Amber Treasure, The (28 page)

Further Reading

Kings and
Kingdoms of Early Anglo Saxon England: Barbara Yorke/ Routledge

Anglo-Saxon
Food: Ann Hagen/ Anglo Saxon Books

Childhood in
Anglo-Saxon England: Sally Crawford/Sutton Publishing

The English
Warrior: Stephen Pollington/ Anglo-Saxon Books

Anglo-Saxon
Weapons and Warfare: Richard Underwood/Tempus

Warriors of the
Dark Ages: Jennifer Laing/Sutton Publishing

An English
Empire: N.J. Higham/ Manchester University Press

The Age of
Arthur: John Morris/ Phoenix

The Anglo Saxon
Chronicle: Various publishers

Places to Visit

Sutton Hoo,
Woodbridge, Suffolk. This is an ancient Saxon Burial Site.

West Stow, Bury
St Edmunds. Recreated Saxon Village

I would
recommend attending events where Regia Anglorum appear. (
www.regia.org
)

Regia Anglorum
strives to re-create an accurate live image of the life and times of the folk
who dwelt in and around the Islands of Britain during the Viking centuries -
mostly from Alfred the Great to the reign of Richard the Lionheart. They
perform re-enactments throughout the UK . More info on their website.

The Northern Crown Series Book Two

Child of Loki

A divided land ... a divided family.

The Battle of Catraeth has been won and Cerdic's homeland is safe ... but
for how long? The Northern British were crushed but yet more enemies have risen
to replace them.

Soon Cerdic and his friends must go to war again - against the Scots and
Picts north of Hadrian's wall. He goes to help his country’s allies - the
Bernicians - under their great warlord, Aethelfrith.

But what is Aethelfrith's true design? How ambitious is he and how far
will he go to fulfil his dreams? And what is Cerdic's treacherous half brother,
Hussa up to in these fierce wild lands?

All Cerdic wants is to be left to live out his life in peace.

But Loki, it seems, has other ideas.

Read Child of Loki for free today: Read on for deails.

Read Child of Loki for free.

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 Read on for a sneak peek at Child of Loki

Chapter One

Loidis

Loidis was in
flames. It was the price Elmet must pay for choosing the losing side. I,
Cerdic, once heard Abbess Hild talk of forgiving one’s enemies: she said that a
man should pray for those who curse you and bless those who mistreat you. These
were Christ's words and we should heed them, she implored us. For, they were
words of love and words of peace.

But this day was not a day for
peace or love. This was a day for vengeance and blood. Elmet chose to back
Owain and his great alliance of the Northern British tribes. Together they
attacked my land and my people - the Angles. They raided Deira, killed my
brother and kidnapped my sister. Then they took their army and joined Owain at
a place called Catraeth. There they hoped to destroy my land and my race for
ever.

But it was we who prevailed. We
Deiran farmers and townsfolk from the Wolds and Moors and the lands along the
River Humber held on against the odds until our brothers - the Angles of
Bernicia - had marched from the North and fallen upon the enemy.

There, at the great Battle of
Catraeth, we destroyed them. The tribes from Rheged, Strathclyde and Manau
Goddodin had been crushed. So now we returned to our neighbour - to Elmet to
make them pay for the hurt they had done us.

That at least was what Aelle -
our king - had ordered. He wanted recompense from Elmet's King Ceredig, and
punitive steps taken to ensure he could not easily attack us again. For my part
I had seen enough blood and death at Catraeth to last a lifetime. I would have
been content to stay at home with my family and Aidith, my woman. But Aelle was
our King, and my father, Cynric, was Earl of the Southern Marches. Our family’s
lands around the village of Cerdham lay in his domain so when he called out the
Wicstun Company that spring, a few months after Catraeth, he expected me, the
Lord of the Villa to obey the summons.

 So we went - ten men and boys
from the village - led by myself. Amongst them were my three friends: Eduard -
tall and broad-shouldered, a fierce warrior, utterly loyal and a true friend;
Cuthbert, my other boyhood companion - short and delicate, yet agile and as
much a master with the bow as Eduard was with his axe; and Aedann, the
dark-haired, green-eyed Welshman, who had once been my slave and was now a
freedman sworn to my service. With us went the rugged old veteran Grettir - our
teacher once upon a time and still full of the wisdom of a man who has seen
many battles.

We left the village of Cerdham
with its hovels and huts and left too the Villa - the decaying old Roman house
that my grandfather had captured and made into our family’s home. Off we went
with the rest of Aelle's army - six companies from the South of Deira - and
invaded Elmet. We marched hard and fast, striking deep into the Welsh land and,
before he knew we were coming, their King, Ceredig, was staring down at us in
horror from the wooden palisade around his city of Loidis.

Aelle's orders had been strict
and Earl Harald commanding us followed them to the letter. There was no offer
of peace from Harald, no olive branch held out and no chance of reprieve. Not
yet. Not until we had smashed our way through the city gates and burnt the
houses that lined the main street.

I am an old man now and I have
been in many battles and many fights, but despite all the sights I have seen, I
will never get used to the screams and cries for mercy from the innocent. The
gods blow their trumpets and the Valkyries ride forth to choose who is to be
slain and lead them to Valhalla, and men cheer and do battle for the sake of
glory or wealth or honour. Yet it is the children and the women who suffer
while we men wallow in blood.

 So it was that day. Vengeance
might sound a fine thing to demand when you stand over the grave of your
brother and smell the smoke of your own home burning. But see how you feel when
it is someone else's brother, son or daughter who lies at your feet, their home
burning whilst you stand nearby, holding the torches that kindled the flames.

Yet it had to be done, did it
not? They must be made to regret their attack and be prevented from doing it
again. It was us or them; and frankly, when you have seen hundreds die you can
harden your heart to the cries of the innocent. Or at least you can try to....

A little later, Eduard, Cuthbert,
Aedann and I stood with our men amongst the Wicstun Company in a square at the
heart of the city. Smoke from the smouldering hovels and the stench of burning
flesh wafted across to us, but I tried to ignore it. In front of us was a long
hall: Ceredig's royal palace. Lined up between us and it were two hundred
Elmetae warriors, shields held high and spear points sharp and glowing red in
the firelight. They were the King's last defence and we and two other companies
were forming up in a shield wall to attack them. The rest of the army was
elsewhere, ransacking the city and putting it to the torch.

"This is it, lads. One last
attack and the campaign is over," Harald shouted. "One last attack
and then we can all return home and forget about war."

"If you believe that you
will believe anything," I heard Eduard mutter, but loud enough that many
of us heard it and chortled wryly. Yet, we all hoped it was true. It was what
gave us the strength to carry on. Maybe Harald was right. After all, the armies
of Owain and his allies were scattered or dead. With Elmet suppressed too, who
else was there to threaten us? I gripped my shield tighter, checked the balance
of the spear in my right hand and waited for the order to advance.

Harald blew one sonorous blast on
his horn and we were off. Behind us my father and his huscarls followed and over
our heads our company’s standard flapped in the gentle spring breeze - the
running wolf visible through the drifting smoke.

A few arrows flew back and forth above
us - but not many for apart from Cuthbert we had brought few archers along with
us and the Welsh had only a handful themselves. Nevertheless, one arrow found
its mark somewhere amongst the company for I heard a curse over to my right.
Glancing that way I saw a man from Wicstun tumble out of the shield wall, blood
streaming down his chest and an arrow shaft protruding from just above his
collar bone. He slumped onto the ground and sat there, face screwed up in
agony, each breath laboured and painful. Then he was forgotten as the army
moved forward.

We were thirty paces from the
enemy, who now locked their shields together, each one overlapping the next.
Then they brought their spears down so they pointed towards us and with a
clattering of ash staves on oak boards, we copied their move.

Twenty paces away now and my gaze
fell upon one Elmetae spearman directly in front of me. In truth he was barely
a man and from the faintest wisp of a beard on his chin and the gangly thin
arms and legs I surmised that he could not have been above fourteen years old.
His dark green eyes looked haunted and his gaze darted this way and that. I had
seen that look before at Catraeth on a hundred faces and knew without a doubt
that today he was in his first battle. Next to him and older was a gruff veteran
with scars down his cheeks and bulging upper arms. His eyes showed none of the
fear in the young man's eyes. Instead hatred and bloodlust lingered there.

Ten paces away and the spears of
both armies interlaced each other like the fingers of a man bringing his hands
together. Then the shields crashed together. The shock of the collision sent a
judder up my left arm and it was all I could do to keep hold of my shield.
Unbalanced, I stepped back just as a spear point lunged at me, missing my
throat by only an inch. Recovering my feet, I thrust back, realising as I did
so that my spear was aimed at the young boy's neck. Maybe I hesitated for just
a second, for it never reached him: the grizzled old veteran at his side hacked
down at my ash stave with his sword, snapping it in two and leaving me with a
useless stump. He then brought the sword round aiming to take out my throat
with the fearsome edge. I was saved by Aedann who, standing on my left, took a
step forward and drove his spear into the veteran's left shoulder. The enemy
gave a roar of pain and recoiled. The youth, meantime, drew back his own spear
preparing to thrust it forward again. In his eagerness and his panic he
fumbled, dropped it and then bent to recover it.

Panting hard, I took advantage of
the reprieve and reached down to my baldric, grasping the hilt of my short
stabbing sword. I had taken this blade from my first foe, whom I had slain
during the raid on the Villa. It had served me well: it was with this sword
that I had killed Owain, the golden king of Rheged and it was in honour of that
battle that it earned its name: ‘Catraeth’.

I dragged Catraeth up above my
shield just as the youth advanced again, screaming as he thrust his spear at
me. I leant to one side, letting the spear point go past and then following up,
hacked over the top of the shield and felt the edge cut through tendon and bone
deep into the boy's arm. He let out a howl of agony and fell to the ground,
shield and spear abandoned as his hands reached up to stem the flow of blood
from the wound.

To his right the veteran roared
in anger and then hurtled forward, his own wound forgotten, slamming his shield
against Aedann's own, knocking my Welsh companion back through the rear ranks.
Without pausing, the enemy stepped over to me and kicked hard against my shins.
With a shout of pain I too tumbled to the ground.

Above me the light was blocked by
the huge figure of the grizzled veteran standing astride me, his face a mask of
rage, his shoulder pouring blood that dripped down onto my upturned face. Yet
there was something in his features that reminded me of the young man I had
just cut down. It was then I realized that the youth must be his son. Thirsty
for revenge and consumed by anger, the old man swung back his sword and
prepared to finish me.

"One last attack and then we
can all return home," those had been the words of Earl Harald just minutes
before. They resounded in my head; hollow now. But then again, maybe he was
right. But if so I would not be returning home to live in peace.

No, instead I would be going home
to be buried ...