Usurper, page 10
Briefly, he wondered if things were secure enough here at the burh for him to break away from his post for half an hour, ride down there, speak to her, even offer some kind of apology. He still had an eye for the lass. Which red-blooded male wouldn’t have? But she’d been mistreated, partly with his involvement. It hadn’t been purposeful where he was concerned, but it had happened nevertheless, and he didn’t like that. He didn’t want her to think that he was just another over-privileged young cockerel.
Not after his conversations of the last few days.
He continued to watch her diminishing form. She was probably completing the last of her daily chores. Afterwards, she would bar herself into her family’s cottage and not emerge until morning. His opportunity to speak with her this evening, if that was what he intended to do, would have gone.
Well… so be it. He shrugged. But then again, he’d made that promise to Unferth.
He glanced around. Several of the fyrdsmen were watching from the gantry, eyes on different parts of the valley. Whether they’d been practising with weapons, as he’d requested, he wasn’t sure, but at least if there was anything to see, they’d see it. As much as the dusk would allow them to. In light of that, he couldn’t imagine it would do any real harm if he went down there. It might even be something his father would approve of: mingling with the people, checking all was well, reassuring those who were nervous.
Hurriedly, he descended the nearest ladder and ran across the burh, calling for a groom. Within moments, he was mounted on Fireflax and picking his way down the Keld Brae. He trotted through the village and took the road east.
Eadora was now out of sight, but Cerdic knew which way she’d gone. About forty yards past the last of the cottages, he diverted south along a narrow, beaten trail to the village mill, a circular stone tower on the very edge of the river.
The level of the river was low, of course, but the millwheel still turned, albeit falteringly, the creak and groan of the grinding stones inside sounding more laboured than usual. Thirty yards east of there, a timber landing jutted out into a deeper section of water known as the Mill Pool. Eadora’s cart stood nearby, the six or seven metal pails she’d been transporting lined up on the landing. Eadora herself sat at the end of it. She’d removed her boots and was trailing her feet in the gentle current.
She seemed to be in a world of her own, humming some gentle ballad; clearly, she hadn’t heard the approach of Cerdic’s hoofbeats. He dismounted and walked his animal forward. When he got close, he saw that she had one of the pails under her left arm, and was picking small items out of it, tossing them into the Pool, where sleek, bobbing forms darted excitedly around.
‘You’re feeding the otters?’ he said aloud, startled.
The girl went rigid, before scrambling to her feet. When she saw that it was Cerdic, she looked frightened. ‘It… it’s not really feeding them, my lord.’ She showed him the pail and its odorous contents. ‘It’s only scraps from yesterday’s dinner. Fish heads and fins.’
Cerdic looped his reins around a low branch. ‘All the same, I can think of a few people in the village who’d object.’
She watched him nervously. ‘Are you one of them, Lord?’
‘I’ll be honest… I’ve never considered it. If you wish to feed them, who am I to interfere?’
She relaxed a little, emptying out the remaining slops, a feeding frenzy commencing in the water. ‘They’re beautiful creatures,’ she said. ‘Little wonder Saint Cuthbert is their patron.’
Despite his many real-world concerns, Cerdic was astonished. ‘They have their own patron saint?’
‘Of course, Lord.’ She looked shocked that he didn’t know. ‘They brought him fish when he was starving in his hermitage. They’re an important part of our world, I believe. And very misunderstood.’
‘Misunderstood? You’re lucky they didn’t take your toes off.’
She half-smiled. ‘They wouldn’t hurt me.’
‘So, you do this often?’
‘I…’ She became serious again. ‘I hate it when we treat them like vermin.’
Cerdic strode onto the landing. ‘The trouble with otters is we have thousands of them. And they eat all our fish.’
‘Better to give them a taste for our leavings, then, no?’
He had to chuckle. ‘There’s logic there, I suppose.’
She glanced around at him, curious, taking in his felt boots, his black woollen breeches and black tunic with its rich gold-and-silver embroidery.
‘You’re not girt for war, my lord?’ she said. ‘Is the danger passed?’
Up close, he could see that the small wound on her lower lip was already healing. Not that it harmed her looks in truth. She was still radiant.
‘No,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I mean, I don’t know. I doubt there’s an imminent threat.’
She drew no obvious comfort from that, but now stood there, awkward and unsure. Belatedly, he realised that she was confused by his arrival here, and maybe becoming frightened again. What might his intentions be in this secluded place? Had he followed her here? This goaded him into action.
‘I’ve come to, erm –’ he made a quick but vague gesture ‘– to express my regret about what happened.’
She looked even more confused. ‘You mean during Harvest Ales?’
‘I’m sorry I hurt your brother. It was foolish and unbecoming of me.’
‘Yes, well… I’m sorry too, Lord.’ She turned and, one by one, dipped the pails into the Pool. ‘Because he tricked you into that.’
‘I should have seen it coming. Doesn’t make it any better for you, though. You were hurt and shamed.’
She didn’t look at him as she moved to and from the river, loading the pails onto the cart. ‘It happens all the time, Lord. You shouldn’t be concerned.’
‘Yes, well… we are, I mean I am… I mean, well… we should all of us pull together in times like these.’
She loaded the last pail, pointedly not looking at him. ‘What do you wish of me, my lord?’
‘The truth is, Eadora… the truth is I’m here on my brother’s behalf. He asked me to take care of you while he was away, to see if you needed anything.’
‘Lord Unferth said that?’ Though struggling to remain reserved, she still looked shocked.
Cerdic nodded. ‘He knows that Haco beat you when he learned that you and he had been together. He doesn’t blame you in any way for what happened after.’
She moved back to the cart. ‘I can only say it again… I’m sorry my brother extorted money from your family. Maybe he will die in this war, and justice will be served. Forgive me, I still have work to do.’
She took the cart by its two handles, kicked away its support bar and manoeuvred it from the landing toward the path.
‘Eadora, wait.’
She did, standing stiffly.
‘None of us think that Haco should die for this,’ he said. ‘That would be ridiculous. But we’re all now in the same situation. I mean the fear… the uncertainty. Maybe we should be friendlier than we are?’
Immediately, he realised what an obvious approach this must seem to her. Despite his denials, he could only want to tumble her. Take up where his elder brother had left off.
‘Here…’ He moved alongside her, grabbing the cart by its handles. ‘Let me show you that I mean well. You can lead Fireflax. Don’t worry, she’ll come gently.’
Reluctantly, Eadora backed away. ‘My lord, you shouldn’t…’
‘No one round here thinks I’m any use.’ Cerdic started forward, straight away finding it awkward, the cart jolting and rocking, water sloshing. ‘At least I can prove to you that isn’t true.’
‘My lord, this is unseemly.’
‘You mean they’ll laugh at me? Don’t they do that already?’ Clumsily, he pushed on, aware that, behind him, the girl had taken Fireflax by the harness and was leading the docile brute forward. He tried to follow the path through the dry, yellow grass, but it proved a challenge just keeping a straight course. ‘This is tricky,’ he laughed. ‘Do you use this much water every day?’
‘It isn’t just for us,’ she replied. ‘With Haco away, I must collect for the forge. My lord,’ she sounded increasingly uncomfortable, most likely because they’d now turned through the trees toward the road, ‘why are you doing this?’
‘I’ve already said… I’ve been charged with assisting you.’
‘You mustn’t do menial work. It’s wrong.’
‘Consider it a penance.’ He threw her a swift glance, speaking as matter-of-factly as he could. ‘Look… I’m clearly making a fool of myself. Again. But I behaved badly, Eadora. At the tavern, I mean…’ He brought the cart to an ungainly halt. ‘Damn.’ Lowering the support bar, he mopped his brow. ‘And I’m sorry about that.’
When she gave no reaction, he glanced around.
She stood a few yards behind, Fireflax waiting beside her.
‘Doesn’t that mean anything?’ he asked.
‘Lord Cerdic… why would you be sorry?’
He almost replied with a question of his own: wouldn’t that be the done thing? But the complete non-comprehension in her face was all the explanation he needed. It illustrated more than words ever could the immense gulf between them. Because though any woman would rightly regard herself ill-used in this situation, by both her master and her own brother, she was simply too astonished by the mere concept that a nobleman might not just apologise to a peasant, but go out of his way to make things right by her. It was something she’d never have expected, most likely because it had never happened before.
He tried to push the cart on, but struck another divot, one of the pails slopping out half its contents. ‘Damn and blast!’
Eadora moved forward to take charge of the vehicle. ‘My lord, I need to get back.’
Cerdic took Fireflax’s reins. Somewhere ahead, from the direction of the village, he heard raised voices. But it only distracted him briefly.
‘At least tell me if there’s anything I can do for you, Eadora.’
She pushed the cart forward, with far greater proficiency than he had shown. ‘There’s nothing you can do for me, Lord. Nor should there be.’
He followed, leading his horse. ‘Nothing?’
‘We’ve already had a purse of coins, and that was ill-gotten. I should ask your forgiveness for that.’
‘Forgiveness freely given,’ he said quietly, watching as she pushed on with her cart, taunted by her strong, slim body, her steady gait, the sensual sway of her hips even as she exerted herself. And yet somehow, any amorous designs he’d once had on the lass had faded even more.
She was in a tired, sad state. Her new confusion about the lowered status she now held in the village where she’d lived all her life clearly added to this. He could still have taken her if he’d wanted to. Unferth had given him permission in his absence, as if that was all that mattered. Even his father had mentioned that village girls like Eadora would never dare refuse when a brash young nobleman came gallivanting along, so again, it wouldn’t technically be rape. But it seemed revolting even to contemplate a seduction now. And anything beyond the purely physical was impossible anyway. Oh, that dream was still there: the triumphant battle-lord parading amid his cheering warriors with a gorgeous wife or consort on his arm. Eadora would have fitted that bill perfectly, but like so many of his youthful imaginings, the realities of wartime life were hitting home now, reducing it to nothing more than a childish fantasy.
Abruptly, he was shaken from this introspection by an increased uproar from the direction of the village. A village that, half an hour ago, had been settling down for the evening. He saw Eadora pause on the path ahead, as if she’d heard it too.
He mounted up and urged Fireflax forward. Eadora turned to look at him.
‘I think something’s happening, Lord,’ she said.
‘I think you’re right.’ He broke into a fast gallop.
When he entered Brackley-on-the-Water, another rider was there ahead of him. Whoever he was, he’d halted outside The Corn Mother, and sat slumped over the pommel of his saddle amid a frenzy of gabbling voices. Cerdic rode into the village so recklessly that he had to rein Fireflax sharply to avoid ploughing through the crowd now cramming its narrow streets.
The other horseman was someone he’d seen several times before. His name was Ranald, thegn of Beckerthwaite, one of the earldom’s westerly estates. He was flustered and covered in grime, his hair hanging in rat-tails. His ring-coat had been muddied and cut to shreds, and was streaked with blood from a gash on his left cheek, which was only partly healed. He had no weapons, either on his person or on his horse, which steamed after what had clearly been a furious ride.
‘What happened?’ Cerdic shouted as his animal shouldered its way through.
Ranald regarded the lad curiously. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m…’ It was a struggle for Cerdic to keep his voice level. His heart was banging. ‘I’m Cerdic. Second son to Earl Rothgar.’
Ranald spat a mouthful of phlegm. ‘Well, Cerdic, second son of Rothgar, the battle is lost. We fought hard at a place called Fulford, just south of York, but they overcame us.’ He craned his neck around. ‘For Christ’s sake, bring that ale!’
Agnetha appeared from The Corn Mother, carrying a brimming tankard. Ranald drank thirstily, froth spilling down his whiskers.
‘What of my father?’ Cerdic asked tautly.
Ranald dropped the empty pot into the dirt. He shook his head and wiped his mouth. ‘The earl was in the thick of it, but I didn’t see what happened to him.’
Cerdic couldn’t believe the icy cold that now sank through his body. His mind whirled as he hoped against hope that Ranald might be mistaken. Perhaps he had left the melee before a final, more satisfactory outcome. But there was no uncertainty in the thegn’s battered face, no doubt in his downcast eyes.
The lad spoke again, querulous. ‘My… my brother was there, too. What of—’
‘I don’t know what happened to him, either. The only one I saw fall who I knew was your champion.’
‘Athelbere?’ That alone was a bitter truth to absorb. Already, a lump was forming in Cerdic’s throat.
Ranald shrugged. ‘I believe the Hardraada himself struck that blow.’
‘How… how many others fell?’
Village folk now ringed the mounted duo. The silence as they awaited an answer to this question was ear-splitting.
Ranald eyed Cerdic closely. ‘How many soldiers did the earl send?’
Cerdic shrugged. ‘Hundreds. Thousands, counting the fyrd.’
‘And how many have returned?’
‘You’re the first.’
‘That must tell you something.’
A low groan passed through the crowd, followed by a whispering and sobbing.
Panting and red-faced, Aethelric arrived, holding the hem of his habit as he stumbled down the brae track, several others behind him. He thrust his way through. Cerdic climbed from the saddle and grabbed the priest by his shoulders, stammering incoherently as he imparted what he’d just learned.
Aethelric turned to Ranald. ‘What of King Harold?’
‘If he’s coming at all, he didn’t arrive in time,’ the thegn replied.
‘What… what do you mean if he’s coming at all?’ Cerdic asked.
The thegn shook his head. ‘There was talk he’s bringing an army north, but I don’t know how true that is.’
‘Surely he’ll come now the northern forces are beaten?’ Aethelric asked.
‘It seems likely.’ Ranald glanced up the brae. ‘But until he arrives, you people would do well to shelter in your stronghold.’
The sobbing halted, replaced by mutters of fear.
‘Surely they won’t come this far north?’ the priest said.
Ranald shrugged. ‘It would be nice to think that, but some of them are already on their way.’
The mutters of fear became whimpers of dismay.
‘I took thirty housecarls to York,’ the thegn added. ‘I emerged from the battle with four. The only thing possible was to head home. But we weren’t alone. It soon became apparent there was a Viking company behind us.’
‘How strong?’ Cerdic asked.
‘I don’t know. We tangled with their vanguard, and that’s why now I have no carls at all. Oh yes –’ his eyes roved the pale-faced congregation ‘– my men died and I lived. Look at me as a coward if you wish, but only a man who’s never faced the Norse would think in those terms.’
‘Who are they?’ Aethelric asked.
Ranald frowned. ‘How could I know that?’
‘I mean, do they come in force? Are they a break-away company?’
The thegn shrugged. ‘They might be, I can’t say. It’s certainly not their whole army. Hardraada is still camped on the Ouse. But this particular group are coming here.’
‘And when do you expect they’ll arrive?’
‘They were close behind me all the way. That’s why I say shelter in your burh. And pray that God favours you. After what I saw at Fulford, you’ll need Him.’
Ranald kicked his horse’s flanks, but Cerdic lurched forward and snatched his reins. ‘Surely you’re staying?’
‘Are you a madman?’ Ranald said.
‘What, you fled the battlefield and now you’re fleeing us?’
Ranald snarled. ‘I fled the battlefield, little earl, when I had nothing left. I told you nearly all my host was slain. My sword and spear were broken. When we met them again on the road, I had to fight my way out with this.’ He presented his right fist, which clasped a bloodstained knife, its blade snapped halfway down. ‘And you’ll feel it in your neck if you don’t release my bridle.’
Cerdic reached for Usurper’s hilt, but of course the sword was back under his bed. Aethelric, meanwhile, yanked the reins from his grip, handing them back to Ranald.
‘If I have to die, it’ll be defending my home,’ the thegn said, addressing the crowd in general. ‘I don’t wish to be the bearer of this news, but it’s best you know the truth.’
