The Circle of Stone (Darkest Age) (12 page)

He had caught up with the Danes when they were almost in their home harbour, he said; had attacked one ship with burning arrows and sunk it. But the rest had escaped; abandoned their boats and fled inland, Heored reported scornfully, to hide from their pursuers in the forest.

‘But they fought you,’ Edmund said, remembering the battlefield he had crossed only the day before. ‘You lost men.’

Heored’s face clouded. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Our men grow restless here; only yesterday I allowed a party of them to go hunting, and the Danes waylaid them as they returned.’ He thumped the chest with his fist. ‘What kind of men are they? We’re invaders in their land! They should be banding together to drive us out . . . yet they hide from us and harry us little by little, like common bandits.’

‘Perhaps they are,’ Edmund ventured.

Heored was suddenly very still. Edmund felt the weight of his stare as he went on: ‘There are many bands of men in this place who are quick to murder their own people for little or no gain.’ He told his father about the men who had churned up the road, and the trail of devastation they had left behind them; the murder of the pedlar Menobert and the tales of attacks on homesteads. ‘They’re not like common brigands,’ he said. ‘They don’t even seem to rob their victims – just destroy everything in their path.’

Heored stood up, upsetting his stool and nearly knocking over the lamp. ‘My scouts brought back rumours of this,’ he said. ‘But they’re hired men, from the harbour towns, and
not to be relied on. They told tales of an army of madmen attacking the villages, and I told them to bring me proof: capture a man from this army, and let me question him.’ His pacing had brought him back to Edmund. ‘And they brought you.’

Heored smiled suddenly, and for a moment he was the father Edmund had known as a child. ‘And I’m glad of it, Edmund. Tonight I’ll gather my captains, and we’ll plan what use to make of your news. But for now, we’ll toast your return.’ A servant stepped forward, but Heored dismissed him impatiently and poured two cups of ale himself, pushing one over to Edmund. ‘If what you say is true, we’ll maybe not be here much longer. A rabble of madmen!’ He drank deeply. ‘And when we’ve beaten them, I’ll send to Aelfred in Francia to let him know you’re with me. He can reach your mother from there more easily than I can from here.’

‘But he’s not there!’ Edmund said without thinking, and cursed himself. His uncle Aelfred – the sorcerer Orgrim – was someone he had not yet mentioned to his father. How could he tell Heored that his own brother-in-law was a sorcerer who had turned against his king? But there was no escaping it now. As briefly as possible, he told his father what he knew of Aelfred’s recent history: his coming to Wessex in an exchange of hostages; his study of sorcery and his attempt to seize power from Beotrich.

‘I was there when . . . when his treachery was discovered,’ Edmund said. ‘He is in prison now. But no one else knows his
true name, or his link to our family. He has lost his sight, and I think his reason as well.’

Heored had sunk down on his stool again, and rested his head in his hands. When he looked up his face was haggard.

‘I should have guessed,’ he said at last. ‘I never wholly trusted him, promising though he was. I never told you, Edmund, but he . . . his family . . . have a skill which . . .’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Well, the seeds of treachery were always in him. Your mother is the soul of honour, but when I heard she had entrusted you to Aelfred, I confess I had my doubts.’

He said no more, but Edmund felt a coldness descend on him.
He knew!
he thought.
My father knew all the time that Aelfred was Ripente – and he distrusted him because of it
. How could he ever tell the truth about himself now?

‘Enough of that!’ Heored exclaimed, rising from his seat. ‘You’re here now. I must make you known to the men, and arm you. I’ll not have you going weaponless in enemy territory, even for a day.’ He strode to the tent-flap. ‘Teobald! Alberich! Nils!’ he called. The three captains came up at a run.

‘Summon the armourer,’ Heored commanded. ‘This is my son, Edmund of Sussex. He fights with us from now on. He’s to have sword and armour as befits his rank.’

The three men bowed, and Teobald led Edmund to the armoury, where a thickset old man in stained leather offered him a dozen different swords to try.

‘It’s an honour to have you here, young prince,’ the old man said, as he helped Edmund into leather armour and a
bulky breastplate. ‘Your father’s a soldier as well as a king, and it’s good to see his young one following in his footsteps.’

‘That it is,’ Teobald agreed. ‘King Heored is always in the thick of the battle,’ he told Edmund. ‘There’s no danger that he won’t share with us – and his men love him for it.’

Edmund heard himself clanking as Teobald led him back to his father, a round helmet on his head and the hilt of his new sword hitting the breastplate at every step. He wondered what Elspeth would think if she could see him like this. But his heart lifted to see the pride in Heored’s eyes.

‘Now you look like a soldier!’ his father exclaimed. ‘Draw your sword!’ Edmund obeyed, and to his amazement the three captains bowed before him.

‘Welcome, Heored’s son!’ Teobald cried, and the other two captains echoed him. Edmund stood straighter inside the cumbersome armour, and raised the heavy sword above his head.
I’m the son of a hero
, he told himself.

‘Come with me to inspect the camp,’ his father said. ‘Tonight we’ll hold a council, and these captains will hear what you’ve told me. And tomorrow I’ll send a party of men to bring your companions here. There are women among them, you said? I’ll give them safe conduct back to our ships – see them safely on their way before we prepare for battle.’

Edmund almost laughed at the idea of trying to send Elspeth away. ‘No need for that,’ he told his father. ‘My companions are here by choice, all of them. They won’t leave until they’ve found . . . our enemy, and killed him.’

‘And how do they expect to do that?’ Heored exclaimed. ‘Two women and a minstrel?’

Edmund could not answer. He and Elspeth had not discussed what she could do against the demon now that the sword was gone.

‘Well, that’s as may be,’ his father was saying. ‘Your place is with me now.’ He took Edmund by the shoulders, his face serious. ‘I’ve left your education too much to others. You’ll be King of Sussex after me some day, Edmund: it’s time you began to learn your duties.’

And maybe it was for the best, Edmund told himself, as he followed Heored to be shown to his men. His father was a great warrior, with an army at his command. Surely, once Edmund had proved himself, Heored would help in the fight against Loki? Whatever it took, he promised himself, he would make his father proud of him.

Eolande made them move Wyn’s son into the open and take him downhill, to where grass grew. Cluaran and Cathbar could not avoid jolting the young man as they carried him, but he was too deeply unconscious to notice. Elspeth, following behind with Wulf, hoped they were not too late.

‘Leave us now,’ Eolande instructed them, as the men laid Reinhard under a group of stunted trees. She knelt at his head, with Wyn beside her. ‘Cluaran – if he wakes, we’ll need a dressing for the wound in his chest.’ Elspeth looked back as Cluaran led them away: the Fay woman was bending over the young man, her hands cupping his head, murmuring something too quiet to hear.

Cluaran asked Elspeth and Cathbar to fetch more water, while he and the young woman, Sigrid, went further downhill to look for medicinal herbs. They dared not light a fire for fear of alerting their enemies, and when Cluaran returned with yarrow leaves, moss and bark, there were no utensils but his cooking pan and a stone to use as a pestle.

‘How did your mother get her skill at healing?’ Elspeth asked, as Cluaran showed her how to shred leaves and bark into the pan. ‘I thought the Fay were never ill.’

‘That’s as may be,’ Cluaran answered. ‘But my father was not Fay, and nor am I . . . no more than half. Her knowledge of herbs, which she gave to me – she learnt that from the women of Hibernia, where I was born.’ He began to pound at the mixture in the pan. ‘This will be no use to him unless she can find his spirit and coax it to return to his body. That’s a much rarer skill.’

‘And may she succeed,’ said Cathbar. He was standing nearby, sharpening his sword. ‘But come sunset, Cluaran, we must leave her here, and go after Edmund.’

‘I’m coming too,’ Elspeth put in, as Cluaran nodded. She glanced over at Wulf, who was playing one of his interminable games with pebbles, watched by Sigrid. Maybe they could leave the child here as well. They might only have the one chance to rescue Edmund. Suddenly it seemed unbearable to be sitting here while her friend was still in danger. ‘How far is the camp from here?’

‘Close,’ Cathbar promised her. ‘Over the next ridge.’

They did not have to wait until sunset for Cluaran’s mother to finish with Reinhard. The sun was still visible over the southern ridge when Eolande came up the slope, her steps slow and her face white and drained. Elspeth stared at her, suddenly cold – but when she saw them, the Fay woman smiled.

‘He’s awake,’ she said.

Cathbar and Cluaran carried him back to the shelter of the hawthorns. The young man was too weak to talk, but there was colour in his face, and Elspeth saw him smiling at his mother and Sigrid as they dressed his wound with the poultice Cluaran had made.

Wyn rose from her son’s side to take Eolande by the hand. ‘Is there anything I can do to repay you?’

‘Nothing, thank you,’ Eolande told her. ‘Only take care of your son.’

Wyn nodded, but did not release Eolande’s hand. ‘Mistress,’ she said, a little uncertainly, ‘may I ask your name? I’d have my son know who it was who saved him.’

The Fay woman hesitated a moment. ‘It’s Eolande,’ she said. ‘But if I have saved him, it was in part-payment of a debt that I owe. You are not beholden to me.’

The woman shook her head. ‘I shall never forget you, Eolande,’ she said. ‘May our friendship always go with you.’

They crouched on the ridge, looking down on a landscape of rough pasture dotted with woodland, with the road a hazy line over to the east.

‘Their camp is behind that hill,’ said Cathbar, pointing. ‘There are sixty or more of them – and they’ve posted guards all around, so go carefully, and don’t speak. Understand, Wulf?’ he said to the child, who nodded. He had refused to stay behind with Wyn and Sigrid – as Elspeth had known he would.

The journey down was faster than the way up, even with the need for caution. Cathbar led them down a gully to the west of the camp, which would shield them from the sight of any watcher below.

‘The tents are all close under the cliff,’ he told them. ‘They have sentries on the hill, and what looks like a sheer drop on the side nearest the camp. The road’s to the east, with trees between it and the camp: they’ve sentries in the trees as well. To the south and west it’s all open fields. They patrol the edges, but we could slip past in the dark.’

They hid in a tiny copse, one field away from the camp. Elspeth could see the closest tents and the faint light of cooking fires. She strained her eyes, but she could catch no sight of Edmund: only heavy-set men in dark cloaks, turning spits or unrolling packs. Above them, on the hill, she could see the little figure on look-out duty, and in the fields before the camp, two sentries patrolled, crossing and recrossing. The scene was brilliantly lit by the low sun.

‘If we go in from the west,’ Cluaran murmured, ‘we don’t have to wait till dark.’

They made their move as the sun was setting. They had agreed that Eolande and the boy would stay behind, and as the other three removed their furs and took out the blankets from their packs, the Fay woman took firm hold of Wulf’s arms. She paled a little as the child wriggled and protested, but did not let go. Then, as the sinking sun emerged from the clouds to send streaks of gold across the
field, and into the eyes of the man on watch, Cluaran stepped forward.

‘Go as soon as he comes after me,’ he whispered, and as soon as the man raised his hand to shield his eyes, the minstrel slipped from the trees and moved silent as a shadow around the edge of the field. In the next field, sheep were grazing, and as Elspeth and Cathbar waited, sword at the ready, they heard a commotion from the animals: a chorus of bleats and a ragged pounding as the flock bolted. The man on top of the rise peered in the direction of the noise and started towards it, calling to his companions.

‘Now!’ whispered Cathbar, and he and Elspeth darted over the rough grass to the bushes at the base of the hill.

On the other side of the camp they could hear running feet and curses mixing with frightened bleating. They moved cautiously around the bushes, but there was no sound of alarm from the camp. Then Elspeth gasped as branches were pushed aside behind her and a hand was laid on her arm.

It was Cluaran – bright-eyed, and not even breathless. ‘Waiting for me?’ he murmured. ‘Better move now: they’ll be coming back.’

They reached the edge of the camp, and lay in the long grass peering in. The first of the men were indeed returning, a little shamefaced as they told their companions that they had found nothing but skittish sheep.

‘Wait here,’ Cathbar muttered. ‘I’ll find where Edmund is and come back.’

He wrapped his blanket around himself in imitation of the men’s dark cloaks, leapt to his feet and strolled into the camp. As soon as he was a few paces away, he was almost indistinguishable from the other men milling about: not only in build and colouring, but in the assurance of his walk, as if he belonged there. Only the watchers saw how he avoided looking anyone in the face. He headed straight for the row of tents against the cliff, and disappeared among them.

Elspeth peered through the grass stems, seizing on every slight movement and wishing she had Edmund’s Ripente sight, to look inside the tents. Then Cathbar was striding back, ducking down quickly as he reached them.

‘He’s in that one,’ he said, pointing at a tent at the end of the row. ‘Not bound, and only two men with him. Come on!’