something deeply satisfying about the sound of water meeting water.
The English were a solid block a little along the beach and Eofer took up a brand from the watch fire and crossed to the place where he knew that Heardred lay rolled in his own cloak and wondered. His kinsman had woken yesterday as an ætheling, does he do so this day as a king? He nudged Heardred with his foot rather than lean over him with the flame, aware that a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on him in the darkness. They at least regarded their lord as the rightful king of Geatland, and the Engle knew that a sudden move could well prove to be his last, kin or no.
Eofer knelt at his cousin's side and nudged his shoulder with the cup. “Brother, the dawn is near.”
Heardred nodded without opening his eyes, and a hand reached out from his cloak. Taking the cup he took a sip, inhaled deeply and rolled from his bedding. The Geats rose from the ground with a clatter of arms as the first lightening showed in the East. Heardred jerked his head towards the dark outlines of his ships, dispatching men hither and yon as they prepared to depart, and Eofer watched in admiration as the weary and battle-worn here, the raiding army of the previous day was replaced by a purposeful brotherhood of warriors.
The anchorage had been well chosen. Steeply sloping, the ships could be drawn up to the shore with little danger of stranding by the outgoing tide, and already men were back aboard preparing the vessels for sea. As others carefully raked through the remains of the bale-fire, sifting the ashes of their companions and placing them carefully into earthenware containers for the journey home to kith and kin, Eofer caught up with Heardred as the Geat shed his grime encrusted clothing and shot him a look. “Coming in?”
Eofer grinned and began to strip off as Rannulf, Heardred's own weorthman, replaced his lord's soiled clothing with clean items from the ship. The sky was lightening in furrows, bands of washed out lilac in a rinse of grey, with just the solid point of light which was the morning star remaining to shine like a distant beacon. They would soon be away. The ætheling ducked beneath the surface and emerged a moment later, shaking his hair to spray his friend with a laugh. The years rolled away and with them the responsibilities of their adult life, with just the nagging concern which all naked men feel when standing chest deep in murky water to spoil the moment. The shallows were unexpectedly warm and both men felt quickly reinvigorated as the cares of the previous day sloughed off them with the grime.
Eofer looked at Heardred earnestly as the Geat sipped seawater and worked the brine around his teeth with a finger. “The offer of my sword still holds, kinsman, Blood-Worm is yours. My father would supply an army to bolster your claim, you only need to say the word.”
Heardred squirted out the contents of his mouth. “I know, brother. Don't think that I am ungrateful or that your friendship will ever be forgotten, but my uncle, Hythcyn, was put on the throne with the aid of a Bronding army and look how that turned out, war, wræcscip and the death of kings.” He shook his head. “You think that Woden deserted my father to put Beowulf on the gift-stool of the Geats and you may be right, but he is not the only god who schemes on Middle-earth.”
Heardred turned and waded ashore. As both men dressed, the last of their warriors were clambering aboard the ships and preparing to haul the anchors. Away to the South the twin figures of Finn and Æsc had left their vantage point and were hurrying back along the beach. As the last of the Geats returned to the ships, carrying the vessels containing the still warm ashes of their dead reverently before them, the friends embraced and Heardred flashed a grin. “Even if Beowulf is Woden's favourite, I have the support of old red beard.” He winked as he turned to go and threw a parting comment. “Who else but Thunor
The English were a solid block a little along the beach and Eofer took up a brand from the watch fire and crossed to the place where he knew that Heardred lay rolled in his own cloak and wondered. His kinsman had woken yesterday as an ætheling, does he do so this day as a king? He nudged Heardred with his foot rather than lean over him with the flame, aware that a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on him in the darkness. They at least regarded their lord as the rightful king of Geatland, and the Engle knew that a sudden move could well prove to be his last, kin or no.
Eofer knelt at his cousin's side and nudged his shoulder with the cup. “Brother, the dawn is near.”
Heardred nodded without opening his eyes, and a hand reached out from his cloak. Taking the cup he took a sip, inhaled deeply and rolled from his bedding. The Geats rose from the ground with a clatter of arms as the first lightening showed in the East. Heardred jerked his head towards the dark outlines of his ships, dispatching men hither and yon as they prepared to depart, and Eofer watched in admiration as the weary and battle-worn here, the raiding army of the previous day was replaced by a purposeful brotherhood of warriors.
The anchorage had been well chosen. Steeply sloping, the ships could be drawn up to the shore with little danger of stranding by the outgoing tide, and already men were back aboard preparing the vessels for sea. As others carefully raked through the remains of the bale-fire, sifting the ashes of their companions and placing them carefully into earthenware containers for the journey home to kith and kin, Eofer caught up with Heardred as the Geat shed his grime encrusted clothing and shot him a look. “Coming in?”
Eofer grinned and began to strip off as Rannulf, Heardred's own weorthman, replaced his lord's soiled clothing with clean items from the ship. The sky was lightening in furrows, bands of washed out lilac in a rinse of grey, with just the solid point of light which was the morning star remaining to shine like a distant beacon. They would soon be away. The ætheling ducked beneath the surface and emerged a moment later, shaking his hair to spray his friend with a laugh. The years rolled away and with them the responsibilities of their adult life, with just the nagging concern which all naked men feel when standing chest deep in murky water to spoil the moment. The shallows were unexpectedly warm and both men felt quickly reinvigorated as the cares of the previous day sloughed off them with the grime.
Eofer looked at Heardred earnestly as the Geat sipped seawater and worked the brine around his teeth with a finger. “The offer of my sword still holds, kinsman, Blood-Worm is yours. My father would supply an army to bolster your claim, you only need to say the word.”
Heardred squirted out the contents of his mouth. “I know, brother. Don't think that I am ungrateful or that your friendship will ever be forgotten, but my uncle, Hythcyn, was put on the throne with the aid of a Bronding army and look how that turned out, war, wræcscip and the death of kings.” He shook his head. “You think that Woden deserted my father to put Beowulf on the gift-stool of the Geats and you may be right, but he is not the only god who schemes on Middle-earth.”
Heardred turned and waded ashore. As both men dressed, the last of their warriors were clambering aboard the ships and preparing to haul the anchors. Away to the South the twin figures of Finn and Æsc had left their vantage point and were hurrying back along the beach. As the last of the Geats returned to the ships, carrying the vessels containing the still warm ashes of their dead reverently before them, the friends embraced and Heardred flashed a grin. “Even if Beowulf is Woden's favourite, I have the support of old red beard.” He winked as he turned to go and threw a parting comment. “Who else but Thunor
Similar Books
