Saxon #02 - The Pale Horseman by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061144837
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2005-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

There were six of us: the man who poled the punt, Iseult and I, two of the newly arrived household troops, and Alfred. I tried once again to make him stay behind, but he insisted. “If anyone should stay,” he said, “it is Iseult.”

“She comes,” I said.

“Evidently.” He did not argue, and we all climbed into a large punt and went westward, and Alfred stared at the birds, thousands of birds. There were coots, moorhens, dabchicks, ducks, grebes, and herons, while off to the west, white against the sullen sky, was a cloud of gulls.

The marshman slid us silent and fast through secret channels. There were times when he seemed to be taking us directly into a bank of reeds or grass, yet the shallow craft would slide through into another stretch of open water. The incoming tide rippled through the gaps, bringing fish to the hidden nets and basket traps. Beneath the gulls, far off to the west, I could see the masts of Svein’s fleet that had been dragged ashore on the coast.

Alfred saw them, too. “Why don’t they join Guthrum?”

“Because Svein doesn’t want to take Guthrum’s orders,” I said.

“You know that?”

“He told me so.”

Alfred paused, perhaps thinking of my trial in front of the witan. He gave me a rueful look. “What sort of man is he?”

“Formidable.”

“So why hasn’t he attacked us here?”

I had been wondering the same thing. Svein had missed a golden chance to invade the swamp and hunt Alfred down. So why had he not even tried? “Because there’s easier plunder elsewhere,” I suggested, “and because he won’t do Guthrum’s bidding. They’re rivals. If Svein takes Guthrum’s orders, then he acknowledges Guthrum as his king.”

Alfred stared at the distant masts that showed as small scratches against the sky. Then I mutely pointed toward a hill that reared steeply from the western water flats and the marshman obediently went that way, and when the punt grounded we clambered through thick alders and past some sunken hovels where sullen folk in dirty otter fur watched us pass. The marshman knew no name for the place, except to call it Brant, which meant steep, and it was steep. Steep and high, offering a view southward to where the Pedredan coiled like a great snake through the swamp’s heart. And at the river’s mouth, where sand and mud stretched into the Sæfern Sea, I could see the Danish ships.

They were grounded on the far bank of the Pedredan in the same place that Ubba had grounded his ships before meeting his death in battle. From there Svein could easily row to Æthelingæg, for the river was wide and deep, and he would meet no challenge until he reached the river barrier beside the fort where Leofric waited. I wanted Leofric and his garrison to have some warning if the Danes attacked, and this high hill offered a view of Svein’s camp, but was far enough away so that it would not invite an attack from the enemy. “We should make a beacon here,” I said to Alfred.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.