The Last Kingdom Series Books 1-6

‘They do,’ I agreed. There were swans on the river, corncrakes in the uncut hay and crimson orchids in the meadows. This was the time of year when men should be haymaking or shearing their sheep. I need not be here, I thought to myself. I need not go to this hilltop where the Danes will come to kill us. I looked at my men and wondered if they thought the same, but when they caught my eye they only grinned, or nodded, and I suddenly realised that they trusted me. I was leading them and they were not questioning me, though Leofric understood the danger. He caught up with me.

‘There’s only one way off that hilltop,’ he said softly.

‘I know.’

‘And if we can’t fight our way out,’ he said, ‘then we’ll stay there. Buried.’

‘I know,’ I said again, and I thought of the spinners and knew they were tightening the threads, and I looked up Cynuit’s slope and saw there were some women at the very top, women being sheltered by their men, and I thought Mildrith might be among them, and that was why I climbed the hill because I did not know where else to seek her.

But the spinners were sending me to that old earth fort for another reason. I had yet to stand in the big shield wall, in the line of warriors, in the heave and horror of a proper battle where to kill once is merely to invite another enemy to come. The hill of Cynuit was the road to full manhood and I climbed it because I had no choice, the spinners sent me.

Then a roar sounded to our right, down in the Pedredan’s valley, and I saw a banner being raised beside a beached ship. It was the banner of the raven. Ubba’s banner. Ubba, last and strongest and most frightening of the sons of Lothbrok, had brought his blades to Cynuit. ‘You see that boat?’ I said to Willibald, pointing to where the banner flew. ‘Ten years ago,’ I said, ‘I cleaned that ship. I scoured it, scrubbed it, cleaned it.’ Danes were taking their shields from the shield-strake and the sun glinted on their myriad spear blades. ‘I was ten years old,’ I told Willibald.

‘The same boat?’ he asked.

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Perhaps it was a new ship. It did not matter, really, all that mattered was that it had brought Ubba.

To Cynuit.

The men of Defnascir had made a line where the old fort’s wall had eroded away. Some, a few, had spades and were trying to remake the earth barrier, but they would not be given time to finish, not if Ubba assaulted the hill, and I pushed through them, using my shield to thrust men out of my way, ignoring all those who questioned who we were, and so we made our way to the hill’s summit where Odda’s banner of a black stag flew.

I pulled off my helmet as I neared him. I tossed the helmet to Father Willibald, then drew Serpent-Breath for I had seen Odda the Younger standing beside his father, and he was staring at me as though I were a ghost, and to him I must have appeared just that. ‘Where is she?’ I shouted, and I pointed Serpent-Breath at him. ‘Where is she?’

Odda’s retainers drew swords or levelled spears, and Leofric drew his battle-thinned blade, Dane-Killer.

‘No!’ Father Willibald shouted and he ran forward, his staff raised in one hand and my helmet in the other. ‘No!’ He tried to head me off, but I pushed him aside, only to find three of Odda’s priests barring my way. That was one thing about Wessex, there were always priests. They appeared like mice out of a burning thatch, but I thrust the priests aside and confronted Odda the Younger. ‘Where is she?’ I demanded.

Odda the Younger was in mail. Mail so brightly polished that it hurt the eye. He had a helmet inlaid with silver, boots to which iron plates were strapped and a blue cloak held about his neck by a great brooch of gold and amber.

‘Where is she?’ I asked a fourth time, and this time Serpent-Breath was a hand’s length from his throat.

‘Your wife is at Cridianton,’ Ealdorman Odda answered. His son was too scared to open his mouth.

I had no idea where Cridianton was. ‘And my son?’ I stared into Odda the Younger’s frightened eyes. ‘Where is my son?’

‘They are both with my wife at Cridianton!’ Ealdorman Odda answered, ‘and they are safe.’

‘You swear to that?’ I asked.

‘Swear?’ The Ealdorman was angry now, his ugly, bulbous face red. ‘You dare ask me to swear?’ He drew his own sword. ‘We can cut you down like a dog,’ he said and his men’s swords twitched.

I swept my own sword around till it pointed down to the river. ‘You know whose banner that is?’ I asked, raising my voice so that a good portion of the men on Cynuit’s hill could hear me. ‘That is the raven banner of Ubba Lothbrokson. I have watched Ubba Lothbrokson kill. I have seen him trample men into the sea, cut their bellies open, take off their heads, wade in their blood and make his sword screech with their death-song, and you would kill me who is ready to fight him alongside you? Then do it.’ I spread my arms, baring my body to the Ealdorman’s sword. ‘Do it,’ I spat at him, ‘but first swear my wife and child are safe.’

He paused a long time, then lowered his blade. ‘They are safe,’ he said, ‘I swear it.’

‘And that thing,’ I pointed Serpent-Breath at his son, ‘did not touch her?’

The Ealdorman looked at his son who shook his head. ‘I swear I did not,’ Odda the Younger said, finding his voice. ‘I only wanted her to be safe. We thought you were dead and I wanted her to be safe. That is all, I swear it.’

I sheathed Serpent-Breath. ‘You owe my wife eighteen shillings,’ I said to the Ealdorman, then turned away.

I had come to Cynuit. I had no need to be on that hilltop. But I was there. Because destiny is everything.

Eleven (#ulink_4687048a-93cc-595a-b59b-981873eac2b8)

Ealdorman Odda did not want to kill Danes. He wanted to stay where he was and let Ubba’s forces besiege him. That, he reckoned, would be enough. ‘Keep their army here,’ he said heavily, ‘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.’