Warriors of the Storm. Bernard Cornwell
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Leofstan said happily. ‘They are the halt, the lame, and the blind! They are beggars and outcasts! They are the hungry, the naked and the friendless! They are all God’s children!’
‘And what are they doing here?’ I asked.
Leofstan chuckled as though my question was too easy to answer. ‘Our dear Lord commands us to look after the helpless, Lord Uhtred. What does the blessed Matthew tell us? That when I was hungry you gave me food! When I was thirsty you gave me drink, when I was a stranger, you gave me shelter, when I was naked you clothed me, and when I was sick you visited me! To clothe the naked and to give help to the poor, Lord Uhtred, is to obey God! These dear people,’ he swept an arm at the hopeless crowd, ‘are my family!’
‘Sweet suffering Jesus,’ Finan murmured, sounding amused for the first time in days.
‘Praise be to God,’ Ceolnoth said, though without much enthusiasm.
‘You do know,’ I called down to Leofstan, ‘that there’s an army of Northmen not a half-day’s march away?’
‘The heathen pursue us,’ he said, ‘they rage all about us! Yet God shall preserve us!’
‘And this city might be under siege soon,’ I persevered.
‘The Lord is my strength!’
‘And if we are besieged,’ I demanded angrily, ‘how am I supposed to feed your family?’
‘The Lord will provide!’
‘You’ll not win this one,’ Finan said softly.
‘And where do they live?’ I asked harshly.
‘The church has property here, I am told,’ Leofstan answered gently, ‘so the church will house them. They shall not come nigh thee!’
I growled, Finan grinned, and Leofstan still smiled. ‘Open the damned gates,’ I said, then went down the stone steps. I reached the street just as the new bishop limped through the long gate arch and, once inside, he dropped to his knees and kissed the roadway. ‘Blessed be this place,’ he intoned, ‘and blessed be the folk who live here.’ He struggled to his feet and smiled at me. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Lord Uhtred.’
I fingered the hammer hanging at my neck, but even that symbol of paganism could not wipe the smile from his face. ‘One of these priests,’ I gestured at the twins, ‘will show you where you live.’
‘There is a fine house waiting for you, father,’ Ceolnoth said.
‘I need no fine house!’ Leofstan exclaimed. ‘Our Lord dwelt in no mansion! The foxes have holes and the birds of the sky have their nests, but something humble will suffice for us.’
‘Us?’ I asked. ‘All of you? Your cripples as well?’
‘For my dear wife and I,’ Leofstan said, and gestured for a woman to step forward from among his accompanying priests. At least I assumed she was a woman, because she was so swathed in cloaks and robes that it was hard to tell what she was. Her face was invisible under the shadow of a deep hood. ‘This is my dear wife Gomer,’ he introduced her, and the bundle of robes nodded towards me.
‘Gomer?’ I thought I had misheard because it was a name I had never heard before.
‘A name from the scriptures!’ Leofstan said brightly. ‘And you should know, lord, that my dear wife and I have taken vows of poverty and chastity. A hovel will suffice us, isn’t that so, dearest?’
Dearest nodded, and there was the hint of a squeak from beneath the swathe of hoods, robes, and cloak.
‘I’ve taken neither vow,’ I said with too much vehemence. ‘You’re both welcome,’ I added those words grudgingly because they were not true, ‘but keep your damned family out of the way of my soldiers. We have work to do.’
‘We shall pray for you!’ He turned. ‘Sing, children, sing! Wave your fronds merrily! Make a joyful noise unto the Lord as we enter his city!’
And so Bishop Leofstan came to Ceaster.
‘I hate the bastard,’ I said.
‘No, you don’t,’ Finan said, ‘you just don’t like the fact that you like him.’
‘He’s a smiling, oily bastard,’ I said.
‘He’s a famous scholar, a living saint and a very fine priest.’
‘I hope he gets worms and dies.’
‘They say he speaks Latin and Greek!’
‘Have you ever met a Roman?’ I demanded. ‘Or a Greek? What’s the point of speaking their damned languages?’
Finan laughed. Leofstan’s arrival and my splenetic hatred of the man seemed to have cheered him, and now the two of us led a hundred and thirty men on fast horses to patrol the edge of the forest that surrounded and protected Eads Byrig. So far we had ridden the southern and eastern boundaries of the trees because those were the directions Ragnall’s men would take if they wanted to raid deep into Mercia, but not one of our scouts had seen any evidence of such raids. Today, the morning after Leofstan’s arrival, we were close to the forest’s western edge, and riding north towards the Mærse. We could see no enemy, but I was certain they could see us. There would be men standing guard at the margin of the thick woodland. ‘Do you think it’s true that he’s celibate?’ Finan asked.
‘How would I know?’
‘His wife probably looks like a shrivelled turnip, poor man.’ He slapped at a horsefly on his stallion’s neck. ‘What is her name?’
‘Gomer.’
‘Ugly name, ugly woman,’ he said, grinning.
It was a windy day with high clouds scudding fast inland. Heavier clouds were gathering above the distant sea, but now an early-morning shaft of sunlight glinted off the Mærse’s water that lay a mile ahead of us. Two more dragon-boats had rowed upriver the previous day, one with more than forty men aboard, the other smaller, but still crammed with warriors. The heavy weather threatening to the west would probably mean no boats arriving today, but still Ragnall’s strength grew. What would he do with that strength?
To find the answer to that question we had brought a score of riderless horses with us. All were saddled. Anyone watching from the forest would assume they were spare mounts, but their purpose was quite different. I let my horse slow so that Beadwulf could catch up with me. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ I told him.
‘It will be easy, lord.’
‘You’re sure?’ I asked him.
‘It will be easy, lord,’ he said again.
‘We’ll be back this time tomorrow,’ I promised him.
‘Same place?’
‘Same place.’
‘So let’s do it, lord,’ he suggested with a grin.
I wanted to know what happened both at Eads Byrig and at the river crossing to the north of the hill. I had seen the bridge of boats across the Mærse, and the density of the smoke rising from the woods on the river’s southern bank had suggested Ragnall’s main camp was there. If it was, how was it protected? And how complete were the new walls at Eads Byrig? We could have assembled a war-band and followed the Roman track that led through the forest and then turned north up the spine of the ridge, and I did not doubt we could reach Eads Byrig’s low summit, but Ragnall would be waiting for just such an incursion. His scouts would give warning of our approach and his men would flood the woodland, and our withdrawal would be a desperate fight in thick trees against an outnumbering enemy. Beadwulf, though, could scout the hill and the riverside camp like a phantom and the enemy would never know he was there.
The problem was to get Beadwulf into the forest without the enemy seeing his arrival, and that was the reason we had brought the riderless horses. ‘Draw