LITMIR.BIZ

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‘and Alfred can march to attack them.’

      ‘Alfred,’ I pointed out, ‘is besieging Exanceaster.’

      ‘He will leave men there to watch Guthrum,’ Odda said loftily, ‘and march here.’ He did not like talking to me, but I was an Ealdorman and he could not bar me from his council of war that was attended by his son, the priests and a dozen thegns, all of whom were becoming irritated by my comments. I insisted Alfred would not come to our relief, and Ealdorman Odda was refusing to move from the hilltop because he was sure Alfred would come. His thegns, all of them big men with heavy coats of mail and grim, weather-hardened faces, agreed with him. One muttered that the women had to be protected.

      ‘There shouldn’t be any women here,’ I said.

      ‘But they are here,’ the man said flatly. At least a hundred women had followed their men and were now on the hilltop where there was no shelter for them or their children.

      ‘And even if Alfred comes,’ I asked, ‘how long will it take?’

      ‘Two days?’ Odda suggested. ‘Three?’

      ‘And what will we drink while he’s coming?’ I asked. ‘Bird piss?’

      They all just stared at me, hating me, but I was right for there was no spring on Cynuit. The nearest water was the river, and between us and the river were Danes, and Odda understood well enough that we would be assailed by thirst, but he still insisted we stay. Perhaps his priests were praying for a miracle.

      The Danes were just as cautious. They outnumbered us, but not by many, and we held the high ground which meant they would have to fight up Cynuit’s steep slope, and so Ubba chose to surround the hill rather than assault it. The Danes hated losing men, and I remembered Ubba’s caution at the Gewæsc where he had hesitated to attack Edmund’s forces up the two paths from the marsh, and perhaps that caution was reinforced by Storri, his sorcerer, if Storri still lived. Whatever the reason, instead of forming his men into the shield wall to assault the ancient fort, Ubba posted them in a ring about Cynuit and then, with five of his shipmasters, climbed the hill. He carried no sword or shield which showed he wanted to talk.

      Ealdorman Odda, his son, two thegns and three priests went to meet Ubba and, because I was an Ealdorman, I followed them. Odda gave me a malevolent look, but again he was unable to deny me, and so we met halfway down the slope where Ubba offered no greeting and did not even waste time on the usual ritual insults, but pointed out that we were trapped and that our wisest course was to surrender. ‘You will give up your weapons,’ he said, ‘I shall take hostages, and you will all live.’

      One of Odda’s priests translated the demands to the Ealdorman. I watched Ubba. He looked older than I remembered, with grey hairs among the black tangle of his beard, but he was still a frightening man; huge chested, confident and harsh.

      Ealdorman Odda was plainly frightened. Ubba, after all, was a renowned Danish chieftain, a man who had ranged across long seas to give great slaughter, and now Odda was forced to confront him. He did his best to sound defiant, retorting that he would stay where he was and put his faith in the one true God.

      ‘Then I shall kill you,’ Ubba answered.

      ‘You may try,’ Odda said.

      It was a feeble response and Ubba spat in scorn. He was about to turn away, but then I spoke and needed no interpreter. ‘Guthrum’s fleet is gone,’ I said. ‘Njorð reached from the deep, Ubba Lothbrokson, and he snatched Guthrum’s fleet down to the seabed. All those brave men are gone to Ran and Ægir.’ Ran was Njorð’s wife and Ægir, the giant who guarded the souls of drowned men. I brought out my hammer charm and held it up. ‘I speak the truth, Lord Ubba,’ I said. ‘I watched that fleet die and I saw its men go under the waves.’

      He stared at me with his flat, hard eyes and the violence in his heart was like the heat of a forge. I could feel it, but I could also sense his fear, not of us, but of the gods. He was a man who did nothing without a sign from the gods, and that was why I had talked of the gods when I spoke about the fleet’s drowning. ‘I know you,’ he growled, pointing at me with two fingers to avert the evil of my words.

      ‘And I know you, Ubba Lothbrokson,’ I said, and I let go of the charm and held up three fingers. ‘Ivar dead,’ I folded one finger down, ‘Halfdan dead,’ the second finger, ‘and only you are left. What did the runes say? That by the new moon there will be no Lothbrok brother left in Midgard?’

      I had touched a nerve, as I intended to, for Ubba instinctively felt for his own hammer charm. Odda’s priest was translating, his voice a low murmur, and the Ealdorman was staring at me with wide astonished eyes.

      ‘Is that why you want us to surrender?’ I asked Ubba. ‘Because the runesticks tell you we cannot be killed in battle?’

      ‘I shall kill you,’ Ubba said. ‘I shall cut you from your crotch to your gullet. I shall spill you like offal.’

      I made myself smile, though that was hard when Ubba was making threats. ‘You may try, Ubba Lothbrokson,’ I said, ‘but you will fail. And I know. I cast the runes, Ubba, I cast the runes under last night’s moon, and I know.’

      He hated it, for he believed my lie. He wanted to be defiant, but for a moment he could only stare at me in fear because his own runesticks, I guessed, had told him what I was telling him, that any attack on Cynuit would end in failure. ‘You’re Ragnar’s boy,’ he said, placing me at last.

      ‘And Ragnar the Fearless speaks to me,’ I said, ‘he calls from the corpse-hall, he wants vengeance, Ubba, vengeance on the Danes, for Ragnar was killed treacherously by his own folk. I’m his messenger now, a thing from the corpse-hall, and I have come for you.’

      ‘I didn’t kill him!’ Ubba snarled.

      ‘Why should Ragnar care?’ I asked. ‘He just wants vengeance and to him one Danish life is as good as another, so cast your runes again and then offer us your sword. You are doomed, Ubba.’

      ‘And you’re a piece of weasel shit,’ he said and said no more, but just turned and hurried away.

      Ealdorman Odda was still staring at me. ‘You know him?’ he asked.

      ‘I’ve known Ubba since I was ten years old,’ I said, watching the Danish chieftain walk away. I was thinking that if I had a choice, that if I could follow my warrior’s heart, I would rather fight alongside Ubba than against him, but the spinners had decreed otherwise. ‘Since I was ten,’ I went on, ‘and the one thing I know about Ubba is that he fears the gods. He’s terrified now. You can attack him and his heart will let him down because he thinks he will lose.’

      ‘Alfred will come,’ Odda said.

      ‘Alfred watches Guthrum,’ I said. I was not certain of that, of course. For all I knew Alfred could be watching us now from the hills, but I doubted he would leave Guthrum free to plunder Wessex. ‘He watches Guthrum,’ I said, ‘because Guthrum’s army is twice as large as Ubba’s. Even with his fleet half drowned, Guthrum has more men, and why would Alfred let them loose from Exanceaster? Alfred won’t come,’ I finished, ‘and we shall all die of thirst before Ubba attacks us.’

      ‘We have water,’ his son said sulkily, ‘and ale.’ He had been watching me resentfully, awed that I had spoken so familiarly with Ubba.

      ‘You have ale and water for a day,’ I said scornfully and saw from the Ealdorman’s expression that I was right.

      Odda turned and stared south down the Pedredan’s valley. He was hoping to see Alfred’s troops, yearning for a glimpse of sunlight on spear heads, but of course there was nothing there except the trees stirring in the wind.

      Odda the Younger sensed his father’s uncertainty. ‘We can wait for two days,’ he urged.

      ‘Death will be no better after two days,’ Odda said heavily. I admired him then. He had been hoping not to fight, hoping that his king would rescue him, but in his heart he knew I was right and knew that these Danes were

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