I am a lowly thegn, the leader of a war-band. My king still lives in our homeland across the German Sea, the new settlements are just that, lands which owe my king allegiance. I have no power there.”
Cerdic chuckled. “I think that you underestimate your influence, all men of worth have heard the tale of Eofer king's bane. Tell your prince of my plans here and remember,” he said, “there is always a place for you among us.” The Briton laid a hand on Eofer’s sleeve and fixed him with his gaze. “I offer you good land and honour, king’s bane. Dark soil in which to sink your roots. Settle your family here among us and I will make you one of my most powerful lords.”
Horns sang in the near distance and the pair looked up to see that the horsemen from Sorbiodunum had gained the ridge. They were only a mile or so away, hurrying on beneath their long-tailed banners of scarlet and gold. As Cerdic put spur to his horse and galloped forward to meet them Hemming caught Eofer's eye and he saw the excitement written there. Both men knew that the Briton was offering them all that they craved in life. Eofer allowed his eyes to run across the wide vale before them, and he breathed in the scent of the wildflowers which lay scattered about as his mind began to construct his new hall. He would journey home for the harvest and make his plans. Come the spring he would be a lord of the Belgae.
The returning sun was little more than a blush on the distant trees as the English riders rode out from the shadow of the great fortress. Thundering beneath the gatehouse, they slanted across the scarp and turned the heads of their mounts to the North.
Deadbeat after two days at sea followed by a night march and battle, Cerdic's Britons and Eofer's English alike had stayed at the celebrations which marked the return of the exiles no longer than good manners required. Shown to a guest hall nearby they had quickly settled down, and soon the space had echoed to the sound of sleeping men.
Eofer had delighted the Briton by accepting his offer of lordship, promising to return in the spring to swear his allegiance. To his surprise, Cerdic had laughed when Eofer had asked him for the best route to take, now that their ships were gone and they were about to traverse an unfamiliar country. The Briton had explained that Sorbiodunum lay at the southern end of the age-old road known as the Iceni Hill Way, which wove its way to the North-East and ended at the new English settlement of Theodford itself, his destination. The route which the English knew as the Great South Road could not have been more fortuitous, and the eorle wondered that the hand of Woden lay on this gods luck.
Cerdic had supplied the Engle with fresh mounts and remounts for their homeward journey as compensation for the loss of their ships, and the common folk stopped their work and watched in awe as hundreds of horses swept past the dew covered fields.
Clear of Sorbiodunum the road climbed steadily until it broke free of the woodlands, out on to a wide grassy plain. Dwynwyn, Octa's saviour, had kept to her word, and the duguth was already out of his splint and moving freely once the mash of herbs and seeds which the girl had concocted had dulled his pain. The Englishmen had found the girl's name almost unpronounceable and after gales of laughter had greeted every 'did you see us win, Dwynwyn?' and 'did you really give back a gold ring Dwynwyn?' it had quickly become obvious to Eofer that if she was to remain with his troop she would need to change her name, quickly. She, in her turn, had disliked the sound of the English names suggested by the men but finally they had settled upon the English name of the bird whose feathers she wore so proudly in her hair, Spearhafoc, the Sparrowhawk.
They had only spoken briefly the night before, but Eofer recalled that she had promised him that he would be passing through a landscape unlike any other the following day. He still knew little
Cerdic chuckled. “I think that you underestimate your influence, all men of worth have heard the tale of Eofer king's bane. Tell your prince of my plans here and remember,” he said, “there is always a place for you among us.” The Briton laid a hand on Eofer’s sleeve and fixed him with his gaze. “I offer you good land and honour, king’s bane. Dark soil in which to sink your roots. Settle your family here among us and I will make you one of my most powerful lords.”
Horns sang in the near distance and the pair looked up to see that the horsemen from Sorbiodunum had gained the ridge. They were only a mile or so away, hurrying on beneath their long-tailed banners of scarlet and gold. As Cerdic put spur to his horse and galloped forward to meet them Hemming caught Eofer's eye and he saw the excitement written there. Both men knew that the Briton was offering them all that they craved in life. Eofer allowed his eyes to run across the wide vale before them, and he breathed in the scent of the wildflowers which lay scattered about as his mind began to construct his new hall. He would journey home for the harvest and make his plans. Come the spring he would be a lord of the Belgae.
The returning sun was little more than a blush on the distant trees as the English riders rode out from the shadow of the great fortress. Thundering beneath the gatehouse, they slanted across the scarp and turned the heads of their mounts to the North.
Deadbeat after two days at sea followed by a night march and battle, Cerdic's Britons and Eofer's English alike had stayed at the celebrations which marked the return of the exiles no longer than good manners required. Shown to a guest hall nearby they had quickly settled down, and soon the space had echoed to the sound of sleeping men.
Eofer had delighted the Briton by accepting his offer of lordship, promising to return in the spring to swear his allegiance. To his surprise, Cerdic had laughed when Eofer had asked him for the best route to take, now that their ships were gone and they were about to traverse an unfamiliar country. The Briton had explained that Sorbiodunum lay at the southern end of the age-old road known as the Iceni Hill Way, which wove its way to the North-East and ended at the new English settlement of Theodford itself, his destination. The route which the English knew as the Great South Road could not have been more fortuitous, and the eorle wondered that the hand of Woden lay on this gods luck.
Cerdic had supplied the Engle with fresh mounts and remounts for their homeward journey as compensation for the loss of their ships, and the common folk stopped their work and watched in awe as hundreds of horses swept past the dew covered fields.
Clear of Sorbiodunum the road climbed steadily until it broke free of the woodlands, out on to a wide grassy plain. Dwynwyn, Octa's saviour, had kept to her word, and the duguth was already out of his splint and moving freely once the mash of herbs and seeds which the girl had concocted had dulled his pain. The Englishmen had found the girl's name almost unpronounceable and after gales of laughter had greeted every 'did you see us win, Dwynwyn?' and 'did you really give back a gold ring Dwynwyn?' it had quickly become obvious to Eofer that if she was to remain with his troop she would need to change her name, quickly. She, in her turn, had disliked the sound of the English names suggested by the men but finally they had settled upon the English name of the bird whose feathers she wore so proudly in her hair, Spearhafoc, the Sparrowhawk.
They had only spoken briefly the night before, but Eofer recalled that she had promised him that he would be passing through a landscape unlike any other the following day. He still knew little
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