King Hereafter (120 page)

He gambled his life. She risked no physical harm. Only capture, and the exchange of one marriage-bed for another. As had already happened.

It meant that she would continue, if he did not. And, surely, that was what mattered. To go on. To go on, however, with whatever honour was possible.

Tuathal said, ‘My lord?’

And Thorfinn said, ‘Something amused me, for a moment. You have, no doubt, made the sad calculation. If Earl Siward and his chief officers have joined Thor and Malcolm by now, along with the Normans’ horses, we may expect them within the next hour behind us. It’s even possible that Allerdale’s whole army could reach Scone from Ruthven by sunset if he whips them enough.’

His horse stumbled. He collected it and closed up to Tuathal’s again. ‘Perhaps I should have mentioned it before.’

‘It would have made no difference,’ Tuathal said. After a bit, he said, ‘The men who betrayed you were not your men.’ The silver box on his chest thudded and thudded.

‘I know,’ said Thorfinn. ‘I have exculpated both God and the Pope.’

*   *   *

Shortly after that, they all saw a fresh cloud of smoke mount into the air ahead of them and spread, thickening, and he thought it was all over: that the Dunkeld army had arrived and, joining the shipmen, had taken both citadels. He was quite near before he saw that the flames sprang from the new buildings at the place of assembly and the outlying cabins and barns on both sides of the river. Over Scone and over the fortress of Perth, his own banners flew still.

So there was still a little room to manipulate fate.

By now, both places would be tightly invested by the shipmen. But by the time his force joined with Cormac’s, they would have a good band of horsemen between them. Say the Cumbrian army from Dunkeld was still several miles off, marching south. Say, for the sake of argument, that they brought their prisoners with them—well guarded, of course.

Even a thousand marching men, if laden with booty, if full of food and good plundered wine, would stagger under the impact of four hundred horse. And the shipmen, abandoning Scone and hurrying, as they would, to the rescue, might well arrive far too late, if at all. And might leave the way free for the skilful, in their turn, to race back and into Scone with their prisoners.

It was a good plan, and it might work if the Dunkeld army were only far enough off. Up to now, there had been an answer, a possible response to every disaster. He would find one for this.

The answer he found was not that one.

Because both forts were under siege, it was hard to get over the Tay. He found the horsemen on this side were leaderless, since Ferteth was dead. Then Cormac, over the river, created a diversion, and they crossed to the Scone side and streamed into cover, to Cormac’s incoherent welcome.

It was taken for granted that the King came in the van of an army, and he had to collect them and break the news quickly. But first he told Cormac, who had reared Maelmuire, and whose wife was at Dunkeld with Ferteth’s wife, and with Groa.

He waited until the anger came, and then outlined his plan. Then, on the barest heels of their scouts, they mounted and streamed north at once, on both sides of the river, spreading out as they went through the smoke and the trees, counting every furlong a gain before they should find themselves at grips with the Cumbrian army.

It struck Thorfinn to wonder whether Thor his third cousin or Malcolm his nephew would be with the Ruthven banners or whether they might meet him face to face here. He did not share, now, Cormac’s tempestuous fury with the men he thought of as traitors. Affairs changed, and policies had to adapt to them: his as well as other men’s.

Nothing yet.

The horse-ford lay ahead, through the trees, by which they would cross back over the Tay to take the Dunkeld road that was shortest and firmest. He could see, flashing bright through the leaves on the other side of the water, those of his men who had been at Perth with Ferteth riding parallel with them.

Shallow-draught boats used the river, so he kept it scoured, as Crinan had
in his day, and men on foot used boat-bridges or ferries or walked down the right bank to Perth, where there were crossings all the time.

Because of the woods on either side, and the booths at the crossing, there was not a long view. There were always sheds of a sort by fords like this one. When the river was high, travellers sometimes preferred to sit and wait, rather than cast about for a crossing. And then the man with fat ducks to sell, or some ironmongery, or a piece of cloth or a basket of berries, would find a customer, or the husband of one.

The Cumbrian army might come down either bank, but it was likelier, now, to be the one they were joining. If he was wrong, the scouts would warn them, and on horses they could always get back.

Today, of course, the booths were empty, as were all the farms they had passed. He watched the scouts make sure, however, and then wade over and search on the other side before he gave the sign to start the crossing. He led it himself, and had just thrust his horse down and into the water when he caught sight of the new stake driven into the banking, and the rope round its neck that ran sagging under the water.

Thorfinn flung up a hand in warning, and halted.

On either side, too late to stop, horses slid and splashed into the water, and others, pressing behind, pushed lop-haunched into the turmoil. The water, thickened with mud, slapped and surged, and a pair of wood-pigeons exploded, gay as pudding-time bladders, from the forest ahead. One of the Strathearn men over the river gave a short cry.

Every head turned. The river chattered over its selvedges. Their feet soft in the mud, the horses nipped one another. On the other side, a man fell slowly down the flank of his garron until the haft of the spear in his throat met the ground.

Thorfinn roared, ‘
Back!
’

And then, deep in the woods on both sides of the river, the trees stretched, and walked.

A memory plucked at the warp of his stomach. ‘Lulach?’ said the King; and Tuathal looked at him.

Then anyone could see that the razored leaf-blades and whorled metal boles were no more than human: a party sent to secure a crossing for wains and horses and perhaps even some of the army. And sent, for better concealment, with twigs of oak and birch and hazel thrust in their harness. From what forest, it could not matter.

They had been unwise to make themselves known, for Thorfinn’s band greatly outnumbered them. As the first throwing-spear whipped past him and the first arrow made its hit, he shouted the dismounting order and flung himself with the others out of the saddle. Across the river, his men collected themselves and surged into the light, open woodland, steel flashing. On Thorfinn’s side, his main party behind in the trees were already engaged on either flank, sword against sword, with the Cumbrians who had already crossed.

He joined them, catching Tuathal’s eye again as he lifted his sword. Their
scouts had been deceived, and it might have been a disaster. Instead, a unit of the Cumbrian army had been delivered into their hands.

He met a fist with steel in it and swerved, slashing. The feel of the hand-grip, filling his palm, reminded his muscles of the fighting already behind him, as did the jarring on shoulder and wrist through the blows on his shield. The noise-curtain of shouting and battering steel was deafening. Green and red, sheared flesh and sliced boughs tumbled together, and lobes of honeysuckle stuck to the mesh of his mail, along with faggots of truncated hair.

The smell of blood; the smell of sweat; the smell of ordure; the smell of bruised green things. The smell of battle on land.

Battle on land, where land hid your enemy. Behind this advance guard was Allerdale’s army. How far behind? Their scouts ought to warn them. But scouts made mistakes. And got killed.

No screamed warning came from the riverbank. From the glimpses he contrived, the fighting on the further side, as on this, appeared to be going his way. It began to seem as if most of the Cumbrian party had already crossed to this, the Scone bank, before his band arrived. Then, hearing him come, had hidden and let them through.

In which case, why give themselves away as they had done? And why, outnumbered as they were, make a stand as stubborn as any the shipmen had countered with?

An axe bit into his shield between the studs, but he was backing already. He wrenched his sword out from flesh and leather and turned on the axeman. In the distance, above all the noise, a trumpet blew with his own warning-call.

It was what he had been waiting for. Except that the alarm came from his own side of the river, behind him.

The Allerdale army, then, was approaching. It had crossed the Tay already, upriver. Trap or accident, this crossing was secondary. And its leader, whom he had been fighting towards, had engaged and held them, knowing that the main army would arrive at their backs.

The men over the river were safe. There was no time for his small army to cross now. ‘My lord?’ said his trumpeter at his side.

‘Mount and retreat,’ said Thorfinn. Tossing their heads, the horses would be waiting under the trees, nervous camp-followers, distant spectators of every battle. There were few enough men left to oppose him. He saw the leader’s mouth open, under the nose-piece of his helmet, and guessed he, too, was ordering some sort of deployment, but could not hear what he was shouting. A moment later, a sudden concerted movement told him. The remaining Cumbrians were dashing to cut them off from their horses.

Whoever he was, their leader was good. But Thorfinn’s men, too, were well practised, and there were more of them. He saw Cormac already in front of them, a line of men waiting; and, calling to those nearest, Thorfinn, too, forced his way through the lumber of battle to attack the little band on the flank.

Between Cormac’s men and his own, the Cumbrians had no hope of escape and fought as men fight who have nothing to lose. The group round the leader
were the last to die, and there was room in Thorfinn, as the leader turned, for regret that it was no normal campaign in which he might give quarter or take prisoners. Then he saw the bright-stubbled jaw under the helmet, and the determination in the bright eyes, and the uplifted arm with an axe in it, and realised that Thor of Allerdale had sent his son Dolphin to lead the van of his army.

The axe came down, clipping the mesh of the King’s shoulder and hacking leather and flesh as Thorfinn flung himself sideways. His own sword was already descending through the flank of the other man’s face and into his neck and chest, clean as slicing a steak from a mackerel.

It was a death-blow: so quick that as the boy fell they saw him stamped in the meat of his cheek by the volleyed rings from Thorfinn’s splintered tunic. Then Cormac said, ‘
My lord!
’ and, through the trees, the King saw the first lines of the main Cumbrian army running towards them.

A horse appeared, pulled by Tuathal, already mounted, and Thorfinn vaulted wrong-sided into the saddle, letting his shield drop. Then, streaming through the trees between the whistling barbs, the Alban horsemen began to force their way back from the river, round the nose of the Cumbrian army, and, using what cover they could, into the hilly country behind, out of reach of footsoldiers from either Scone or this oncoming army. Out of reach only for the moment, and within range of anyone else’s mounted scouts.

As soon as he could find a fit man, Thorfinn sent off a scout of his own to report the size of the new army, and whether the women from Dunkeld were with it. By that time, he knew that the wound in his shoulder was a bad one, and that he had taken others, worse than the cuts and bruises and gashes they had all borne from early morning.

It was true, he saw, of everyone. By now, none was as quick as he should be, and their numbers were a good deal depleted. He had left wounded in the wood, as well as dead, and men who could not find horses in time, although some of these would hide and escape. On the other side of the river, the survivors, too, ought to save themselves with any luck.

What he had to decide now was whether he had enough fit men to launch the flank attacks he had planned to weaken the advancing Cumbrians still further, or whether he should send all he had back to Scone to arrange some sort of diversion and try to get most of the party inside.

Scone, the heart of the kingdom, and fortified as well as they knew how. But, of its nature, not as amenable to the work of Bishop Hrolf or the Normans as would be a rock-citadel or a simple fortress of mound and bailey and ditch. And even of these, Osbern of Eu had made no promises.
They can pin down a countryside
, he had said.
But they won’t stand against an army mustered for war
.

They would see about that, when they got inside. Meanwhile, they drew breath, counting, assessing, while the wounded were attended to in a heathery hollow, and those who had ale-flasks shared quickly what they had.

He spoke to them briefly, commending the fight, warning them that the respite would be of the briefest. Then he dismounted, rather abruptly, on
the side furthest away from the company and found Tuathal arriving already with his knife and a helmet of water and a lad carrying an armful of torn cloth and moss.

He sat, his right arm looped through the reins, while Tuathal hacked away broken mail and got a dressing in and began to bind it tightly enough to stop the bleeding. The sun shone full on Thorfinn’s face, but coldness visited him with occasional fingers. Old and familiar warnings. Loss of blood was a serious enemy. You never ignored it. He said, ‘How long till sunset? Three hours, perhaps less? Siward and Allerdale and Malcolm with the Normans’ horses could be at Scone by now.’

‘I sent a scout that way as well,’ Tuathal said. His neck was scarred and his hand bleeding, but his colour was still high. He said, ‘The Lady won’t come to harm.’