Death of Kings_ A Novel - Bernard Cornwell [117]
Steapa led the newcomers. He dismounted and clambered down the river bank to a small shelf of mud where he cupped his hands. ‘Where can we cross?’
‘To the west,’ I shouted back, ‘how many are you?’
‘Two hundred and twenty!’
‘We’ve got seven hundred Danes here,’ I called, ‘but I don’t think this is their great army!’
‘More of our people are coming!’ he called, ignoring my last words and I watched him clamber back up the bank.
He went west, vanishing in the trees as he sought a ford or bridge. I went back to the neck and saw the Danes still sitting in their line. They had to be bored, but they made no effort to provoke us, even when evening came and went. Haesten must have known I would not meekly surrender, yet he made no move to enforce his morning threat. We watched the Danish campfires spring up again, we watched westwards for the arrival of Steapa, we watched and we waited. Night fell.
And in the dawn the Danes were gone.
Æthelflaed arrived an hour after the sun rose, bringing almost one hundred and fifty warriors. Like Steapa she had to ride west to find a ford and it was midday before we were all together. ‘I thought you were going south,’ I greeted her.
‘Someone has to fight them,’ she retorted.
‘Except they’ve gone,’ I said. The land to the north of the neck was still dotted with smouldering campfires, but there were no Danes, only hoof tracks going eastwards. We now had an army, but no one to fight. ‘Haesten never meant to fight me,’ I said, ‘he just wanted to draw men here.’
Steapa looked at me with a puzzled expression, but Æthelflaed understood what I was saying. ‘So where are they?’
‘We’re in the west,’ I said, ‘so they must be in the east.’
‘And Haesten’s gone to join them?’
‘I’d think so,’ I said. We knew nothing for certain, of course, except that Haesten’s men had attacked south from Ceaster and then, mysteriously, ridden eastwards. Edward, like Æthelflaed, had responded to my very first warnings, sending men north to discover whether there was an invasion or not. Steapa was supposed to confirm or deny my first message, then ride back to Wintanceaster. Æthelflaed had ignored my orders to shelter in Cirrenceastre and instead brought her own house-warriors north. Other Mercian troops, she said, had been summoned to Gleawecestre. ‘That’s a surprise,’ I said sarcastically. Æthelred, just as he had the last time Haesten invaded Mercia, would protect his own lands and let the rest of the country fend for itself.
‘I should go back to the king,’ Steapa said.
‘What are your orders?’ I asked him. ‘To find the Danish invasion?’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘Have you found it?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Then you and your men come with me,’ I said, ‘and you,’ I pointed to Æthelflaed, ‘should go to Cirrenceastre or else join your brother.’
‘And you,’ she said, pointing back at me, ‘do not command me, so I’ll do what I wish.’ She stared at me challengingly, but I said nothing. ‘Why don’t we destroy Haesten?’ she asked.
‘Because we don’t have enough men,’ I said patiently, ‘and because we don’t know where the rest of the Danes are. You want to start a battle with Haesten and then discover three thousand mead-crazed Danes are in your rear?’
‘Then what do we do?’ she asked.
‘What I tell you to do,’ I said, and so we went eastwards, following Haesten’s hoof-prints, and it was noticeable that no more steadings had been burned and no villages sacked. That meant Haesten had been travelling fast, ignoring the chances for enrichment because, I assumed, he was under orders to join the Danish great army, wherever that was.
We hurried too, but on the second day we were close to Liccelfeld