* * * * *
‘Grimbert!’
The dusty darkness of the queen’s bower stirred as Cynethryth strode in. A dark figure shifted uncomfortably in one corner to stare up at the proud, imperious figure.
‘Grimbert!’ she said haughtily. ‘I have need of your skills!’
The figure rose into the light. A broad flat face with slanted eyes regarded the queen inscrutably. The man hunched in his furs. He opened his mouth to croak:
‘What is it now, woman?’
‘Enough of your impudence!’ Cynethryth blazed. She surveyed the man. ‘When you came south in the Danish vessel, were you not looking for a great one to serve?’
‘I am the mightiest of all the wizards of the North,’ Grimbert replied. In his own land, they knew him as Valkeapää, but the idiot English could never get their tongues around his name, and they had given him another. ‘It was only fitting that I should leave the land of the midnight sun, and seek worthwhile patronage. But the kings of the South are all pallid weaklings who bow to this god of light they name Christ.’
‘Only I would willingly consort with the devils you worship,’ Cynethryth replied. ‘I, who they cast out of the land of the Franks for my sins: who the noble King Offa took in, ignorant of my true nature. He is a good man.’ She spat. ‘One day I will destroy him and seize his kingdom.
‘But I need you for other reasons. Something unforeseen has occurred. A man who I wish to destroy has fled into the forests. You have allies among the woodland folk?’
‘Allies?’ Grimbert nodded. ‘Yes, and foes.’
‘Then call on your friends!’ urged the queen. ‘Let them do my bidding. Thane Oswald must die before Egfrid captures him and brings him back to face my husband. He must die, do you hear me? Die!’
2 THE WILD MEN
The bushes stirred, and the clearing was empty.
A distant clank of armed men grew louder. Suddenly the clearing was bustling with them; tall men in helmets and hauberks, peering warily around the shadowy eaves of the forest that surrounded them.
‘How far have we gone?’ asked the leader, a richly dressed young man. One of his companions turned to him.
‘We must be less than half a mile from Watling Street, my lord Egfrid,’ he replied. ‘If Oswald and the fugitives get across, then the going will be all the harder. Few people venture into these forests even for the hunt.’
‘They say the woods south off Watling Street are haunted,’ said another man darkly.
Egfrid laughed. ‘Who says?’ he demanded. ‘Your grandmother?’
The warrior flushed, and his companions roared with hostile laughter.
‘I heard it from a yeoman in The Man in the Moon in Lichfield,’ he said. ‘He’d seen them - woodwoses, he said; great, hairy wild creatures.’
‘A man in an alehouse?’ scoffed Egfrid. But a few of his men cast wary glances over their shoulders, before grinning shamefacedly at their companions. Deep in the woods, it was easy to believe any nonsense.
‘Come along,’ added the king-in-waiting. ‘Time’s wasting. I don’t believe in woodwoses for a second, but the sooner we catch Oswald, the sooner we get back to my father’s palace. Hurry!’
The warriors vanished into the undergrowth, and silence sank on the clearing.
A stand of bushes stirred momentarily, and another warrior slipped into the clearing. Dressed like the others, there was a haunted look about his eyes as he gazed after them.
‘Oswald!’ hissed a voice from behind him. ‘Get back! They may see us!’
‘Better that than I skulk in the bushes with you and your heathen friend, Edwin,’ Oswald replied, glaring at the Dane, who had followed his robber comrade into the clearing. ‘I’d rather find a clean death on the blades of my old comrades than stain my family’s name with the shame of outlawry.’
‘But you agreed to join us,’ Bork growled. ‘Before the warriors came.’
Edwin nodded. ‘This way you can live to get your revenge on the woman who betrayed you.’
It was this that had decided Oswald. His reputation was in tatters; he was a man without honour in the eyes of all, even his betrothed; his own lord had sent armed men to track him down. All this had come about from the lies and deceits of Cynethryth the Queen. Nothing remained but the duty of vengeance; nothing else now could wipe clean the stain on his family’s name.
He nodded impatiently, not liking the reminder.
‘Where do we go now?’ he demanded.
‘Much the same way as Egfrid and his men,’ Edwin said. ‘But cautiously. We don’t want to tread on their heels. We want to go quietly, that’s why I said let the horses go. We’ll cross Watling Street, then head for the Forest of Arden by way of the Tame Valley.’
‘That’s where you had your camp, is it?’ Oswald asked as they began picking their way through the trees. Edwin gave him a shifty glance.
‘One of them,’ he admitted. ‘My lads used to move around a bit, to keep the king’s men guessing. We’ll hole up there for a while, and stock up on provisions…’
‘Not afraid of the ghosts, then?’ Oswald asked with a bleak smile.
Edwin grinned back. ‘Believe me, friend,’ he replied. ‘The only thing anyone ever had to fear in the Forest of Arden - bar the odd wolf, boar, or bear - was us.’
They reached the edge of the trees not long after. The short journey had been uneventful, and they had seen neither hide nor hair of Egfrid and his men; it seemed they were as wood-crafty as the robbers. Oswald paused beneath the spreading branches of an oak, and peered out into the open.
A bowshot from the forest fence, the long straight track off Watling Street slashed through the sandy heath. The same distance beyond it, the forest wall rose forbiddingly to hem them in. The road was deserted.
Edwin stepped up to join him.
‘There’s Watling Street,’ he murmured. ‘Looks like it’s all clear.’ He turned to Bork. The big man was as quiet as a cat on his feet, despite his bulk. ‘Go and check it,’ Edwin commanded.
Bork nodded, and slipped out from the trees.
‘Your man’s very obedient,’ Oswald remarked.
‘Danes are a loyal lot,’ Edwin replied. ‘More so than many Christians I’ve known. Once one swears fealty to you, you can trust him forever.’
‘Loyal, but not too bright,’ Oswald said. ‘From what I’ve seen.’
‘Don’t judge by first impressions,’ Edwin said quickly. ‘He doesn’t say much to people he doesn’t know, but he’s a better warrior than any king’s thane I’ve ever met.’ Oswald bristled, but the little man gave him no chance to speak. ‘I’ve seen him leap off a horse he was riding, run alongside it, and then jump straight back into the saddle with ease. He can snatch javelins from the air and fling them back to kill their casters; he can enter a battle-trance where edged weapons leave no mark on him…’
‘Witchcraft!’ exclaimed Oswald, only half-believing the little man’s words.
‘And he plays the harp better than any angel,’ Edwin added.
Oswald raised an eyebrow. He turned and eyed the outlandish figure as Bork hurried back towards them.
‘And what can you do?’ he asked Edwin, as the Dane approached.
‘Me?’ asked the little man with a grin. ‘I can steal.’ He handed Oswald something, and moved over to talk with Bork.
Oswald stared at the purse Edwin had given him. It was his own! He kept that purse on his belt! He looked down, amazed. Gone! The thief had taken it without him even noticing. Suspiciously, he opened it and glanced inside. Not a penny missing. Shaking his head, he slipped the purse back into his belt and went to join his companions.
‘Bork says that the way is clear,’ Edwin reported. ‘But he saw a lot of footprints in the mud by the road, as if a band of warriors had crossed it before us.’
‘Egfrid and the king’s thanes?’ Oswald said. He frowned. ‘Heading into the forest?’
‘Aye,’ Bork rumbled. ‘They were trailing us. Now we t
rail them.’
Edwin gave a casual shrug. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I’d rather have my foe where I can see him.’
‘It’ll be dark soon,’ Oswald said, with a glance at the sky. ‘Will we be following them through the dark?’
Edwin pursed his lips. ‘We’ve still got ten miles - as the crow flies - to our destination,’ he admitted. ‘Might be a good idea if we camp somewhere in the oaks up ahead, and continue in the morning.’
‘And what about Egfrid and his men?’ Oswald asked. They left the shelter of the trees and hurried towards the road.
‘Let them look to their own needs,’ Edwin said carelessly. ‘Perhaps the ghosts will get them.’
They crossed the road and headed into the oaks. Already the shadows were growing longer, Oswald noticed. They would have to tread carefully, or they might encounter something unpleasant, man or beast.
Or ghost.