27

I’ve never shivered so much in my short life. By the time we stagger into the Mercian camp, having first argued with the watchman on duty, who’s more stubborn than Oswy about allowing entry, I can’t feel my body below the neck. Oswy’s almost crawling.

‘What happened to you two?’ I look up from holding my hands towards a random campfire, pulling my clothes from my body at the same time, and catch sight of the perplexed expression of Ealdorman Tidwulf. He’s dressed warmly. I envy him the thick fur-lined cloak he wears.

‘We had to escape from inside Londinium.’

‘But where’s everyone else?’ Naked to the waist, I glower at Tidwulf, teeth chattering.

‘Haven’t the Mercians opened the fort for you?’ I feel sure that Ealdorman Ælfstan will have been successful in his endeavours by now.

‘No.’ The ealdorman watches me with unflinching eyes. I turn to look at Oswy, but he’s shaking so violently that he doesn’t hear the ealdorman. ‘Where’s Ealdorman Ælfstan?’

I’m finding it hard to think. I’m just too damn cold. ‘They were fighting, by the riverside gate, two nights ago. Didn’t you see the flames from here? The fire was huge.’

‘Yes, we did.’

I’m not sure if Ealdorman Tidwulf is being purposefully obtuse with his answers.

‘I went to get Oswy from where we’d left him, injured in the ealdorman’s hall. We were to meet them at the fort, but by the time we reached the place, there was a host of Wessex warriors preventing us from getting inside.’ By now, I’ve removed my trews, and someone has flung a dry cloak at me. They’ve clearly taken it from their shoulders. The heat is welcome, if not the smell. Theodore also appears alongside the ealdorman. He assists Oswy, who’s beyond doing anything. He’s pushed himself to the end of his endurance. I pity him, even as I try to understand what Ealdorman Tidwulf’s saying to me. ‘Has the Mercian banner not been flying from the fort?’ I demand. I feel sure that’s what had been agreed.

‘No. The fort’s been quiet. The gates haven’t opened, and we’ve seen no one on guard duty. What have you done to Oswy?’ Tidwulf queries, as both Theodore and Gaya bend to assist him. I’m shocked by the sight of Oswy’s blue flesh, even as I’m pleased to see that Theodore and Gaya move with the surety of Ealdorman Tidwulf’s protection.

‘He was wounded. I did what I could for him. Look,’ and I thrust out my burned hand to show Tidwulf that Oswy isn’t the only one to carry a wound.

‘Well. This is a mess, isn’t it?’ Tidwulf admits, peering into the distance. ‘Come with me, and find some trews. The king will need to hear of this.’

I nod but pause and turn to Theodore and Gaya.

‘I sealed the wound, but it needs more stitches. I also fed him a healing broth and bound both wounds with agrimony, birthwort and woodruff.’ Tidwulf speaks, I must assume to repeat my words in their tongue. I’m grateful.

‘And your hand?’ Theodore asks me. Again, Tidwulf translates the words.

‘Woodruff, brooklime and lily, but there was no butter to hand. I used an oil instead.’ Theodore nods as he listens to Tidwulf. Once more, Tidwulf translates his reply.

‘Come to me when you’ve spoken to the king,’ Theodore insists, through Tidwulf. ‘I’ve more salve for you. You’ll need treatment for the cuts and bruises as well.’

Then, he dismisses me, beckoning for some of the Mercian warriors to help him with Oswy. I can see that Ealdorman Tidwulf no longer keeps Theodore and Gaya as slaves. That warms me, despite my intense cold. I doubt they should ever have been enslaved to Ecgred. Whatever happened there, I’m pleased to see them wearing better clothing, warmer clothing, and issuing commands in a similar way to Wynflæd which they expect to be obeyed, even if it’s done through Tidwulf.

I stagger after Tidwulf, ducking into Wulfheard’s tent to pull my only other pair of trews from my sack of possessions. They’re almost colder than my legs.

‘Did you attack the market settlement?’ I hurry to keep up with the dark-skinned, long-legged ealdorman.

‘Yes, it was successful. We hold more and more of it now. The Wessex king will have to decide whether he’ll die in the mint or make peace with King Wiglaf.’

The news thrills me, even while I worry about Ealdorman Ælfstan. Of all of Wiglaf’s warriors, it’s been him who was first kind to me. I also fear for Wulfheard. If not for him, I’d not have been able to kill the men that I have. Where are they? Why do the gates remain closed? It makes no sense to me.

Ahead, I watch Tidwulf gain admission to the king’s tent. I follow on behind. The king’s household warriors leer at me and Eahric, the commander of the king’s warriors, startles upon recognising me. I give the men what I hope is a grin, but I still don’t have complete control over my facial features. The rain might have stopped, but in its place a bitter wind has sprung up.

‘My Lord King,’ Tidwulf interrupts the king without apology.

Wiglaf turns to greet him, a question on his lips that dies away when he catches sight of me. ‘Where’s Ealdorman Ælfstan?’ issues forth instead.

‘My Lord King, I hope he has the fort, but Oswy and I had to escape a different way because we were barred from entering the fort.’

Consternation sweeps Wiglaf’s face. ‘I don’t understand?’

‘Me neither, my Lord King,’ I mutter, looking down at my hand and grimacing at the paleness of the flesh and the redness of the burn.

‘I understood that the ealdorman would open the fort for us once Lord Æthelwulf was secured. I told him it was unnecessary, but he insisted. We almost have Lundenwic back in our hands now.’ Wiglaf’s face clouds with unease.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of what’s befallen the rest of the Mercians. ‘My Lord King, we killed many of the Wessex foemen, the ealdorman amongst them, although Lord Æthelwulf had escaped. We burned the riverside gate and the one remaining ship and started an unholy argument amongst them all. There just can’t be enough of them remaining to have taken back the fort. Oswy and I heard nothing to suggest the Mercians have been overrun.’

‘Why couldn’t you join them?’

‘My Lord King, Oswy was badly wounded. He couldn’t fight,’ I offer quickly. ‘And there were Wessex warriors in our way.’

‘He’s a mess, my Lord King,’ Ealdorman Tidwulf confirms, as though my words are to be doubted.

‘So, what, you escaped through the drainage channel, just as when you gained entry?’

I nod, but I can feel the edge of Wiglaf’s words. I’m beginning to suspect that if I’d returned without Oswy I’d be strung up as a traitor.

‘My Lord King. We need to make contact with the men inside the fort. Perhaps there was a fight and they’re locked inside the fort, or too wounded to open the gates?’ It’s all I can suspect. I shrug my shoulders as I speak, hardly the actions of a warrior sure of what’s happened to his fellow Mercians.

‘It’s too much of a risk, my Lord King,’ Ealdorman Sigered glowers. He’s sitting so close to the fire that it appears his legs are in the embers of the flames. I note the thick fur cloak covering him. ‘We have news from Tamworth that the bastard king of the East Angles means to take advantage of your continued absence. We must return to Tamworth. The victory is ours. What happened to the fort is irrelevant.’ I’m staggered by Sigered’s callous regard for my allies.

‘We need to take advantage of the momentum,’ I counter immediately, almost pleading. ‘We had a firm hold of the fort. Go∂eman was in command. He won’t have done anything stupid.’

At that moment, Uor and Wulfgar appear as well. Ealdorman Tidwulf has summoned them. Uor eyes me uneasy. Wulfgar has the good grace to look embarrassed. I note how he stands straighter, sucking in his belly. I can only imagine the abuse he’s faced since returning to the encampment because he was too damn fat to assist the ealdorman.

‘You said the Mercians had the fort?’ This is directed to Wulfgar.

‘Yes, my Lord King, I spoke to Go∂eman and Æthelmod.’

‘But not since two nights ago, when you returned?’

‘Not since before the fire, no, my Lord King,’ Wulfgar confirms.

I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable under all the scrutiny. It isn’t just my hand that itches now.

‘My Lord King, what are you thinking? That something has befallen Ealdorman Ælfstan?’ It’s Ealdorman Tidwulf who queries the king.

‘No, I’m thinking that something has befallen all of the Mercians, and yet two of them have survived and tell me a strange tale that makes no sense.’ King Wiglaf’s gaze seems to slide over me, as though he doesn’t want to acknowledge that I’m there. His words are angry.

I think back to Oswy’s harsh comments at the wall and to what I’ve seen and endured while inside the walls.

‘My Lord King, I didn’t ask to be sent inside Londinium, not once, but twice. I didn’t ask to be the one here, telling you what’s happening. I’ve done what I could for Oswy. I brought him back alive.’

‘Barely,’ Ealdorman Tidwulf interjects, and I round on him.

‘You may have more knowledge of healing than I do, but I did my best, and there are many here who would have simply left him there to die. I didn’t risk getting inside the fort because then he’d most assuredly have perished in the fighting. Two men can’t overpower ten times that number when they both carry injuries.’

‘And you would have died with him.’ Tidwulf is unrelenting in his softly spoken attack.

‘More than likely, yes, and then what would you have? You wouldn’t know of events inside Londinium. You’d be ignorant of the fact that Lord Æthelwulf’s fled, that the ealdorman is dead.’ I scour those in the room as I speak, trying to decipher what the ealdormen are thinking. I can’t bring myself to meet the king’s eyes.

‘Perhaps, but we wouldn’t have missing Mercians either,’ King Wiglaf comments.

I sigh heavily. ‘Then fine, my Lord King. I’ve done everything wrong, and your Mercians are missing. Now, why don’t you go back to attacking Lundenwic and fighting with one hand tied behind your back?’ I know I’m speaking too disrespectfully, but I’m at the end of my endurance. I need to eat, and sleep, drink even. And I’m the one standing here, half naked, while the other men are all dressed warmly. I begin to understand my uncle’s weariness when trying to make his kings see sense.

‘Then what would you suggest?’ King Wiglaf’s furious words arrest my flood of words and bring me up short.

‘My Lord King, I’d tell you to go to the fort. The Mercians hold it and will either open the gate for you or, perhaps, you might even find them open already. Maybe that’s what they managed to accomplish with their final breaths.’ I doubt it, yet I can make no sense of what’s happened. I’ve been inside the fort. I know what Go∂eman’s capable of doing. I’m convinced it’s still held by the Mercians.

‘It’s too much of a risk, my Lord King,’ Ealdorman Sigered reiterates. ‘We would lose good men when we’ve almost won anyway. What does it matter about Londinium when we have Lundenwic restored to us? And we must think of King Athelstan of the East Angles. He’s preparing for war.’

I suck in air to call Sigered the coward that he is, but King Wiglaf beats me to it.

‘Londonia consists of both Lundenwic and Londinium, of the trading settlement and the ancient fort with its vast walls. I want no Wessex warriors standing on Mercian land. Look how they use it against us. I won’t have it.’ Wiglaf thrusts his arm up high to indicate the fort. ‘And it’s nearly winter. King Athelstan of the East Angles will wait, now. He prefers to fight with the sun on his back.’

‘Then, my Lord King,’ and Sigered bows from his chair, showing the top of his bald pate as he draws out the word ‘king’, ‘I believe you have your answer.’

I’m not alone in growling at the older ealdorman who manages to avoid a fight even when he’s encamped with the rest of the Mercian force, on a battle line, with the enemy no more than a spear throw in front of us.

I’m taken to where Theodore and Gaya have been allowed a tent to offer the Mercian wounded assistance. As I move to the rear of the camp, I appreciate how few Mercians are there.

‘We hold the trading settlement. A good majority of the warriors protect it,’ Ealdorman Tidwulf informs me. ‘King Ecgberht and a handful of his warriors continue to hold the mint and have access to the river in one location. I suspect they’re anticipating reinforcements from his son.’

‘So, why has their escape route not been blocked off?’

‘Do you not think we’ve tried, lad? We have, and we lost thirty-three men in the process. The cost was high. The king wants the remainder of his men returned to him, including Ealdorman Ælfstan and Wulfheard, before trying once more.’

‘Theodore.’ Ealdorman Tidwulf strides inside the small space, warm with the press of bodies and with a comforting smell scenting the air that reminds me of Wynflæd’s hut. As Theodore meets his eyes, he switches to their tongue and then repeats what he says so that I understand as well. ‘Assist Icel with his hand. He’ll be needed later. And what of Oswy?’ I’m pushed, not unkindly, onto a small wooden stool by the ealdorman’s large hand while he goes to Theodore’s side.

Theodore responds quickly, his words a flood that Tidwulf translates. ‘Icel has done well with both wounds. What concerns me most is how cold Oswy has become. We’re doing our best to thaw him out.’ I sit forward and catch sight of a heavily swaddled body lying on a squat bed. ‘It would be a pity if the escape kills him rather than the initial wounds.’

‘Do everything you can,’ Tidwulf orders and hurries from the tent. I watch him go and shiver as a waft of cold wind jostles the canvas and the wooden struts which form the basis of the structure.

Gaya appears, smiles and gently places a wooden bowl into the crook of my right arm. I smell the warm pottage while my stomach rumbles and reach to take the spoon from her with my left hand.

Eagerly, I guzzle the warm food, grateful it isn’t scolding, or I’d burn my tongue to go with my hand. Only when I’m finished does Theodore sit beside me.

‘Show me,’ he asks, reaching out with his wizened hands. He knows those few words and speaks them haltingly.

I uncurl my hand slowly, gasping as I do so. Theodore picks up my hand and moves it one way and then another beneath the light. I watch the wound change colour, from red to even redder, as he presses on the parts of my palm which haven’t been burned.

‘You truly mean to mark yourself as a warrior of Mercia,’ he offers, Gaya translating his words this time, her tone not unkindly, her words slow and deliberate. Carefully, Theodore cleans away the residual from the poultice I’ve applied to my hand. Then he adds his own, binding it tightly with a long strip of linen, which he wraps around my hand three times before tying it off. ‘Keep it clean and dry,’ he orders me. ‘No more sliding in drainage channels for you.’ Gaya offers the words he speaks.

‘I don’t think that’ll be possible,’ I mutter unhappily before continuing. ‘You seem well set up here.’

‘Ealdorman Tidwulf has been good to us, for now. We’ve not had too many men to tend so far. The wounds are either scratches or mortal, and for those warriors, nothing can be done but a decent burial.’ This time, it’s Gaya who speaks without translating Theodore’s words. She must understand our tongue better than him.

‘Here, drink this,’ Theodore hands me a beaker, which I sniff before sipping. Again, Gaya offers me his words while Theodore stands, chuckling as I drink deeply. ‘You’ll be well,’ he confirms, using her voice. ‘Just try not to burn it again, and as I said, keep it clean and dry.’

Mindful that I still wear no tunic, I stand, stretch and make my way through the camp to where my sack of supplies has been left in Wulfheard’s canvas. I slip a not so clean tunic over my head, add my spare cloak beneath the other one I’ve been given, and make my way to where the horses are stabled. I’ve a mind to check on Brute. It feels like I’ve not seen him for weeks, and knowing how difficult he can be, I fear all our good work together might have been undone in my absence.

I find the horses sheltering from the bitter wind behind a steep embankment at the camp’s rear. The Mercian forces have laboured up the incline and have no intention of doing the same in reverse. For all the wind’s bitter at the top of the slope, it’s much milder lower down. I shiver into my two cloaks and immediately spy Brute amongst the other horses. It’s easy, really. He’s the only one looking at me.

Reluctantly, he makes his way towards me from between two other beasts. It appears that the steeds all stand closely together to mitigate the cold.

‘Hello, boy.’ I reach out my left hand to stroke his long nose, but he whiffles at my right hand, which I have to hold away from him. ‘It’ll be fine,’ I console him. He lifts his head to appraise me. I laugh at the look in his eyes. I can’t say that my damn horse believes my words. ‘What have you been up to?’ I ask him, running my eyes appraisingly along his body. To my untrained eye, he looks thinner than when we left Tamworth, but I feel hollower as well. Life on the march doesn’t guarantee a full belly. ‘I’m sure we’ll be going back to Tamworth soon,’ I console Brute and become aware of judging eyes watching me. I turn then and gasp.

‘What are you doing here?’ Edwin and I speak the words at the same time. He is, if possible, taller than last time we encountered one another inside Kingsholm before Lord Coenwulf had my uncle and me thrown out from his home. He’s also grown even more muscles. I’m quite sure that he’d have been able to lift the stubborn stone inside Londinium on his own. I’m shocked to find my childhood friend here, on the front line of this war with Wessex.

‘You haven’t heard then?’ Edwin replies cockily, hands on his weapons belt, which shows a full range of weapons.

‘Heard what?’ I’m too tired to bite at his tone.

‘Ealdorman Coenwulf means to make an alliance with King Wiglaf. He says it’s time to stand behind the king who’ll reunite Mercia after all these years of strife. With his father’s death, my new lord is amenable to reconciliation with the anointed king of Mercia.’

I startle at the words.

‘And he’s here, fighting beside the king?’ I think to look behind me, to seek out Lord Coenwulf. I can’t envisage the angry ealdorman as a warrior. He didn’t strike me as the sort, but what do I know?

‘No, he’s not. But he’s sent his warriors to fight on the king’s behalf, to prove his loyalty to our king.’ I can’t tell from Edwin’s words whether he approves of this development or not. Certainly, King Wiglaf and his son, in particular, have never been kind to Edwin when he resided at Tamworth.

‘And you’re one of Ealdorman Coenwulf’s warriors?’ I ask.

‘Yes. Why? Does that surprise you?’ Edwin’s words are rimmed with fury.

‘No, no, I’m pleased for you. That you’ve finally achieved what you always wanted.’

Edwin laughs then, the sound mocking. ‘Unlike you, Icel. I know what you did. Everyone speaks of your heroics in saving the king’s life. Not content with casting me aside, you take my position at the king’s side as well.’

‘Now, wait a moment,’ I caution Edwin. ‘You were only too eager to stay behind in Kingsholm when you were given the option by my uncle when Lord Coenwulf demanded we leave after his father’s horse died. He blamed me for killing the horse even though everyone said I eased the animal’s suffering with my ministrations.’

‘An option? Your uncle made it clear I wasn’t needed.’ Edwin stresses the word ‘I’, and it hurts me to hear such fury directed at Cenfrith when he’s no longer here to defend himself.

‘That’s not true. You could have come with us.’

‘I could not,’ Edwin seethes, his eyes bright beneath the hood he wears over his dark hair. ‘But Lord Coenwulf saw my potential. He allowed me to stay and train with his warriors.’

I rub my forehead with my left hand. Edwin remembers everything incorrectly, and it infuriates me. I’m growing tired of people questioning me when I’ve done nothing wrong.

‘So, you’re here to fight for the king in reclaiming Londonia?’

‘I am if the king agrees to Lord Coenwulf’s requirements.’

‘So, you haven’t fought for the king?’

‘Not yet, no. Why, is that what you’ve been doing? Carrying on your uncle’s endeavours?’ His words sting with sarcasm.

‘I’ve been doing what my king commands of me, yes.’

Edwin laughs once more. The sound is long and bitter. How I want to punch him in the face and wipe the smirk from his red-faced cheeks that show no depravations from being part of the Mercian force these past few weeks. He looks well fed, warm and his clothes are all clean and protect him from the biting weather.

‘Then I’m pleased for you, Icel. You’ve everything I ever wanted, and still, you don’t seem happy about it.’

His words strike me as weapons, but there’s something else that fills my thoughts.

‘What are Lord Coenwulf’s “requirements”?’

Edwin looks confused at my question, and then his face clears.

‘Money, a position of authority, an acceptance that Kingsholm remains his, and a wife.’

‘Who does he wish to marry?’ None of the rest of those demands surprises me. It’s only what Ealdorman Sigered asks for every time Mercia proclaims a new king. Ealdorman Sigered demands a high price for his questionable loyalty.

‘Lady Cynehild, I believe. You should be happy. She hated you for all those years that King Beornwulf was king.’

I stride away from him then, leaving the question he asks but doesn’t ask, unspoken. Lady Cynehild didn’t wish to remarry. She told me as much. Would King Wiglaf force her to it? And then I still. I know who’ll force her to wed again, and my lips curl with unease. I thought I could speak for the lady, sway the king to her true desires to remain at the nunnery, but if it’s King Wiglaf’s wife, Lady Cynethryth, who thinks to profit from this union, then I know myself to be powerless. Women, as Lady Cynethryth knows only too well, are always pawns in the game of marriages and alliances.