The Burning Land

  Steapa held out a hand to take my swords. The monastery was serving this day as Alfred’s hall, and no one except the king, his relatives, and his guards could carry a weapon in the royal presence. I surrendered Serpent- Breath and Wasp- Sting, then dipped my hands in a bowl of water offered by a servant. “Welcome to the king’s house, lord,” the servant said in formal greeting, then watched as I looped the rope about Skade’s neck.

  She spat in my face and I grinned. “Time to meet the king, Skade,” I said, “spit at him and he’ll hang you.”

  “I will curse you both,” she said.

  Finan alone accompanied Steapa, Skade, and me into the monastery. The rest of my men took their horses through the western gate to water them in a stream while Steapa led us to the abbey church, a fine stone building with heavy oak roof beams. The high windows lit painted leather hides, and the one above the altar showed a white- robed girl being raised to her feet by a bearded and haloed man. The girl’s apple- plump face bore a look of pure astonishment, and I assumed she was the newly restored virgin, while the man’s expression suggested she might soon need the miracle repeated. Beneath her, seated on a rug- draped chair placed in front of the silver- piled altar, was Alfred.

  A score of other men were in the church. They had been talking as we arrived, but the voices dropped to silence as I entered. On Alfred’s left was a gaggle of churchmen, among whom were my old friend Father Beocca and my old enemy Bishop Asser, a Welshman who had become the king’s most intimate adviser. In the nave of the church, seated on benches, were a half- dozen ealdormen, the leaders of those shires whose men had been summoned to join the army that faced Harald’s invasion. To Alfred’s right, seated on a slightly smaller chair, was his son- in- law, my cousin AEthelred, and behind him was his wife, Alfred’s daughter, AEthelflaed.

  AEthelred was the Lord of Mercia. Mercia, of course, was the country to the north of Wessex, and its northern and eastern parts were ruled by the Danes. It had no king, instead it had my cousin, who was the acknowledged ruler of the Saxon parts of Mercia, though in truth he was in thrall to Alfred. Alfred, though he never made the claim explicit, was the actual ruler of Mercia, and AEthelred did his father- in- law’s bidding. Though how long that bidding could continue was dubious, for Alfred looked sicker than I had ever seen him. His pale, clerkly face was thinner than ever and his eyes had a bruised look of pain, though they had lost none of their intelligence.

  He looked at me in silence, waited till I had bowed, then nodded a curt greeting. “You bring men, Lord Uhtred?”

  “Three hundred, lord.”

  “Is that all?” Alfred asked, flinching.

  “Unless you wish to lose Lundene, lord, it’s all.”

  “And you bring your woman?” Bishop Asser sneered.

  Bishop Asser was an earsling, which is anything that drops out of an arse. He had dropped out of some Welsh arse, from where he had slimed his way into Alfred’s favor. Alfred thought the world of Asser who, in turn, hated me. I smiled at him. “I bring you Harald’s whore,” I said.

  No one answered that. They all just stared at Skade, and none stared harder than the young man standing just behind Alfred’s throne. He had a thin face with prominent bones, pale skin, black hair that curled just above his embroidered collar, and eyes that were quick and bright. He seemed nervous, overawed perhaps by the presence of so many broad- shouldered warriors, while he himself was slender, almost fragile, in his build. I knew him well enough. His name was Edward, and he was the AEtheling, the king’s eldest son, and he was being groomed to take his father’s throne. Now he was gaping at Skade as though he had never seen a woman before, but when she met his gaze he blushed and pretended to take a keen interest in the rush- covered floor.

  “You brought what?” Bishop Asser broke the surprised silence.

  “Her name is Skade,” I said, thrusting her forward. Edward raised his eyes and stared at Skade like a puppy seeing fresh meat.

  “Bow to the king,” I ordered Skade in Danish.

  “I do what I wish,” she said and, just as I supposed she would, she spat toward Alfred.

  “Strike her!” Bishop Asser yapped.

  “Do churchmen strike women?” I asked him.

  “Be quiet, Lord Uhtred,” Alfred said tiredly. I saw how his right hand was curled into a claw that clutched the arm of the chair. He gazed at Skade, who returned the stare defiantly. “A remarkable woman,” the king said mildly, “does she speak English?”

  “She pretends not to,” I said, “but she understands it well enough.”

  Skade rewarded that truth with a sidelong look of pure spite. “I’ve cursed you,” she said under her breath.

  “The easiest way to be rid of a curse,” I spoke just as softly, “is to cut out the tongue that made it. Now be silent, you rancid bitch.”

  “The curse of death,” she said, just above a whisper.

  “What is she saying?” Alfred asked.

  “She is reputed to be a sorceress, lord,” I said, “and claims to have cursed me.”

  Alfred and most of the churchmen touched the crosses hanging about their necks. It is a strange thing I have noticed about Christians, that they claim our gods have no power yet they fear the curses made in the names of those gods. “How did you capture her?” Alfred asked.

  I gave a brief account of what had happened at Edwulf’s hall and when I was done Alfred looked at her coldly. “Did she kill Edwulf’s priest?” he asked.

  “Did you kill Edwulf’s priest, bitch?” I asked her in Danish.

  She smiled at me. “Of course I did,” she said, “I kill all priests.”

  “She killed the priest, lord,” I told Alfred.

  He shuddered. “Take her outside,” he ordered Steapa, “and guard her well.” He held up a hand. “She is not to be molested!” He waited till Skade was gone before looking at me. “You’re welcome, Lord Uhtred,” he said, “you and your men. But I had hoped you would bring more.”

  “I brought enough, lord King,” I said.

  “Enough for what?” Bishop Asser asked.

  I looked at the runt. He was a bishop, but still wore his monkish robes cinched tight around his scrawny waist. He had a face like a starved stoat, with pale green eyes and thin lips. He spent half his time in the wastelands of his native Wales, and half whispering pious poison into Alfred’s ears, and together the two men had made a law code for Wessex, and it was my amusement and ambition to break every one of those laws before either the king or the Welsh runt died. “Enough,” I said, “to tear Harald and his men into bloody ruin.”

  AEthelflaed smiled at that. She alone of Alfred’s family was my friend. I had not seen her in four years and she looked much thinner now. She was only a year or two above twenty, but appeared older and sadder, yet her hair was still lustrous gold and her eyes as blue as the summer sky. I winked at her, as much as anything to annoy her husband, my cousin, who immediately rose to the bait and snorted. “If Harald were that easy to destroy,” AEthelred said, “we would have done it already.”

  “How?” I asked, “by watching him from the hills?” AEthelred grimaced. Normally he would have argued with me, because he was a belligerent and proud man, but he looked pale. He had an illness, no one knew what, and it left him tired and weak for long stretches. He was perhaps forty in that year, and his red hair had strands of white at his temples. This, I guessed, was one of his bad days. “Harald should have been killed weeks ago,” I taunted him scornfully.

  “Enough!” Alfred slapped the arm of his chair, startling a leather- hooded falcon that was perched on a lectern beside the altar. The bird flapped his wings, but the jesses held him firm. Alfred grimaced. His face told me what I well knew, that he needed me and did not want to need me. “We could not attack Harald,” he explained patiently, “so long as Haesten threatened our northern flank.”

  “Haesten couldn’t threaten a wet puppy,” I said, “he’s too frightened of defeat.”

  I was arrogant that day
, arrogant and confident, because there are times when men need to see arrogance. These men had spent days arguing about what to do, and in the end they had done nothing, and all that time they had been multiplying Harald’s forces in their minds until they were convinced he was invincible. Alfred, meanwhile, had deliberately refrained from seeking my help be cause he wanted to hand the reins of Wessex and Mercia to his son and to his son- in- law, which meant giving them reputations as leaders, but their leadership had failed, and so Alfred had sent for me. And now, because they needed it, I countered their fears with an arrogant assurance.

  “Harald has five thousand men,” Ealdorman AEthelhelm of Wiltunscir said softly. AEthelhelm was a good man, but he too seemed infected by the timidity that had overtaken Alfred’s entourage. “He brought two hundred ships!” he added.

  “If he has two thousand men, I’d be astonished,” I said. “How many horses does he have?” No one knew, or at least no one answered. Harald might well have brought as many as five thousand men, but his army consisted only of those who had horses.

  “However many men he has,” Alfred said pointedly, “he must attack this burh to advance further into Wessex.”

  That was nonsense, of course. Harald could go north or south of AEscengum, but there was no future in arguing that with Alfred, who had a peculiar affection for the burh. “So you plan to defeat him here, lord?” I asked instead.

  “I have nine hundred men here,” he said, “and we have the burh’s garrison, and now your three hundred. Harald will break himself on these walls.” I saw AEthelred, AEthelhelm, and Ealdorman AEthelnoth of Sumorsaete all nod their agreement.

  “And I have five hundred men at Silcestre,” AEthelred said, as though that made all the difference.

  “And what are they doing there?” I asked, “pissing in the Temes while we fight?”

  AEthelflaed grinned, while her brother Edward looked affronted. Dear Father Beocca, who had been my childhood tutor, gave me a long- suffering look of reproof. Alfred just sighed. “Lord AEthelred’s men can harry the enemy while they besiege us,” he explained.

  “So our victory, lord,” I said, “depends on Harald attacking us here? On Harald allowing us to kill his men while they try to cross the wall?” Alfred did not answer. A pair of sparrows squabbled among the rafters. A thick beeswax candle on the altar behind Alfred guttered and smoked and a monk hurried to trim the wick. The flame grew again, its light reflected from a high golden reliquary that seemed to contain a withered hand.

  “Harald will want to defeat us.” Edward made his first tentative contribution to the discussion.

  “Why?” I asked, “when we’re doing our best to defeat ourselves?” There was an aggrieved murmur from the courtiers, but I overrode it. “Let me tell you what Harald will do, lord,” I said, speaking to Alfred. “He’ll take his army north of us and advance on Wintanceaster. There’s a lot of silver there, all conveniently piled in your new cathedral, and you’ve brought your army here so he won’t have much trouble breaking through Wintanceaster’s walls. And even if he does besiege us here,” I spoke even louder to drown Bishop Asser’s angry protest, “all he needs do is surround us and let us starve. How much food do we have here?”

  The king gestured to Asser, requesting that he stop spluttering. “So what would you do, Lord Uhtred?” Alfred asked, and there was a plaintive note in his voice. He was old and he was tired and he was ill, and Harald’s invasion seemed to threaten all that he had achieved.

  “I would suggest, lord,” I said, “that Lord AEthelred order his five hundred men to cross the Temes and march to Fearnhamme.”

  A hound whined in a corner of the church, but otherwise there was no sound. They all stared at me, but I saw some faces brighten. They had been wallowing with indecision and had needed the sword stroke of certainty.

  Alfred broke the silence. “Fearnhamme?” he asked cautiously.

  “Fearnhamme,” I repeated, watching AEthelred, but his pale face displayed no reaction, and no one else in the church made any comment.

  I had been thinking about the country to the north of AEscengum. War is not just about men, nor even about supplies, it is also about the hills and valleys, the rivers and marshes, the places where land and water will help defeat an enemy. I had traveled through Fearnhamme often enough on my journeys from Lundene to Wintanceaster, and wherever I traveled I noted how the land lay and how it might be used if an enemy was near. “There’s a hill just north of the river at Fearnhamme,” I said.

  “There is! I know it well,” one of the monks standing to Alfred’s right said, “it has an earthwork.”

  I looked at him, seeing a red- faced, hook- nosed man. “And who are you?” I asked coldly.

  “Oslac, lord,” he said, “the abbot here.”

  “The earthwork,” I asked him, “is it in good repair?”

  “It was dug by the ancient folk,” Abbot Oslac said, “and it’s much overgrown with grass, but the ditch is deep and the bank is still firm.”

  There were many such earthworks in Britain, mute witnesses to the warfare that had rolled across the land before we Saxons came to bring still more. “The bank’s high enough to make defense easy?” I asked the abbot.

  “You could hold it forever, given enough men,” Oslac said confidently. I gazed at him, noting the scar across the bridge of his nose. Abbot Oslac, I decided, had been a warrior before he became a monk.

  “But why invite Harald to besiege us there?” Alfred asked, “when we have AEscengum and its walls and its storehouses?”

  “And how long will those storehouses last, lord?” I asked him. “We have enough men inside these walls to hold the enemy till Judgment Day, but not enough food to reach Christmas.” The burhs were not provisioned for a large army. The intent of the walled towns was to hold the enemy in check and allow the army of household warriors, the trained men, to attack the besiegers in the open country outside.

  “But Fearnhamme?” Alfred asked.

  “Is where we shall destroy Harald,” I said unhelpfully. I looked at AEthelred. “Order your men to Fearnhamme, cousin, and we’ll trap Harald there.”

  There was a time when Alfred would have questioned and tested my ideas, but that day he looked too tired and too sick to argue, and he plainly did not have the patience to listen to other men challenging my plans. Besides, he had learned to trust me when it came to warfare, and I expected his assent to my vague proposal, but then he surprised me. He turned to the churchmen and gestured that one of them should join him, and Bishop Asser took the elbow of a young, stocky monk and guided him to the king’s chair. The monk had a hard, bony face and black tonsured hair as bristly and stiff as a badger’s pelt. He might have been handsome except his eyes were milky, and I guessed he had been blind from birth. He groped for the king’s chair, found it and knelt beside Alfred, who laid a fatherly hand on the monk’s bowed head. “So, Brother Godwin?” he asked gently.

  “I am here, lord, I am here,” Godwin said in a voice scarce above a hoarse whisper.

  “And you heard the Lord Uhtred?”

  “I heard, lord, I heard.” Brother Godwin raised his blind eyes to the king. He said nothing for a while, but his face was twisting all that time, twisting and grimacing like a man possessed by an evil spirit. He started to utter a choking noise, and what astonished me was that none of this alarmed Alfred, who waited patiently until, at last, the young monk regained a normal expression. “It will be well, lord King,” Godwin said, “it will be well.”

  Alfred patted Brother Godwin’s head again and smiled at me. “We shall do as you suggest, Lord Uhtred,” he said decisively. “You will direct your men to Fearnhamme,” he spoke to AEthelred, then looked back to me, “and my son,” he went on, “will command the West Saxon forces.”

  “Yes, lord,” I said dutifully. Edward, the youngest man in the church, looked embarrassed, and his eyes flicked nervously from me to his father.

  “And you,” Alfred turned to look at his son, “will o
bey the Lord Uhtred.”

  AEthelred could contain himself no longer. “What guarantees do we have,” he asked petulantly, “that the heathens will go to Fearnhamme?”

  “Mine,” I said harshly.

  “But you cannot be certain!” AEthelred protested.

  “He will go to Fearnhamme,” I said, “and he will die there.”

  I was wrong about that.

  Messengers rode to AEthelred’s men at Silcestre, ordering them to march on Fearnhamme at first light next morning. Once there they were to occupy the hill that stands just north of the river. Those five hundred men were the anvil, while the men at AEscengum were my hammer, but to lure Harald onto the anvil would mean dividing our forces, and it is a rule of war not to do that. We had, at my best estimate, about five hundred men fewer than the Danes, and by keeping our army in two parts I was inviting Harald to destroy them separately. “But I’m relying on Harald being an impulsive fool, lord,” I told Alfred that night.

  The king had joined me on AEscengum’s eastern rampart. He had arrived with his usual entourage of priests, but had waved them away so he could talk with me privately. He stood for a moment just staring at the distant dull glow of fires where Harald’s men had sacked villages and I knew he was lamenting all the burned churches. “Is he an impulsive fool?” he inquired mildly.

  “You tell me, lord,” I said.

  “He’s savage, unpredictable, and given to sudden rages,” the king said. Alfred paid well for information about the northmen and kept meticulous notes on every leader. Harald had been pillaging in Frankia before its people bribed him to leave, and I did not doubt that Alfred’s spies had told him everything they could discover about Harald Bloodhair. “You know why he’s called Bloodhair?” Alfred asked.

  “Because before every battle, lord, he sacrifices a horse to Thor and soaks his hair in the animal’s blood.”

  “Yes,” Alfred said. He leaned on the palisade. “How can you be sure he’ll go to Fearnhamme?” he asked.

  “Because I’ll draw him there, lord. I’ll make a snare and pull him onto our spears.”