The Summer of the Danes (31 page)

“Why?”
said Turcaill. “What was there to gain? It was as good as finished. Now they
have their dead or wounded, too. I saw men being carried or dragged when they
broke and ran. What was it made it worth their while to break in here?”

“I
think,” said Cadfael, rubbing a hand resignedly over his tired eyes, “they came
for Cadwaladr. He still has a following, as rash as the man himself. They may
well have thought to pluck him out of your keeping even in Owain’s despite.
What else do you hold of such value to them that they should risk their lives
for it?”

“Why,
the silver he’s already paid,” said Turcaill practically. “Would they not have
made for that?”

“So
they well may,” Cadfael admitted. “If they have made a bid for the one, they
may do as much for the other.”

“When
we lay the ships inshore again tomorrow,” Turcaill’s brilliant eyes opened wide
in thought. “I will say so to Otir: the man they can have, and good riddance,
but the ransom is fairly ours, and we’ll keep it.”

“If
they are in good earnest,” said Cadfael, “they have still to do battle for
both. For I take it Cadwaladr is still safely in Torsten’s keeping?”

“And
in chains again. And sat out this foray with a knife at his throat. Oh, they
went away empty-handed,” said Turcaill with dour satisfaction. And he rose, and
went to join his leader, in conference over his three dead. And Cadfael went to
look for Heledd, but did not find her.

“These
we take back with us for funeral,” said Otir, brooding darkly over the bodies
of his men. “You say that these who came by night were not sent by Owain. It is
possible, but how can we tell? Certainly I had believed him a man of his word.
But what is rightfully ours we will make shift to keep, against Owain or any
other. If you are right, and they came for Cadwaladr, then they have but one
chance left to win away both the man and his price. And we will be before them,
with the ships and the sea at our backs, with masts stepped and ready for sail.
The sea is no friend to them as it is to us. We’ll stand armed between them and
the shore, and we shall see if they will dare in daylight what they attempted
in the night.”

He
gave his orders clearly and briefly. By morning the encampment would be
evacuated, the Danish ranks drawn up in battle array on the beach, the ships
manoeuvred close to take the cattle aboard. If they came, said Otir, then Owain
was in good faith, and the raiders were not acting on his orders. If they did
not come, then all compacts were broken, and he and his force would put to sea
and raid ashore at some unguarded coast to take for themselves the balance of
the debt, and somewhat over for three lives lost.

“They
will come,” said Turcaill. “By its folly alone, this was not Owain’s work. And
he delivered you the silver by his own son’s hand. And so he will the cattle.
And what of the monk and the girl? There was a fair price offered for them, but
that deal you never accepted. Brother Cadfael has earned his freedom tonight,
and it’s late now to haggle over his worth.”

“We
will leave supplies for him and for the girl, they may stay safe here until we
are gone. Owain may have them back as whole as when they came.”

“I
will tell them so,” said Turcaill, and smiled.

Brother
Cadfael was making his way towards them through the disrupted camp at that
moment, between the lines soon to be abandoned. He came without haste, since
there was nothing to be done about the news he carried, it was a thing
accomplished. He looked from the three bodies laid decently straight beneath
their shrouding cloaks to Otir’s dour face, and thence full at Turcaill. “We
spoke too soon. They did not go away empty-handed. They have taken Heledd.”
Turcaill, whose movements in general were constant and flowed like quicksilver,
was abruptly and utterly still. His face did not change, only his startling
eyes narrowed a little, as if to look far into distance, beyond this present
time and place. The last trace of his very private smile lingered on his lips.

“How
came it,” he said, “that she ever drew near such a fray? No matter, she would
be sure to run towards what was forbidden or perilous, not away from it. You
are sure, Brother?”

“I
am sure. I have been looking for her everywhere. Leif saw her plucked out of
the melee, but cannot say by whom. But gone she is. I had her beside me until
we were flung apart, shortly before you drove them back through the stockade.
Whoever he was who had her by the waist, he has taken her with him.”

“It
was for her they came!” said Turcaill with conviction.

“It
was for her one at least came. For I think,” said Cadfael, “this must be the
man to whom Owain had promised her. There was one close to Hywel, yesterday
when you were loading the silver, could not take his eyes off her. But I did
not know the man, and I thought no more of it.”

“She
is safe enough, then, and free already,” said Otir, and made no more of it.
“And so are you, Brother, if you so please, but I would remain apart until we
are gone, if I were you. For none of us knows what more may be intended for the
morning. No need for you to put yourself between Dane and Welshman in arms.”

Cadfael
heard him without hearing, though the words and their import came back to him
later. He was watching Turcaill so closely that he had no thought to spare for
whatever his own next moves should be. The young man had stirred easily and
naturally out of his momentary stillness. He drew breath smoothly as ever, and
the last of the smile lingered as a spark in his light, bright eyes after it
had left his lips. There was nothing to be read in that face, beyond the open,
appreciative amusement which was his constant approach to Heledd, and that
vanished instantly when he looked down again at the night’s losses.

“It’s
well she should be out of today’s work,” he said simply. “There’s no knowing
how it will end.”

And
that was all. He went about the business of striking camp and arming for action
like all the rest. In the darkness they stripped such tents and shelters as
they had, and moved the lighter longships from the harbour in the mouth of the
bay round into the open sea to join the larger vessels and provide an alert and
mobile guard for their crews and cargo. The sea was their element, and fought
on their side, even to the fresh breeze that quivered through the stillness
before dawn. With sails up and filled, even the slower ships could put out to
sea rapidly, safe from attack. But not without the cattle! Otir would not go
without the last penny of his due.

And
now there was nothing for Cadfael to do, except walk the crest of the dunes
among the deserted fires and discarded debris of occupation, and watch the
Danish force pack, muster and move methodically down through the scrub grass
towards the ships rocking at anchor.

And
they will go! Heledd had said, serious but neither elated nor dismayed. They
were as good as gone already, and glad to be on their way home. Now if it was
indeed Ieuan ab Ifor who had inspired that nocturnal attack, perhaps after all
there was no man exerting himself on behalf of Cadwaladr, neither for his
person and prestige nor for his possessions, and there would be no further
confrontation, on the beach or in the sea, but only an orderly departure,
perhaps even with a cool exchange of civilities between Welsh and Danish by way
of leave-taking. Ieuan had come for his promised wife, and had what he wanted.
No need for him to stir again. But how had he persuaded so many to follow him?
Men who had nothing to gain, and had gained nothing. Some, perhaps, who had
lost their lives to help him to a marriage.

The
lithe little dragon-ship stole round silently into the open sea, and took
station, riding well inshore. Cadfael went down a little way towards the strip
of shingle, and saw the beach now half dry, half glistening under the lapping
of the waves, and empty until the head of the Danish line reached it, and
turned southward along the strand, a darker line in a darkness now lightening
slowly towards the dove-grey of predawn. The withdrawing raiders had made haste
away to the deserted fields and sparse woodland between the camps, into some
measure of cover. There were places where the shore route would be too
dangerous now, with the tide flowing, though Cadfael felt certain they had come
that way. Better and faster to move inland with their wounded and their prize,
to reach their own camp dryshod.

Cadfael
put a ridge of salt-stunted bushes between himself and the wind, which was freshening,
scooped a comfortable hole in the sand, and sat down to wait.

In
the soft light of the morning, just after sun-up, Gwion arrayed his hundred
men, and the few of Ieuan’s raising who remained with them, in a hollow between
the dunes, out of sight of the shore, with a sentry keeping watch on the crest
above. There was mist rising from the sea, a diaphanous swirl of faint blue
over the shore, which lay in shadow, while westward the surface of the water
was already bright, flecked with the white shimmer of spray in the steady
breeze. The Danes, drawn up in open ranks, lined the edge of the sea, waiting
immovably and without impatience for Owain’s herdsmen to bring them Cadwaladr’s
cattle. Behind them the cargo ships had been brought in to beach lightly in the
shallows. And there, in the midst of the Danes, was Cadwaladr himself, no
longer shackled but still prisoner, defenceless among his armed enemies. Gwion
had gone himself to the top of the ridge to look upon him, and the very sight
was like a knife in his belly.

He
had failed miserably in all that he had tried to do. Nothing had been gained,
there stood his lord, humbled at the hands of the Danes, exposed to the scorn
of his brother, not even assured of regaining a single foot of land at that
brother’s hands after all this bitter undertaking. Gwion gnawed ceaselessly at
his own frustration, and found it sour in his mouth. He should not have trusted
Ieuan ab Ifor. The man had been concerned only with his woman, and with that
prize in his arms he had not stayed, as Gwion had wanted to stay, to attempt a
second achievement. No, he was away with her, stifling her cries with a hand
over her mouth, until he could hiss in her ear, well away from the Danes in
their broken stockade, that she should not be afraid, for he meant her only
good, for he was her man, her husband, come at risk to fetch her out of danger,
and with him she was safe, and would be safe for ever… Gwion had heard him,
totally taken up with his gains, and with no care at all for other men’s losses.
So the girl was out of bondage, but Cadwaladr, sick with humiliation and rage,
must come under guard to be handed over for a price to the brother who
discarded and misprized him.

It
was not to be borne. There was still time to cut him out clean from the alien
array before Owain could come to savour the sight of him a prisoner. Even
without Ieuan, gone with his bruised and bewildered woman and the dozen or so
of his recruits who had preferred to steal back into camp and lick their
wounds, there were enough stout fighting men here to do it. Wait, though, wait
until the herd and their escort came. For surely once the attack was launched,
others would see the right of it, and follow. Not even Hywel, if Hywel was
again the prince’s envoy, would be able to call off his warriors once they had
seen Danish blood flow. And after Cadwaladr, the ships. Once the gage was cast
down, the Welsh would go on to the end, take back the silver, drive Otir and
his pirates into the sea.

The
waiting was long, and seemed longer, but Otir never moved from his station
before his lines. They had lowered their guard once, they would not do so
again. That was the missed opportunity, for now there could be no second
surprise. Even in Hywel, even in Owain himself, they would not again feel
absolute trust. The lookout on the crest reported back regularly and
monotonously, no change, no movement, no sign yet of the dust of the herd along
the sandy track. It was more than an hour past sunrise when he called at last:
“They are coming!” And then they heard the lowing of the cattle, fitful and
sleepy on the air. By the sound of them, fed and watered, and on the move again
after at least a few hours of the night for rest.

“I
see them. A good half-company, advancing aside and before the drovers, out of
the dust. Hywel has come in force. They have sighted the Danes…” That sight
might well give them pause, they would not have expected to see the full force
of the invaders drawn up in battle array for the loading of a few hundred head
of stock. But they came on steadily, at the pace of the beasts. And now the
foremost rider could be seen clearly, very tall in the saddle, bare-headed,
fair as flax. “It is not Hywel, it is Owain Gwynedd himself!”

On
his hillock above the deserted camp Cadfael had seen the sun shine on that fair
head, and even at that distance knew that the prince of Gwynedd had come in
person to see the Norseman leave his land. He made his way slowly closer,
looking down towards the impending meeting on the shore.

In
the hollow between the dunes Gwion drew up his lines, and moved them a little
forward, still screened by the curving waves of sand the wind had made and the
tenacious grasses and bushes had partially clothed and secured in place. “How
close now?” Even in Owain’s despite he would venture. And those clansmen who
were approaching at Owain’s heels, who could not all be tame even to their
prince’s leash, must see the attack, and be close enough to take fire from it
in time, and drive the onslaught home with their added numbers.