argument had been settled when the bishop cast dice, and King Osbert was now on the right, Ælla on the left, and my father in the center, and those three chieftains' banners were advanced as the horns called. The men assembled under the banners. My father's household troops, his best warriors, were at Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom the front, and behind them were the bands of the thegns. Thegns were important men, holders of great lands, some of them with their own fortresses, and they were the men who shared my father's platform in the feasting hall, and men who had to be watched in case their ambitions made them try to take his place, but now they loyally gathered behind him, and the ceorls, free men of the lowest rank, assembled with them. Men fought in family groups, or with friends. There were plenty of boys with the army, though I was the only one on horseback and the only one with a sword and helmet.
I could see a scatter of Danes behind the unbroken palisades either side of the gap where their wall had fallen down, but most of their army filled that gap, making a shield barrier on top of the earthen wall, and it was Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom a high earthen wall, at least ten or twelve feet high, and steep, so it would be a hard climb into the face of the waiting killers, but I was confident we would win. I was ten years old, almost eleven.
The Danes were shouting at us, but we were too far away to hear their insults. Their shields, round like ours, were painted yellow, black, brown, and blue. Our men began beating weapons on their shields and that was a fearsome sound, the first time I ever heard an army making that war music; the clashing of ash spear shafts and iron sword blades on shield wood.
"It is a terrible thing," Beocca said to me.
"War, it is an awful thing."
I said nothing. I thought it was glorious and wonderful.
"The shield wall is where men die," Beocca Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom said, and he kissed the wooden cross that hung about his neck. "The gates of heaven and hell will be jostling with souls before this day is done," he went on gloomily.
"Aren't the dead carried to a feasting hall?"
I asked.
He looked at me very strangely, then appeared shocked. "Where did you hear that?"
"At Bebbanburg," I said, sensible enough not to admit that it was Ealdwulf the smith who told me those tales as I watched him beating rods of iron into sword blades.
"That is what heathens believe," Beocca said sternly. "They believe dead warriors are carried to Woden's corpse-hall to feast until the world's ending, but it is a grievously wrong belief. It is an error! But the Danes are always in error. They bow down to idols, Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom they deny the true god, they are wrong."
"But a man must die with a sword in his hand?" I insisted.
"I can see we must teach you a proper catechism when this is done," the priest said sternly.
I said nothing more. I was watching, trying to fix every detail of that day in my memory.
The sky was summer blue, with just a few clouds off in the west, and the sunlight reflected from our army's spear points like glints of light flickering on the summer sea.
Cowslips dotted the meadow where the army assembled, and a cuckoo called from the woods behind us where a crowd of our women were watching the army. There were swans on the river that was placid for there was little wind. The smoke from the cooking fires inside Eoferwic rose almost straight into Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom the air, and that sight reminded me that there would be a feast in the city that night, a feast of roasted pork or whatever else we found in the enemy's stores. Some of our men, those in the foremost ranks, were darting forward to shout at the enemy, or else dare him to come and do private battle between the lines, one man on one man, but none of the Danes broke rank. They just stared, waited, their spears a hedge, their shields a wall, and then our horns
I could see a scatter of Danes behind the unbroken palisades either side of the gap where their wall had fallen down, but most of their army filled that gap, making a shield barrier on top of the earthen wall, and it was Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom a high earthen wall, at least ten or twelve feet high, and steep, so it would be a hard climb into the face of the waiting killers, but I was confident we would win. I was ten years old, almost eleven.
The Danes were shouting at us, but we were too far away to hear their insults. Their shields, round like ours, were painted yellow, black, brown, and blue. Our men began beating weapons on their shields and that was a fearsome sound, the first time I ever heard an army making that war music; the clashing of ash spear shafts and iron sword blades on shield wood.
"It is a terrible thing," Beocca said to me.
"War, it is an awful thing."
I said nothing. I thought it was glorious and wonderful.
"The shield wall is where men die," Beocca Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom said, and he kissed the wooden cross that hung about his neck. "The gates of heaven and hell will be jostling with souls before this day is done," he went on gloomily.
"Aren't the dead carried to a feasting hall?"
I asked.
He looked at me very strangely, then appeared shocked. "Where did you hear that?"
"At Bebbanburg," I said, sensible enough not to admit that it was Ealdwulf the smith who told me those tales as I watched him beating rods of iron into sword blades.
"That is what heathens believe," Beocca said sternly. "They believe dead warriors are carried to Woden's corpse-hall to feast until the world's ending, but it is a grievously wrong belief. It is an error! But the Danes are always in error. They bow down to idols, Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom they deny the true god, they are wrong."
"But a man must die with a sword in his hand?" I insisted.
"I can see we must teach you a proper catechism when this is done," the priest said sternly.
I said nothing more. I was watching, trying to fix every detail of that day in my memory.
The sky was summer blue, with just a few clouds off in the west, and the sunlight reflected from our army's spear points like glints of light flickering on the summer sea.
Cowslips dotted the meadow where the army assembled, and a cuckoo called from the woods behind us where a crowd of our women were watching the army. There were swans on the river that was placid for there was little wind. The smoke from the cooking fires inside Eoferwic rose almost straight into Bernard Cornwell The Last Kingdom the air, and that sight reminded me that there would be a feast in the city that night, a feast of roasted pork or whatever else we found in the enemy's stores. Some of our men, those in the foremost ranks, were darting forward to shout at the enemy, or else dare him to come and do private battle between the lines, one man on one man, but none of the Danes broke rank. They just stared, waited, their spears a hedge, their shields a wall, and then our horns
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