Blood Eye(93)

'There's another way,' I said, scanning the landscape. 'We'll make them come to us. Make them fight us on ground of our own choosing, Penda. If we go down into the valley, we'll be trapped between the walls and every bloody Welshman who comes to kill us.' I pointed to the black smoke, a dirty smear against the sky. 'We find a good bit of ground, high ground, and we dig in. They'll come to us eventually. Pride will make them.'





The men began to argue. Some suddenly thought it was our only chance, whilst others believed we should attack the fortress before reinforcements arrived.





I touched the Óðin amulet at my throat for luck. At least no one was talking about running back to Wessex now. If I have learned anything about the gods in my long life, it is that they love a stout heart and a strong sword arm, and they love a man who is not afraid to fight when the scales are tipped against him.





Eventually, Penda raised his hand and the men held their tongues. 'Raven,' he said, fixing me with cold, dark eyes, 'choose your ground.' He spat. 'Choose it well, lad,' he warned grimly, his hand resting on his sword's pommel. 'We've got guests coming.'





'There, Penda,' I said without hesitation, pointing to a place on our left where the ground rose gently at first, then more steeply until in five or six hundred paces it levelled off, home to a copse of pine and birch. Where the ground was steepest, rocks broke through the soil and I knew that any obstacle, no matter how small, would count in our favour if our enemies attacked uphill in the dark. A man can break his ankle on a stone poking through the ground.





'It'll have to do,' Penda muttered. 'The trees up there might come in useful.' He turned to Oswyn. 'Take ten lads down to the river and look for fish traps. They moved their sheep out of our way, but they won't have taken the time to bring in their traps, and we'll be glad of a bite before we do some killing.' Oswyn turned to go, but Penda grabbed the big man's shoulder. 'And bring back as many stones as you can carry,' he said, clenching a fist, 'nice smooth 'uns that'll smash Welsh skulls when they come up our hill.' Oswyn grinned and set about his task.





I was watching the Welsh fortress when Penda banged his spear's butt against my helmet. 'You won't make it disappear by staring at it, lad,' he said. 'Better get up that slope and start laying roots.' We trudged up the slope with our heavy shields, spears and swords, looking up at the place from where we would give battle to our enemies. I watched fat Eafa with his unstrung bow stave across his shoulders and I hoped he was as good with the weapon as he said he was. I was glad I had not killed him.





We spent an uneasy night on the hill, made worse because we knew that with every passing hour more Welsh warriors might be coming, drawn by the orange glow of the beacon on the north-east hill, like moths to a candle flame. Oswyn had returned at dusk with four graylings, two large salmon, a trout and several small dace. We cooked and ate the fish with hard bread and cheese, filling our bellies and limbs with strength for the coming fight, and making the most of a good fire, as there was no longer any reason for trying to remain unseen.





'Build her up, lads,' Penda said, pointing at the fire. 'And sing a song. Sing a song and for the love of Christ sing it loud.' He sat in the grass, sharpening his long knife with its white bone handle. 'The happier we look to the Welsh, the more likely they'll be to run up here waving their spears to ruin our fun. With any luck they'll be so dog-tired that they'll fall on our spears.'





I smiled at the words. I do not think Penda knew the effect he had on the warriors around him. He was not a natural leader of men in the way that Jarl Sigurd was, nor did he fill their hearts with false hope. And yet, that night the warriors on that dark hill were glad to sing their song when he told them to. For Penda was a cold-blooded killer and that much was obvious to any man, and that was what they needed him to be.





That dawn, I stood facing east feeling the gentle warmth of the rising sun on my face, and I wondered if I would ever feel it again. Below, the valley still sat in cold shadow. I could make out small figures moving around between the houses, cattle certainly, but men and women too, and I knew they were making preparations to fight. Let them come, I thought. We are ready. Our water skins were replenished and our little hilltop was lined with piles of rounded river stones. There were fewer trees up there than I had thought, which was a good thing as they did not obstruct our view of the ground falling away on all sides up which the Welsh would have to climb to kill us. Also, there was room enough on the summit for the wall we would make with our round shields and our spears.





'I like it up here,' Penda said, breaking the spell. He came to stand beside me at the edge of the flat ground and together we looked down the slope. 'I might come back here and build a house. Just there,' he said, gesturing to a pile of stones. 'A small house, mind, nothing that five or six slaves can't look after well enough.' His scarred face was tight and I could not tell if he was joking. 'I'll come up here in the summers with that redhaired girl from back home. And I'll tell her about how there used to be a fortress down there.'