddenly swung the horses southwards so we were riding among the trees at the edge of the woods. A horn sounded behind us. It sounded three times, and that had to be one of Ragnall’s sentinels sending a warning that we had entered the great forest, but in truth we were merely thundering along its margin. A man ran from a thicket to our left and Finan swerved, chopped down once, and there was a bright red splash among the spring-green leaves. Our horses galloped into sunlight as we crossed a clearing dense with bracken, then we were back among the thick trunks, ducking under the low branches, and another of Ragnall’s scouts broke cover and my son rode him down, spearing his sword into the man’s back.

      I galloped through a thicket of young hazel trees and elder-berries. ‘He’s gone!’ Sihtric called from behind me, and I saw Beadwulf’s riderless horse off to my right. We kept going for another half-mile, but saw no more sentries. The horn still called, answered by a distant one presumably on the hill. Ragnall’s men would be pulling on mail and buckling sword belts, but long before any could reach us we had swerved back to the open pasture and onto the cattle tracks that would lead us back to Ceaster. We paused in a fitful patch of sunlight, collected the riderless horses and waited, but no enemy showed at the woodland’s edge. Birds that had panicked to fly above the woods as we rode through the trees went back to their roosts. The horns had gone silent and the forest was quiet again.

      Ragnall’s scouts would have seen a war-band go into the forest and then leave the forest. If Beadwulf had simply dropped from his saddle to find a hiding place then that enemy might have noticed that one horse had lost its rider among the trees, but I was certain no sentry would have bothered to count our riderless stallions. One more would not be noticed. Beadwulf, I reckoned, was safely hidden among our enemies. Cloud shadow raced to engulf us and a heavy drop of rain spattered on my helmet. ‘Time to go home,’ I said, and so we rode back to Ceaster.

      Æthelflaed arrived that same afternoon. She was leading over eight hundred men and was in a thoroughly bad temper that was not improved when she saw Eadith. The day had turned stormy, and the long tail and mane of Æthelflaed’s mare, Gast, lifted to the gusting wind, as did Eadith’s long red hair. ‘Why,’ Æthelflaed demanded of me with no other form of greeting, ‘does she wear her hair unbound?’

      ‘Because she’s a virgin,’ I said, and watched Eadith hurry through the spatter of rain towards the house we shared on Ceaster’s main street.

      Æthelflaed scowled. ‘She’s no maid. She’s …’ she bit back whatever she was about to say.

      ‘A whore?’ I suggested.

      ‘Tell her to bind her hair properly.’

      ‘Is there a proper way for a whore to bind her hair?’ I asked. ‘Most of the ones I’ve enjoyed prefer to leave it loose, but there was a black-haired girl in Gleawecestre who Bishop Wulfheard liked to hump when his wife wasn’t in the city, and he made her coil her hair around her head like ropes. He made her plait her hair first and then insisted that she …’

      ‘Enough!’ she snapped. ‘Tell your woman she can at least try to look respectable.’

      ‘You can tell her that yourself, my lady, and welcome to Ceaster.’

      She scowled again, then swung down from Gast. She hated Eadith, whose brother had tried to kill her, and that was doubtless reason enough to dislike the girl, but most of the hatred stemmed from the simple fact that Eadith shared my bed. Æthelflaed had also disliked Sigunn, who had been my lover for many years but had succumbed to a fever two winters before. I had wept for her. Æthelflaed had also been my lover and perhaps still was, though in the mood that soured her arrival she was more likely to be my foe. ‘All our ships lost!’ she exclaimed. ‘And a thousand Northmen not a half-day’s march away!’

      ‘Two thousand by now,’ I said, ‘and at least a hundred battle-crazed Irish warriors with them.’

      ‘And this garrison is here to stop that happening!’ she spat. The priests who accompanied her looked at me accusingly. Æthelflaed was almost always escorted by priests, but there seemed to be more than usual, and then I remembered that Eostre’s feast was just days away and we were to enjoy the thrill of consecrating the humble, ever-smiling Leofstan. ‘So what do we do about it?’ Æthelflaed demanded.

      ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said, ‘I’m not a Christian. I suppose you shove the poor man into the church, stick him onto a throne, and have the usual caterwauling?’

      ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘I honestly don’t see why we need a bishop anyway. We already have enough useless mouths to feed, and this wretched creature Leofstan has brought half the cripples of Mercia with him.’

      ‘What do we do about Ragnall!’ she snapped.

      ‘Oh him!’ I said, pretending surprise. ‘Why nothing, of course.’

      She stared at СКАЧАТЬ