All but two of the Mercians make it through the gap to stand, wet and uncomfortable, inside the walls. I eye those I don’t know: Maneca, Kyre, Æthelmod, Go∂eman, Osmod and Landwine. They gleam with fury and blades. They’re mean fighters, all of them.
‘You’re too damn fat,’ Wulfheard calls to the stranded men, his voice showing his amusement and frustration. ‘Don’t get bloody stuck,’ he then cautions angrily, as, once more, two hairy arms appear, trying to pull themselves through. I can see the strain in the hands. ‘Stay where you are,’ Wulfheard hisses.
Ealdorman Ælfstan bends low, calling back through the tunnel in a low voice. I just pick out the words.
‘Go back to the main encampment. Ensure the king knows of our success. And take as many shields with you as you can carry. But do it quietly. If you’re discovered, we’ll all be in peril.’
There are outraged grumbles from the two men, and Oswy’s face twists at the news.
‘They’re two of the finest warriors. We should try again.’
‘We’ve wasted enough time. They’re too bloody fat, and they’ll never fit through such a small space.’ It’s the ealdorman who speaks.
Everyone is grimy with the muck of the tunnel. I’m actually grateful for the heavy rain which seeks to drive it from my body.
‘Now, we need to get the Wessex bodies through so that they’re not found, and the stone needs moving in such a way that it covers what we’ve done.’
But here, there’s a problem, because the hands in the tunnel belong to Wulfgar, who’s well and truly wedged in place. I remember that his belly overhangs his weapons belt. It’s good that he was one of the last two to make his attempt.
‘Pull him,’ Wulfheard instructs Uor, the remaining man on the far side of the wall.
‘I am,’ comes the heated response, muffled by the weight of centuries-old stone.
‘Push him,’ Wulfheard orders Oswy at the same time, and yet even with Oswy lying flat in the foetid channel, Wulfgar won’t move.
The night has moved swiftly, and there’s a lightening in the distant east. If we’re not careful, we’ll still be standing here when the sun rises, even if the clouds overhead assure me it’ll be a dank day.
‘You need something to make him slick,’ I offer. I’m unsure what. I know I’m stating the obvious, as becomes apparent when Wulfheard glowers at me.
‘I’m afraid, Icel, that I don’t have a barrel of butter to assist me in such a task.’ The words bite.
I hear either Frithwine or Garwulf snigger where they stand, waiting impatiently with the rest of the men.
‘I don’t see you offering any solution,’ Wulfheard snaps at them, his irritation immediately transferred from me to them.
‘Can he at least try to wriggle himself into a different position?’ Ealdorman Ælfstan barks. All of the warriors have moaned and grimaced about how they made it inside the walled settlement.
‘It’s very bloody tight,’ Wulfgar complains. His voice is filled with a tendril of fear. It echoes from beneath the grey expanse. I’m not surprised. He must be looking up at the immovable stone above his head and considering what sort of death it’ll be if he can’t be moved.
‘Then bloody breathe in, and try removing your weapons belt or something,’ I suggest.
‘It’s snagged.’ Wulfgar’s words emerge with a strange echo.
‘Bloody hell,’ Ealdorman Ælfstan huffs. This would be funny if it weren’t so damn important.
‘If he can’t be shifted, then you’ll have to go and get some help from the encampment,’ Wulfheard eventually announces when nothing seems to be working. ‘And we’ll have to hope we don’t need to escape the way we came in.’
While all this has been going on, Frithwine has climbed to the top of the wall and peered down. His head is shaking when he returns.
‘It’s too high to risk jumping from it,’ he confirms. Not what we needed to hear.
‘We need to get on,’ Ealdorman Ælfstan announces. ‘Oswy, you can stay here and protect Wulfgar, or you can come with us.’
It’s not really a choice, but Oswy wavers all the same. I’m surprised he’ll abandon his comrade.
‘And pile the bodies up over there.’ Ealdorman Ælfstan points to a section of the wall where stones have fallen from the top, but not enough to lower it a great deal. But, it’s a handy place to hide the three bodies.
The waiting warriors leap to grab hands and feet and carry the three dead men away, which we couldn’t force through the drainage ditch.
‘We’re staying close to the wall, weapons muffled,’ Ealdorman Ælfstan confirms, his words drowning out Wulfgar’s echoing complaint. I catch sight of the two hairy hands still gripping the stone tightly, but no matter how much he strains, Wulgar’s well and truly stuck. No doubt, his legs are waving in the air on the far side of the wall. I feel sorry for him then. ‘You know the plan, so let’s get on with it before it’s too late.’
‘Are we really leaving him?’ I ask Wulfheard.
He nods. ‘For now, yes. Hopefully, Uor will get some aid, or the damn fat git will fart or something and then he’ll come loose. Now, lead on,’ Wulfheard informs me, and I make my way to the front of the line of thirteen warriors. I thought it bad enough when we tried to sneak inside the settlement, but now there are just a few of us against the Wessex might. I swallow, my mouth abruptly dry, and almost wish I was the one stuck in the drainage ditch.
Slowly, the smell of smouldering fires and poorly cooked food reaches my nostrils. The rain doesn’t stop, and that’s good because it falls so heavily it drowns out the sound of our passage. In the half-light, it’s too easy to slip on cracked stones, and more than once, I hear stifled cries from the men behind me.
I keep my eyes focused forward, following the wall’s path across other ditches filled with just as much muck as the one we’ve used and now flooded with water as well.
And then I pause. Ahead, lights flicker into life on the drab day. There’s someone inside Ecgred’s workshop. I’d not expected that, but then, it’s filled with the means to heal the wounded, and even the most unskilled can throw a few herbs together and hope it’s enough to cure an ailing comrade.
A murmur of moaning reaches my ears. Who’s wounded now? I realise it must be men returning from the raid on the trading settlement. I spare a thought for Tyrhtil. I hope he yet lives. And Brihtwold. I wish I knew what had happened to him.
‘It’s not far.’ I risk turning to inform Wulfheard.
‘Then hurry up and get us there,’ he hisses at me, his words sharp with tension.
I bend to do as he asks, eyes narrowing as I try to peer into the gloom towards the fort.
A building blocks my path, and I scamper beneath the mouldering thatch, grateful for its slight protection as the rain no longer blinds me. Out of the half-cocked doorway, I can see the entrance to the fort. It feels as though half a lifetime has passed since I was last here. But it’s merely been a day.
Wulfheard forces his way into my line of sight and beckons Ealdorman Ælfstan close. I shuffle backwards, jostling with Frithwine, who glowers at me. Despite everything we’ve accomplished this morning, it seems he still thinks me little more than a traitor.
Wulfheard and Ealdorman Ælfstan bow their heads together, whispering one to another, while the rest of us take what ease we can in the cramped conditions, grateful to be out of the rain.
Eventually, Ealdorman Ælfstan turns to speak to us.
‘We go now. It’s not night any more, but it’s dismal out there, perhaps a better time to capture the fort than when it’s dark. Do as we discussed.’
This leaves me looking perplexed. I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to do.
‘Icel, you stay with Wulfheard. Frithwine and Garwulf, you’re with me. Oswy, you know what to do.’ Ealdorman Ælfstan holds Oswy’s gaze for a moment. I consider just what it is that Oswy needs to do.
Wulfheard, Go∂eman, Æthelmod and Cenred scamper through the half-missing doorway first. I rush to keep up with them. Emerging into the downpour once more, I note the road that leads from the fort into the interior of the settlement and the fact that no one stands on it. Everyone is staying out of the rain.
Wulfheard moves slowly along the deserted road, shoulders hunched, cloak over his head, as though one of the Wessex warriors. I bend to pull my cloak over my head when I notice the other three do the same. I wish I knew what we were doing, as Wulfheard beckons me to join him.
Wulfheard turns just once, his pale face flashing in the gloom, to ensure he has the warriors he needs, and continues on his path to the fort.
Ahead, the looming gates of Londinium make themselves known as sodden masses of brown etched against a sky that glints sullenly of unpolished blades. I can’t see if Wessex warriors guard them. But I imagine not. Why would they need to stand a guard on this side of the gate? Their enemy is outside Londinium.
But it’s not towards those gates that we go, instead we head towards the door of the fort. Here, at last, we finally encounter some of the Wessex warriors. They huddle around two braziers, and all four men turn miserable-looking faces towards us. I imagine they think we’ve come to relieve them from the tedious duty and a flicker of hope touches noses that are so red with cold, they glow brighter than the fires they stand around.
‘What took you?’ one of the men calls, his words flecked with angry spittle.
It quickly turns to confusion as Wulfheard hurries his pace, rather than slowing it. I can’t see but understand well enough that Wulfheard has skewered the man with a seax held tightly in his right hand.
The dying Wessex warrior gags, his tongue flailing as he attempts to shout a caution to his three comrades, but Go∂eman, Æthelmod and Cenred are too quick. All four men die with soft whimpers and confusion on their faces. I stand, dazed by how quickly these men have gone from noisy life to soundless death.
‘Help me.’ Wulfheard breaks the spell. I grab the dead warrior’s feet and together we carry him to what seems to be the remains of an abandoned cart and leave him behind it. Wulfheard releases him with a dull thud. I allow his feet to fall. First one and then another, wincing at the wetness of a limp body.
Next, Wulfheard rushes to assist Go∂eman, and I help Cenred, leaving only Æthelmod standing with a dead man held in his arms. The two could be embracing.
We add the bodies to that of the first man. Cenred assists Æthelmod to do the same. Hastily, Wulfheard stands beside the braziers, pretending to warm his hands over their heat. Overhead, the weight of the fort presses on me, and I’m aware of all the Wessex warriors who might be inside the building.
I look to Wulfheard. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes alert to everything around him, hand not straying from his seax. I notice then that the other Mercians slide through the open doorway. Our task, it seems, was to ensure the path was clear for them. Oswy and Ealdorman Ælfstan labour to ensure it remains so. I catch the eye of Frithwine, but we don’t exchange words. I become aware of noises. There are a few grunts, compressed by the dampness of the air, and even a strangled cry that quickly becomes a gurgle. And then silence falls once more, as we stand, and pretend to guard the door to the fort.
‘We should hold the fort now,’ Wulfheard informs me when no further noises are heard for a moment or two. ‘We’ve taken it from the Wessex warriors, and now we can keep it.’
I feel my forehead furrow.
‘Why?’ I ask him. It makes little sense to me. Have we merely become those under siege? ‘I thought we were to attack the king’s son?’
‘Where will he go from here?’ Wulfheard demands from me. ‘We’ve taken back the bastion that Lord Æthelwulf thought would protect the Wessex warriors.’
‘But they’re still inside Londinium?’ I counter.
‘For now, yes. But how will the Wessex warriors escape? There’s the gateway by the River Thames, but no other way for them to abscond unless they risk falling from the walls. From here, if we need to, we can pick them off one at a time if they try and make it to the gateway here.’
‘They might find a ditch, as we did?’ I suggest. I confess I don’t understand why we’ve captured the fort. It doesn’t seem to make it any easier for the Mercians to take Lord Æthelwulf.
‘We have the fort itself. That’s what’s important. When King Wiglaf’s banner flies from the top of the fort, King Ecgberht will fear his son is lost. And he’ll know not to expect any further reinforcements.’
When Wulfheard speaks, it all seems to make sense, but I’m still not convinced.
‘Now the fort is secure, we’ll move into Londinium itself and kill any Wessex warriors that we encounter. It’ll cause panic.’
‘So, we won’t put the banner up yet then?’ I ask, just to be sure.
‘No, Icel, we won’t.’ Wulfheard grins at me, while Æthelmod watches me as though unsure what to make of me.
‘You survived, in here, all alone?’ he demands. Æthelmod is not the tallest of men. Certainly, I can see the top of his helm from where I stand, but he has the athletic build of a warrior. His breathing is hardly laboured despite our exertions during the night and in the last few moments.
‘Yes, they took me to be one of their number,’ I assure him.
‘And you could pretend to be one of them?’ he presses me.
‘I wasn’t asked. I had no shield or seax to mark me as a Mercian.’
‘I’m impressed.’ His voice is rich with regard.
I shrug. ‘It was nothing. I was lucky.’
‘That’s it,’ Ealdorman Ælfstan calls to us from across the open expanse. ‘We’re in command of the fort.’ It all seems far too easy to me. ‘Now, for the more difficult task.’
I’m unsure why Ealdorman Ælfstan watches me, but then he speaks once more, and all becomes clear.
‘Now, Icel, you’ll lead us to the building where Lord Æthelwulf can be found. Until then, we’re to continue as though we’re men of Wessex. We don’t want them to realise that they’ve had the linchpin of their defence stolen from beneath them. We’ll each be allowed some time to rest, before striking out into the heart of the camp once night has fallen.’
The rest of the Mercians have appeared. They all seem hale, although Frithwine drips blood down his chin, whereas Garwulf is limping heavily.
‘Don’t we open the gates of Londinium to allow the Mercians in?’ I ask. I’m thoroughly confused by what’s happening. I’m aware the gates are outside the fort, but not far away. If we open them, and the Mercians flood inside, then Lord Æthelwulf will be captured anyway.
‘Not yet. We can’t do anything that gives a lie to the illusion that the Wessex warriors still hold the fort. Only when Lord Æthelwulf is dead do we open the gates to Londinium.’
I open my mouth to argue, but Wulfheard interjects.
‘Leave the planning to the king and his ealdormen. We’re merely here to do as they command,’ Wulfheard informs me harshly.
‘Half of you get some sleep in the main hall,’ Ealdorman Ælfstan states, giving me no opportunity to argue further. ‘The other half will stand a watch on the battlements, and two of you will protect the doorway into the interior of Londinium. Don’t allow anyone inside the fort, no matter what they say.’
This stage of the plan makes me uneasy. I think we’ve done well to survive as long as we have without being discovered, but now we’re to do much more. I only hope Ealdorman Ælfstan hasn’t overextended himself with his far-fetched idea for Lord Æthelwulf and the fort while the king’s focus is on capturing King Ecgberht.