Better than Gold (10 page)

‘Why not?' Cynewise agreed.

‘What will they do with the gold my father paid for his freedom?' Egfrid asked uncomfortably.

The
queen's look darkened a little. ‘I told Aldred to bury it as a gift to the gods,' she said. ‘Penda wants nothing to do with it, and I don't want it either. It is not an honourable gift.'

‘So nobody shall have it.' Egfrid felt some satisfaction that at least Wulfhere would not keep it.

‘The earth shall have it,' Cynewise said. ‘Aldred will bury it and tell nobody where it lies.'

CHAPTER
14

Blood-month

T
hey left Tamworth in a patter of rain while thunder rolled in the distance. Despite the threatening storm it felt better to be doing something and Egfrid's spirits lifted. It was good to be out on Golden-mane's back, Dapple racing at his side.

The rain came on more steadily and lashed down on them as they rode towards the high hill passes. Cynewise, wrapped in furs and skins, set a good pace on her silver mare, leaving poor Wyn, wet and miserable, riding behind her.

They made camp on the southern lee of a hill above the River Derwent, but moved on next morning, though thick mist made the going slow. That evening a watery sun struggled out to greet them as they made camp again.

‘
Where will we meet them?' Egfrid asked, fearful that this brief freedom might quickly be lost to him.

‘They'll ford the River Winwaed,' Cynewise said. ‘Tomorrow we'll head in that direction and may find them there already.'

The following afternoon they arrived at the southern bank of River Winwaed, only to discover the water-meadows in flood. They made camp on high ground where they had a clear view of the ford. As the light began to fade, Mercian standards emerged from the mist that covered the northernmost riverbank.

‘But they cannot cross!' Cynewise protested.

‘No, lady,' Sigurd agreed.

‘Then we must swallow our impatience and wait till the morning.'

Penda's vast army appeared and settled to camp on the far bankside. Horns blared in greeting from one side of the river to the other and Dapple ran backwards and forwards yapping, as though he recognised the gathering on the other side.

Cynewise waded through mud, almost to the water's edge and Penda gave her a loud halloo. ‘At least he knows I'm here,' she said, blowing kisses across the water.

‘
You'd best go back to your tent, lady,' Sigurd warned her.

Late into the night cheerful shouts drifted across the water. The queen's tents were made of twice-stitched oilskin and though it rained heavily all night, Egfrid was dry and comfortable on the folding bed they'd put up for him.

The next morning he woke to hear Dapple's bark, and struggled bleary-eyed from his tent to find Sigurd on watch. It still rained and a heavy mist filled the valley.

Sigurd drew a sharp intake of breath and Dapple barked again.

‘What is it?' Egfrid asked, sensing the man's unease.

‘There… I swear I saw something on the crest of the hill, in the mist!'

‘A deer…a wolf?' Egfrid suggested.

But Sigurd turned suddenly to him with a horrified expression. ‘Damn it!' He snatched up the horn that swung from his belt and blew three sharp blasts.

‘What is it?' Egfrid cried.

Then he saw it himself. Moving steadily on the crest of the far hill, a shape appearing from the haze.

‘Faint-heart!' Sigurd murmured. Then he blew his horn again and started to bellow. ‘The Bernicians are here! To arms! To arms! The Bernicians are on us!'

Egfrid
stared into the distance and saw something astonishing emerge from clouds of rolling mist… a shape that he knew well, but roughly hewn from wood, not gold. A cross, linked with a circle: his father's battle standard. Not the fine gold cross that Wulfhere had crushed, but an emblem crudely shaped from green wood.

His heart began to thunder as he stumbled back to his tent. Chad was on his feet at once, as Egfrid snatched up the sword that Penda had given him and began to buckle it around his waist.

Chad said nothing but strode outside. As Egfrid followed him he saw Sigurd leap onto his horse and charge down the hill towards the swollen waters. ‘Wake Penda, wake! The Bernicians are upon you!' he cried as he rode into the flooding river.

Cynewise stumbled from her tent in her nightgown, shocked and dishevelled. Wyn followed, clutching her cloak and crying.

‘What is happening?' Cynewise asked.

Egfrid could only point to the dark shapes of spears and warriors that appeared over the distant brow of the hill, out of the mist, to swoop down on the unsuspecting Mercians. Chad's face was blank with shock.

‘
My father,' Egfrid managed at last. ‘It is my father; he has given up his gold, but not his swords and spears. Penda is trapped by the swollen river!'

‘Go to them!' Cynewise ordered her men. ‘Go to my husband's aid! Get your horses and swim them across!'

‘Lady, we stay by you!'

‘Go!' she bellowed. ‘I order it! Follow Sigurd and ride to Penda's aid!'

Her men ran to their steeds, mounted fast and headed for the swirling waters. They could just see Sigurd's horse, carried a good distance downstream. Dapple ran after them, barking excitedly.

‘To heel, to heel,' Egfrid cried desperately. Reluctantly the hound returned to him.

‘We shall all be killed,' Wyn whispered, weeping quietly.

Sleepy Mercian warriors stumbled from their tents to grab swords, spears and axes, while Oswy Iding and his army rode down out of the mist to kill without mercy.

‘Blessed Freya!' Cynewise cried. ‘Where is my husband? Wake, brave battle-bear, wake and fight!'

Egfrid felt that his heart would burst with fear.

‘Is this fair Christian battle?' Cynewise turned in fury to Chad.

He shook his head. ‘I have no answer for you, lady.'

They
watched helplessly as Penda's standard was raised. The old warrior could be seen at last amongst his companions, who made a brave stand, but were forced back towards the river, to lose their footing in deep, slippery mud.

‘I must fight,' Egfrid cried, his sword there in his hand. ‘I must fight.'

Chad gripped him tightly and pinned his arms to his sides. ‘And who will you fight for?' he asked.

Egfrid's mind whirled with confusion as he tried to answer. Which side would he fight for? Would he support his cold, calculating father, to whom he owed unswerving loyalty, or the fierce old warrior king he'd grown to love? His father had been ruthless and clever to follow and attack the Mercians here in this flooded meadow, while they slept…but was it honourable?

‘Aaah!' he cried out at last, in confusion and agony.

Cynewise clasped his face in her hands. ‘Put your sword away,' she whispered. ‘Swear to me you will not fight for either man! We must both bear this somehow.'

His mouth was a grim line of pain, but he nodded and sheathed his sword. Chad let him go.

‘Where is Ethelwald?' Cynewise cried. ‘Why does
he
not come to Penda's aid?'

Egfrid
didn't want to watch, but he found he couldn't look away.

The Mercian herdsman's-army had bravely rallied behind the seasoned warriors, but were driven like cattle into the fast-flowing water, only to be trapped in silt and carried away downstream. Cynewise's war-band and their horses had vanished in amongst the struggling mass. The queen sent poor weeping Wyn to her tent and told her not to come out again. The woman went readily enough.

‘There's Ethelwald,' Chad said, and he pointed to where the Deiran battle-standard had been raised on higher ground. Ethelwald was mounted and rallying his men, but all of a sudden instead of entering the fight, he whirled about and headed further upriver, his men streaming after him.

‘What is he doing?' Cynewise cried, her face white and shocked. ‘The Bernicians are letting him slip away!'

‘But see who comes forward!' Egfrid cried. He pointed down-river to where Sigurd led a large following of warriors through the soaked meadowland.

‘The East Angles!' Cynewise cried. ‘Sigurd has found King Athelhere and brought him to Mercia's aid. But he comes too late!'

As
this new help arrived, Penda's standard was dragged to the ground and the fighting around the Mercian king grew fierce.

The queen set off, rushing down towards the river, just as an armed warrior drove his beast across the raging torrent and through the mire. Egfrid raced after her, feeling only that he must follow where she went. The Bernician rider raised his sword as Cynewise stumbled on, careless of her own safety.

‘It is the end!' she cried.

‘You shall not touch her,' Egfrid growled and without pause for thought, he lurched in front of her and taking his sword in both hands, he swung it sideways, biting into the warrior's armpit, as Sigurd had trained him.

The Bernician let out a bellow of shock and pain and slumped forwards in his saddle, dropping his weapon at Egfrid's feet. His panicking horse wheeled and charged back into the water to skitter away downstream. Egfrid stared at the bloodied sword that lay at his feet. Had he killed a man?

Chad was there beside them, with Dapple leaping up and down. The monk gently pulled Cynewise away and began to lead them both back up the hillside. ‘Come
away,
lady,' he told her firmly. ‘There is nothing you can do.'

‘He is gone,' she murmured softly. ‘Penda is dead, I saw him fall, the bravest warrior that ever lived!'

Egfrid picked up the Bernician's sword, his first spoil of war, and followed them back up the hill. As they reached the queen's tents again, Cynewise turned angrily on him. ‘You should have let me die,' she said. ‘I would have gone with him. You swore you wouldn't fight.'

‘I swore I wouldn't fight for my father or Penda,' Egfrid said. ‘I never said I wouldn't fight for you.'

The queen's face crumpled and she flung her arms around the boy and wept. Egfrid remembered the fateful ride from Bamburgh on Thunderer's back, the moments of unexpected joy when the grizzled old king had praised him. He could not believe that such a valiant, fearless spirit as Penda was gone. He felt sick and angry, but he was elated too. His father was no faint-heart. Nobody could ever say that again. Oswy had paid off the enemy with gold trimmings, but kept most of his spears and blades and his fighting spirit intact.

CHAPTER
15

Woden's Man

T
he Bernicians, cheered on by Ethelwald's desertion, drove the remnants of the helpless Mercian army into the flooding river, and then put all their force into tackling King Athelhere.

It was not a fight any more. It was a drowning, for the ground beneath the East Angles' feet had turned into a swamp of dragging mud. As Egfrid and the queen watched, they saw one man swim steadily across the river towards them. He battled against a strong current, but made it to the field below and came loping up the hill towards them. It was Sigurd, soaked and slashed with bleeding cuts, choking on muddy water.

Cynewise shook her head. ‘You should have gone down with Penda,' she said.

‘
No,' he gasped. ‘Penda died sword in hand, a true Woden's man, as he would have wished, but Athelhere too is killed and the kingdom of Mercia is no more. I swore on oath that I'd take you to safety.'

Cynewise shook her head fiercely. ‘No, it is Wulfhere that you must save,' she said. ‘He is camped near Lichfield with Aldred. Take my horse and ride to them and warn him. Hide him.
He
is Mercia's hope. Beorn will have to do as Oswy tells him now.'

‘Lady, you must come too,' Sigurd begged.

‘Yes, you should go with him,' Egfrid added his voice. He found he couldn't bear the thought of her being captured.