Darkness falls early, and there are few fires lit inside the walls. I quickly understand why when Lord Æthelwulf appears, once more sitting on his horse, his eyes looking towards Lundenwic from a high point behind the walls, close to the building that’s become his temporary home. They’re seeking out flames in the other settlement. They’re hoping for a victory in fire.
I watch as well, hardly daring to breathe. I don’t want them to be successful against the inhabitants of Mercia. The men and women who use the settlement as a trading base spend their winters here, sheltering under the watchful gaze of whoever is the king of Mercia. Not, I suppose, that they’ve enjoyed much of that of late. For a moment, I consider whether they’re still loyal to Mercia. Might they, perhaps, just allow the Wessex warriors into the heart of Lundenwic to reinforce King Ecgberht, where he claims the lucrative mint?
While the sky remains clear overhead, the stars shining brightly, the moon as well, I stand, huddled inside my cloak, wishing for a second, or even a third one to cover my shivering body; I hold my hopes tight to my chest. The men and few women discuss how long it’ll be until they see flames and know there’s about to be a victory for Wessex, but I keep my wishes quiet.
I don’t see Brihtwold, and I haven’t seen him since before Tyrhtil left. Tyrhtil is trying to sneak into Lundenwic from the River Thames, despite his unhealed wound and realisation that it’s an endeavour doomed to fail from the beginning. And Brihtwold is elsewhere. Having shared some secret with Tyrhtil, I’m fearful of what Brihtwold is doing. I dread that he’s followed Tyrhtil on to the ships. None of the other wounded men has remained behind either. All of them have gone to fulfil the task set them by Lord Æthelwulf, the lure of five hundred silver Mercian pennies too much for them to ignore.
While there might be no fire to warm us as we stand our guard outside, some of the Wessex warriors standing proud on the fort, Lord Æthelwulf remains mounted.
I glance at him more than once, noting his expressionless face. He holds his jaw firm, his hands steady on the reins, the horse moving only slightly forward and backwards. He’s not ordered the remaining warriors to be ready to leave the fort should the infiltration of the market settlement be successful. I anticipate the order coming, as do other warriors. They wear byrnies beneath their cloaks, weapons belts chinking around waists. Some even wear their helms, but I think it’s more as a means of keeping warm than because they’ll run through the darkness of night, crossing the river, to attack the Mercians.
I’ve left Theodore and Gaya inside the workshop. She’s anxious, I can tell, but I think she often is, regardless of whether she’s just killed a man or not. Perhaps, like Wynflæd, her skills and knowledge are sometimes more of a curse.
More than once, I’ve turned back to look at the faint glow coming from where I know the workshop is located. I can’t help considering that we should leave now, while everyone is so distracted. It’s not as though I’ll be able to help the wounded warriors if there are any, because I doubt they’ll ever make it back to the ship, let alone Londinium. The tide might be in their favour, but defeating the Mercians isn’t assured.
I stand and stare, and when boredom takes me and curiosity, I make my way inside the fort and climb the stone steps to gaze out over the shimmering landscape. It’s another cold night, and the grasses look like sharpened stakes, the lights from the Mercian encampment promising warmth and safety that’s missing, even behind the vast grey stone walls.
The conversation between the Wessex warriors starts buoyantly and is filled with hope but quickly fades away to nothing but the plume of breath in the cold air.
No one even speaks to me when I shoulder past them to, firstly, stare out at the Mercians, and secondly, when I retrace my steps.
Time is moving on, the dark expanse above my head seeming to shift, and I realise that now is the time to leave. No one looks away from the market settlement, and they won’t, not until dawn tinges the sky with the cool pinks and purples of a new day.
I consider returning to the dwelling I sheltered within to retrieve my borrowed shield, but I don’t believe it’ll fit through the gap I’ve found between the drainage ditch and the ancient wall. And, if I take it, the Mercians might think me a Wessex warrior and cut me down before I can announce who I am.
Instead, I go to Theodore and Gaya in the workshop, lit only by a hearth filled with glowing embers. I think they’re expecting me because they eye me warily. I don’t even have to tell them to follow me, bringing with them what small trophies they might hope to retain.
I pause to allow Theodore time to remove the shackles from their ankles. The key moves slowly in the lock, and I think it’ll stick, but it finally comes free. How long, I think, has Theodore known where the key was? Still, it will make our escape much quieter.
I eye the workshop, and all the clay jars, with a hint of sorrow. There’s so much wealth here, but I can’t take it with me. Perhaps it’ll still be here when I return. And then I think, where did it all come from? Was there a Mercian living here before the Wessex force arrived? Was it Theodore and Gaya? Did Ecgred enslave them? There’s no time for such questions. I should have asked them sooner but I don’t know how well Gaya and Theodore understand me. Maybe I’ll ask them when we’re free of this place.
I lead the two slaves out of the rear entrance of the workshop, first pausing to ensure no one’s watching us. For a moment, I think Gaya won’t come, fear on her face. But with a final backwards glance, she steps free from the workshop and I know there’s no turning back now.
I don’t dart through the jagged remains of the buildings, some with uneven floors, others with gaping holes in them as though raised high from the ground, similar to the place we hid Ecgred’s body. Hesitating to emerge from behind the abandoned wall of one of the ruins, I look behind me, towards the market settlement, seeking out any sign of flame, but there’s still nothing. What light there is comes from sporadic fires shimmering silver and cold, and emanating from the moon and the stars. I shiver inside my cloak and continue on my path.
Behind me, I hear the clatter of a kicked stone and hold in place. Carefully, I peer backwards and catch sight of Gaya, hopping and biting her lip. It seems she’s responsible for the noise. Or is she? I swivel quickly, scouring the distance we’ve travelled. I’m sure I’ve seen something that shouldn’t be there, a flash of cloth, perhaps. But there’s nothing now, and impatience wars with my desire to remain hidden from view. I must trust to the distraction of the Wessex warriors and the cloak of greyness that shrouds our passage.
Quickly, I continue. The way looks very different at night, even in the monochrome colours of a bright moon, but I counted the drainage ditches as I made my way back to the workshop. I know where I need to go.
I hold my dull seax steady on my weapons belt, the original one that Wulfheard pressed into my hand when he thrust me inside the closing gates. Theodore also handed me a war axe before we left the workshop and it hangs beside it. I’m terrified that the two weapons will collide and make the unmistakable noise of iron over iron.
Theodore moves swiftly, encouraging Gaya to keep up with us, and then we’re where I stood during the daylight, the narrow drainage ditch beckoning to me. With another glance to ensure I’m not being observed, I step down into the stone-lined channel, aware the trickle of water is starting to turn glassy as the temperature plummets. I bend to once more dislodge the enormous stone that I managed to move with my cold feet earlier.
Again, it slides easily with my weight against it, but it doesn’t come entirely free. Neither do I want that to happen. If this stone gives, then the entire wall could tumble onto me. I wouldn’t welcome such a death.
Theodore encourages Gaya to crouch down first and then to spread herself on her front, pulling herself through the gap while I hold the stone aside, my arms aching with the weight of it, while my back screams with having to bend so low. Gaya’s slight, not much taller than Wynflæd, and without even the extra flesh that Wynflæd can claim. With only the briefest of fearful looks, she disappears beneath the wall.
Theodore and I both pause to listen. I don’t know what lies to the other side of the wall, other than the grass I saw earlier. Then a small hand reappears in the channel, encouraging us onwards.
I look to Theodore, but he shakes his head, indicating that he’ll hold the stone while I escape. I shake my head, but he shakes his head even more vehemently. He does make a good argument with his silence. Gaya could have slipped through without me moving the stone aside. Theodore can do the same, but I can’t, not with my broader shoulders and taller body.
In the distance, I suddenly hear a murmur of something and release the piece of stone to stand upright. Immediately, my eyes alight on a flicker of flame coming from the western horizon. I swallow heavily. I don’t know if it means a victory for Wessex or Mercia inside the trading settlement, but, certainly, I don’t wish to remain inside Londinium any longer.
Only as I move to duck into the drainage ditch, wary of jamming myself inside it, does a glint of movement coming from close by startle me. This time, I know I don’t imagine it. The next moment, I hear hurried footsteps and realise we’ve been discovered. I crouch down once more and hold the stone, while Theodore struggles to grip it. I move it aside with my greater strength and turn to him. I don’t know if he can hold it for me, but he attempts to take my place all the same. His eyes are wide in the moonlight, there’s no fear there, but his jaw is set tight with determination. As slowly as I dare, I let go of the whole weight, watching his slighter body tremble with the effort of it all. I can hear footsteps coming closer, kicking aside pieces of stone unseen in the colourless light, and I know I need to move quickly.
Theodore grunts at me, ‘Go.’
I shuffle into the channel, head forwards, feet behind me, looking up. I don’t pause to look upwards at the towering edifice. If it all falls, I’ll be trapped here, forever. I know of other cases of bodies found encased in old walls. I don’t wish to add myself to their number.
Using my hands to pull me forwards, my feet and toes to brace against the uneven stones sticking up from the drainage ditch, I begin to advance. I’m too wide, really, for the space, but I can just wriggle my way from side to side until I have to pause because my head is going beneath the stone wall.
I swallow, close my eyes, and press on. Two much smaller hands slip into mine from the other side, pulling with all the force they have, although it’s not much. I feel my body move in one lurch, only to hold in place. My feet scrabble on the ground, heels digging in. The hands pull me, but I release them, blindly feeling for an edge to the tunnel to grip hold of and lever myself free. It’s dark, even with my eyes closed, and it smells of fat and rancid cooking, of piss and also blood. I try not to breathe too deeply, the scent cloying and threatening to clog my throat.
My fingers slip and slide over the grimy dampness of the stones, and my right hand grips something. It’s hard and firm, just wide enough to get my hand around, and I pull with all my might, ankles propelling me at the same time.
I move, but not much further forwards, and now I can hear someone shouting at Theodore. My heart pounds too loudly, my blood rushing in my ears. Gaya has her hands on my arm, pulling it with all her strength. It feels as though a baby grips my finger. But my left hand has found a similar rock to the right. I pull myself again. It’s narrow and confined, and there’s little room to bend my elbows outwards, so I bring them inwards, inching forwards. Abruptly, I feel fresh, cold air over the top of my head and redouble my efforts.
The space my body is confined in suddenly widens and I’m able to slide down the side of the wall, mindful that out here, on the far side of Londinium’s wall, the ground is much lower than on the inside. I land in a tangle of dying nettles, the smell of garlic scenting the air, as the air threatens to leave my body with the distance of the fall. There’s also an unpleasant squelching noise, but I try not to think what that implies as I stagger to my feet.
‘Hurry,’ I whisper to Theodore, hoping he can make it outside as well and that I’ve not placed him in greater peril by allowing him to stay behind when we’re being chased.
I see his hands appear before his head almost immediately and reach to grip them. Only for them to disappear with a strangled shriek. I startle forwards, almost pulling myself back through the gap. Now his feet appear instead of his hands. Is he using his hands to fight off someone? I grip both of his feet, Gaya attempting to do the same. I shake my head at her. I need the room, and she doesn’t have the strength to be of any great assistance.
Theodore’s ankles are scrawny, his feet long and elongated. My hands are slick, but with his ankles acting as a catch, I pull on him. There’s some resistance. For a fleeting moment, I fear I might have pulled only half of him through, perhaps his head sliced from his body. But Theodore’s entire body follows his feet, and we both fall back into the squelching muck of the drainage outpoint.
I can hear an outraged cry from inside Londinium. I recognise the voice of Æsc.
Into the hole we’ve escaped through, a spear thrusts. It sparkles ferociously in the bright moonlight. I rush to my feet, hand on my seax, waiting for someone to follow us. The spear jabs and jabs, as Theodore staggers backwards, and then I leap forwards, grip the weapon around the shaft and tug it.
The entire weapon comes loose from whoever holds it. I only just manage not to skewer myself as I fall back, once more landing heavily, the breath gushing from my open mouth so that I feel as though I can’t breathe.
The spear is embedded in the ground, just to the left side of my head. I watch it, shadowed against the brightness of the moon, and think how bloody close I came to killing myself.
I stagger up on my elbows, eyeing the gap with unease, as though expecting another weapon or someone else to follow us through, but there’s nothing.
Grateful, I sag back on my elbows, wrinkling my nose as I do.
I stink as fiercely as the ditch. I turn aside and vomit noisily into the undergrowth.
I only give myself a few moments to recover. Whoever tried to kill us might simply be getting more warriors to follow us as we attempt to escape.
‘This way,’ I advise Theodore and Gaya, pointing where I mean. We need to make it to the Mercian camp as soon as possible. I’m still uneasy that we might be followed. I’m far from confident that I’ll be able to protect all three of us if the Wessex warriors come at us with spears, seaxes and war axes. They won’t bring shields. It would be impossible to fit one through the small gap we escaped through.
Although the terrain is uneven, in places seeming to rise to meet the top of the wall, and at others to fall away so that the wall extends much lower than I might expect, it feels as though we make good time beneath the silver of the moon.
Theodore and Gaya occasionally mutter something to one another in their own tongue, but other than that, we move as silently as it’s possible when we need to breathe and sometimes bend or reach beyond our capabilities.
I feel relieved to be outside the walls. I appreciate what Wulfheard wished to do, forcing me inside to open the gates for the Mercians, but it left me exposed and liable to make a mistake. It left me a lone wolf against a pack of snapping hounds. I just about managed not to expose myself as a Mercian, although, evidently, some people have realised I wasn’t what I seemed.
Now, I’m pleased to be making my way back to Wulfheard and the rest of the Mercians, even if that means I’ll have to fight again. At least I’ll face my enemy alongside my fellow warriors. And I carry the news of what the Wessex king and his son hope to achieve. That should help King Wiglaf and his ealdormen direct their efforts towards the correct target inside Lundenwic.
Eventually, almost dropping with exhaustion, and with the streak of dawn behind us, we round the far end of the walls, and the height of the stone-built fort with its bastion comes into view. I can’t yet see the market settlement, but I spare a thought for Tyrhtil, and for what those flames meant. I hope Tyrhtil still lives. I hope Brihtwold does as well.
Just as I’m beginning to think we’ll reach the Mercians without incident, something lands close to my foot. I peer down and then rush to put the stone wall at my back.
‘Move,’ I urge Theodore and Gaya, beckoning for them to join me. Wide, tired eyes greet mine, but they hasten to do what I ask. There’s a heavy stone on the ground. I don’t know if it’s fallen from the top of the fort or been thrown down at me.
I strain to hear if someone is shouting derisively at me, but it’s impossible to hear anything above the rapid thudding of my heart.
‘Bugger,’ I exclaim. It is possible that whoever witnessed our escape has been tracking our passage around the fort.
Fearfully, I step away from the wall. I can’t see the top of the fort. It’s too sheer. I don’t know what to do. Should I risk moving or will that merely see something else flung down at me?
I step back again.
Theodore looks at me in confusion. I point to the stone, shimmering whitely in the growing daylight. He shrugs his narrow shoulders at me and points upwards.
‘Was it by chance?’ I ask him.
He doesn’t say anything in response.
‘Right,’ I decide when more time passes and nothing else happens. It’s beyond time we were away from the walls of the fort. ‘We run,’ I inform them both.
‘Run?’ Theodore parrots, and I nod. I hope he knows what it means.
‘Now,’ and I rush away from the wall. I’ve got my eye on a strip of land some distance away. I’m hoping it’ll be too far away for any warrior to throw a spear or stone at me or at Theodore and Gaya.
I keep expecting to hear the whisper of something coming towards me or the cry from someone who spots our movements. But there’s nothing, and I jump onto lower land and crouch down, waiting for Theodore and Gaya to reach me. They do so quickly with perplexed expressions on their faces. I’m just about to laugh at myself for scaring us all, but then I feel a blade at my throat, and Theodore gasps in shock.
I can’t move. I daren’t even breathe.
‘Who the hell are you?’ a voice I recognise grumbles.
I sag against the weight of Wulfheard.
‘It’s me, you daft sod. It’s Icel.’
The blade moves immediately. The hands on my shoulders turn me.
‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ Wulfheard demands, but in the half-light I can see that he’s just as relieved to see me as I am him.