Theodore stands beside the woman slave and gently extracts her fingers from around the jug. He places the jug carefully back on the table, far from the prone body of Ecgred. I can see that she’s shaking, but whether with terror or from the sudden cold wind that’s blowing through the room, I’m unsure.
I don’t know what to do.
I can imagine the punishment the slave might endure for causing the death of her owner, and yet, I can’t help thinking that she did it to protect me. Did she, like Theodore, realise I was a Mercian, just as Ecgred had clearly done? How, I don’t know, but looking at my hand, I must assume he saw my burn mark. I’ve not done a good enough job of keeping the visible scar hidden. I keep removing my gloves when I tend to the wounded.
I wish I could speak to them both to determine what we should do next. I can only hope that Æsc doesn’t follow Ecgred into the workshop before we can work out what’s to be done.
Abruptly, I stand, keen to be as far away from Ecgred as possible. Theodore nods at me, his expression blank, as he remains close to the woman. If only I knew her name, but Theodore didn’t think to tell me it.
Once more, he nods at me and moves towards Ecgred. I don’t want to see what he’s doing, but my curiosity is rampant. I watch him check the pulse that no longer thuds at Ecgred’s neck and then hold his ear close to where air should pass in and out of Ecgred’s body at his mouth. But there’s nothing. Theodore grunts as though satisfied the man is dead and moves into the shadowed area of the workshop. He emerges carrying two blankets. I know what he means to do with them, even as my heart beats too loudly in my ears.
The female slave rushes to join Theodore, and between them, they quickly have Ecgred covered. I pretend not to notice that Theodore takes the weighty coin bag from the dead man’s waist. In all honesty, it should have been their money and not Ecgred’s at all. Ecgred knew nothing. He was entirely reliant on Theodore and the woman for what he managed to accomplish. It makes me consider how the two slaves came to belong to Ecgred.
When the pair bend to lift the body, I know they won’t be able to move him without my help. Yet, I shy away from assisting them. Should the death not be reported to Lord Æthelwulf? After all, it was an accident. She didn’t mean to kill her owner. Not, I imagine, that the Wessex lord will believe that. And what if Lord Æthelwulf determines I caused Ecgred’s death?
No. The death needs to be concealed. As Theodore cloaks the knowledge that I’m a Mercian. I need to help him and his comrade. I cover the distance between us quickly and hook the ankles of Ecgred with a grimace, all of my aches and pains making themselves felt all over again. I could do with a healing potion, but there’s no time for that now.
The woman moves aside eagerly, going to aid Theodore with Ecgred’s head. Only then do we begin to make our way, not towards the open doorway, but, instead, to the shadowed part of the workshop, where I suspect the two slaves have lived while Ecgred made Londinium his home. I can’t imagine Ecgred lived here all the time. I must assume he came here with the Wessex force and took command of this dwelling.
I can hardly see anything as I follow the pair of them into the darkness of the rear of the workshop. Ecgred’s body is surprisingly light, but then, he isn’t a tall man, or a fat one. Perhaps I could carry him alone, but I hardly wish to be found with the body of the imposter. What excuse would I have? Not that the two slaves can help me if we’re caught. No one else speaks their language, and if someone catches sight of my hand, as Theodore has, they’ll realise that I’m a Mercian and kill me.
The slaves lead on, shuffling backwards with their heavy load, their chains clinking with each step, and quickly I realise there’s a further door to the outside world. Theodore and the woman go first, and I duck because it’s not a tall doorway.
Outside, it’s fully dark, the wind blowing strongly, chilling me immediately, as I continue to lug the body. I can see well enough, the sky crystalline, the moon bright in a sky that shimmers with stars.
I risk looking around, expecting to see Æsc or even Lord Æthelwulf eyeing me with fury, but the night is quiet. It must be late enough that everyone sleeps.
‘Where are we going?’ I hiss before realising I’ll get no reply. My arms start to scream from the weight, which grows heavier with every step. I know I won’t be able to go much further, not without resting my arms. Ahead, I can sense the shadow of the ancient wall coming into view. It promises protection from those outside, but it bars my way to escape. I know my true enemies come from inside Londinium; I need to escape.
So focused on the wall and the problem of my enclosing inside it, I don’t realise that Theodore and the female slave have stopped until I almost fall over Ecgred’s prone body, dropping his feet in the process. They land noisily on the stone-lined ground. Do they mean to leave him here? I look around. It hardly seems like it’s a good hiding place. And then Theodore disappears from view. An involuntary shriek leaves my mouth. I clamp my hand over it, even as the woman watches me, finger to her lips, as the moon provides enough light to see her clearly.
Her skin isn’t the brown of Theodore’s, but it’s certainly a warmer tone than Ecgred’s. I want to know more about her. About how she came to be here, and why she must wear chains around her ankles.
I shuffle forwards and meet the white eyes of Theodore. He’s standing on much lower ground, and then I understand his intentions – such clear thinking on his part. I hope there haven’t been more occasions than this one where he’s had to hide a body quickly.
Looking down, I can see what appear to be turrets of stone sticking up from a stone-lined floor and supporting another layer of thinner stone above it. It looks to me as though there are two floors, one above the other. Why that would be, I don’t know.
Theodore makes ‘hurry up’ movements with his hands, making his intention clear. I grip Ecgred’s feet one more time and pull him towards where Theodore waits. He steps back as one of Ecgred’s feet comes free from the covering of the blanket. I grip Ecgred’s shoulders to thrust him over the side to where Theodore stands.
The body lands wetly and with a harsh crack that seems to split the silence of the night. Hastily, Theodore pulls on Ecgred’s legs, manoeuvring the dead man so I can’t see him, sliding him beneath the top layer of stone. I think it’s a good place to hide a body, but for how long? Surely it’ll start to stink soon enough, and more than just Æsc will come looking for the missing Ecgred. I realise what it means only as the body disappears entirely from view.
As I offer my hand to help Theodore up from the lowered floor, I appreciate that not only do I need to escape from Londinium now, I also need to take the two slaves with me and somehow find a way to undermine the Wessex forces. Although, that part might be the easiest of the tasks I’ve been set, especially with Lord Æthelwulf’s desperate bid to get inside the market settlement.
‘Do you know a way to escape?’ I whisper to Theodore when he stands beside me, but he shakes his head. I don’t know if that means he doesn’t, or if he doesn’t understand me. And then the woman speaks, her words shocking me.
‘You’ll help us?’ she asks, her eyes meeting mine, determination showing in the line of her slight jaw and cheekbone.
‘If I can,’ I offer, hardly words of comfort, but it’s all I have for now. I can’t believe that she can speak my tongue, having pretended to be unable to understand anything I’ve said until now. ‘Do you know a way to escape?’ I ask again, but she shakes her head, walking back the way we’ve just come.
I don’t know how long it’ll take someone to realise Ecgred is missing, but however long that time is, I don’t think it’ll be enough for me to work out a way to escape the high walls, and the peril has just increased. Æsc will accuse me of killing Ecgred, of that I’m sure, and if not me, then the slaves. While the woman might be responsible for his death, I can’t believe it was an intentional act. It was done to protect my identity. It was in her and Theodore’s interests that Ecgred didn’t announce my Mercian loyalties.
Returning to the workshop, I expect Æsc to be there already, Lord Æthelwulf as well, but all is silent. Apart from a thin trickle of blood amongst the rush-covered floor, there’s nothing to show what happened here. I look down at it, considering what to do next. I stifle a yawn. I need to sleep once more and probably eat.
Movement out of the corner of my eye has me reaching for my seax, but it’s merely Theodore and the woman moving into their part of the workshop. It’s evident they too mean to sleep. I meet Theodore’s eyes and stride from the workshop. My mind is buzzing with this new problem to solve, but I can’t do anything right now.
My steps drag with exhaustion, and when I stumble into the dwelling where Tyrhtil and Brihtwold already snore so loudly, it’s as though thunder rumbles overhead, they don’t even notice I’ve returned. I make myself as comfortable as possible on the hard floor, and between one breath and the next, I’m asleep.
When I wake, Tyrhtil is shaking my shoulder as I crack open one eye.
‘I’m leaving,’ he informs me. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Leaving?’ I demand, too sleep-muddled to remember where he’s going.
‘Yes, to join the ships. The tide is right. We’ll sneak into Lundenwic.’ He grimaces as he speaks, his hand reaching towards his wound. He shouldn’t be going anywhere. If he couldn’t climb the steps of the fort, then how does he expect to fight today?
‘You need to rest,’ I caution him, sitting upright now, the events of yesterday slowly reasserting themselves. Perhaps I should go with Tyrhtil. I might be able to sneak away from the rest of the Wessex warriors once I’m inside the market settlement. But what of Theodore and the woman? I know I can’t leave them. And, I’ve not yet fulfilled Wulfheard’s task. I need to accomplish both of those duties and sooner rather than later.
‘I need five hundred silver pennies.’ Tyrhtil attempts to grin, making his way to the entrance of the shelter.
There’s no sign of Brihtwold. He was here when I returned earlier. I don’t know where he’s gone now.
I follow Tyrhtil outside. It’s perishingly cold, a reminder that the good weather of the long summer is coming to an end. I imagine it might be warmer tomorrow, but for today, a cold breeze blows from the river, bringing with it the distinctive smell of damp and wet. I shiver, staring up at the crystalline sky.
Where there’s water lying on the ground, in dips, I can see it shimmering beneath the sun, turned solid and slippery by how cold it’s been overnight. That’s two cold nights in a row. With the weather on the turn, the Mercians and the Wessex warriors will soon be thinking of returning home. There’s only so much war that can be waged when men can’t feel their fingers or toes.
I follow Tyrhtil as he makes his way towards one of the roads that leads downhill and, I assume, towards the river. It takes him past the place where I met the ealdorman and Lord Æthelwulf, and further east, to the far corner of the settlement. I can just glimpse what I take to be ships from here.
I see then that he’s not alone. More and more men join the snaking line. There’s nothing like the promise of payment to make men eager for such a dangerous attempt. I follow on behind, as do many others, curiosity on their faces, fear on others. Everyone looks pale and cold beneath the too-bright sun. They also look scared.
I just can’t see that Lord Æthelwulf’s attempt will succeed, and it feels as though I‘m watching men walking to their death. That makes me even colder, reminding me of the body we hid the night before. I blink grit from my eyes. I thought the war against Wessex would be bad enough, but my current situation is so much more dangerous than that, I hardly know what I’m doing or why I’m doing it.
Further ahead, I catch sight of Lord Æthelwulf, mounted once more and overseeing the warriors on the way to their doom. I can think of it in no other way. His breath plumes in the air, his horse standing firm, eyes watching the men with as much eagerness as his rider. And Lord Æthelwulf isn’t alone. Beside him sits Ealdorman Wassa, his face creased into a scowl. His breath comes too fast. I can tell that he’s trying to hold on to his patience.
There’s no sign of Brihtwold. I expected him to come and say goodbye to Tyrhtil, to wish him luck for the coming endeavour. But it seems not.
Just before I lose sight of Tyrhtil, I rush through the crowd of warriors to his side. He stops walking forward, and men part around us like we’re an upturned stone in a river. He turns to glance at me, surprise on his face when I tug on his arm.
‘Take this. You’ll need it,’ and I hand him back the seax he lent me. He takes it without complaint, but still I hesitate. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ I remind him. He might be a Wessex warrior, but he’s still a man, someone I might have considered a friend in another time or place.
For a moment, his face flashes with fury, and then a broad grin breaks out, showing his missing teeth and yellowed gums. Even if he’s managed to open his bowels and piss since I stitched him back together, he’s quite unwell.
‘I know, lad, but five hundred silver pennies and the chance of eternal glory, no man can turn such down.’ His grin spreads wider, and then he shakes his head. ‘Look after yourself,’ he cautions me, beginning to move away. But he pauses, turns back and meets my eyes. ‘You need to get better at lying if you’re going to survive here.’ And he’s gone, swallowed up by the other warriors walking to the ships I can see, low in the water, filling with warriors beneath the harsh glare of the sunlight. The river doesn’t carry the same sheen as the icy patches underfoot. Instead, it flashes grey and foreboding, even black in places. For a heartbeat, as I gaze at them, I see not men, but rather the bones of men, standing upright, sightless, hairless, without skin or muscle, and I turn aside, cuffing the unbidden tears from my eyes.
I’ll not see Tyrhtil alive again. Of that, I’m sure.
I make my way back through the watching crowd, eager to stay away from the eyes of Lord Æthelwulf and Ealdorman Wassa. If they ask me about Ecgred, what should I say? Will they realise, as soon as I speak, that I know his fate? I’ve never considered myself skilled at telling falsehoods and Tyrhtil has just confirmed those suspicions. But the eyes of the lord and the ealdorman, and the warriors who surround the pair, are fixed firmly on the two ships. They must leave the shore, oars pulling with the flow of the River Thames. It’s evident they don’t see the future quite as clearly as I do.
Kicking aside my dark thoughts, I appreciate that now is the perfect opportunity to find a way to undermine the walls. With the focus of the Wessex warriors on the ships and the hope of success, few of them have followed me away from the river’s edge.
I pause, retracing my steps to where two roads meet and divide the settlement into smaller segments. I turn slowly, eyeing the grey walls all around me.
Yes, they’re above head height in most places, the greyness of the stone promising protection, and yet, in the distance, I can see the landscape. The walls might be high, but the land beyond them is much higher in places. I wish I understood the layout of the area better. If I were inside Tamworth, I’d know where all the weaknesses in the wall lay, where there might be the chance of finding loose stones or even drainage ditches cut beneath the wall to allow water and shit to pour away from the homes and workshops of the inhabitants.
But this isn’t Tamworth, and I’ve spent most of my time either in Ecgred’s workshop, unconscious or being crushed in the battle against the Mercian warriors.
I revolve slowly, eyeing up all the possibilities from here. Should I go left, right, north or south? Well, north will take me back to the fort. I know it’s not impregnable, but, equally, I can’t move the huge gates alone, not with the substantial wooden bars in place. And such an act would be far too visible, even in the darkness of a cloudy night.
If I turn south, I’ll once more be by the river, but it has its own walls as well. The people who built this colossal citadel didn’t consider the river their ally. And, if I make it through the walls and to the riverfront, how will I assist the Mercians in getting inside Londinium? I’ve no ship for them, and they have no access to a boat because all the Mercian ships are at the market settlement, and it’s not yet restored to Mercian hands.
So that leaves left and right. Right will take me to the further reaches of Londinium and far from the Mercian warriors. Left will take me to where the Mercian warriors are closest. I can feel my face twisting in thought, and then I walk right.
I keep careful watch, turning every so often as though admiring the jagged teeth of the ruined buildings and the places where the roadway just seems to disappear. But really, I’m keen to ensure that no one’s following me. I don’t want awkward questions. As I said, I’m not the best at being less than forthcoming with the truth.
The road goes on much further than I anticipated. Londinium is vast compared to the complex at Tamworth. The day grows cooler, not warmer, the bite of the wind forcing my cloak aside and getting through all the small gaps in my clothing. My body continues to ache, although my headache hasn’t returned, which pleases me. My resolve quickly fails me. Yet I push myself onwards. I’ve not endured all this just to achieve nothing for Mercia and my friends.
My thoughts turn to Tamworth, Wynflæd, even young Cuthred. I would far sooner be with them as the summer finally gives way to winter than here, in the middle of a battle between Mercia and Wessex. Or rather, here, in Mercian territory, currently held by Wessex when I’m a Mercian.
I consider Tyrhtil’s final words to me. Does he suspect me of being a Mercian, or does he mean something else? Does he know about Ecgred’s death? For a fleeting moment, I wish him dead if he does suspect the truth about Ecgred. But then I don’t. I didn’t kill Ecgred. Neither did the slave woman, not really. Ecgred’s own malice brought him an early death. If I’ve involved myself in hiding what’s happened to him, it’s only to protect the three of us: the two slaves and myself.
Finally, I reach the outskirts. Here, the ground dips lower than elsewhere, and I can see where clogged drainage ditches try to dispel the muck of the settlement beyond its confines, only they’re mostly blocked. Wrinkling my nose at the stench that not even the bite of the cold weather can keep at bay, I bend low, close to the wall. I’ve an idea of how I can escape and get the Mercians inside, but it relies on a bit of luck and a few fallen pieces of masonry.
I attempt to kick aside the compacted leaves of more than one summer and some other objects that might or might not contain small bones, but the sudden dip in temperature for the last two nights has done its work and the mass is both frozen together and frozen to the deep ditch of the drainage system.
But, before I give up on this location, I test the stones at the base of the wall. I can see that there should be a gap, if not for the clotted mass of items, but it doesn’t matter. The stones stand firm. Rearing back, I gaze upwards and think that here, of all places, the wall stands taller than elsewhere. The Wessex warriors trust the height of the walls to keep them safe. No doubt that accounts for why there’s no one watching this particular location.
I stand, brush down my hands, and begin to make my way northwards, trailing the wall. If I glance along the rows of broken buildings, I can see that there was once a tidy street plan, even though clumps of grasses and dying weeds push through them. There’s yet another drainage ditch leading towards the walls to the rear of those long-dead workshops and homes. In fact, if not for the trenches, which have survived far better than the roads, I could be forgiven for thinking that the collection of stones was little more than there by happenstance. There’s not a roof to be seen.
This gives me hope that I might yet find a way to escape. But the next two ditches that run below the height of the wall are as filled with rubbish as the first. I quickly begin to doubt my idea. It’s time to think of something else, but I don’t know what else there might be. Are there, I consider, areas of the wall that aren’t free-standing, where a ladder might allow entry? Perhaps, I hope, there’s even another gateway that hasn’t been blocked up, although Tyrhtil told me the remaining four gateways have been obstructed.
With the sun bright in my eyes, even though it offers no warmth, I continue walking, eyes alert, occasionally stopping as though to admire the view or bending to examine something that’s further away from the walls. I’m aware that people might see me and wonder what I’m doing.
I see now where a banner flaps from the top of the fort. The black wyvern on a white background is too indistinct to make out from where I stand, but I know what it is, all the same. The vast stone complex in which I met the ealdorman and Lord Æthelwulf dominates my view as well, but I’ve finally walked beyond its extent. The view to the fort is unbroken.
I’ve heard little noise while on my journey. It’s as though those who watched the warriors leave by ship have returned to sleep, or perhaps they huddle inside, beside warm fires. My feet ache with the cold wind, and my toes are already numb. I can only feel my fingers because I’ve stuffed them inside my gloves, eager that no one sees my scarred hand again.
Yet another drainage ditch comes into view, this one slightly wider than the others I’ve seen, if not quite as deep. Water runs sluggishly along it, skirting areas where there’s frozen water, but it’s mostly empty of leaves and dead animals. I follow it, eyes down, to see if this will perhaps be suitable. In my heart, I already suspect it will be because it’s so much shallower than the others I’ve seen. It’ll be a struggle for me to fit between the stone-lined channel of the ditch and the towering wall and even harder for the Mercians to get inside. And it’s much closer to Ecgred’s workshop. It couldn’t be more fraught with danger if it tried.
I curse when, suspending my legs over the ditch, I even manage to turn one of the pieces of stone at the base of the wall. It yields under my kick, not coming entirely loose, but rather making the gap wide enough for me to fit through. The kick makes me gasp with pain, forgetting how cold my feet are. This is the place, I know it is, but I’m not happy with it. I bend low, peering through the gap, and see the grassy landscape that’s beyond my reach.
Maybe, it’ll be enough just to escape from Londinium with the knowledge that I have of how desperate the Wessex lords are to reach King Ecgberht, where he protects the mint and all the wealth that stems from that.
Unhappily, I stand and begin to make my slow way back towards the workshop, having used my hands to force the stone back into place. I don’t want anyone to see it and make a more concerted effort to block it. I want to ensure that Theodore and the woman are well. I’m also hungry and cold. I hope they have a fire going against the bitter wind that whips my cloak around my face.
I purposefully walk away from where I suspect we left Ecgred’s body during the night. I don’t want to be seen anywhere near it, should someone find him there. They might recall my interest, and I know Æsc would quickly condemn me.
As I near the workshop, the scent of woodsmoke fills my nostrils, and I’m just about to dip inside the squat building when I hear angry voices coming from inside. I’m pleased then that I’ve approached the little-known back entrance that Theodore uses. It means no one will see me.
I edge forward, ears straining, keen to know what’s happening. In the gloom, I meet the startled eyes of the female slave, and she holds a shaking finger to her lips.
I recognise the voice then. It’s Æsc. I’d half hoped he might have gone on the ships with the others.
‘Where are you, Ecgred?’ His words are slurred. I imagine he’s enjoyed too much of the ale being offered by Lord Æthelwulf to ensure the warriors will fight when called upon to do so. ‘Ecgred.’
I can hear him moving through the workshop. A sharp bang and a smash assure me he’s collided with one of the many clay jars and sent it tumbling to the hard-packed earth floor.
‘Tell me where he is,’ Æsc roars, no doubt to Theodore.
That there’s no response from the slave only serves to infuriate Æsc further.
‘Where are you, little swine? You owe me money, and I need it to escape this place.’
My ears prick at hearing this. Does Æsc have an escape plan in place? Could I find out how he means to do it?
‘Ecgred.’ The cry is short and sharp, filled with aggravation at being so ineffectual.
I shake my head to hear him.
‘Fine, suit yourself, but if you don’t pay up, I’ll tell everyone you’re a bloody fraud and then where will you be, you turd?’ Heavy footsteps make a less than direct path outside.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask the woman.
Her terrified eyes meet mine, and I think she’ll keep her silence, but then she speaks.
‘Gaya,’ she offers. Her voice is soft, laden with the same sibilant roll as Theodore’s.
I can hear someone moving inside the workshop and assume it’s Theodore, tidying away the mess Æsc has made.
Gaya hesitates and then joins him. I follow her. Theodore glances up from where he pulls cut herbs from the broken shards of the pot. He nods at me in greeting. His eyes reflect neither fear nor triumph. Everything else in the workshop is undisturbed and looks the same as last night, which surprises me. I can’t even see the splash of blood that ran from Ecgred’s head when he fell to the floor. There’s no sign of what happened here.
‘We leave?’ Theodore asks me.
I’m surprised that, like Gaya, he speaks my tongue. I need to stop underestimating these healers and their great skills.
I shake my head. ‘Soon,’ I offer, noting that Theodore looks unhappy. I’m still considering Æsc’s words. Does he truly have a means of escape, or is he merely drunk and looking for a fight with Ecgred? I should have liked to follow him and find out where he went, but Theodore touches my arm, his grip tight.
‘Soon?’ he demands, and I nod.
‘Yes, soon. I have a plan.’