The Pale Horseman. Bernard Cornwell

Æthelingæg Athelney, Somerset Afen River Avon, Wiltshire Andefera Andover, Wiltshire Baðum (pronounced Bathum) Bath, Avon Bebbanburg Bamburgh Castle, Northumberland Brant Brent Knoll, Somerset Bru River Brue, Somerset Cippanhamm Chippenham, Wiltshire Contwaraburg Canterbury, Kent Cornwalum Cornwall Cracgelad Cricklade, Wiltshire Cridianton Crediton, Devon Cynuit Cynuit Hillfort, nr. Cannington, Somerset Dærentmora Dartmoor, Devon Defereal Kingston Deverill, Wiltshire Defnascir Devonshire Dornwaraceaster Dorchester, Dorset Dreyndynas ‘Fort of thorns’, fictional, set in Cornwall Dunholm Durham, County Durham Dyfed South-west Wales, mostly now Pembrokeshire Dyflin Dublin, Eire Eoferwic York (also the Danish Jorvic, pronounced Yorvik) Ethandun Edington, Wiltshire Exanceaster Exeter, Devon Exanmynster Exminster, Devon Gewæsc The Wash Gifle Yeovil, Somerset Gleawecestre Gloucester, Gloucestershire Glwysing Welsh kingdom, approximately Glamorgan and Gwent Hamptonscir Hampshire Hamtun Southampton, Hampshire Lindisfarena Lindisfarne (Holy Island), Northumberland Lundene London Lundi Lundy Island, Devon Mærlebeorg Marlborough, Wiltshire Ocmundtun Okehampton, Devon Palfleot Pawlett, Somerset Pedredan River Parrett Penwith Land’s End, Cornwall Readingum Reading, Berkshire Sæfern River Severn Sceapig Isle of Sheppey, Kent Scireburnan Sherborne, Dorset Sillans The Scilly Isles Soppan Byrg Chipping Sodbury, Gloucestershire Sumorsæte Somerset Suth Seaxa Sussex (South Saxons) Tamur River Tamar Temes River Thames Thon River Tone, Somerset Thornsæta Dorset Uisc River Exe Werham Wareham, Dorset Wilig River Wylye Wiltunscir Wiltshire Winburnan Wimborne Minster, Dorset Wintanceaster Winchester, Hampshire

       PART ONE

       Viking

       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 advice from anyone. In short I was arrogant, stupid and headstrong. Which 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 Sæfern 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. More than my part, for at the battle’s end, when the great Ubba Lothbrokson, most feared of all the Danish leaders, had carved into our shield wall with his great war axe, I had faced him, beaten him and sent him to join the einherjar, that army of the dead who feast and swive in Odin’s corpse-hall.

      What I should have done then, what Leofric told me to do, was 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 banner of the black raven and Ubba’s great war axe, its blade still crusted with blood, at Alfred’s feet. I should have given the king the good news that the Danish army was beaten, that the few survivors had 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