The Burning Land (19 page)

I ordered Sihtric to keep a watch on the back yard, which was easily done through a gap in the wattle wall. Another man watched the quay. “Tell me when they leave,” I said.

“Leave?” Finan asked, grinning, “why would they leave, lord?”

“Always make the enemy do what you want them to do,” I said,
and I climbed the ladder to the whore-loft where three girls clung to each other on one of the straw mattresses. I grinned at them. “How are you, ladies?” I asked. None of the three answered, but just watched as I attacked the underside of the low thatched roof with Wasp-Sting. “We’re leaving soon,” I said to them, speaking English, “and you’re welcome to come with us. A lot of my men don’t have a woman. Better to be married to a warrior than whoring for that fat Dane. Is he a good master?”

“No,” one of them said in a very low voice.

“He likes to whip you?” I guessed. I had ripped out a great bundle of reeds and the smoke from the tavern fire began to drift through the new smoke-hole I had made. Guthlac would doubtless see the fresh hole I had made in his roof, but it was unlikely he would send men to block it. He would need ladders.

“Finan!” I called down, “bring me fire!”

An arrow thumped into the roof, confirming that Guthlac had indeed seen the hole. He must have thought I was trying to lead my men out of the torn thatch and his archers now shot up at the roof, but they were in the wrong place to send their arrows through the new gap. They could only shoot across the ragged hole, which meant that any man trying to escape would have been hit as soon as he clambered through the thatch, but that was not why I had torn down the moldering reed. I looked back to the girls. “We’ll be leaving very soon,” I said. “If you want to come with us then get dressed, go down the ladder, and wait by the front door.”

After that it was simple. I hurled burning scraps of driftwood from the tavern fire as far as I could and watched them fall onto the thatched roofs of the nearby cottages. I burned my hand, but that was a small price to pay as the flames caught the reeds and flared bright. A dozen of my men were passing the fiery brands up the ladder, and I threw each flaming timber as far as I could, trying to set fire to as many houses as I could reach.

No man could watch his town burning. Fire is a huge fear, for thatch and timber burn easily, and a fire in one house will quickly spread to others, and Guthlac’s men, hearing the screams of their women and children, deserted him. They used rakes to pull the
burning thatch off the rafters and they carried pails of water from the river, and all we had to do was open the tavern’s front door and go to the ship.

Most of my men and two of the whores did just that, running down the pier and reaching the safety of the ship, where Osferth’s men were armored and armed, but Finan and I dodged into the alley beside the Goose. The town was lurid with flames now. Men shouted, dogs barked, and woken gulls screamed. The fire was noisy, and panicking folk screamed contrary orders as they desperately tried to save their property. Heaps of burning thatch filled the streets while the sky was red with sparks. Guthlac, intent on saving the Goose, was shouting at men to pull down the house nearest to the tavern, but in the confusion no one was taking any notice of him. Nor did they notice Finan and me as we emerged into the street behind the tavern.

I had armed myself with a log from the tavern, one of those waiting to be put on the fire, and I just swung it hard so that it smashed into the side of Guthlac’s helmet, and he went down like an ox that had been spiked between the eyes. I took hold of his mail coat and used it to haul him back into the alley, then down the pier. He was heavy, so it took three of my men to carry him across the trading ship and throw him onto
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, and then, satisfied that all my crew was safe, we loosed the mooring lines. The ship drifted upstream on the incoming tide, and we countered it with oar strokes, backing water as we waited for the ebb to start.

We watched Dumnoc burn. Six or seven houses were alight now, their flames roaring like a furnace and spewing sparks high into the night sky. The fires lit the scene, throwing a raw shaky light across the river. We saw men pull down houses to make a gap over which they hoped the flames would not jump and we saw a chain of folk passing water from the river, and we just watched, amused. Guthlac recovered his senses to find himself sitting on the small prow platform, stripped of his mail and bound hand and foot. I had put the wolf’s head back on the bows. “Enjoy the view, Guthlac,” I said.

He groaned, then remembered the purse at his waist into which he
had put the silver I had paid him for our supplies. He felt inside, and found no coins left. He groaned again and looked up at me and this time saw the warrior who had killed Ubba Lothbrokson beside the sea. I was in full war-gear, mailed and helmeted, with Serpent-Breath hanging from my silver-studded belt.

“I was doing my duty, lord,” Guthlac said.

I could see mailed men ashore and guessed the household troops of whoever was Guthlac’s lord had arrived, but they could do nothing to hurt us unless they decided to crew one of the moored ships, but they made no attempt to do that. They just watched the town burning, and sometimes turned to gaze at us. “They could at least piss on the flames,” Finan said reprovingly, “do something useful!” He frowned down at Guthlac. “What do we do with this one, lord?

“I was thinking of giving him to Skade,” I said. Guthlac looked at her, she smiled, and he shuddered. “When I first met her,” I told Guthlac, “she’d just tortured a thegn. She killed him and it wasn’t pretty.”

“I wanted to know where his gold was,” she explained.

“It wasn’t pretty at all,” I said. Guthlac flinched.

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hung in the slack tide. It was high-water now and the river looked wide, but that was deceptive because beneath the shivering red-reflecting surface were shoals of mud and sand. The current would help us soon, but I wanted to wait until there was sufficient daylight to see the channel markers, and so my men stirred their oars to keep us lingering off the burning town. “What you should have done,” I told Guthlac, “is brought your men right into the tavern while we were drinking. You’d have lost a few, but you’d at least have stood a chance.”

“You’re going to put me ashore?” he asked plaintively.

“Of course I am,” I said pleasantly, “but not yet. Look at that!” A house had just collapsed into its own flames and the great beams and rafters exploded gouts of flame, smoke, and sparks toward the clouds. The roof of the Goose had caught the fire now and, as it flared bright in the sky, my men cheered.

We left unmolested, sliding down the river in the day’s first wan light. We rowed to the channel’s end where the water fretted white and wide on the long shoals, and it was there that I untied Guthlac’s bonds and pushed him to
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’s stern. I stood beside him on the steering platform. The tide was taking us farther out to sea, and the ship was shuddering and bucking to the wind-driven waves. “Last night,” I said to Guthlac, “you told us we were welcome in Dumnoc. You gave us leave to spend the night in peace, remember?”

He just looked at me.

“You broke your word,” I said. He still said nothing. “You broke your word,” I said again, and all he could do was shake his head in terror. “So you want to go ashore?”

“Yes, lord,” he said.

“Then make your own way,” I said, and pushed him overboard. He gave a cry, there was a splash as he fell, then Finan rapped the order for the oars to bite.

Later, many days later, Osferth asked me why I had killed Guthlac. “He was harmless, surely, lord?” he asked, “just a fool?”

“Reputation,” I answered, and saw Osferth’s puzzlement. “He challenged me,” I explained, “and if I had let him live then he would have boasted that he challenged Uhtred of Bebbanburg and lived.”

“So he had to die, lord?”

“Yes,” I said, and Guthlac did die. We rowed offshore and I watched the reeve struggle in our wake. For a moment or two he managed to keep his head above water, then he vanished. We hoisted the sail, felt the ship lean to the long wind, and headed north.

We had more fog, more days and nights in empty creeks, but then the winds swung to the east and the air cleared and
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leaped northward. Winter had touched the air.

The last day of the voyage was bright and cold. We had spent the night offshore, and so reached our destination in the morning. The wolf’s head was on the prow, and the sight of it sent small fishing boats scurrying for shelter among the scatter of rocky islands where seals glistened and stubby puffins whirred into the sky. I had taken down the sail and, in the long gray swells, rowed
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closer to the sandy beach. “Hold her here,” I ordered Finan. The oars rested and the ship heaved slow. I stood in the prow with Skade and gazed westward. I was dressed in my war-glory. Mail and helmet and sword and arm rings.

I was remembering a far-off day when I had been on this same beach and had watched, amazed, as three ships came southward to ride the waves as
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now rode them. I had been a child, and that had been my first glimpse of the Danes. I had marveled at their ships, so lean and beautiful, and at the symmetry of their oar-banks that had risen and fallen like magic wings. I had watched, astonished, as the Danish leader had run the oars in full armor, stepping from shaft to shaft, risking death with every step, and I had listened to my father and my uncle curse the newcomers. Within hours my brother had been killed, and within weeks my father followed him to the grave, and my uncle had stolen Bebbanburg and I had joined the family of the oar-runner, Ragnar the Fearless. I learned Danish, fought for the Danes, forgot Christ and welcomed Odin, and it had all begun here, at Bebbanburg.

“Your home?” Skade asked.

“My home,” I said, for I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg and I was gazing at that great fortress on its rearing rock above the sea. Men lined the wooden ramparts and stared back. Above them, flying from a staff erected on the seaward gable of the great hall, was the flag of my family, the wolf’s head, and I ordered the same flag hoisted on our mast, though there was hardly enough wind to display it. “I’m letting them know that I live,” I told her, “and that so long as I live they should be frightened.” And then fate put a thought into my head and I knew I would never retake Bebbanburg, would
never scale the rock and climb the walls unless I did what Ragnar had done so many years before. The prospect frightened me, but fate is inexorable. The spinners were watching me, waiting, needles poised, and unless I did their bidding then my fate would be failure. I had to run the oars.

“Hold the oars steady!” I ordered the twenty rowers on the landward flank. “Hold them level and hold them hard!”

“Lord,” Skade said warningly, but I saw the excitement in her eyes too.

I had worn my full armor to appear as a warlord to my uncle’s men in Bebbanburg, and now they might watch me die because one slip on the long shafts would send me to the sea’s bed, dragged down by the mail I wore. But the conviction was too strong on me. To gain everything a man must risk everything.

I drew Serpent-Breath. I held her high in the air so that the garrison of the stronghold would see the sun glint on the long steel, then I stepped off the ship’s side.

The trick of walking the oar-bank is to do it fast, but not so fast that it looks like a panicked run. It was twenty steps that had to be taken with a straight back to make it look easy, and I remember the ship rolling and the fear twitching in me, and each oar dipping beneath my tread, yet I made those twenty steps and leaped off the last oar to scramble onto the stern where Sihtric steadied me as my men cheered.

“You damned fool, lord,” Finan said fondly.

“I’m coming!” I shouted at the fortress, but I doubt the words carried. The waves broke white and sucked back from the beach. The rocks above the beach were white with frost. It was a gray-white fortress. It was home. “One day,” I said to my men, “we shall all live there.” Then we turned the ship, hoisted the sail again, and went south. I watched the ramparts till they vanished.

And that same day we slid into the river mouth I knew so well. I had taken the wolf’s head off the prow because this was friendly land, and I saw the beacon on the hill and the ruined monastery and the beach where the red ship had rescued me, and then, on the height of the tide, I ran
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onto the shingle where over
thirty other ships were already beached, all guarded by a small fort beside the ruined monastery on the hill. I jumped ashore, stamped my feet in the shingle, and watched the horsemen riding from the fort. They came to discover our business and one lowered a spear toward me. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

The spear-point lowered and the man smiled. “We were told to expect you sooner, lord.”

“There was fog.”

“And you are welcome, lord. Whatever you need is yours. Whatever!”

And there was warmth, food, ale, welcome, and next morning horses for Finan, Skade, and myself, and we rode southwest, not far, and my crew came with me. An ox-drawn cart carried the treasure chest, our armor, and our weapons.
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was safe in the river, guarded by the garrison there, but we went to the greater fortress, the place I had known we would be welcomed, and the lord of that greater fortress rode to greet us. He was roaring incoherently, shouting and laughing, and he leaped from his horse, as I did, and we met on the track where we embraced.

Ragnar. Jarl Ragnar, friend and brother. Ragnar of Dunholm, Dane and Viking, lord of the north, and he clasped me, then punched a fist into my shoulder. “You look older,” he said, “older and much uglier.”

“Then I get more like you,” I said.

He laughed at that. He stepped back and I saw how big his belly had grown in the years since we had last met. He was not fat, just bigger, but he seemed as happy as ever. “You’re all welcome,” he bellowed at my crew. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“We were slowed by fog,” I explained.