The Cross and the Curse (Bernicia Chronicles Book 2) (19 page)

"Is it safe to sleep so close to those stones? Who knows what evil creeps abroad near such ancient cairns?" Acennan asked, though who he addressed was unclear.

Anhaga replied, "I have camped here before and nothing bad befell me." Then, as if an afterthought, "Except for this leg, of course. I went to sleep that night hale. I awoke a cripple." He continued to unbridle the mule. His face betrayed no emotion, though Beobrand was sure he saw a twinkle of humour in his eye.

Acennan spat. "Truly? Then this is a place of evil. We should not rest here."

Beobrand laughed. "Can you not see that he jests? Isn't that so, Anhaga?"

"Of course, my lord," Anhaga answered. Then, after a pause, "If you say so."

"Enough of this," said Beobrand. "The joke wears thin. I do not wish one of the bairns to hear you and be weeping half the night." Anhaga frowned and stomped off to fetch firewood.

"Now Acennan," Beobrand said, "organise the men to keep watch all night. Not for creatures of the otherworld, but for any rogues who would seek to take that which is ours."

A light drizzle fell throughout the night. In the morning they awoke stiff and cold. The scant shelter of the trees did nothing in the face of the soft rain. The damp had seeped into every item of clothing. The moisture seemed to rise as much from the loam beneath them as fell from the leaden sky.

The mood of the travellers was dour. There was little conversation as they packed up the camp and headed north.

"How far now?" Beobrand asked Anhaga.

"Not too far. About half a day at this pace once we pass the stones."

"Good. A dry hall and a warm hearth is what we all need now."

"Aye, and some mead," said Acennan. "Let's not forget mead."

But the mead and hospitality of the hall of Ubbanford would have to wait.

They continued north and a little to the east, crossing several small streams with little difficulty. The hills they traversed now were much smaller than those further south. Yet some were still steep and the drizzle made slopes treacherous. Around midday, they topped a large hill which fell away down to a broad river. At that moment, the murmuring rain ceased and the clouds parted. The sun, unfettered from the clouds, shone brightly, licking the waters of the river as it coiled off into the distance.

Beneath their vantage point, on the southern side of the river, nestled a few buildings. There was a hall, some smaller dwellings, and animal enclosures. Smoke hazed the air above the settlement.

"That is Ubbanford, my lord," said Anhaga.

It seemed a fine place. Cradled in a loop of the mighty river Tuidi and shielded from both north and south by hills, it was all he had imagined and more. He could barely believe it was truly his. He turned to beckon to Sunniva who was making her way up the hill behind him, leading Sceadugenga, who patiently carried four children on his back.

Not his, he corrected himself. Theirs. He would share it all with her.

"Look, my love," he pointed to the cluster of buildings below. "Our new home. Ubbanford."

He looked down again. Eager to take in all the details.

He frowned. Was that a scream he had heard? He scoured the valley for the source of the noise. Movement in the corner of his vision gripped his attention like a hand grasps a throat. There were mounted men outside one of the enclosures. He counted six horses. As he watched, one man dismounted and approached a figure standing at the gate of the enclosure. Then, in the sunlight, the gleam of metal. A vicious blow. Again a scream reaching them on the wind. Thin and distant.

Ubbanford was under attack.

Beobrand turned to Sunniva. "Help me get these children down." He reached for a small boy, whose nose was caked with dry snot. He lifted him from the saddle and placed him on the wet grass. He moved on to the next child, a slightly older girl, who had the sense to hold her hands out to him, making it easier to pick her up. Sunniva sensed his urgency and lifted a third child. Anhaga lifted the fourth.

"What is it?" asked Sunniva, who had not seen what Beobrand had spotted.

Beobrand's face was stern. Hard, blue eyes glaring from deep sockets with the battle-fury that had come upon him. He swung up onto Sceadugenga's saddle.

"Acennan, my shield," he said. Acennan did not question him. He had seen the look on Beobrand's face and knew not to argue. He pulled his lord's shield from the pack mule and ran to the black stallion. He helped Beobrand on with the shield straps.

"What is afoot, Beobrand? If we are to fight, you should wear your byrnie."

"There is no time for that."

Beobrand struggled to control Sceadugenga, who had become skittish, sensing the mood of his rider. The horse stepped to the side and threatened to rear. Beobrand tugged savagely on the reins.

"Arm yourselves. Leave the women here with Anhaga. The rest of you follow me. It seems someone is intent on stealing cattle from Ubbanford. And if they steal from Ubbanford, they steal from me."

With that he dragged his heels into the sides of Sceadugenga and the mount leapt forward, galloping down the slope.

The first thing that Aengus mac Nathair knew of the attack from the south was the thrumming of heavy hooves pounding down the hill towards him. He turned to see what was approaching, half expecting to see one of his own men showing off his horsemanship. Instead he saw a stranger on a huge black steed. The stranger's face was hidden under a metal helm. His dark cloak billowed behind him like the wings of a huge raven. On his left arm he carried a round shield. The central boss gleamed dully. In his right hand he held the longest, wickedest sword Aengus had ever seen.

The hoof-falls drummed like distant thunder. The sheen of the horse's coat gave it the appearance of oiled metal.

The rider was almost upon him. He showed no sign of slowing. Where had he come from?

A moment ago, Aengus had been congratulating himself for silencing the old fool who had sought to stop them taking the livestock from Ubbanford. He had never been allowed to lead a raid before, but his father had given him command this time. After all, word had reached them that Ubba and his sons had died. Ubbanford was ripe for the taking. Women, children and longbeards too old to fight were all that lived there now. But they were rich. Kine, sheep and pigs could all be taken easily.

And Aengus had been itching for a fight. To be able to prove himself to his brothers and his father. He was as strong as Broden and as clever as Torran. He would show them all. His short sword dripped with the blood of the old man he had hacked down. But where he had felt strong and brave a moment before, now his bowels had turned to water.

He stood transfixed in the face of the rider. Where were the others? The men who rode with Aengus? Why did they not move to protect him?

At the last instant, Aengus made a feeble effort to defend himself. He raised his blade and aimed a jab at the chest of the black horse. He mistimed his attack. The full weight of steed and rider hit him with enough force to lift him from his feet and send him reeling to the ground. His sword skittered from his hand.

His breath was forced from his lungs. He could not breathe. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to pull in air.

Beobrand gritted his teeth against the impact with the young man, but when it came, he barely felt it. Sceadugenga crashed into the boy without flinching. The boy careened backwards and fell on his back, where he lay gawping like a beached fish.

Beobrand pulled on the reins, spinning Sceadugenga towards the mounted riders. They all looked on in disbelief at what had just transpired. But they were armed and posed a threat. He fought to control Sceadugenga, who turned a quick circle. Beobrand could not fight from horseback. He swung his right leg over the horse’s back and jumped from the steed.

He gave a quick glance over at the boy sprawled on the muddy ground near the entrance to the fenced enclosure. He had rolled over and was attempting to rise. But he would be no threat for a moment more.

Seeing Beobrand dismounted, one of the horsemen, a bearded man of middling years, with long dark hair streaked with grey, decided it was time to attack. He spurred his mount forward with a shout of defiance.

Beobrand stepped to the right quickly and smashed his shield boss into the horse's long snout. He delivered the blow with crunching force. The horse whinnied and reared. The bearded man yelped and clung to his reins. The horse bucked and then reared again, pawing the air with its hooves. The man lost the battle to stay seated and fell into the mud. The horse instantly galloped away.

The other four horsemen seemed undecided on a course of action. They sat slack-jawed, holding their mounts steady.

The bearded man sat up roaring, furious at his ignominious fall. Beobrand took three quick paces forward and kicked him in the face with all his strength. Teeth shattered. The man's head snapped back and he collapsed into the mud, senseless.

Beobrand grunted. It felt as though he had broken a toe.

He chanced a quick look up the hill. Acennan and the others were running down the wet grass. They bore shields and spears. The sun glinted from their battle-harness. He bared his teeth in a savage grin. These were his gesithas. His hearth warriors. And they were fearsome to behold.

"Hold!" he shouted at the horsemen. "I do not know who you are, but know this. I am Beobrand, son of Grimgundi, thegn of Lord Oswald, king of Bernicia, and I am the new lord of Ubbanford. You have struck down one of my people and for that I demand payment."

"What payment?" asked one of the men. His accent was thick, the words were not natural for his mouth.

"This one," Beobrand pointed Hrunting at the boy he had charged down with Sceadugenga," seems brave enough to slay an unarmed old man. I am armed. And I am not old. I demand he fights me." Beobrand walked over to where the boy's short sword lay in the mud. With the tip of Hrunting, he flicked the sword towards the youth. The blade spun in the air and landed close to him. He stood shakily and picked up his weapon.

The horseman who had spoken said, "That is Aengus, the youngest son of Nathair. You cannot fight him."

"I don't care if he is the Christ who some say is the son of a god. He is on my land and has killed one of my own."

At that moment, Acennan arrived with the rest of his warband. They were all panting from the run. But they were not spent. They stood tall and menacing, brandishing their weapons with the assurance of men used to battle-play.

Beobrand noticed other onlookers peering from behind houses. Staring from darkened doorways. The good folk of Ubbanford were watching. He would show them that their new lord would protect them and exact vengeance from those who crossed them.

He addressed the riders. "The rest of you can go back to this Nathair and tell him that if he seeks to steal from me again he had best be prepared to die." Then, turning to Acennan, "If any of these men interferes with me and young Aengus here, kill them all."

Acennan gave a curt nod.

Beobrand turned his full attention to Aengus. The young man's face was pallid. His eyes were as those of a startled animal. He looked from side to side. But there was no escape.

"It is not fair," Aengus said in a whining voice. "I have no shield or helm." His accent was as heavy as the other man's. They spoke the tongue of the Angelfolc, but Beobrand would wager it was not what their mothers spoke to them.

"Fair? Fair, you say?" Beobrand forced the words past teeth clenched in anger.

Beobrand pulled his war helm from his head. Dropped it on the turf by the enclosure fence. Then, clumsily, he shook his arm free of the shield straps. He propped the linden board against the wooden gate post, next to the corpse of the old man. The greybeard's shoulder had been hewn deeply. The grass around was stained red. It saddened him to think that he would never know this man who had stood bravely before six armed men.

"Now we are evenly matched, you and I," Beobrand said to Aengus. "We are both young, and we each have a sword. Now use yours. You have my word that should you prevail, my men will allow you all to leave in peace. Do not let it be said that Beobrand, son of Grimgundi is not fair."

Aengus did not move. His bottom lip quivered. Beobrand did not want to see him cry. The boy reminded him of Tondberct. He had been happy to kill and rape, but had faced his end with tears and jabbering. A coward's death. Beobrand could almost hear the creak of the rope over the yew branch from where they had hanged Tondberct.

"You had no qualms with using your blade a few moments ago. Now use it to fight me, or I will cut you down where you stand." Still Aengus made no move. So Beobrand closed the distance quickly, raising Hrunting high to give the boy a clear view of his unprotected midriff.

Aengus seized the opportunity. He leapt forward with great speed, sending a darting lunge at Beobrand's stomach. Beobrand dropped the tip of his blade and parried the blow. He took two steps back. The boy was fast.

The spell of inaction now broken, Aengus pressed his attack. He aimed a furious flurry of blows at Beobrand. Beobrand parried and dodged, slowly edging backward. His opponent pushed forward, hope shining in his eyes. Another swinging strike aimed at Beobrand's head. Another parry. The smithy sound of metal on metal was accompanied with sparks as the blades clashed. This had gone on long enough. Beobrand was loath to allow Hrunting's edge to be damaged.