Death of Kings_ A Novel - Bernard Cornwell [82]
A man cannot fight on horseback in a deep, old wood. There are too many obstacles. They could not ride abreast because the path was too narrow and the undergrowth too thick on either side, and so the spearman led and he, like his companion, was right-handed, which meant the spear was on the right side of his tired horse and to my left. I let them come, wondering why only two were attacking, but put that mystery to one side as they got close and I could see the man’s eyes in the slit of his helmet, and I simply stepped to my right, into brambles and behind an oak’s trunk and the spearman galloped past helplessly and I stepped back out and swung Serpent-Breath with all my strength so that she slammed the second horse in the mouth, splintering teeth and scattering blood and the beast screamed and swerved and the rider was falling, tangled in the reins and stirrups as the first man tried to turn.
‘No!’ a voice shouted from deeper in the trees. ‘No!’
Was he talking to me? Not that it mattered. The swordsman was on his back now, struggling to rise, while the spearman was struggling to turn his horse on the narrow path. The swordsman’s shield was looped to his left forearm so I simply stood on the willow boards, trapping him, and plunged Serpent-Breath down. Hard down. Once.
And there was blood in the leaf-mould and a choking sound and a body shaking beneath me and a dying man’s sword arm going limp as the spearman kicked his horse back towards me. He lunged with the spear, but it was simple to avoid by swaying to one side and I seized the ash shaft and tugged hard and the man had to let go or else be pulled from the saddle, and his horse was backing away as the rider tried to draw his sword and he was still trying when I slid Serpent-Breath up his right thigh, beneath his mail, opening his skin and muscle with her point and edge and then finding the bone of his hip and thrusting harder and shouting with all my breath to scare him and to give the lunge force. The sword was in his body and I was grinding it, turning it, pushing it, and the voice from deep in the wood shouted again, ‘No!’
But yes. The man had half drawn his sword, but the blood was dripping from his boot and stirrup and I simply caught his right elbow with my left hand and pulled so that he came off his horse. ‘Idiot,’ I snarled at him, and killed him as I had killed his companion, then turned fast towards the place from where the voice had sounded.
Nothing.
Somewhere far off a horn sounded, then was answered by another. The sounds came from the south and told me Edward’s forces were coming. A bell began to toll, presumably from Sceaftesburi’s convent or church. The wounded horse whinnied. The second man died and I pulled Serpent-Breath’s tip from his throat. My boots were dark with new blood. I was tired. I wanted that meal and bed and whore, but instead I walked down the path towards the place where the two fools had come from.
The path turned where thick foliage screened the view, then it opened into a glade around a wide stream. The day’s first sunlight flickered through leaves to make the grass very green. There were daisies in the grass and Sigebriht was there with three men and with Æthelflaed, all of them mounted. It was one of these men who had shouted at his two dead companions, but which man, or why, I could not tell.
I walked out of the shadow. The helmet’s face-plates were closed, my mail and boots were blood-spattered, Serpent-Breath was reddened. ‘Who’s next?’ I asked. Æthelflaed laughed. A kingfisher, all red and blue and bright, darted down the stream behind her and vanished in the shadows. ‘Lord Uhtred,’ she said, and kicked her heels so that her horse came towards me.
‘You’re unhurt?’ I asked.
‘They were all very polite,’ she said, looking back at Sigebriht with a mocking expression.
‘There’s only four of them,’ I said, ‘so which one do you want me to kill first?’
Sigebriht