'And what will you tell Lord Ealdred, Eni?' Penda asked eventually, when those advocating a return to Wessex had said their piece. 'Well, lad, let's hear it.' He was tightening the helmet strap beneath his scarred chin as he spoke. 'Er, sorry, lord,' he mimicked Eni, 'but we couldn't get your son and heir back from the bastard Welsh because . . . well . . . they saw us. So we said they could keep the lad and hared away from the horrible fucking heathens, like dry-cunnied virgins from a Norseman.' He turned to me. 'No offence, heathen,' he added.
'None taken,' I muttered. 'Penda's right,' I said, looking into the men's eyes and lingering on Saba's. There would be no convincing Eni, I knew that much, but if we could give the braver ones hope, that would be enough. Would have to be. 'We go on,' I said, 'and we take Weohstan back to Wessex. He'll be the ealdorman one day, lads, remember that. He won't forget those who crossed Offa's wall to bring him home.'
'And if he's dead?' Saba asked.
'Then he's dead.' I shrugged. 'But his father won't forget those who allowed him to put his son in the ground facing east.'
Oswyn slapped Saba's back. 'You never know, Saba,' he said. 'Ealdred might show his gratitude by giving you young Cynethryth to warm your bed.' The big man stuck out his fat tongue and waggled it. I clenched my jaw and saw that Penda was watching me, his lip curled in mirth. But in truth I was pleased, because Oswyn was the heart of the fighting men amongst them and where he went, they would follow.
We followed sheep tracks and by the afternoon found ourselves at the mouth of the Caer Dyffryn valley. Dark trees crowned the heights on both sides, disappearing to make way for pasture across the valley's slopes, and below us stood the fortress into which the Welsh had driven their livestock. In which they possibly held Weohstan. It was not a big place like King Coenwulf's fortress in Mercia, but it was too big for eleven warriors and twenty merchants and craftsmen to attack with any hope of success. Worse, we had yet to see a single Welshman, which suggested that they had been tracking our progress since we crossed King Offa's wall. If so, they would be ready for us. I rammed the butt of my ash spear into the ground and eyed the fortress. The defences comprised a ditch and mound set with a barricade of pointed timbers, the whole place built in a hollow with the river Wye on its eastern side and high pasture on its west rising to the north.
'Look there, Penda,' I said, pointing at a hilltop to the northeast which overlooked the fortress. 'Looks like a beacon. A watchtower maybe.'
'That red eye of yours sees well enough, lad,' Penda said, frowning as he tried to make out the squat structure on the distant hill. 'Whoresons are watching every move we make. We'll have to wait till dark before we try anything.'
'Dark?' Eni said, glancing anxiously at the sun which was still above us, though it had crossed the meridian.
'In the dark they won't know which direction we're coming at them from,' Penda said. 'We'll have that much, at least.' As he spoke one of the others noticed a faint line of black smoke curling up from the tor.
'They're calling for help,' Oswyn said, pointing his spear towards the rise. 'Won't be long before we're peeling the bastards off each other.'
'Don't get a hard-on, Oswyn,' Coenred blurted. 'Calling for help? They don't need any help, man. They're just spreading the good news about how they're about to dip their spears in Wessex blood.'
I thought Coenred was probably right. Behind their walls, the Welsh had little to fear from us. We were too few and had set ourselves up like the prize dish at a rich man's feast. But regardless of whether or not those in the fortress needed help, soon others would come to feed. For where there is fighting and death there are rich pickings and renown to be earned.
'We can't wait for dark now, Penda,' I said, watching the wisp of smoke make a dirty bloom against the blue sky, 'not if every blood-hungry Welshman for twenty miles is coming to repay Wessex kindness. We don't know the land like they do. In the dark we'll die cheaply.'
'The heathen's right. They'll put us down one by one,' Eafa agreed, wiping the sweat from his brow and gripping his yew bow as though it was the only thing standing between him and his fat ancestors.
Penda shrugged as though resigned to whatever was coming. 'We don't have too many choices right now, Norseman, but you're wrong if you think we won't make the black-shields pay dear. By Christ and his avenging saints, they'll know they came up against Wessexmen by tomorrow. Right, lads?' Some of the warriors nodded and murmured agreement, clasping each other's forearms in grim solidarity. Others stood ashen-faced, perhaps thinking of wives and lovers and children.