The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans
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at the town of Breahinga. Anyone coming from Stybbor on their way to Lundene was all but certain to stop there – or at least be seen passing by.
Malgard drained his cup and rose from the table. It was time to visit an old friend.
Sleppa would know how to solve the problem.
∞ ∞ ∞
The going was easy for some time.
We marched through the town again, Harold and Tostig at the head of a column of warriors looking grim and purposeful, and there was none of the importuning of the day before, as if the townsfolk knew not to approach their lord in such a mood.
I marched behind Harold and Tostig with Valla and Carl, and behind us came the warriors in two lines, armed with axe, spear and sword. Several of them wore shirts of rings despite the expense, and I understood that these were elite troops – members of the household guard of the two greatest lords of the realm, after the king. Behind them straggled the servants and last of all creaked the wagon, loaded to the brim with food and war gear. Elric, due to his battered condition, was allowed to ride on the wagon, but I suspected it was also a measure to prevent his escape, should such occur to him.
Little did I realise, at the time, how much of the next few years would be spent in that way – marching with warriors, going to or from a battle. It had its horrors and its hardships, but also its joys, and if I am honest I am rarely so happy as when marching.
Certainly, on that blue morn, as we left behind the smoke and stench of Theodford Harold’s mood lifted and, as though sensing his lightness of heart, the men started singing as we marched through the winding lanes of East Anglia.
‘We should be riding!’ said Tostig.
‘Not this again,’ laughed Harold, and I understood they were continuing a long debate.
It is not just a means of transport,’ insisted Tostig. ‘The Frank lords go heavily armoured on horseback and fight above the heads of the fyrd.’
‘I will not command men to fight unless I stand with them,’ replied Harold. ‘And I will not imperil a beast in war because men choose to fight.’
‘A commander should know how the whole battle fares,’ said Tostig. ‘In the shield wall, we see only the foes before us but, from horseback, you can see where the shield wall is holding and where reserves are needed.’
‘I have trusted men … wise in battle along the line. Would you have me usurp their trust by calling all orders myself?’
‘All I’m saying,’ replied Tostig, ‘is that there are new ways of doing warfare. The Franks … and especially the Normans … use horses and ’tis said the shield wall cannot stand against them.’
‘Maybe not a Frankish shield wall,’ sneered Harold. ‘But in any case, we have no quarrel with the Normans, and if we did, they could hardly bring their war horses to Inglalond, could they?’
Tostig fell silent and Harold laughed.
‘And how would you use your sword atop a horse, brother? One swing of your blade and you’d have its head off! Horses are expensive!’
The sun grew warmer and we all began to sweat. Valla, struggling along in her green dress suddenly vanished into the forest.
‘Halt,’ called Tostig, raising his arm.
‘I’ll catch up,’ called Valla. ‘Don’t wait.’
‘I’ll wait for her,’ I said, and the brothers marched on with the column. As the wagon creaked past, I nodded at Elric who nodded in turn but his eyes passed over me to stare at Valla vanishing through the trees. Then he glanced back at me with a look of such insolent triumph I immediately knew something was wrong.
I turned and ran into the woods.
‘Valla!’ I shouted once, then knew further shouting would be pointless if she chose not to answer.
I ran some fifty yards into the forest but then stopped – stared about at the encircling trees and knew she was the better woodsman. If she wanted to leave, she could leave at any time. With heavy heart, I headed back to the road before I lost myself.
‘Why did you shout?’
I looked up and Valla stood on the deeply rutted path, dressed in her cloak of skins – the green dress stuffed into the top of the leather satchel she always carried.
What’s more, the dog Malgard was with her – I’d all but forgotten him.
‘I smelled the poison of the town,’ said Valla. ‘It would have been bad for his wound, so I bade him wait for me here. He is a good dog and obeyed, but now he is hungry.’
The meaning behind her words was obvious.
‘If he obeys you, then he’s your responsibility,’ I said. ‘And why are you wearing that hideous cloak when Harold gave you such a fine dress? He’ll be insulted.’
‘The green dress is fit for halls and feasts but ’tis heavy work for marching. And Harold has more to occupy his mind than the garb of women.’
She started walking in the wake of the wagon – a couple of hundred paces ahead – and Malgard romped after her, no longer troubled by the knife wound I had dealt him only four nights ago. I remarked on his recovery and Valla laughed.
‘I have some skill with healing,’ she said. ‘The poultice I made for him contained much of my power. It has drawn out the hurt and repaired the rent … but it was only ever a small wound … oh slayer of yesterday’s hares.’
She smiled and I knew she was mocking me, but it was too nice a day to be angry with her. I suddenly felt free and full of purpose. My ambition had cost me my family, due to the manner of God’s testing me, but now my mission of revenge had the support of the lords Harold and Tostig, and I was marching to Lundene to see the king in company with Valla, my wife – who seemed to be thawing towards me. She was striding ahead and watching her brown shapely legs was a torment. The cloak of skins seemed to offer glimpses of what it concealed, like a gauzy veil blurring my vision and my wits.
There were things she wasn’t telling me – that much was clear. I was all but certain that Valla, in league with the Lady Swanneshals, had freed the serfs the night before. But why? Why would the wife of Harold defy him in such a manner?
I could never think about Valla for long without growing uncomfortably aroused, which did not make for easy marching and I tried to think about something else. Revenge upon Malgard – that soon had me distracted and I began to imagine my audience with Edward, with Harold and Carl at my side to vouch for me – then Malgard in chains, pleading for mercy before his treacherous head was struck from his shoulders and stuck on a spike on Lundene Bridge where the crows and ravens would flense the flesh from his skull while his body was cut to shreds and left in the gutter to be devoured by rats and curs as low as he.
It occurred to me that God would be aware of my vengeance fantasy and would therefore do aught to aid or hinder me as suited His purpose. It then occurred to me that God must be aware of my desire for Valla and that in all likelihood He would devise another test for me.
‘I have made a decision,’ said Valla, wrenching me out of my reverie.
‘What sort of decision?’
‘I have decided, husband, that there is some good in you. Therefore, when the time comes … you may be the one to take my maidenhead.’
I couldn’t have been more shocked if the skies had suddenly opened and God Himself appeared before an army of angels to make the same announcement. I fell to my knees between the ruts of the lane and raised my eyes to heaven – awed and humbled by His greatness and subtlety. I felt tears trickle down my cheeks as Valla approached smiling.
As she did, I felt myself overwhelmed with a love for her so powerful it hurt. I could hardly speak, so overcome with emotion as I was, and it seemed that all of His creation was glowing with blessed perfection