Better than Gold by Theresa Tomlinson

after him.
    â€˜What is he doing?’ Cynewise cried, her face white and shocked. ‘The Bernicians are letting him slip away!’
    â€˜But see who comes forward!’ Egfrid cried. He pointed down-river to where Sigurd led a large following of warriors through the soaked meadowland.
    â€˜The East Angles!’ Cynewise cried. ‘Sigurd has found King Athelhere and brought him to Mercia’s aid. But he comes too late!’
    As this new help arrived, Penda’s standard was dragged to the ground and the fighting around the Mercian king grew fierce.
    The queen set off, rushing down towards the river, just as an armed warrior drove his beast across the raging torrent and through the mire. Egfrid raced after her, feeling only that he must follow where she went. The Bernician rider raised his sword as Cynewise stumbled on, careless of her own safety.
    â€˜It is the end!’ she cried.
    â€˜You shall not touch her,’ Egfrid growled and without pause for thought, he lurched in front of her and taking his sword in both hands, he swung it sideways, biting into the warrior’s armpit, as Sigurd had trained him.
    The Bernician let out a bellow of shock and pain and slumped forwards in his saddle, dropping his weapon at Egfrid’s feet. His panicking horse wheeled and charged back into the water to skitter away downstream. Egfrid stared at the bloodied sword that lay at his feet. Had he killed a man?
    Chad was there beside them, with Dapple leaping up and down. The monk gently pulled Cynewise away and began to lead them both back up the hillside. ‘Come away, lady,’ he told her firmly. ‘There is nothing you can do.’
    â€˜He is gone,’ she murmured softly. ‘Penda is dead, I saw him fall, the bravest warrior that ever lived!’
    Egfrid picked up the Bernician’s sword, his first spoil of war, and followed them back up the hill. As they reached the queen’s tents again, Cynewise turned angrily on him. ‘You should have let me die,’ she said. ‘I would have gone with him. You swore you wouldn’t fight.’
    â€˜I swore I wouldn’t fight for my father or Penda,’ Egfrid said. ‘I never said I wouldn’t fight for you.’
    The queen’s face crumpled and she flung her arms around the boy and wept. Egfrid remembered the fateful ride from Bamburgh on Thunderer’s back, the moments of unexpected joy when the grizzled old king had praised him. He could not believe that such a valiant, fearless spirit as Penda was gone. He felt sick and angry, but he was elated too. His father was no faint-heart. Nobody could ever say that again. Oswy had paid off the enemy with gold trimmings, but kept most of his spears and blades and his fighting spirit intact.

CHAPTER 15
    Woden’s Man

    T he Bernicians, cheered on by Ethelwald’s desertion, drove the remnants of the helpless Mercian army into the flooding river, and then put all their force into tackling King Athelhere.
    It was not a fight any more. It was a drowning, for the ground beneath the East Angles’ feet had turned into a swamp of dragging mud. As Egfrid and the queen watched, they saw one man swim steadily across the river towards them. He battled against a strong current, but made it to the field below and came loping up the hill towards them. It was Sigurd, soaked and slashed with bleeding cuts, choking on muddy water.
    Cynewise shook her head. ‘You should have gone down with Penda,’ she said.
    â€˜ No,’ he gasped. ‘Penda died sword in hand, a true Woden’s man, as he would have wished, but Athelhere too is killed and the kingdom of Mercia is no more. I swore on oath that I’d take you to safety.’
    Cynewise shook her head fiercely. ‘No, it is Wulfhere that you must save,’ she said. ‘He is camped near Lichfield with Aldred. Take my horse and ride to them and warn him. Hide him.
He
is Mercia’s hope. Beorn will