A few Danes had crossed the river to ride round Æscengum’s walls, but most were still on the far bank. They were doing what I wanted, yet my heart felt dour that night and I had to pretend confidence. ‘Tomorrow, lord,’ I told Edward, Alfred’s son, ‘the enemy will cross the river. They will be pursuing me, and you will let them all get past the burh, wait one hour and then follow.’
‘I understand,’ he said nervously.
‘Follow them,’ I said, ‘but don’t get into a fight till you reach Fearnhamme.’
Steapa, standing beside Edward, frowned. ‘Suppose they turn on us?’
‘They won’t,’ I said. ‘Just wait till his army has gone past, then follow it all the way to Fearnhamme.’
That sounded an easy enough instruction, but I doubted it would be so easy. Most of the enemy would cross the river in a great rush, eager to pursue me, but the stragglers would follow all day. Edward had to judge when the largest part of Harald’s army was an hour ahead and then, ignoring those stragglers, pursue Harald to Fearnhamme. It would be a difficult decision, but he had Steapa to advise him. Steapa might not have been clever, but he had a killer’s instinct that I trusted.
‘At Fearnhamme,’ Edward began, then hesitated. The half-moon, showing between clouds, lit his pale and anxious face. He looked like his father, but there was an uncertainty in him which was not surprising. He was only about seventeen years old, yet he was being given a grown man’s responsibility. He would have Steapa with him, but if he was to be a king then he would have to learn the hard business of making choices.
‘Fearnhamme will be simple,’ I said dismissively. ‘I shall be north of the river with the Mercians. We’ll be on a hill protected by earthworks. Harald’s men will cross the ford to attack us, and you will attack their rear. When you do that we attack their vanguard.’
‘Simple?’ Steapa echoed with a trace of amusement.
‘We crush them between us,’ I said.
‘With God’s help,’ Edward said firmly.
‘Even without that,’ I snarled.
Edward questioned me for the better part of an hour, right until the bell summoned him to prayers. He was like his father. He wanted to understand everything and have everything arranged in neat lists, but this was war and war was never neat. I believed Harald would follow me, and I trusted Steapa to bring the greater part of Alfred’s army behind Harald, but I could give Edward no promises. He wanted certainty, but I was planning battle, and I was relieved when he went to pray with his father.
Steapa left me and I stood alone on the rampart. Sentries gave me room, somehow aware of my baleful mood, and when I heard footsteps I ignored them, hoping that whoever it was would go away and leave me in peace.
‘The Lord Uhtred,’ a gently mocking voice said when the steps paused behind me.
‘The Lady Æthelflæd,’ I said, not turning to look at her.
She came and stood beside me, her cloak touching mine. ‘How is Gisela?’
I touched Thor’s hammer at my neck. ‘About to give birth again.’
‘The fourth child?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and shot a prayer towards the house of the gods that Gisela would survive the birth. ‘How is Ælfwynn?’ I asked. Ælfwynn was Æthelflæd’s daughter, still an infant.
‘She thrives.’
‘An only child?’
‘And going to stay that way,’ Æthelflæd said bitterly and I looked at her profile, so delicate in the moonlight. I had known her since she was a small child when she had been the happiest, most carefree of Alfred’s children, but now her face was guarded, as though she shrank from bad dreams. ‘My father’s angry with you,’ she said.
‘When is he not?’
She gave a hint of a smile, quickly gone. ‘He wants you to give an oath to Edward.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why won’t you?’
‘Because I’m not a slave to be handed on to a new master.’
‘Oh!’ she sounded sarcastic, ‘you’re not a woman?’
‘I’m taking my family north,’ I said.
‘If my father dies,’ Æthelflæd said, then hesitated. ‘When my father dies, what happens to Wessex?’
‘Edward rules.’
‘He needs you,’ she said. I shrugged. ‘As long as you live, Lord Uhtred,’ she went on, ‘the Danes hesitate to attack.’
‘Harald didn’t hesitate.’
‘Because he’s a fool,’ she said scornfully, ‘and tomorrow you’ll kill him.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said cautiously.
A murmur of voices made Æthelflæd turn to see men spilling from the church. ‘My husband,’ she said, investing those two words with loathing, ‘sent a message to Lord Aldhelm.’
‘Aldhelm leads the Mercian troops?’
Æthelflæd nodded. I knew Aldhelm. He was my cousin’s favourite and a man of unbounded ambition, sly and clever. ‘I hope your husband ordered Aldhelm to Fearnhamme,’ I said.
‘He did,’ Æthelflæd said, then lowered and quickened her voice, ‘but he also sent word that Aldhelm was to withdraw north if he thought the enemy too strong.’
I had half suspected that would happen. ‘So Aldhelm is to preserve Mercia’s army?’
‘How else can my husband take Wessex when my father dies?’ Æthelflæd asked in a voice of silken innocence. I glanced down at her, but she just gazed at the fires of Godelmingum.
‘Will Aldhelm fight?’ I asked her.
‘Not if it means weakening Mercia’s army,’ she said.
‘Then tomorrow I shall have to persuade Aldhelm to his duty.’
‘But you have no authority over him,’ Æthelflæd said.
I patted Serpent-Breath’s hilt. ‘I have this.’
‘And he has five hundred men,’ Æthelflæd said. ‘But there is one person he will obey.’
‘You?’
‘So tomorrow I ride with you,’ she said.
‘Your husband will forbid it,’ I answered.
‘Of course he will,’ she said calmly, ‘but my husband won’t know. And you will do me a service, Lord Uhtred.’
‘I
