The Half-Slave Read online

  ‘Easy, now,’ Hanno chuckled. ‘Tha took it on the jaw and probably cracked a rib or two when tha fell. Besso thinks thi shoulder may be broken. It will mend soon enough and is unlikely to ruin your chances with that girl of yours back home.’

  Ascha missed Saefaru more than he cared to admit. He would give anything to have her here by his side. He snuffled the air. He could smell the thick red-black aroma of roast meat.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he said, closing his eyes. ‘Is there any food?’

  Ascha spends his last evening before the SeaWulf sails with Saefaru. They sit together on the riverside and watch as the SeaWulf is turned, ready for the morning tide. It was he who carved the prow, a long-necked dragon with gaping jaws and wild eyes, a hard ridged spine and flared nostrils. He is proud that his prow dragon will lead them to Gallia and bring them home again. He will sleep under the stars, he will hear the crash of spears on shields. There will be plunder and comradeship, a chance to make his father proud of him.

  ‘Will you miss me?’ Saefaru says, poking a finger between his ribs.

  She asks him the same question whenever they meet. Since spring, their feelings for each other have turned from friendship into something more, although nothing that either of them could put a name to. Her father disapproves, thinking Ascha is unworthy, but Saefaru takes no notice and Ascha loves her for it. He likes being with her. She is warm, high-spirited and good to be with. She draws him out of himself and makes him laugh. When he is with her he feels complete, less of an outsider.

  Saefaru is on her feet, pulling him up, urgent now. ‘Come, Ascha,’ she says. ‘Quickly.’

  Off to the west the sun is dropping below the horizon, the sky going from purple to the colour of pewter. He goes with Saefaru, her slim hand in his, back into the soft darkness.

  3

  Ascha slept and half-slept. It was mid-afternoon when he opened his eyes again. His shoulder and jaw were still throbbing, but the pain was less. He sat up. The air in the tent was stifling, as if someone was kneeling on his chest. On the grass beside him lay a plate of greasy meat, speckled with flies.

  He ate quickly, stuffing the food into his mouth and wiping away the grease with the back of his hand. Then he got to his feet and went outside.

  He breathed in and was immediately struck by the silence.

  Across the clearing the Theodi were ranged in a half circle before his father. Aelfric stood with his feet planted firmly in the dust and seemed to be addressing them. Besso, Hroc and Hanno were by his side. The young Frank, Clovis, sat on a log, chewing a thumb nail and fidgeting. He seemed unhurt. Every so often, he looked up and listened with a bored expression before returning to his thumb. Behind him stood the big Frank wearing full war gear and a watchful expression. Plain he had no intention of letting his young master out of his sight again.

  The Franks were some way off. They had dismounted and laid down their spears and stood loosely, talking among themselves. A pack mule stood blinking in the shade under the trees. It carried two small iron-bound chests on side-cradles. Ascha gazed around him in wonder. The hostility between the Saxons and the Franks seemed to have burnt off like a midsummer mist. Something significant had happened while he was sleeping and he was furious that he had missed it.

  There was a sudden shout and the harsh clang of iron on iron. Spears rattled against shield bosses. Birds rose and wheeled above the trees. The Franks looked up. The Theodi, it seemed, had come to an agreement.

  Ascha crossed the clearing and pushed through a shoal of bodies to the front. The men seemed in high spirits, and he guessed the meeting had gone well. They turned and nudged each other to let him through.

  A Theod gave him a half-smile, pulled a long face and shook his head.

  ‘What?’ Ascha said.

  ‘Nothing,’ the man muttered and looked away.

  Ascha felt unnerved. His jaw was throbbing and the pain in his upper body had returned. He could only guess what he looked like. Shoulders hunched and arms crossed, a welt on one cheek, skin grey with pain.

  Aelfric and Besso looked up. Ascha was shocked to see how weary his father looked. Aelfric seemed drained, his expression resigned. He stared at Ascha and then turned and with half-closed eyes said something to Besso. Besso came and took Ascha by the elbow and pulled him to one side.

  ‘Besso, what’s going on?’

  ‘Thi father says the Franks want a pact,’ Besso said. ‘He says they will give us silver if we go home and agree not to raid Gallia.’

  ‘The Franks will give us silver not to raid?’

  ‘Roman silver, all hacked and ready for sharing.’ Besso nodded towards the mules.

  Ascha let out a low whistle. So that was what had put such stupid grins on their faces. He thought for a moment. ‘And does Aelfric want this?’

  Besso nodded. ‘He said the Franks are too powerful. This way we take their treasure without a fight.’

  Ascha fumed. How could he have slept through this? The Franks were going to pay them to go away?

  ‘And if we don’t accept.’

  Besso shrugged his shoulders, ‘We’ve already agreed. It’s done. The Theodi are now allies of the Franks.’ He put his head back and laughed, exposing blackened teeth.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We take the Franks’ silver and go home,’ Besso said. He paused. ‘Thi brother, Hroc, and others were against the pact. They thought we should not tie ourselves to the Franks, but thi father and most of us thought it was a good offer and we should accept. Aelfric said the Franks now own this land. They are working with the Romans and if we hadn’t accepted, the Franks would destroy us.’

  Ascha tried to make sense of it all. He knew Hroc hated the Romans and the Franks and would have seen the alliance as a trick. He was sure that Hroc would have preferred to take the war-road, but with chests of Roman silver in plain view, he’d been easily overrruled. But what really shocked him was the realization that the Franks were now working with the Romans. And the Franks seemed to have the upper hand. That, he realized, was why they had helped the Gauls in Samarobriva. All his life he’d heard stories of how powerful the Romans were. But now the Romans’ strength was waning and the Franks were taking over. Ascha had a feeling of being on the edge of great change and the young Frank, Clovis, was right at the heart of it.

  ‘But if not Gallia, where will we raid?’ Ascha said. The Theodi had raided Gallia for as long as he could remember.

  Besso shrugged. ‘Pritannia,’ he said. ‘Where else?’

  Pritannia! His mother’s country, a hard voyage, beyond land-sight. Lose your bearings and you might find yourself adrift in a rimless sea. He shuddered.

  A sudden bellow from the front. ‘I would address this assembly!’

  The voice was unfamiliar. Men bent their heads to see who spoke. When they saw it was the big Frank with the red face, there was a murmur of surprise and then silence.

  ‘I am Bauto, Commander of my Lord Childeric’s royal guard,’ the big Frank said. ‘I am happy there is now a pact between our peoples.’

  Besso scratched his beard and rolled his eyes at Ascha. Odd to think of the grim Frank as ever being happy.

  Bauto went on, his voice a low growl. ‘But before this pact becomes law, there is one thing we must resolve.’ He paused and then turned and spoke directly to Aelfric, ‘We demand one of your sons as hostage, to join us and fight alongside us for as long as there is a peace between our nations, his life to be forfeit should this pact be broken.’

  Stunned, Ascha whirled on Besso, ‘Is he right?’ he said. ‘Can they ask such a thing?’

  ‘They have the right,’ Besso said sourly. ‘How else can they be sure we will keep our side of the deal?’

  Ascha looked at him aghast. They were going to send away one of his brothers to live among strangers? He swivelled. Hanno stood next to Aelfric, tall as a sapling, his handsome face framed by two thick braids of yellow hair. Hroc stood apart. He had that surly look about him that Ascha kn
ew so well, chin up and lips clamped tight.

  ‘Who will my father choose? Hanno or Hroc?’ he whispered, hoping with all his heart it would be Hroc.

  Besso turned and spat into the dust. ‘Hanno is first-born and will be hetman when your father dies. Your father will choose Hroc,’ he said solemnly.

  Ascha breathed out with relief. He felt a quiet satisfaction that Hroc and not Hanno would go. Serve him right, he thought, for all those years Hroc had made his life a misery.

  ‘Does he know?’ Ascha said, but Besso didn’t answer.

  A man elbowed Ascha in the ribs. ‘Tush! It’s thi father’s turn to speak.’

  Aelfric took a step forward. He stood with his head bowed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

  ‘I have two sons.’ Aelfric said, in a voice so quiet the men at the back struggled to hear. ‘They are fine men, good fighters. I am proud of them both.’

  He paused and examined something in the dry grass with his toe.

  The crowd waited.

  ‘Hanno is my first-born and will succeed me when the black raven comes for me. He has a wife and children.’ A southerly breeze filled the treetops and rustled through the grasses, promising relief from the heat. The men stood without moving, a hard business to watch a man choose between his sons.

  Ascha studied his brothers. Hanno seemed detached, as if unable to believe that he could suffer at his father’s hands. Hroc managed somehow to look angry and puzzled at the same time. He glared at Clovis and Bauto with eyes that were hard and bright. His fists, Ascha saw, were clenched.

  ‘Hroc is my second-born,’ Aelfric went on. ‘He is a great fighter and if Hanno dies in battle, he will become hetman. He has no family of his own.’ Hroc’s brows knitted together. He tugged on his beard and frowned. ‘Hroc will go with you as hostage,’ he said. ‘He will fight alongside you and learn your ways. Hroc will uphold the honour of the Theodi.’

  A pent up sigh escaped from the Theodi and then all eyes cut to Hroc. A look of unspeakable horror had passed over Hroc’s face, and it was plain to all that Hroc had assumed that it would be Hanno who went as hostage. Ascha watched Hroc struggle to come to terms with his father’s decision. He stood pale with fury, his knuckles clenched.

  ‘No!’ he said. ‘Tha’s my ring-giver, my own father. I will be loyal to tha in all things but I will not do this. I will not go with these people as hostage.’

  The air was thick with silence and then the crowd erupted. They cheered and shouted and stomped their feet with approval.

  For a moment, Aelfric seemed stunned. His jaw gaped, and he seemed uncertain how to react. Then his head snapped back. ‘Tha’s my son and tha owes me loyalty,’ he roared, his face reddening. ‘Tha will do as I say. Tha will go with them!’

  Hroc furrowed his brow and shook his head. ‘This pact is a bad business. I am not a slave to be told by the Franks where I may and may not go. I will not rot my life away in Frankland. I would sooner die.’

  The Theodi went mad.

  They hammered their spears against their shield bosses. Whooped and laughed. Ah, this was how a warrior spoke. Ascha watched in astonishment as the mood of the clan changed. Besso always said that the assembly brought out the best and the worst in men. But behind the yells of those supporting Hroc, he heard the angry shouts of those who felt threatened by Hroc’s breach of trust. Without a high-born son to underpin the exchange there would be no alliance. No booty.

  Men hurled abuse. One Theod took a swing at another. Things were turning ugly. Ascha backed away, fearful for his damaged shoulder. Some of the Franks had already mounted and were getting ready to leave. Off to one side, the big Frank was arguing with Clovis, and Ascha guessed that he was appealing to Clovis to leave. Clovis didn’t move. He seemed unafraid, watching the milling Saxons with a look of savage delight on his face.

  Sweet Tiw! He’s enjoying it, Ascha thought.

  In growing alarm, Ascha watched the Theodi brawl among themselves. Aelfric and Besso pushed their way through the throng, bellowing in men’s faces, shoving them apart.

  The brazen clangour of a trumpet split the air. The Theodi fell silent. They turned to see Clovis standing on a shield held by two Franks. Clovis waited until the din had subsided and then he spoke.

  ‘Aelfric,’ he said in his thin reedy voice. ‘Do you not have another son? Is not Ascha the look-out also your son?’

  Ascha’s mouth dropped open. What did the Frank just say?

  He sensed that everybody had turned and was staring at him. Clovis scanned the crowd. He saw Ascha and beckoned him. Ascha hesitated, wanting to hide, and then reluctantly took a step forward. Men turned and stood aside to let him pass. His father watched without saying anything, as if unable to stop matters slipping out of control.

  ‘What of this one, my Lord Aelfric?’ Clovis said, jabbing a bony finger at Ascha, his shrill voice tinged with triumph. ‘Is he not also your son?’

  Aelfric grimaced. He glanced at Besso and then growled, ‘He is my son but he is not my son.’

  A wicked smile spread across the Frank’s face and one eyebrow arched. A riddle! Clovis put his head on one side and looked at Ascha as a bird might a worm. ‘How is he your son and yet not your son?’ he asked softly

  Aelfric shook his head, and Ascha saw the slow fury behind those grey eyes.

  ‘Ascha is not freeborn,’ Aelfric said.

  ‘The son of the hetman is a slave?’ Clovis said, incredulous.

  Silence, a shared sense that some things should not be aired before outlanders. It was Besso who eventually spoke.

  ‘The boy’s mother is a slave,’ he said with slow deliberation. ‘Aelfric is his father, which makes him a half-slave. By law, he is not a freeman and cannot inherit or bear arms.’

  ‘Ascha the look-out is a half-slave?’ Clovis said disbelievingly. ‘Yet he warned you of our coming and he saved my life when your freeborn son would have gladly taken it. And he saved your life, Aelfric, which would have been forfeit if Hroc had killed me.’

  Neither Aelfric nor Besso had an answer to that.

  When Clovis spoke again there was a brittle edge to his voice: ‘Aelfric, it seems to me that your half-slave son is worth more to you than your freeborn son who is bold enough to defy his father and his clan.’

  Hroc swore, and his hand dropped to his sword. Besso and Hanno moved to Hroc’s side. Hroc’s face darkened, but he allowed them to hold him back. The Theodi were silent, confused as to the direction things were going.

  Clovis thought for a moment and then said. ‘I will take Ascha the half-slave as hostage for the pact.’

  Uproar.

  For one brief moment, before the fear took hold of him, Ascha felt a flutter of joy. The Franks wanted him, the half-slave, not his free born brothers.

  ‘Lord, we cannot take him,’ Bauto shouted. ‘He’s not worthy. We must take the second son or there is no pact!’

  ‘Bauto, I am the son of Childeric, if I accept him, then he must be worthy,’ Clovis said. He spread his palms wide and smiled at his own cleverness.

  ‘Your father will never agree to this,’ Bauto said.

  ‘My father won’t care, one way or another,’ Clovis said. He folded his arms and said that he was no more prepared to accept Hroc than Hroc was prepared to come, but he would take the boy.

  Nobody spoke. All eyes on Aelfric. The hetman of the Theodi rubbed his chin with the back of his fist and ground the toe of his boot into the dust.

  ‘Father?’ Ascha said, but Aelfric’s huge head was bent low. In mounting desperation, Ascha sought Hanno’s eye but Hanno pulled a sad face and gazed over the tree-tops. Hroc, furious with everyone, turned on his heel and left. When Besso blew his nose and refused to look him in the eye, Ascha knew.

  Aelfric looked up.

  He stared at Ascha for a long time while Ascha stood without moving, his heart hammering against the wall of his chest. He watched as his father tugged at his beard and then breathed in deep and blew the air from
his cheeks.

  ‘So be it,’ his father said. ‘Ascha, son of Aelfric, goes to the Franks as hostage for the pact.’

  As the full weight of his father’s words hit him, Ascha felt his belly heave and he retched, splashing his britches and feet with his own filth. He wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand and bit his lower lip, stifling a sob. He would not let them see him weep.

  In the years to come, Ascha would often go over in his mind what happened that day. Feeling as if a lump of ice had chilled his spine and left his body numb, he watched as arrangements were made for him to go with the Franks. He could no longer feel the pain in his neck and jaw. He kept thinking and hoping that at any moment his father would change his mind. Surely, they were not going to go through with this? They were not going to leave him here? An outcast among strangers?

  The Franks unstrapped the chests of silver and placed them on the ground. Bauto went to one of the chests, pulled an axe from his belt and knocked out the metal pin that secured it. He threw back the lid and pushing his hands deep inside, held up two handfuls of silver and let them trickle through his fingers. The silver glinted in the sunshine, tinkling like water as it fell. The Theodi surged forward, eager for a look. They crowded around the chests. There was laughter and a hum of excitement.

  Ascha stood apart, his arms wrapped around his shoulders. This couldn’t be happening!

  He was dimly aware of mounted Franks moving off into the forest, riding with a sense of purpose, as if knowing what they had to do. He saw Bauto murmur a few words to Aelfric who nodded and then turned and called out a single name, ‘Ubba!’

  Ubba the Frisian who had led them to Samarobriva suddenly sprinted away. He ran full tilt across the clearing and plunged into the forest. But the Franks were already there before him. Ascha saw Frankish horsemen working their way between the trees, lances raised. They cut the Frisian off and drove him back to the clearing.

  Ubba stood with his head swivelling and eyes wide with terror. Ubba saw a gap between the Franks and went for it. Immediately, two riders on the other side of the clearing spurred their horses.