Amber Treasure, The (10 page)

They had killed half a dozen in
the village as well as Cuthwine − all those we had buried. As many again
were wounded including my father. Then there were eight or nine missing −
mostly villagers, but also Mildrith, Aedann and his parents.

The last three vexed us: Welsh
slaves missing after a Welsh raid. One of them I had seen armed and walking
westwards, towards Elmet. It did not take much for many in the village to
conclude the obvious. Aedann and his parents were spies and in league with the
Welsh and had taken advantage of the raid to escape.

Aidith looked small and sad as
she sat on a stool in the Villa kitchen where Mother and Sunniva had been
preparing food when she had come to find us. She told us that when the raiders
arrived in the village there was a brief fight with the few men there who, not
being in the company, had not been away with us in the woods. These were too
young or old, too ill or unfit to be warriors. None were given any mercy and
most died there and then, though some had fled towards the Villa.

“Then the raiders started
searching the village,” Aidith said. “They took anything of value, but they
seemed to be looking for a specific item. They kept babbling on about
something, but none of us could understand what it was they were saying.”

“Do you know what it was they
were looking for, child?” asked my father.

“Not at first, my Lord, but then
that horrible big brute with one eye started asking us questions in English. He
said he knew we had a great treasure and he wanted to know where it was. Well,
I didn't know what he meant. Then he slapped me hard and said something about
...”

Aidith hesitated and looked at my
mother.

“Go on,” urged Father.

“He kept saying, ‘Amber treasure,
where is the amber treasure?’ Then he went off with his men and we were rounded
up and led away. Cerdic found us soon after that, of course,” she nodded, her
gaze flicking over towards me.

We sat in silence for a moment
and exchanged glances, but I could tell from the look in the eyes of all my
family that we were thinking the same thing. Aidith had said One Eye asked
about the ‘amber treasure’. He could have meant only one thing: my mother’s
priceless amber and silver set of jewellery. It was indeed a treasure; brought
from the distant Baltic by traders to Deira, where it then became a king’s gift
to a great warrior: my uncle.

Mother started crying. She had
never worn it before in public and now, the day after she had proudly displayed
her jewellery, the raiders had come looking for it and they had killed Cuthwine
and taken Mildrith because of it.

“It’s my fault ... it’s all my
fault,” she sobbed. Father went across and took her in his arms, rocking her
gently as if she was a child. Then, even whilst showing such tender love to his
wife, he turned to me and his eyes now burnt with terrible anger as he
whispered to me a single word.

“Aedann!”

I nodded. Aedann the slave,
bitter at his lot in life, was a spy. He had somehow passed news of the great
treasure that lay hidden at the Villa and the prize drew a warband looking for
it. He had escaped with his parents and though his treachery had lost us the
jewels, it had taken two far more precious items from us − Cuthwine and
Mildrith.

“Aedann!” I replied.

The next day, Lilla arrived at
the Villa with news from Wicstun. When it had been attacked, Aethelric had
still been there and alongside Wallace, had fought bravely enough to repel the
raiders. Even so, Wicstun had suffered losses too, as well as having more
prisoners taken away. Aethelric then dithered about what to do, but Wallace
persuaded him on a course of action and in the end the Prince had agreed.

“So, I am sent to summon the
Wicstun Company to muster to Lord Wallace, immediately. You are going to strike
back against the bastards. You are going to get our people back and make these
Elmetae pay for what they did ... you are going to Elmet!”

So, there it was: war at last and
Cerdic, son of Cenred of the Villa was going along. I gathered my spear, bone
helmet, sword and shield and as I prepared to say my goodbyes, I wandered over
to the burial ground, knelt down and I swore an oath over the grave of my dead
brother.

“Cuthwine,” I whispered, “I’m
going away now. I am going away to war. I will come back, I swear it: but I
have work to do first and promises to keep.”

Firstly, I thought of my little
sister, Mildrith, taken as a prize of war: as loot in fact and dragged back to
be a slave.

I would find her and bring her
home.

I thought of Aedann the betrayer.
I had treated him as a friend and that mistake had cost me dearly.

I would find him and he would
pay.

Finally, I thought of that
ghastly scarred face with one merciless eye, coldly looking at his victims.
This was the man who had slain my brother and taken my uncle’s sword.

I would find him, kill him and
bring the sword back home!

Chapter Eight

Muster at Wicstun

The next morning,
the official summons arrived. Lord Wallace was ordering all the company to
muster at Wicstun. Father called me into his room where he lay in his bed,
still recovering from his wounds. He looked me up and down for a moment.

“Son,” he began at last, “I must
ask you to grow up fast. Lord Wallace has called for the men of the village to
go to him and that means they must have a leader.”

I nodded feeling with a growing
sense of anxiety that I knew where this conversation was going.

“With Cuthwine ...,” he started
then paused, unable to say the word ‘dead’, “... with Cuthwine ... gone and me
injured, you must do it.”

“Father I ... I’m not sure I can.
I’m afraid I will mess it up.”

“You must do it!” he said
abruptly, then just as suddenly realising he had spoken harshly, he smiled at
me. “Cerdic, you are my son and I know that you can do this. You can depend on
Grettir: he will advise you wisely. The men are brave and will fight well, but
they need a leader. That has to be you: lead and they will follow.”

So it was that ten men got ready
to leave the village that noon. There was Grettir, Cuthbert, Eduard - groaning
as he lifted a spear and leant it against his injured shoulder - six other villagers
and myself. We collected our weapons and we were supplied with ale, smoked
cheese and meats as well as some bread.

The village folk gathered to see
us off. I looked for Aidith, hoping to say something to her, but I could not
spot her. The mood around the Villa was bleak. Only a few days before, the
village had lost twelve members and now another ten were going away. No one
argued − we were going to get the others back after all − yet the
fear hung in the air that morning, unspoken but palpable, that there would be
yet more loss, more death and more sorrow to cope with in the days ahead. Some
families parted emotionally, others without a word. Mother hugged me as tightly
as she had not done for many years and Sunniva kissed me on the cheek. Neither
said much, but in the expression in their eyes I read the words: ‘Come back,
Cerdic’.

As we marched towards the Roman
road that would take us to Wicstun, I chanced a glance behind. I could just see
the Villa in the distance and − standing there, still watching us −
my mother and sister. As I reached the main road, the Villa disappeared from
sight and I felt an aching, maudlin feeling in my heart. This was it: I was
going to war. Through childhood it had been this moment I had dreamt about and
waited for. Lilla’s warriors were always brave and valiant, so why did I feel
scared and homesick?

Just then, I saw a shadow under a
large beech tree beside the road. The shadow detached itself and came into the
light and I recognised, with a jump of the heart, that it was Aidith. She moved
towards me, looking bashful, yet eager to say something.

“Cerdic, I wanted to say … that
is I need to say…,” she stammered. This was new. Aidith was usually
self-assured and full of laughter. She blushed, then, taking a step forward,
kissed me on the lips.

Before I could say a word, she
ran past me − without looking back − and on down the lane to the
village. I stared after her for a few moments, before realising I was standing
on my own in the road and that I was now fifty yards behind the rest of the men
who were still heading north, towards Wicstun. Turning away from sights and
thoughts of home, I ran and caught up with the rest of our band and marched
with them, off to war.

It was early afternoon when we
reached Wicstun. From a distance, we could see a pall of smoke that still
lingered over the town. Many houses were damaged and not a few burnt down
completely. The townsfolk were walking around with the same dazed expression
that the villagers of Cerdham had worn the last few days. In the market square,
a few dozen men were already gathering. Men and youths from the company were
cleaning and sharpening weapons. From the nearby smithy, the sounds of forging
and hammering could be heard, whilst the womenfolk were organising food
supplies on carts. In the centre of the chaos, on a dais outside the main hall,
stood Lord Wallace wearing a well made, but slightly rusty, chain shirt and a
sturdy helm.

Grettir stopped walking and we
all gathered up behind him. I waited to see what would happen next, but then
noticed that everyone else was looking at me and I realised that they were
expecting me to talk to Wallace. Gulping and feeling the gaze of every man in
the square upon me I walked up to him and made a slight bow.

“Lord Wallace, how are things in
Wicstun?” I asked.

Wallace looked at me blankly for
a minute, as if not sure who he was expecting to see, then he blinked and
spoke.

“Ah, Cerdic, it’s good to see you
again − but not like this. I’m sorry to hear the news about your brother:
he was a brave warrior,” he said.

I just nodded and thanked him for
the sympathy.

“As you see,” Wallace went on,
“we were hit hard here also. About fifty warriors − the bulk of their force
− attacked us. Maybe another twenty raided farms and villages to the
north: a heavy raid indeed. Twenty of our men were killed and as many again
wounded, but we drove them off, the maggot-ridden scum.”

His eyes unfocused, he paused to
think, then mused, “I wonder what was behind all of this. Why did they attack
right now? I mean, the Elmetae have not attacked in my lifetime. Oh, I know
about the rumours of an alliance with Rheged and I guess I knew that one day it
would happen, but we have heard nothing to suggest an agreement has been
reached, nor less about attacks elsewhere. Just one warband − say one
hundred men − from Elmet attacking alone: it does seem odd.”

Wallace looked at me then, his
eyebrow raised as though he thought I might have the answer. So, I told him
about the amber treasure and the news that the warband’s leader − a
one-eyed warrior chieftan − had been asking for it. I told him about
Aedann and how I thought he had betrayed the news of that great prize to them.

He nodded and looked thoughtful.
Then, sitting back on a cart loaded with spears, he rubbed his chin and
squinted at me.

“Of course, Samlen One Eye could
not resist that,” he said. Then, seeing the quizzical expression on my face, he
explained. “Prince Samlen is brother to Ceredig, the King of Elmet. He took
that wound to the eye years ago, in the fighting near Eoforwic, when Elmet sent
an army to help hold the city - it was your uncle Cynric inflicted it, so
Grettir told us - since then Samlen has hated us and wanted revenge. It seems,
from what I hear, that he is trying to persuade his brother to ally with Owain
and is desperate to make his name in the war against us. He is proud as well as
cruel. He does however have a weakness: he loves plunder and loot to levels
bordering on obsession.”

“So, he would be likely to go
after my mother’s jewellery?”

Wallace looked at me and then
nodded.

“Yes. Yes he would, perhaps even
if Ceredig had not yet agreed to fight us. But he is jealous of his treasures.
Therefore, he attacks in many places, so that the rest of his men are occupied
ransacking poor farms and our town. Meanwhile, he led a much smaller group
− maybe those most loyal to him − to the Villa, to claim his
prize.”

Around us the carts had been
loaded now and more of the company had assembled. Wallace looked at them for a
moment and then back at me.

“This could alter things. Ceredig
hesitates because he has little money. Wars cost money and he will need a lot
to attack us. That amber necklace and the rest; it’s worth a fortune. It could
arm and keep an army in the field for months.”

I began to wonder if the jewels
were cursed. They seemed to bring nothing but death and disaster. In any event,
it looked like I now had a fourth reason to go to Elmet.

“Then we must try and get them
back, my Lord!”

Wallace nodded.

“Yes, Cerdic, we must.”

The company assembled and Wallace
asked the leader of each contingent to join him in a council. I represented the
Villa. Wallace had laid out a map on the table. It was made of cured vellum,
now cracked and torn with age. I had never seen one before and looked at it
curiously.

“It’s old that map. When we
attacked Eoforwic, when I was young, we took plunder and treasure. One of the
Welsh lords had some scrolls and this was with them. I think it was made by the
Roman army just before they left,” Wallace explained.

I peered at it again, but it was
all lines and letters which I could not understand. Looking around at the
doubtful expressions on the faces of the others present, I knew that I was not
alone. So, Wallace interpreted it for us.

“See that picture that looks like
a castle? That is Eoforwic − the Romans called it Eboracum. Wicstun does
not seem to have existed at the time, but all the Roman forts and villas are on
it. Look, Cerdic: that is your Villa,” he said, pointing at a small square near
the Roman road that ran past Cerdham and on to Eoforwic. He then waved his hand
at another part of the map.

“Now, everyone, look over here.
That’s the River Derwent and that is the Ouse. Our scouts report that the trail
left by the raid went that way, over the river just west of the Villa, and
Cerdic here thinks he saw Samlen and his band go past the royal forests there
just three nights back.”

I nodded and then I had a
thought. Cuthbert had told us that he occasionally went hunting with his father
in the border lands west of the Derwent. They had, out of curiosity, once
strayed to the Ouse and reckoned that it had been a day’s journey from the
village to the border and back again. If so, it would take us a good half day
to reach the border from where we were. But, what he had also told me was there
was a ford over the Derwent just near where we were boar hunting and another
crossing the Ouse further to the west. I told Wallace this.

“Right then,” he said, biting his
lip, “I think that is where they were heading. If so, we should be able to
follow them easily enough. After that − I don’t know.”

“The biggest settlement in that
area is Salebeia,” one of the other men said.

Wallace nodded and pointed and we
could see a small town just the other side of the Ouse. He tapped his hand on
the map, further over.

“The Welsh capital is at Loidis
there, but that is twenty miles and more beyond the border. We must hope they
have not gone that far!”

Our fears were that we might be
captured in Elmet by the warriors of King Ceredig of that land and be taken off
to slavery or even killed outright. We would have to travel quietly, through
hostile territory, which was going to be hard for one hundred of us. Yet, if we
could manage a surprise attack on wherever our people were being held, we might
be successful. Wallace told us to be ready at dawn and sent us to get some sleep.

I was just leaving when there was
a knock on door and one of Wallace’s older veterans entered; a wild looking man
called Sigmund. He stepped up to Wallace, who nodded at him to speak in front
of us all. He had been compiling a list of the dead, wounded and those missing
from the town.

“Apart from the twenty men who
were slain, I reckon thirty or more folk are missing, my Lord. Some of them
were seen being dragged away. Others we have no idea about, like Molly Baker,
the lad Hussa ... my sister Emma, Ken the farrier ... and several others,
besides.”

So, Hussa was missing as well as
Mildrith. In all likelihood they would be taken to the same place. Wallace was
thinking this too.

“Well, maybe we will find them all
in one group if we move quickly. Right,” he said, clapping his hands, “I think
it is time for sleep now and then we will see what fortune tomorrow brings.”

Bowing, we left Wallace alone in
the room with his map and I went to find a place for the villagers and me to bed
down.

The company departed Wicstun at
first light, amongst scenes like those of the previous day at the Villa. The
anxiety felt by their relatives for the men about to depart and the hope that
we might find those taken from them, mixed as one in embraces and final words.
Then we were off and following the trail left by the raiders, which was still
visible in the mud and damaged crops through the fields southwest of Wicstun.

As we marched along I was
surprised to see the bard Lilla amongst the ranks. He was chatting to the men,
telling jokes and singing little ditties. Catching my glance, he came over to
us and greeted me by name.

“Sorry again about your brother,
Cerdic. Good man he was − I thought. I'll tell you a story sometime about
what he got up to when he was away with the Fyrd a year or so back. Make your
hair stand on end it will,” he said, with a sad little smile.

“Thanks Lilla, I would appreciate
that one day, when the pain is less raw. But tell me: what are you doing here?”

“Oh, looking for songs,” he
replied cheerfully.

He saw my quizzical expression
and sighed, as if talking to the village idiot.

“Sagas don’t just pop up in bards’
heads, you know. We try to be where stories are happening and then we know what
to put in them.”

“Can’t that be a bit dangerous?”

“Well ... yes, but I've been
lucky so far.”

“I hope your luck lasts −
for all our sakes,” I muttered.

Mid-morning saw us cross the
Derwent near the Villa − itself out of sight in the woods and hills to
the east. By shortly after noon, we had reached the approaches to the Ouse and
we slowed our pace to make a more cautious advance. Finally, we halted and
Wallace sent out scouts across the river to trace the direction taken by the
warband.

Whilst they were away, we rested
and ate some bread and meat as we crouched in low scrub overlooking the Ouse.
About a mile to the west and a little way down the river, we could see the
smoke from a small settlement and beyond it a larger town − Salebeia.
Further west, the hills rose higher and higher, until they became the mountains
of the Pennines.