The stranger drew to a halt in the yard, surrounded by a cloud of dust that his mount had kicked up, and demanded that the lord or steward or whoever held this manor come out to greet him, for he had been sent by Eadgar himself. As soon as he said that, there was a great commotion. Word was passed around, and everyone set down their tools and whatever it was they were supposed to be doing, and flocked to see this man and hear what he had come to say. Skalpi was out with Orm and ?lfric riding Heldeby’s bounds, as they did every week, examining fences and hedges that might need repairing, drove roads and tracks that needed to be cleared of brambles and nettles, which were always encroaching and making passage difficult for travellers. I sent someone out to look for them and bring them back while I stepped forward and told him plainly that in the meantime the stranger should address himself to me, the Lady Merewyn, Skalpi’s wife and head of his household.
He looked at me down his nose, from atop his white horse. I guessed he was unmarried since he was clearly not used to being spoken to in that way by a woman or to showing her any courtesy. But everyone was clamouring for him to speak, pressing close on every side, and so, puffed up with his own self-importance, he gave in. He called himself Ascytel and said that he was a staller in King Eadgar’s service. Not ?theling but king. That was the first time I’d ever heard him called by that title, his real title, and it sounded strange, although it probably shouldn’t have, given that many people say that it was his right by birth. Ascytel said that he had travelled across field and fell, brook and marsh and moor, that he had come from beyond the old wall in the far north, where a host was gathering. Gathering, he said, for another campaign. Another attempt to take back the kingdom from the invaders who sullied the earth with our blood. Many had died at Eoferwic, but many more still lived, he said, and they were determined that one defeat should not be the end of their ambitions. King Eadgar was sending word throughout the land, sending men like him, like Ascytel, into each shire, each wapentake, each manor, to rally support among the English. Sending the message that we were not defeated, that the rebels’ fire was undimmed, and that despite all the hardships they had suffered, the struggle still went on.
We could yet wrest the crown from the usurper’s brow, he said. We could yet strike him down and drive the Normans from these shores. To do that, though, Eadgar needed our help. He needed the help of every able-bodied man in England. Every man who already possessed a shield or helmet, his own shirt of leather or of mail, and even those who were lacking. If he knew how to wield an axe or sword or seax, if he knew how to thrust and trap and cut, if he had fought before, then so much the better, but if he did not and had not, it didn’t matter. As long as he had hands with which to hold spear or spade or hoe, and feet with which he was willing to march for victory and in the name of the kingdom, in the name of the English people, that proud and ancient race, that was what counted.
Even then I remember thinking it was madness. A man from every carucate of land – that was what was required by kings in times of war, according to both the law and ancient custom. Heldeby was ten carucates in size, and we could manage without that many men if they went away to fight. Not easily, because the others would have to take on their work, but it could be done. If we willingly gave up every able-bodied man, though, or half or even one third of them, what were we to do if they still had not returned by harvest-time? How did Ascytel expect us to keep up the manor? To feed ourselves? Surely he didn’t expect us to starve for the rebellion’s sake?
But when I asked him he only shrugged. ‘This is what I’ve been told to tell you,’ he said, and that was all he would say to me, insisting that the rest he must discuss with my husband and my husband alone.
Skalpi returned soon after that, and they went to his chamber, where they had long discussions which I was not invited to attend. These were matters of war, Skalpi said, and should be talked over between men. And they did talk. For over an hour they talked, before finally they emerged and Ascytel mounted his stallion and rode off to the next manor and the one beyond that and the one beyond that, with the same message for all of them.
‘What did you say to him?’ I asked Skalpi when our visitor was no more than a white dot disappearing over the brow of the hill.
‘I said what I had to,’ he said, tight-lipped. He clearly didn’t want to speak any further, but he was mistaken if he thought I was going to leave it at that.
There was a stiffness to his bearing that I didn’t like as he went back inside the hall.
‘And what was that?’ I asked.
‘I promised ten men, because that’s what I owe. The strongest and the fittest because they’re the ones most likely to make it back.’
‘No more than ten?’
‘That’s what I promised,’ he said and then hesitated, but when I pressed him he went on: ‘I’m not going to force any man to go who doesn’t want to, but at the same time I won’t deny anyone who’s able and willing the chance to take up arms and join us. Ascytel was right about that much. We need every spear we can muster, if we’re to have any chance of defeating the foreigners.’
I remember the feeling in my stomach at that moment. ‘“We”?’ I echoed, my voice small.
He placed his hands upon my shoulders and looked straight at me. ‘If we lose this war, we will lose everything else as well. I can’t stand aside while others risk their lives on my behalf. I might be old but I can still ride and I can still lead men. I know what it means to fight in the shield wall. So you must see that if Eadgar is marching, then I must march too.’