Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (16 page)

‘She gets ample milk, Wulfrida. I should know, I’m feeding her myself. Look,’ she said, tetchily, ‘I produce so much of the stuff I could easily feed twins! And Aethelflaed was fed less than an hour ago, while you were outside with King Aethelred and Alfred before they rode off.’

Wulfrida stared aghast as Ealhswith unlaced the front of her embroidered green overgown to reveal two large wet patches on her linen undergown beneath. ‘Well, my dear,’ she said, sounding too like Ealhswith’s mother for comfort, ‘you must do what you think best. All I can say is that the child seems somewhat fractious, so there must be a reason for it. My own two babes slept quite peacefully between feeds.’

Ealhswith bit back the rejoinder on her lips. Instead, she feigned a thoughtful frown and nodded, as though accepting the slightly older woman’s words. But she could not help voicing one last thought. ‘The only reason Aethelflaed cries so much is because she gets lonely in her crib. She likes to be carried round so she can see what’s going on.’

Wulfrida’s somewhat scornful chuckle infuriated Ealhswith still further, but she took a breath and smiled. The next two days could not pass quickly enough for her.

*****

Alfred felt exhilarated. What more could a man want than to be out riding in the sunshine across such beautiful countryside with the brother he loved? While back in the vill was his reason for living: the woman who’d become part of his very existence, and a tiny child he already doted on.

‘You know, Alfred,’ Aethelred started, steering his placid bay away from the reach of Caesar’s teeth, ‘I’m so pleased to see you happily married. Ealhswith’s a lovely girl, and a delight to talk to. Although I thought you both looked a little peaky last night . . . You in particular. Perhaps the new babe is keeping you awake?’

Alfred couldn’t help a smile; his brother was fishing again. He nodded, hoping that would satisfy him and they could talk about something else. ‘I hope you’re in good health, Alfred,’ Aethelred persisted. ‘The last time I saw you, a sickly stomach kept you in your chamber for a couple of days. You’ve not had any more such bouts, I trust?’

‘My health is fine, Aethelred,’ Alfred lied, unwilling to divulge that little over a day ago he’d been doubled over in agony. He’d no intention of telling his brother about this new affliction; Aethelred would only worry about him and enlist the services of umpteen more physicians. Fortunately, only one of the attacks he’d suffered had occurred whilst he was in attendance at Aethelred’s Court, and on that occasion he’d been able to feign nausea for a couple of days, and retire to his chamber. And since the incident had followed a night of feasting in honour of the new Bishop of Sherborne’s visit, Aethelred had not questioned Alfred’s condition.

‘I love this place,’ he said, changing the subject and swinging his arm to indicate across the Vale towards the Ridgeway. Aethelred followed his gaze. The scattered copses of beeches were in full leaf and bright summer flowers were blooming across the meadows. Cattle grazed along the numerous springs that emerged from the foot of the chalk ridge, whilst close to the villages, people hoed between their growing crops or cut the sweet-smelling hay. ‘It’s the most perfect place in the world, to me. I feel a deep attachment to it, perhaps because I was born here. And now that I have Ealhswith and Aethleflaed, my happiness is complete. I pray that things never change. Am I asking too much?’

They rode in companionable silence for some moments, their escort of six following behind, allowing the king and his brother to speak privately. ‘Unfortunately, things rarely stay the same for long, Alfred, no matter how hard we pray,’ Aethelred said at length. ‘Time has a habit of moving on and events unroll as fate dictates.’ Alfred nodded, but said nothing. He knew that Aethelred had more to say. ‘I have such a feeling of foreboding, Alfred. I can’t explain where it came from, but I can’t shake it off. I feel certain that our peaceful lives are not going to be so peaceful for very much longer.’

Alfred understood. He’d felt that way himself for some time now; probably for the same reason. ‘The Danes,’ he said.

Aethelred nodded slowly and reined his bay to a halt. ‘We had word from Burgred last week,’ he said, twisting to face Alfred. ‘His Court’s been up in Nottingham recently, where news filtered down to him from York. It seems the pagans will soon be on the move again, leaving that client king, Ecgberht, to run Northumbria for them. By all accounts Ecgberht’s naught but a grovelling imbecile, but the leaders of this Great Army seem content to leave things to him.’ He shook his head. ‘So the Mercians are now speculating as to whether or not they’ll return to Mercia, discounting the so-called treaty that Burgred made with them . . .

‘And let’s not forget, brother,’ Aethelred went on, ‘the number of invaders is continuously swelling. And they’re by no means all Danes. Armies from across the Norselands – Norwegians mostly and even a few bands of Frisians – have come to see our kingdoms as easy game, doubtless incited by Danish successes. News has it that another sixty Norwegian ships made landfall on the Northumbrian coast less than a month since.’

Alfred grimaced. ‘After the successful subjugation of Northumbria, this ever-expanding army may well try to do the same thing in Mercia, as Burgred fears. But, you know, Aethelred, they’re just as likely to return to Anglia. King Edmund virtually bowed down to them the last time they overran his kingdom. I should think they’ll have him pegged for a fool.’ He looked at Aethelred’s worried face. ‘And let’s not forget, they may also have Wessex in their sights by now.’

‘They’ll certainly see Wessex as a new challenge, Alfred, and that’s what worries me.’

Alfred nodded. ‘Remember, we agreed that day in Kingston that the Danes
would
come to Wessex, eventually. Well, I believe that the “eventually” is getting very close.’

‘The question now, brother, is can we do anything about it?’

Alfred shook his head. ‘No more than we could have done four years ago. It’s just a matter of waiting to see what transpires. Of course, if it’s Mercia that’s invaded, Burgred could well ask for our help again. And if he does, we’ll need to make a better show of ourselves than we did the last time.’

Sixteen

Elston, Mercia and Thetford, East Anglia: November 869

Eadwulf vented his frustration on an empty water pail, kicking out hard and sending it hurtling across the grassy space. ‘Right through my damned fingers . . . again!’ he yelled.

‘Feel better for that?’

Eadwulf swung round to see Aethelnoth leaning nonchalantly against the corner of the barn, watching him. ‘I followed you out of the hall, in case you were wondering. I can always tell when you’re about to throw a tantrum.’ Aethelnoth’s usual, easy-going grin widened. ‘But destroying a perfectly good pail won’t get you any closer to Ivar.’

‘I’ll get the bastard, one day, Aethelnoth,’ Eadwulf growled, before taking a deep, steadying breath. ‘In the name of every god I can think of, he won’t leave these kingdoms alive. He must have passed within twenty miles of here sometime this last week.’

‘Aethelnoth squinted at him through the late-morning sunlight. ‘And Halfdan . . . doesn’t he warrant a mention?’

‘Oh, believe me, he’s included in the same threat. But it’s Ivar I want most. He’s the one with guile enough to devise the cruel schemes. His subordinates – and I include Halfdan amongst them – are simply his tools, his means of carrying out his plans. And I didn’t need Bjorn to tell me it was Ivar who discovered the truth of Jorund’s parentage, and took pleasure in apprising Rorik of the situation. The black-hearted snake always did have his spies out everywhere, his own brother generally being the main one.’

Aethelnoth nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond to the tale of Morwenna’s appalling fate. Eadwulf didn’t expect him to. He’d told his friend of those gut-wrenching events at Aalborg just the once, and knew that Aethelnoth had sense enough to know that he wouldn’t wish to discuss them further.

‘I should think the army riding south will be well clear of Mercia by now; they’ve been on the move for days,’ Aethelnoth said, his eyes following a flock of wild geese flying south for the winter. ‘Apart from sacking the monastery at Peterborough, it seems they’d no designs on Mercia, other than as a corridor back to Anglia.'

‘Wigstan’s only just released the breath he’s been holding for days,’ Eadwulf added, sitting down on a hefty log. ‘He’d convinced himself the Danes would ravage Mercia, like they did Northumbria.’

Aethelnoth joined Eadwulf on the log. ‘Well, I reckon they’ll stay in Anglia for a while. They’ve got their vassal, Ecgberht, keeping the Northumbrians in line for them, so they can afford to enjoy King Edmund’s hospitality again, and stock up their resources.’

‘Perhaps we should be wondering where they’ll set their sights on next,’ Eadwulf said, looking sidelong at his now sombre-faced friend. ‘As you said, it seems they didn’t fancy taking Mercia yet. Perhaps they simply hadn’t the manpower to cover its vast size . . . or else Burgred made some deal with them that we weren’t party to. I wouldn’t put it past the devious toad. He didn’t lift a finger to stop Ivar’s armies moving through Mercia or sacking the Peterborough monastery.

‘As to how long they’ll stay in East Anglia . . . ?’ Eadwulf shook his head. ‘I suppose that’s anyone’s guess. They may intend to completely subdue the kingdom first, which, of course, will mean that Edmund will have to face them in armed combat. But eventually they’ll be moving out – and the question of whether it will be Mercia still stands. Their campaigns up to Northumbria and Nottingham would’ve doubtless given them the feel of our main roads and tracks, not to mention our waterways. So they could well use such knowledge to head back into Mercia, just when Burgred thinks they’re keeping to the treaty.’ Eadwulf paused, considering a more likely idea. ‘Or perhaps–’

‘They may well decide to strike at Wessex, instead,’ Aethelnoth said, as though reading Eadwulf’s thoughts. ‘For one thing, Wessex is far richer than Mercia. For another, its king is young and still untried in battle. His performance at Nottingham wouldn’t have exactly scared the Danes witless, would it? And, of course, Wessex covers a far smaller area than Mercia.’

Eadwulf rose to his feet, nodding agreement. ‘Unfortunately, we’re not in a position to find out before a move is actually made. And as you said, the Danes may decide to stay in Anglia for a while first. But, if Wessex is their next target, it’ll be interesting to see how keen Burgred is to reciprocate the aid supplied to him by King Aethelred at Nottingham.’

‘Well, until that time, I reckon we just forget about things,’ Aethelnoth declared, looking up at him, his face serious. ‘And right now, you ought to get back to the hall and eat. We’ve still got a day’s work ahead – not a good prospect on an empty stomach. And it might also be a good idea to let Leoflaed know you’re not about to go off again. Even
I
know what that look on her face meant after those riders from Peterborough left.’

‘I can’t give her any such assurance,’ Eadwulf replied, shaking his head as he moved to retrieve the well-dented pail. He turned to face his friend, still seated on the log. ‘The chances are, I’ll be riding for Anglia within the week.’

Aethelnoth grinned. ‘Really? Then you’ll need someone to watch your back, won’t you?’

*****

A week later, Eadwulf and Aethelnoth were well into the Anglian lands, having veered from Ermine Street after reaching the remains of the sacked monastery at Peterborough and heading east along another Roman road that crossed the north of King Edmund’s kingdom. Within the hour they’d be turning south onto an ancient trackway, known at this point as the Icknield Way. Eadwulf knew that the track eventually turned west, heading across Anglia to the chalk escarpment of Wessex, where it was known as the Great Ridgeway. But, before doing so, the route would lead them straight to Thetford – the home of the Anglian monarchs, and to the south of which, they’d been informed, the Danes were encamped.

Their saddle packs bulged with bread and dried meats, with a few wizened apples and cheeses, most purchased from homesteads before they’d reached Anglia as their original supplies had gradually expired. Both men had a bow in a makeshift scabbard strapped to the back of the saddle, with a quiver of arrows at the opposite side: fresh meat would be needed before too long and the possibility of buying it in Anglia was unlikely.

Eadwulf glanced at Aethelnoth as they rode. ‘We’ll soon need to be on the lookout for somewhere to make camp,’ he said. ‘What we need is a thick patch of woodland. I don’t think we’ll come across any convenient caves rearing up in this landscape, do you?’

‘Do you realise that’s the first time you’ve attempted to be funny since leaving Elston three days ago?’ Aethelnoth remarked, the hint of a grin playing on his lips. ‘And I can tell you that riding nigh-on a hundred miles with such a sour-faced companion isn’t a great deal of fun. No, you don’t need to tell me the cause of it,’ he put in quickly as Eadwulf took breath to explain. ‘I already know. As to your question, I do agree that such terrain doesn’t make for good caves, although, compared to that flat fenland back there, it’s pleasantly undulating. And there’s plenty of forest.’

Eadwulf sighed, knowing that an apology, as well as an explanation, was well overdue. His friend didn’t deserve such discourtesy. ‘I’m sorry for my ill humour, Aethelnoth. It’s just Leoflaed . . .’

‘She didn’t mean what she said, you know. All women say things they don’t mean when they’re angry. They probably think it hides their true feelings.’

‘How do you know what she said? You weren’t even in the hall, and I checked that no one was close enough to overhear. Leoflaed didn’t shout, anyway. In fact, it was just the opposite.’

Aethelnoth’s grin had dropped and Eadwulf could see the concern in his eyes. ‘Odella’s never far away when her mistress is in the hall,’ the big man explained. ‘On the day you announced you’d soon be heading off to Anglia, Odella was playing with the children in some corner. She feels really guilty about overhearing, but reckons that no one else heard anything, not even the children. And she certainly won’t go blabbing to anyone. She only told me because she knew I’d keep it to myself.’

Eadwulf nodded, unsurprised at the source of Aethelnoth’s knowledge. ‘But it’s Leoflaed's actual words that really cut,’ he admitted. ‘She just looked straight at me and said, “If you do decide to go, you needn’t bother to come back.” Just that cold, emotionless ultimatum, then she walked away. If she’d ranted like she usually does, or begged me not to go, I’d have felt better. But now, I don’t know what to expect when we do get back.’

Aethelnoth huffed. ‘Leoflaed can’t just turn her back on her wedding vows. It’s not like you’ve taken another wife, or even had another woman in your bed!’

‘That’s true enough,’ Eadwulf replied, his mouth twitching at the indignant look on his friend’s face. ‘But, knowing Leoflaed, she could shun any advances I make towards her, in bed or otherwise. How could I live with her, knowing she despised me? Then, of course, there’s Wigstan to consider. Would I still be welcome in his hall?’

‘Oh, I reckon he’ll see your side of things, Eadwulf. He’s been on the receiving end of Leoflaed’s temper for a lot longer than you have, remember. And I can’t see him turfing you out of his hall just because his daughter stamps her foot and says she can’t bear you to be away for a couple of weeks. So, if she won’t listen to you, she just might pay heed to him.’

‘Well, you’re right about one thing,’ Eadwulf acknowledged with a grimace. ‘Women do tend to say things they don’t mean when they’re distressed. Although, in all fairness, I’m sure it’s not just women who do that.’ He thought of the many times he’d blurted out the first hurtful thing that had come into his head, only to rebuke himself later for doing so. His harsh words to Sigehelm, following his return from Francia all those years ago, rang in his head, as though they’d been said only yesterday.

‘But the thing is,’ he continued, looking steadily into his friend’s brown eyes. ‘I know that Leoflaed’s temper is just her way of venting her worst fear – that I won’t come back anyway, because I’ll be dead. So I’m feeling more than a little guilty, knowing she’s sick with worry.’

Aethelnoth took a deep breath. ‘I suppose you’re right. Odella was bad enough when I told her I’d be going with you. And we’re not even married, let alone have children to consider.’

‘There’s another thing I should have told you,’ Eadwulf confessed, averting his eyes from Aethelnoth’s probing stare. ‘Leaflaed’s with child again. It’s early days, and we weren’t going to say anything for a few months yet. But, the point I’m making is that during these early weeks a woman’s emotions seem to be all over the place. So, I suppose Leoflaed’s temper could, partly, be due to that. And knowing she’s with child is making me feel even worse about leaving her.’

‘If I told you I already knew about the babe, would you be surprised?’

‘Odella again, no doubt,’ Eadwulf said, grinning at Aethelnoth’s guilty nod. ‘Well, I suppose it’s to be expected when those two spend so much time together. I can’t see them keeping secrets from each other. But now,’ he said briskly, feeling better for having unburdened his worries, ‘to the business in hand. Once we’ve found a good site for our base, our main problem will be finding a way to infiltrate the Danish camp, and pinpointing exactly where Ivar is. Then,’ he added, ‘we have the even bigger problem of actually killing him. Not to mention, without getting ourselves killed.

*****

Beyond the southern boundary of the town of Thetford, tents of the Great Army covered the Anglian countryside as far as the eye could see. Campfires glowed in the darkness of the late October evening, the aromas of roasting meat filling the air. Livestock were abundant across King Edmund’s kingdom: Blotmonath had not yet begun and cattle still grazed the pastures. Surrounded by the jarls he’d summoned for the meeting, Ivar gazed into his own campfire, considering the irony of that. Although well into November – the killing month – Blotmonath had descended upon Anglia’s people instead of its livestock. Charred villages were strewn across the kingdom, a reminder to its sanctimonious king of the might of the Norsemen. Edmund had been too stunned to rally his defences in time to save any of them . . .

The fool had really believed that paying their invaders to live in peace on his lands four years ago would still hold sway.

Ivar allowed his formidable stare to move slowly from one jarl to another, gratified to note the squirms and shudders as he did so; the depth of his hold over them. Most were almost pissing themselves, terrified his anger would erupt and they’d be stricken by some vile disease or physical disfigurement. At his side, Halfdan was shooting him wary glances. Even his own brother had never questioned Ivar’s powers, or attempted to put them to the test. Like the others sitting cross-legged around the smouldering fires, Halfdan was just too terrified of the possible consequences to try.

He kept them quivering beneath his fierce appraisal for some moments longer, enjoying, as always, the sensation of absolute control. Six battle hardened jarls, each shivering in his boots in the presence of a single, shrunken and misshapen man, who couldn’t even walk unaided. And not one of them of lower status than himself, all revered by the hundreds of warriors out there. One of them, a Norwegian whose forces had only arrived in Northumbria in the summer, had even awarded himself the title of ‘king’! Yet all had ceded to Ivar’s superior mind; the mind they believed to possess some kind of mystic powers.

Allowing his stony expression to soften, Ivar smiled round at the wary faces, suppressing the irritation he felt. The October night was cold and soon they’d need to be inside their tents, but plans for the coming weeks needed finalising – and he’d no intention of retiring before decisions had been made. He knew that most of the short-sighted fools assumed they’d come to Anglia to vegetate until the spring. But it was clear as day to Ivar that the only sensible course of action would be to make a move. Soon.

‘Winter is approaching,’ he stated, opening the discussion, ‘and with this in mind, I suggest we put to the vote what we deem the most appropriate way in which to spend the icy months. Do we simply stay cosy beneath our tents, wasting valuable time – time we could put to good use filling our coffers with silver?