Warriors of Ethandun (9 page)

There was a distant commotion as the guard brought everyone from camp to see the Goddess eat. Ursula was tempted to escape mentally if not physically, but she did not. She needed to eat something else and she knew that should she ask these people would provide it.

The crowd clustered around her, keeping a respectful distance. Ursula made her blonde hair longer and thicker, made herself taller still and made her eyes flash with emerald fire. The crowd looked interested. The warrior who appeared to be their leader stepped forward and beckoned to one of the men who were bearing gifts – women's clothes and gold, roast venison and ale. At his leader's signal the gift-bearer stepped forward and Ursula got a closer look at his offering.

‘Lady, Goddess, we have brought you more gifts and will be able to bring more still should you grant us your help in our campaign.'

The gift-bearer, a young blond man, laid out the clothes for her on the platform that had been her bed. There was a long fine linen shift and blue stockings, scarlet leather boots, which would be several sizes too small, a
long violet overdress decorated with gold and silver braid, jewelled clasps and a thick fur-lined cloak. It would have been wonderful had she not been so tall. She made no move to take any of it. A second man made the food offerings, which she did take. She beckoned to him and noted the way his hands trembled when he gave them to her. She did nothing to put any of them at their ease – it did not occur to her. She tore at the venison with eager fingers and stuffed it into her mouth with no concern for appearances: the meat tasted wonderful. The crowd watched silently until she had devoured all that had been given for her and drunk the ale. She did not know if they had enough for themselves so she nodded her thanks. The crowd seemed pleased.

She then waved in the direction of the clothes so that one by one the garments were lifted in the air, displayed and then dropped back, discarded, on to the pallet. ‘This women's stuff is fine enough but not big enough,' she said bluntly. ‘I would have instead war gear and men's clothes more suited to my size.' She did not think a goddess would say please. The leader made a hand signal that sent a man scurrying back to camp.

‘We have need of your wisdom,' the warrior said. Ursula nodded, unsurprised. She waited.

‘We seek a man – an important man. He was once known as King here, before he was deposed. We need to know if he is alive and we need to know where he is.'

Another man emerged, dressed in elaborate robes. He did not speak the same language as the others, so that his servant had to translate. He was angry, frightened; dark
emotions swarmed round him like bees.

‘I don't hold with witchcraft. The Lord will punish us if you carry on like this. We should not seek out Aelfred with witchcraft. We need not concern ourselves with him in any case. Our rightful King, Aethelwold, has all the support we need. He is, after all, the true heir. Our Lord God may punish us and take away that which we have fairly won if we consort with devils.'

The warrior's response was firm. ‘Bishop Aethelred, your god has not seen fit to punish us yet. I am a simple warrior but it seems to me that if he exists at all he is weaker than our Odin and Thor.' There was a warning in his voice as he carried on. ‘Guthrum wants Aelfred found and we will use whatever means we want to do that.'

He turned his attention back to Ursula. ‘Lady, please help us find this man.'

‘You think I am a common witch, some ordinary spae-wife?' The words came to her from the warrior's mind. That was what he hoped, she knew. A real goddess would be troublesome and distract his men from their real task. She also knew that he thought her power too great and her presence too imposing for his hope to be fulfilled.

‘No, no, Lady …' he began earnestly, concerned that he had upset her. She wondered what he thought she might do. She could read his mind or squeeze his heart until it stopped beating, but she would not. The idea of herself as some kind of goddess was amusing. It was hard for Ursula to take the idea seriously. She laughed. Her laughter took the warrior by surprise.

‘Bring me more food and clothing more suitable for a warrior and I will see …' she said. She liked the thought of having something to find in all this vastness of multiple impressions that was there for her taking. What did a king smell like? Look like? Was there something special about his thoughts that might draw her to him? It was a crazy idea that she could find one man she had never met just through the power of her magic, but the thought intrigued her.

She quickly became bored of waiting for the men to return and was on the point of leaving the tedious constraints of her body when the warrior leader, Gunnarr, said, ‘We slew a Saxon giant not long ago.' His men produced a fine green tunic, a padded jacket, mail, a crested helmet with eye guards, leggings, large boots, a round shield, a spear and a sword. This was much more to Ursula's satisfaction – they looked like they would fit and, though the fabric was not so fine, she knew that it cost this war band much more to kit her out in warrior's gear than to give her women's clothes they had little use for. She might not be a real goddess but she had power and she was not to be palmed off with gaudy finery. She knew without being told that the sword was a gift of great value. More than one of the warriors still assembled round her gave it an envious look.

‘And how will I know this sometime King that you want me to find?' Ursula asked as she helped herself to an assortment of roast birds.

‘He stinks of sickness, so they say, and of herbs to cover the stench. I have not met him myself. He is not a big
man, though handy enough in a fight. He serves the dead god on a tree with much devotion. The bishop claims that he did not serve him well enough. I do not know the details. The bishop thought it wise to negotiate with Guthrum and so raised the King's brother's son to the throne. This man, this former King, if he still lives, will be in hiding from Guthrum's men. If he is dead, then there will be plenty of his holy people all around.' Ursula could hear the contempt in his voice. ‘They are always singing dull songs and praying. Guthrum, my kinsman, who is the power behind the throne of this Aethelwold, rules from the Great Hall at Cippenham and would pay well for news of Aelfred.' Gunnarr did not point out that Guthrum would look favourably on the man who would rid him of a potential rival for his easily influenced client king. Ursula understood that he hoped to gain favour with Guthrum any way he could. She had known men like him before somewhere else, and her attention was beginning to wander. The ale was making her feel sleepy and it was good to have a full belly again. She waved her arms and was immediately reclothed in the practical warrior's clothes that she favoured. They felt much like the clothes she had worn before – some other time. The speed of her transformation took those assembled by surprise and several of them cried out.

‘Leave me now,' she said. She was not very interested by the story of Guthrum and the smelly, sick King. She removed her polished helm and lay down on the bed that had been made for her. She held the sword to discourage
any of the warriors from taking back their gift. There was something comforting about holding a sword and something familiar about the male warrior dress. She gave herself up to the magic and let her awareness run free, and yet she could not quite forget the idea of the missing king and found herself seeking him out in all those places where people lived. She soon became entangled in the dreams of warriors, in the hopes of women spinning plans as they spun wool and in the worries of farmers frightened for their crops, fearful of the weather and the hungry hordes of foreigners who plundered and did not plough. Even Ursula, more interested in soaring with the eagles and running with wolves, could not help noticing that most of the people whose thoughts she glimpsed were afraid.

She found the King almost by accident while sharing the flight of a heron over the waterways and marshland of a drowned landscape. His thoughts were more full of fear than most and he projected a powerful sense of guilt and burning regret. It was the strength of his feeling that made Ursula notice him and drew her to investigate more closely. He was with another man, who pulsed a little of magic and who frightened her, reminding her of other people she'd known but couldn't remember – people of power if not of magic, people of will and focused passion. She was afraid of entering his consciousness. Something about him reminded her of shame. Both the one-time King and his companion made her feel confused and uncomfortable and she returned to her body in a kind of panic.

Gunnarr was keeping vigil by her body. When she opened her eyes, his steely gaze was the first thing she saw. ‘The man you seek is to the west in the marsh, where the herons fly,' she said, and the warrior smiled.

The burly householder led Dan and King Aelfred across the small, dry patch of land on which he had built his homestead. The land was virtually an island, surrounded on three sides by reed beds and marsh and on the fourth by a sluggish, grey river swathed in a grey mist: everywhere was covered in mist – it seemed to be the island's natural condition.

The boat was more of a narrow raft with a pole for punting. It didn't look very robust.

‘Is that it?' The King wasn't impressed. ‘You may leave us,' Aelfred said, and their surly companion slunk off, still clutching his injured wrist. The look he gave Dan made him shiver; it would be as well if he never met him again.

The moment their reluctant host had gone, Aelfred fell to the ground clutching his stomach and was violently sick.

‘Are you all right, Sire? Are you poisoned?'

Aelfred, spluttering, shook his head and wiped his mouth on some grasses.

‘No, no. It is a sickness I have had for some time –
God's punishment for my failures and my sins.' Dan helped him to his feet. ‘I need to get back to my family and my men. This trip was a pointless indulgence that could have got me killed but for your timely intervention. You have my thanks and perhaps one day, if I survive and can fight back against the invaders, the thanks of all of Wessex.' He brushed away Dan's supporting arm. ‘Thank you. I am well.'

His face had a greenish look about it and he seemed anything but well. His breath smelled sour and he moved as though he carried a stomach wound. ‘You will escort me back to my hearth troops?'

Dan nodded, though it was less of a question than a command. If Aelfred's claim to kingship was justified, he did not appear to be king of very much, but he spoke like a king and Dan felt helpless to refuse his request: perhaps one good turn might deserve another and this King might help him find Ursula.

Dan was very uncertain stepping on to the raft, which wobbled worryingly. Swimming was the one sport he'd been bad at in school and he knew just how cold and treacherous this water was. It took him a moment to get his balance right and then he helped the King aboard. Aelfred's grip was firm and, although he was not a big man, his arms had a sinewy strength. Sick though he was, Dan realised it would be a mistake to underestimate him.

‘Steer into the sun as far as possible and you will come to my camp,' Aelfred said, sitting himself down carefully so as to counterbalance Dan's weight.

The mist muffled everything and the only sound came
from Dan's amateurish attempts to punt. It was harder than he imagined and he was lucky not to fall in when his pole got stuck in the mud. Dan's whole attention was taken with keeping them afloat and moving in broadly the right direction. The sky was the colour of cotton wool, uniformly clouded so that the sun appeared only as a pale golden haze. He headed towards the haze.

Aelfred did not speak for a while. The sickness appeared to have left him weakened and Dan did not much like the sound of his breathing, which was uneven; he suspected that the King was in a lot of pain and was only grateful that this time he did not share it. When Dan had served King Arturus, he had felt the pain of those around him as if it were his own: he never wanted to know that agony again. Even though he had lost that gift, or curse, of total empathy he was still sensitive to the moods of others and he could tell the King was very deeply troubled. He was about to ask him a little more about his situation when suddenly a distant jangle of metal made him stop punting.

Carefully, so as not to rock the raft, he crouched down low and clumsily got himself into a kneeling position. Aelfred seemed startled by Dan's action – he had been so lost in thought he did not appear to have heard the sound. Dan put his finger to his lips to signal silence and carefully adjusted his sword belt so that it didn't bang against the wood as he changed his weight. Somewhere a horse whickered and stomped. There were voices close by – male voices – and Dan's heart started to thunder in his chest.

As silently as possible he eased Bright Killer out of its scabbard, lifting its hilt up slightly; he was afraid that the damp conditions might make it stick. Aelfred pointed towards the shelter that lay under the low branches of a stumpy tree and the two of them hauled at the tree's low branches to pull themselves out of sight. Dan wrapped himself more tightly in the cloak the woman had given him; it was a faded red brown and effective camouflage for the vivid blue of his sweatshirt. The sunlight was finally beginning to burn away the mist and Dan could see that unless they were careful and lucky they would be all too visible. He hoped he never had to fight on a raft.

The mist did strange things to his concept of direction and even of distance. He was not at all sure of the exact location of the voices, though he strained to work it out. Dan could not at first understand what the men were talking about either. They were not speaking Aelfred's language – whatever that was – nor any of the other languages Dan knew. Remembering what had happened when he'd first met the King he forced himself to close his eyes and let his mind drift. It was very difficult to relax as the slightest shift in his weight threatened to overturn the raft. He forced himself to release the bunched muscles of his neck, to find his place of calm but not his place of madness. When he opened his eyes a moment later, he could see Aelfred staring at him curiously. He tried again. This time something seemed to click into place in his mind – like the moment of clarity when you finally grasped a difficult lesson in school. When the men spoke again, he understood.