Death of Kings_ A Novel - Bernard Cornwell [133]
‘Weohstan won’t like that,’ Edward said unhappily. A man’s horse was one of his most valuable possessions, and not one that was casually lent to a stranger going to war.
No one spoke for a moment, then Sigelf shrugged. ‘Then let a hundred of my men stay here as garrison troops and your, what was his name, Weohstan? He can send a hundred horsemen to replace them.’
And that was how it was decided. Lundene’s garrison would give the army a hundred horsemen and Sigelf’s men would replace them on the walls, and then at last we could march and so next morning the army left Lundene by the Bishop’s Gate and by the Old Gate. We followed the Roman roads north and east, but it could hardly be called a pursuit. Some of the army, those with experience, travelled light, but too many contingents had brought wagons, servants, and too many spare horses, and we were lucky to travel three miles in an hour. Steapa led half the king’s warriors as a vanguard with orders to stay within sight of the army, and he grumbled that he was forced to travel so slowly. Edward had ordered me to stay with the rearguard, but I disobeyed and went far ahead of Steapa’s men. Æthelflaed and her Mercians came with me. ‘I thought your brother insisted you stayed in Lundene?’ I told her.
‘No,’ she said, ‘he ordered me to go to Cirrenceastre.’
‘So why aren’t you obeying him?’
‘I am obeying him,’ she said, ‘but he didn’t tell me which road to take.’ She smiled at me, daring me to send her away.
‘Just stay alive, woman,’ I growled.
‘Yes, lord,’ she said with mocking humility.
I sent my scouts far ahead, but all they discovered were the hoof-prints of the Danish retreat. Nothing, I thought, made sense. The Danes had assembled an army that probably numbered over five thousand men, they had crossed Britain, invaded Wessex, and then done nothing except take plunder. Now they were retreating, but it could hardly have been a profitable summer for them. Alfred’s burhs had done their work by protecting much of Wessex’s wealth, but staving off the Danes was not the same as defeating them. ‘So why didn’t they attack Wintanceaster?’ Æthelflaed asked me.
‘It’s too strong.’
‘So they just walk away?’
‘Too many leaders,’ I said. ‘They’re probably having councils of war just like us. Everyone has a different idea, they talk, and now they’re going home because they can’t make a decision.’
Lundene lies on the border of East Anglia so on our second day we were deep inside Eohric’s territory and Edward released the army to take its revenge. The troops spread out, plundering farmsteads, rounding up cattle and burning villages. Our progress slowed to a crawl, our presence signified by the great pillars of smoke from burning houses. The Danes did nothing. They had retreated far beyond the frontier and we followed them, dropping from the low hills into the wide East Anglian plain. This was a country of damp fields, wide marshes, long dykes and slow rivers, of reeds and wildfowl, of morning mists and eternal mud, of rain and bitter cold winds from the sea. Roads were few and tracks were treacherous. I told Edward time and again to keep the army closed up, but he was eager to ravage Eohric’s land and so the troops spread wider, and my men, still acting as scouts, had a hard time staying in touch with the farthest flung men. The days were shortening, the nights became colder and there were never enough trees to make all the campfires we needed, so instead men used the timber and thatch from captured buildings and at night those fires spread across a great swathe of land, yet the Danes still did nothing to take advantage of our dispersal. We went ever farther into their realm of water and mud, and still we saw no Danes. We skirted Grantaceaster, heading