Death of Kings_ A Novel - Bernard Cornwell [51]
I announced my presence by riding close to the walls with my wolf’s head banner and, just as before, Haesten could not resist the lure. He brought a dozen men this time, but approached me on his own, hands spread wide. He was still grinning. ‘That was clever, my friend,’ he greeted me.
‘Clever?’
‘Jarl Sigurd was not pleased. He came to rescue me and you burned his fleet! He’s not happy.’
‘I didn’t want his happiness.’
‘And he’s sworn you’ll die.’
‘I think you once swore the same.’
‘I fulfil my oaths,’ he said.
‘You break oaths like a clumsy child breaks eggs,’ I said scornfully. ‘So who did you bow the knee to? Sigurd?’
‘To Sigurd,’ he admitted, ‘and in return he sent me his son and seven hundred men.’ He gestured towards the horsemen who had accompanied him and I saw the sullen young face of Sigurd Sigurdson scowling at me.
‘So who commands here?’ I asked. ‘You or the boy?’
‘I do,’ Haesten said. ‘My job is to teach him sense.’
‘Sigurd expects you to do that?’ I asked, and Haesten had the grace to laugh. He was looking beyond me, at the tree line, trying to determine how many men I might have brought to reinforce Merewalh. ‘Enough to destroy you,’ I answered his unspoken question.
‘I doubt that,’ he said, ‘or else you wouldn’t be talking, you’d be fighting.’
That was true enough. ‘So what did Sigurd promise you in return for your oath?’ I asked.
‘Mercia,’ came the reply.
It was my turn to laugh. ‘You get Mercia? Who rules Wessex?’
‘Whoever Sigurd and Cnut decide,’ he said airily, then smiled. ‘Maybe you? I think if you grovel, Lord Uhtred, the Jarl Sigurd will forgive you. He’d rather you fought with him than against him.’
‘Tell him I’d rather kill him,’ I said. I gathered my stallion’s reins. ‘How is your wife?’
‘Brunna is well,’ he said, looking surprised that I had asked.
‘Is she still a Christian?’ I asked. Brunna had been baptised, but I suspected the whole ceremony had been a cynical exercise by Haesten to allay Alfred’s suspicions.
‘She believes in the Christian god,’ Haesten said, sounding disgusted. ‘She’s forever wailing to him.’
‘I pray she has a comfortable widowhood,’ I said.
I turned away, but just then a man shouted and I twisted back to see Sigurd Sigurdson spurring towards me. ‘Uhtred!’ he shouted.
I curbed the horse, turned, waited.
‘Fight me,’ he said, dropping from the saddle and drawing his sword.
‘Sigurd!’ Haesten said in warning.
‘I am Sigurd Sigurdson!’ the pup shouted. He was glaring up at me, sword ready.
‘Not now,’ Haesten said.
‘Listen to your nursemaid,’ I told the boy, and that provoked him to swing the blade at me. I parried it with my right foot so that the sword struck the metal of the stirrup.
‘No! Haesten shouted.
Sigurd spat towards me. ‘You’re old, you’re frightened.’ He spat again, then raised his voice. ‘Let men say that Uhtred ran away from Sigurd Sigurdson!’
He was eager, he was young, he was a fool. He was a big enough lad, and his sword was a fine blade, but his ambition outstripped his ability. He wanted to make a reputation and I remembered how I had wanted the same at his age, and how the gods had loved me. Did they love Sigurd Sigurdson? I said nothing, but kicked my feet from the stirrups and swung myself down from the saddle. I drew Serpent-Breath slowly, smiling at the boy and seeing the first shadow of doubt in his belligerent face.
‘Please, no!’ Haesten called. His men had closed up, and so had mine.
I held my arms wide, inviting Sigurd to attack. He hesitated, but he had made the challenge and if he did not fight now then he would look a coward and that thought was unbearable and so he leaped towards me, his blade snake fast, and I parried it, surprised at his speed, then pushed him with my free hand so that he staggered back. He slashed again, a wild stroke, and I parried it again. I was letting him attack, doing nothing except defend myself, and that passivity drove him to a greater fury. He had been taught sword-craft,