Bernard Cornwell - Saxon Chronicles 02 The Pale Horseman
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Book 2
by Bernard Cornwell
77 85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith
London W6 8JB
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright 2005 by Bernard Cornwell
Bernard Cornwell asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Libraries
ISBN 0 00 714992-1
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law
The spelling of place-names in Anglo-Saxon England was an uncertain business, with no consistency and no agreement even about the name itself. Thus London was variously rendered as Lundonia, Lundenberg, Lundenne, Lundene, Lundenwic, Lundenceaster and Lundres. Doubtless some readers will prefer other versions of the names listed below, but I have usually employed whichever spelling is cited in the Oxford Dictionary of English Place-Names for the years nearest or contained within Alfred's reign, 871-899 AD, but even that solution is not foolproof. Hayling Island, in 956, was written as both Heilincigae and Haeglingaiggae. Nor have I been consistent myself; I use England instead of Englaland, and have preferred the modern form Northumbria to Norohymbralond to avoid the suggestion that the boundaries of the ancient kingdom coincide with those of the modern county. So this list, like the spellings themselves, is far from accurate.
sc's Hill
Ashdown, Berkshire
thlingaeg
Athelney, Somerset
Afen
River Avon, Wiltshire
Andefera
Andover, Wiltshire
Babum (pronounced Bathum)
Bath, Avon
Bebbanburg
Bamburgh Castle, Northumberland
Brant
Brent Knoll, Somerset
Bru
River Brue, Somerset
Cippanhamm
Chippenham, Wiltshire
Contwaraburg
Canterbury, Kent
Cornwalum
Cornwall
Cracgelad
Cricklade, Wiltshire
Cridianton
Crediton, Devon
Cynuit
Cannington, Somerset
Daerentmora
Dartmoor, Devon
Defereal
Kingston Deverill, Wiltshire
Defnascir
Devonshire
Domwaraceaster
Dorchester, Dorset
Dreyndynas
'Fort of Thorns', fictional,
Dunholm
Durham, County Durham
Dyfed
South-West Wales, mostly now Pembrokeshire
Dyflin
Dublin, Eire
Eoferwic
York (also the Danish Jorvic, pronounced Yorvik)
Ethandun
Edington, Wiltshire
Exanceaster
Exeter, Devon
Exanmynster
Exminster, Devon
Gewaesc
The Wash
Gifle
Yeovil, Somerset
Gleawecestre
Gloucester, Gloucestershire
Hamptonscir
Hampshire
Hamtun
Southampton, Hampshire
Lindisfarena
Lindisfarne (Holy Island), Northumberland
Lundene
London
Lundi
Lundy Island, Devon
Maerlebeorg
Marlborough, Wiltshire
Ocmundtun
Okehampton, Devon
Palfleot
Pawlett, Somerset
Pedredan
River Parrett
Penwith
Land's End, Cornwall
Readingum
Reading, Berkshire
Saefern
River Severn
Sceapig
Isle of Sheppey, Kent
Scireburnan
Sherborne, Dorset
Sillans
The Scilly Isles
Soppan Byrg
Chipping Sudbury, Gloucester
Sumorsaete
Somerset
Suth Seaxa
Sussex (South Saxons)
Tamur
River Tamar
Temes
River Thames
Thon
River Tone, Somerset
Thornsaeta
Dorset
Uisc
River Exe
Werham
Wareham, Dorset
Wilig
River Wylye
Wiltunscir
Wiltshire
Wimburnan
Wimborne Minster, Dorset
Wintanceaster
Winchester, Hampshire
These days I look at twenty-year-olds and think they are pathetically young, scarcely weaned from their mothers' tits, but when I was twenty I considered myself a full-grown man. I had fathered a child, fought in the shield wall, and was loath to take orders from anyone. In short I was arrogant, stupid and headstrong. That is why, after our victory at Cynuit, I did the wrong thing.
We had fought the Danes beside the ocean, where the river runs from the great swamp and the Saefern Sea slaps on a muddy shore, and there we had beaten them. We had made a great slaughter and I, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, had done my part. In fact, more than my part, for at the battle's end, when the great Lothbrokson, most feared of all the Danish leaders, had cut into our shield wall with his great war axe, I had faced him, beat him and sent him to join the einherjar, that army of the dead to feast and swive in Odin's corpse-hall.
What I should have done then, what Leofric told me to do, is to ride hard to Exanceaster where Alfred, King of the West Saxons was besieging Guthrum. I should have arrived deep in the night, woken the king from his sleep and laid Ubba's battle bane of the black raven and Ubba's great war axe, its blade still stained with blood, at Alfred's feet. I should have given the king the news that the Danish army was beaten, that the few survivors had been taken to their dragon-headed ships, that Wessex was safe and that I, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, had achieved all of those things. Instead I rode to find my wife and child.
At twenty years old I would rather have been ploughing Mildrith than reaping the reward of my good fortune, and that is what I did wrong, but, looking back, I have few regrets. Fate is inexorable, and Mildrith, though I had not wanted to marry her and though I came to detest her, was a lovely field to plough.
So, in that late spring of the year 877, I spent the Saturday riding to Cridianton instead of going to Alfred. I took twenty men with me and I promised Leofric that we would be at Exanceaster by midday on Sunday and I would make certain Alfred knew we had won his battle and saved his kingdom.
'Odda the Younger will be there by now,' Leofric warned me. Leofric was almost twice my age, a warrior hardened by years of fighting the Danes. 'Did you hear me?' he asked when I said nothing.
'Odda the Younger will be there by now,' he said again, 'and he's a piece of goose shit who'll take all the credit.'
'The truth cannot be hidden,' I said loftily.
Leofric mocked that. He was a bearded squat brute of a man who should have been the commander of Alfred's fleet, but he was not well-born and Alfred had reluctantly given me charge of the twelve ships because I was an ealdorman, a noble, and it was only fitting that a high-born man should command the West Saxon fleet even though it had been much too puny to confront the massive array of Danish ships that had come to Wessex's south coast. 'There are times,' Leofric grumbled, 'when you are an earsling.' An earsling was something that had dropped out of a creature's backside and was one of Leofric's favourite insults. We were friends.
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