Bernard Cornwell - Alfred the Great - Pale Horseman

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Published by Harper Collins Publishers 2005

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 author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales

is entirely coincidental.

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

A NOVEL OF KING ALFRED

A NOVEL OF KING ALFREDA NOVEL OF KING ALFRED

A NOVEL OF KING ALFRED THE GREAT

THE GREAT THE GREAT

THE GREAT

Book 2

Book 2Book 2

Book 2

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

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



Bernard Cornwell

Bernard CornwellBernard Cornwell

Bernard Cornwell

THE PALE HORSEMAN

THE PALE HORSEMANTHE PALE HORSEMAN

THE PALE HORSEMAN

is for

George MacDonald Fraser

In admiration

MAP OF WESSEX DURING ALFRED’S REIGN

MAP OF WESSEX DURING ALFRED’S REIGNMAP OF WESSEX DURING ALFRED’S REIGN

MAP OF WESSEX DURING ALFRED’S REIGN

PLACE

PLACEPLACE

PLACE-

-NAMES

NAMESNAMES

NAMES

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.

Æsc's Hill

Æthlingaeg

Afen

Andefera

Babum (pronounced Bathum)

Bebbanburg

Brant

Bru

Cippanhamm

Contwaraburg

Cornwalum

Cracgelad

Cridianton

Cynuit

Daerentmora

Defereal

Defnascir

Domwaraceaster

Dreyndynas

Dunholm

Dyfed

Dyflin

Eoferwic

Ethandun

Exanceaster

Exanmynster

Gewaesc

Gifle

Gleawecestre

Hamptonscir

Hamtun

Lindisfarena

Lundene

Lundi

Maerlebeorg

Ocmundtun

Palfleot

Pedredan

Penwith

Readingum

Saefern

Sceapig

Scireburnan

Sillans

Soppan Byrg

Sumorsaete

Suth Seaxa

Tamur

Temes

Thon

Thornsaeta

Uisc

Werham

Wilig

Wiltunscir

Wimburnan

Wintanceaster

Ashdown, Berkshire

Athelney, Somerset

River Avon, Wiltshire

Andover, Wiltshire

Bath, Avon

Bamburgh Castle, Northumberland

Brent Knoll, Somerset

River Brue, Somerset

Chippenham, Wiltshire

Canterbury, Kent

Cornwall

Cricklade, Wiltshire

Crediton, Devon

Cannington, Somerset

Dartmoor, Devon

Kingston Deverill, Wiltshire

Devonshire

Dorchester, Dorset

'Fort of Thorns', fictional,

Durham, County Durham

South-West Wales, mostly now Pembrokeshire

Dublin, Eire

York (also the Danish Jorvic, pronounced Yorvik)

Edington, Wiltshire

Exeter, Devon

Exminster, Devon

The Wash

Yeovil, Somerset

Gloucester, Gloucestershire

Hampshire

Southampton, Hampshire

Lindisfarne (Holy Island), Northumberland

London

Lundy Island, Devon

Marlborough, Wiltshire

Okehampton, Devon

Pawlett, Somerset

River Parrett

Land's End, Cornwall

Reading, Berkshire

River Severn

Isle of Sheppey, Kent

Sherborne, Dorset

The Scilly Isles

Chipping Sudbury, Gloucester

Somerset

Sussex (South Saxons)

River Tamar

River Thames

River Tone, Somerset

Dorset

River Exe

Wareham, Dorset

River Wylye

Wiltshire

Wimborne Minster, Dorset

Winchester, Hampshire

PART ONE

PART ONEPART ONE

PART ONE

Viking

One

OneOne

One

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.

'We'll see Alfred tomorrow,' I said.

'And Odda the Younger,' Leofric said patiently, 'has seen him today.'

Odda the Younger was the son of Odda the Elder who had given my wife shelter, and the son did

not like me. He did not like me because he wanted to plough Mildrith, which was reason enough for

him to dislike me. He was also, as Leofric said, a piece of goose shit, slippery and slick, which was

reason enough for me to dislike him.

'We shall see Alfred tomorrow,' I said again, and next morning we all rode to Exanceaster, my men

escorting Mildrith, our son and his nurse, and we found Alfred on the northern side of Exanceaster

where his green and white dragon banner flew above his tents. Other banners snapped in the damp

wind, a colours array of beasts, crosses, saints and weapons announcing that the great men of Wessex

were with their king. One of those banns showed a black stag, which confirmed that Leofric had been

right and that Odda the Younger was here in south Defnascir.

Outside the camp, between its southern margin and the city walls, was a great pavilion made of

sail-cloth stretched across guyed poles, a sign that told me that Alfred, instead of fighting Guthrum,

was talking to him. They were negotiating a truce, though not on that day for it was a Sunday and

Alfred would do no work on a Sunday if he could help it. I found him on his knees in a makeshift

church made from another poled sail-cloth, and all his nobles and thegns were arrayed behind him,

and some of those men turned as they heard our horses' hooves. Odda the Younger was one of the men

who turned and I saw the apprehension show on his narrow face.

The bishop who was conducting the service paused to let the congregation make a response, and

that gave Odda an excuse to look away from me. He was kneeling close to Alfred, very close, suggesting

that he was high in the king's favour, and I did not doubt that he had brought the dead Ubba's raven

banner and war axe to Exanceaster and claimed the credit for the fight beside the sea.

'One day,' I said to Leofric, 'I shall slit that bastard from the crotch to the gullet and dance on his

offal.'

'You should have done it yesterday.'

A priest had been kneeling close to the altar, one of the many priests who always accompanied

Alfred, and he saw me and slid backwards as unobtrusively as he could until he was able to stand and

hurry towards me. He had red hair, a squint, a palsied left hand and an expression of astonished joy

on his ugly face.

'Uhtred,’ he called as he ran towards our horses, 'Uhtred! We thought you were dead!'

I grinned at the priest. 'Dead?'

'You were a hostage!'

I had been one of the dozen English hostages in Werham, and while the others had been murdered

by Guthrum, I had been spared because of Earl Ragnar who was a Danish war-chief and as close to me

as a brother.

'I didn't die, father,' I said to the priest, whose name was Beocca, 'and I'm surprised you did not

know that.'

'How could I know it?'

'Because I was at Cynuit, father, and Odda the Younger could have told you that I was there and

that I lived.'

I was staring at Odda as I spoke and Beocca caught the grimness in my voice.

'You were at Cynuit?' he asked nervously.

'Odda the Younger didn't tell you?'

'He said nothing.'

'Nothing!' I kicked my horse forward, forcing it between the kneeling men and thus loser to Odda.

Beocca tried to stop me, but I pushed his hand away from my bridle. Leofric, wiser than me, held back,

but I pushed the horse into the back rows of the congregation until the press of worshippers made it

impossible to advance further, and then I stared at Odda as I spoke to Beocca.

'He didn't describe Ubba's death?' I asked.

'He says Ubba died in the shield wall,' Beocca said, his voice a hiss so that he did not disturb the

liturgy, 'and that many men contributed to his death.'

'Is that all he told you?'

'He says he faced Ubba himself,' Beocca said.

'So who do men think killed Ubba Lothbrokson?' I asked.

Beocca could sense trouble coming and he tried to calm me.

'We can talk of these things later,' he said, 'but for now, Uhtred, join us in prayer.'

He used my name rather than calling me lord because he had known me since I was a child.

Beocca, like me, was a Northumbrian, and he had been my father's priest, but when the Danes took

our country he had come to Wessex to join those Saxons who still resisted the invaders.

'This is a time for prayer,' he insisted, 'not for quarrels.'

But I was in a mood for quarrels. 'Who do men say killed Ubba Lothbrokson?' I asked again.

'They give thanks to God that the pagan is dead,' Beocca evaded my question, and tried to hush my

voice with frantic gestures from his palsied left hand.

'Who do you think killed Ubba?' I asked, and when Beocca did not answer, I provided the answer

for him.

'You think Odda the younger killed him?' I could see that Beocca did believe that, and the anger

surged in me.

'Ubba fought me man on man,' I said, too loudly now, 'one on one, just me and him. My sword

against his axe. And he was unwounded when the fight began, father, and at the end of it he was dead.

He had gone to his brothers in the corpse-hall.'

I was furious now and my voice had risen until I was shouting, and the distracted congregation all

turned to stare at me. The bishop, whom I recognised as the bishop of Exanceaster, the same man who

had married me to Mildrith, frowned nervously.

Only Alfred seemed unmoved by the interruption, but then, reluctantly, he stood and turned

towards me as his wife, the pinch-faced Ælswith, hissed into his ear.

'Is there any man here,' I was still shouting, 'who will deny that I, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, killed

Ubba Lothbrokson in single combat?'

There was silence. I had not intended to disrupt the service, but monstrous pride and ungovernable

rage had driven me to defiance. The faces gazed at me, the banners flapped in the desultory wind and

the small rain dripped from the edges of the sailcloth awning. Still no one answered me, but men saw

that I was staring at Odda the Younger and some looked to him for a response, but he was struck

dumb.

'Who killed Ubba?' I shouted at him.

'This is not seemly,' Alfred said angrily.

'This killed Ubba!' I declared, and I drew Serpent-Breath.

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PublishedbyHarperCollinsPublishers200577–85FulhamPalaceRoad,HammersmithLondonW68JBThisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.Allrightsr...

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Bernard Cornwell - Alfred the Great - Pale Horseman

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