Death of Kings_ A Novel - Bernard Cornwell [138]
I did not answer. I stayed silent because at last I saw what the Norns were doing. I saw the pattern in the weave of all our lives and I understood, finally, the war that passed all understanding. My face must have looked shocked because Edward was staring at me. ‘Lord King,’ I said, ‘order the army to march back across the bridge, then join Sigelf. Do you understand?’
‘You want me to…’ he began, confused.
‘The whole army!’ I shouted. ‘Every man! March them to Sigelf now!’ I shouted at him as though he were my underling and not my king, because if he disobeyed me now he would not be a king much longer. Maybe it was already too late, but there was no time to explain it to him. There was a kingdom to be saved. ‘March them now,’ I snarled at him, ‘back the way we came, back to Sigelf, and hurry!’
And I ran for my horse.
I took my twelve men. We led the horses over the bridge, then mounted and followed the road towards Huntandon. It was a black night, black and cold, rain spitting into our faces and we could not ride fast. I remember being assailed by doubt. Suppose I was wrong? If I was wrong then I was leading Edward’s army back into the battleground the Danes had chosen. I was stranding them in the river loop, perhaps with Danes on every side, but I resisted the doubt. Nothing had made sense, and now it all made sense, all except for the fires that burned far to the north. There had been one smoke plume in the afternoon, now I could see three huge blazes, betrayed by their reflected glow on the low clouds. Why would the Danes be burning halls or villages in King Eohric’s land? It was another mystery, but not one I worried about because the fires were far off, a long way beyond Huntandon.
It was an hour before a sentry challenged us. It was one of my men and he led us to where Finan had the remainder in a patch of woodland. ‘I didn’t retreat,’ Finan explained, ‘because Sigelf isn’t moving. God knows why.’
‘You remember when we were in Hrofeceastre,’ I asked him, ‘talking to Bishop Swithwulf?’
‘I remember.’
‘What were they loading onto the ships?’
There was a moment’s pause as Finan realised what I was saying. ‘Horses,’ he said quietly.
‘Horses for Frankia,’ I said, ‘and Sigelf comes to Lundene and claims he doesn’t have enough horses for his men.’
‘So now a hundred of his men are part of Lundene’s garrison,’ Finan said.
‘And ready to open the gates when the Danes arrive,’ I continued, ‘because Sigelf is sworn to Æthelwold or to Sigurd or to whoever has promised him the throne of Cent.’
‘Jesus and Joseph,’ Finan said.
‘And the Danes haven’t been indecisive,’ I said, ‘they were waiting for Sigelf to declare his loyalty. Now they have it, and the Centish bastard isn’t retreating because he expects the Danes to join him, and maybe they already have, and they think we’re going west and they’ll march fast southwards and Sigelf’s men in Lundene will open the gates and the city will fall while we’re still waiting for the earslings in Bedanford.’
‘So what do we do?’ Finan asked.
‘Stop them, of course.’
‘How?’
‘By changing sides, of course,’ I said.
How else?
Thirteen
Doubt weakens the will. Suppose I was wrong? Suppose Sigelf was simply a stubborn and stupid old man who really did think it was too dark to retreat? But though the doubts assailed me I kept on, leading my men east around the marshland that anchored the right of Sigelf’s line.
The wind was sharp, the night was freezing, the rain malevolent and the darkness absolute, and if it had not been for the Centish campfires we would surely have been lost. A slew of fires marked Sigelf’s position, and there were still more just to the north, which told me that at least some Danes had now crossed the river and were sheltering from the weather in the hovels around the old Roman