The Pale Horseman

'Harald.' Odda the Younger had ridden ahead of the two Danes. He was sleek as ever, gleaming in mail, and with a black cloak draping his horse's rump. He smiled as though he welcomed the meeting.

‘You have summoned the fyrd. Why?'

'Because the king commanded it,' Harald said.

Odda still smiled. He glanced at me, appeared not to notice I was present, then looked to the hall door where Steapa had just appeared. The big man had been talking with Odda the Elder, and now he stared at Odda the Younger with astonishment.

'Steapa!' Odda the Younger said. 'Loyal Steapa! How good to see you!'

'You too, lord.'

'My faithful Steapa,' Odda said, plainly pleased to be reunited with his erstwhile bodyguard. 'Come here!' he commanded, and Steapa pushed past us and knelt in the mud by Odda's horse and reverently kissed his master's boot.

'Stand,' Odda said, 'stand. With you beside me, Steapa, who can hurt us?'

'No one, lord.'

'No one,' Odda repeated, then smiled at Harald. 'You said the king ordered the fyrd summoned?

There is a king in Wessex?'

'There is a king in Wessex,' Harald said firmly.

'There is a king skulking in the marshes!' Odda said, loudly enough for all Harald's men to hear.

'He is the king of frogs, perhaps? A monarch of eels? What kind of king is that?'

I answered for Harald, only I answered in Danish. 'A king who ordered me to burn Svein's boats.

Which I did. All but one, which I kept and still have.'

Svein took off his boar-snouted helmet and looked at me and again there was no recognition. His gaze was like that of the great serpent of death that lies at the foot of Yggdrasil.

'I burned the White Horse,' I told him, 'and warmed my hands on its flames.' Svein spat for answer.

'And the man beside you,' I spoke to Odda now, using English, 'is the man who burned your church at Cynuit, the man who killed the monks. The man who is cursed in heaven, in hell and in this world, yet now he is your ally?'

'Does that goat-turd speak for you?' Odda demanded of Harald.

'These men speak for me,' Harald said, indicating the warriors behind him.

'But by what right do you raise the fyrd?' Odda asked. 'I am Ealdorman!'

'And who made you Ealdorman?' Harald asked. He paused, but Odda gave no answer. 'The king of frogs?' Harald asked. 'The monarch of eels? If Alfred has no authority then you have lost yours with his.'

Odda was plainly surprised by Harald's defiance, and he was probably irritated by it, but he gave no sign of annoyance. He just went on smiling. 'I do believe,' he said to Harald, 'that you have misunderstood what happens in Defnascir.'

'Then explain to me,' Harald said.

'I shall,' Odda said, 'but we shall talk with ale and food.' He looked up at the sky. The brief sun was gone behind cloud and a chill wind was gusting the thatch of the street. 'And we should talk under a roof,' Odda suggested, 'before it rains again.'

There were matters to be agreed first, though that was done soon enough. The Danish horsemen would withdraw to the eastern end of the town while Harald's men would retreat to the fort. Each side could take ten men into the hall, and all of those men were to leave their weapons heaped in the street where they were to be guarded by six Danes and as many Saxons.

Harald's servants brought ale, bread, and cheese. There was no meat offered, for it was the season of Lent. Benches were placed at either side of the hearth. Svein crossed to our side of the fire as the benches were brought and at long last deigned to recognise me.

'It was really you who burned the ships?' he asked.

'Including yours.'

'The White Horse took a year and a day to build,' he said, 'and she was made of trees from which we'd hung Odin's sacrifices. She was a good ship.'

'She's all ash on the seashore now,' I said.

'Then one day I shall repay you,' he retorted, and though he spoke mildly, there was a world of threat in his voice. 'And you were wrong,' he added.

'Wrong?' I asked. 'Wrong to burn your ships?'

'There was no altar of gold at Cynuit.'

'Where you burned the monks,' I said.

'I burned them alive,' he agreed, 'and warmed my hands on their flames.' He smiled at that memory. 'You could join me again?' he suggested. 'I shall forgive you burning my ship, and you and I can fight side by side once more? I need good men. I pay well.'

'I am sworn to Alfred.'

'Ah,' he nodded. 'So be it. Enemies.' He went back to Odda's benches.

'You would see your father before we talk?' Harald asked Odda, gesturing towards the door at the hall's end.

'I shall see him,' Odda said, 'when our friendship is repaired. And you and I must be friends.' He said the last words loudly and they prompted men to sit on the benches. 'You summoned the fyrd,' he spoke to Harald, 'because Uhtred brought you orders from Alfred?'

'He did.'

'Then you did the right thing,' Odda said, 'and that is to be praised.' Svein, listening to the translation that was provided by one of his own men, stared flatly at us. 'And now you will do the right thing again,' Odda continued, 'and send the fyrd home.'

'The king has ordered otherwise,' Harald said.

'What king?' Odda asked.

'Alfred, who else?'

'But there are other kings in Wessex,' Odda said. 'Guthrum is King of East Anglia, and he is in Wessex, and some say Æthelwold will be crowned king before the summer.'

'Æthelwold?' Harald asked.

'You'd not heard?' Odda asked. 'Wulfhere of Wiltunscir has sided with Guthrum, and both.

Guthrum and Wulfhere have said Æthelwold will be King of Wessex. And why not? Is not Æthelwold the son of our last king? Should he not be king?'

Harald, uncertain, looked at me. He had not heard of Wulfhere's defection, and it was hard news for him. I nodded. 'Wulfhere is with Guthrum,' I said.

'So Æthelwold, son of Æthelred, will he king in Wessex,' Odda said, 'and Æthelwold has thousands of swords at his command. Alfrig of Kent is with the Danes. There are Danes in Lundene, on Sceapig and on the walls of Contwaraburg. All northern Wessex is in Danish hands. There are Danes here, in Defnascir. What, tell me, is Alfred king of?'

'Of Wessex,' I said.

Odda ignored me, looking at Harald.

'Alfred has our oaths,' Harald said stubbornly.

'And I have your oath,' Odda reminded him. He sighed. 'God knows, Harald, no one was more loyal to Alfred than I. Yet he failed us! The Danes came and the Danes are here, and where is Alfred? Hiding!

In a few weeks their armies will march! They will come from Mercia, from Lundene, from Kent! Their fleets will be off our coast. Armies of Danes and fleets of Vikings! What will you do then?'