The Realms Thereunder

4

Ecgbryt passed his torch to Freya before throwing his weight on a huge iron latch set into a tall stone door. He rattled some other levers, then leaned back on an iron ring, slowly setting the door in motion. Daniel and Freya took several steps back as it ponderously swung towards them. This was the armoury, and it was meant to be hard to get into.

A tide of musty air swept over them, making the torch flicker as Ecgbryt took hold of it again. He led them inside, and Daniel and Freya marveled as the torchlight was reflected and refracted from thousands of shining surfaces. The deep room was filled with shelves, racks, and stands containing swords, shields, spears, helmets, and various parts and types of armour.

“To be on a warrior’s quest,” explained Ecgbryt cheerily as he led them through the weapon hall, “means to be, in part, a warrior. And to be a warrior means, in part, to carry a weapon. For that purpose we are here.”

They walked past shelves of helmets that ranged from simple half spheres of metal to those with noseguards and neck protectors, to those with face deflectors, to those with moveable visors. On the other side of the aisle were racks of axes, some of them like Ecgbryt’s, with straight edges, some of them with curved single edges, some of them with two curved edges, some of them small- as long as his own arm-and some on thick poles much taller than he was. It was like being in a museum, but the artifacts were not behind glass, nor were they old and rusted. All of them looked well polished, well oiled, very strong, and often very, very sharp.

“Are any of them magical?” Daniel asked. “Or enchanted?”

“Enchanted? Nay,” said Ecgbryt with an emphatic shake of his head. “At least,” he said and paused, a disturbed expression flicking across his face, “I hope they aren’t. No, no one would dare . . .”

“But-but wouldn’t that be best? At least, for us?” Freya asked.

Ecgbryt frowned and shrugged. “I don’t believe so. There’s nothing better than a solid piece of steel strongly wrought and well crafted. That’s as strong an enchantment as you will ever want in any battlefield-more reliable as well. Most hero feats were completed with a decent slice of metal and a bold heart. It is unwise to trust enchantments-they often let you down when you need them most.”

Ecgbryt stopped at a rack and ran his finger along a row of sheathed knives and daggers. “Ah, these will do,” he said, picking out two of them. “Here,” he said, passing them along. “Take one each.

A good knife is essential on any journey.” They were small blades, comparatively speaking, only about the length of a hand, with snug leather sheaths, bone handles, and stout metal hand guards.

“I will not deny,” said Ecgbryt as he continued down the hall, “that one may hear of an enchanted blade lending strength to an already strong warrior from time to time. But that warrior still must move it. Some blades of renown are even named and are famous for their names. Even so, can you name any blade more famous than the warrior who lofted it? For what is the use of any object, hallowed though it may be, without a strong hand to lift it? It would be like a horse with no rider-it serves nothing higher than its own purpose. Here we are.”

They stopped in front of a line of spears bundled upright along the back wall. Ecgbryt pulled a couple apart, twice as high as either of his companions, and hefted them in his hand.

“I don’t suppose either of you has started practicing combat yet?” the large knight asked.

“Of course not,” said Freya.

“Pity. That will make it harder to choose the right form of weapon. However, you’ve killed an yfelgop between you with very little at hand, and that’s not a small thing. I have seen the body and recognised a masterly killing stroke.” He gave Freya a sly glance.

“Certain are you that you’ve never used a spear?” he asked again.

“No!” replied Freya, exasperated. “Well, I threw javelin at school a few times.”

“She was good,” Daniel said.

“Javelin, is it?” Ecgbryt grinned. “Then the choice is clear. I shall start you on your height and a quarter.” He walked down the line a distance until he came to some irregular spears of different lengths. He sorted through them briefly and then uttered an exclamation. “Aha! The very thing.”

He held before Freya a slim white piece of wood as tall as she was. It was lengthened by a metal shaft about a foot long and topped with a diamond-shaped tip.

“Not quite a javelin, but still it is of Roman design,” Ecgbryt told her. “The Romans-or those we used to call the Laedenware- developed spearcraft to a brilliant form, and it will serve you well. The shaft is ash, naturally, the tip tempered iron. It has good balance, and this is how you can tell.” He cradled the spear at both ends of the wooden shaft, between his thumb and forefinger. He then slowly brought his hands together. “The point at which the hands meet is the centre . . . right here.” He circled his hand around the spot and then passed it to her. “Hold it. Heft it for yourself.”

Freya reluctantly took the weapon from him. It was heavier than she expected. She found its centre for herself. “That is the point at which you would grip it,” Ecgbryt said, “if you were to hurl it at an enemy. The Laedenes were keen on such tactics, but I would not advise anyone to throw away a weapon in the normal course of combat. It leaves one short armed and usually gives an opponent the advantage of, in this case, a well-balanced spear. Its tip is designed to pierce armour and yet come out again easily.”

Freya regarded the spear she held in her hand with a doubtful expression. “No thanks,” she said, handing the spear back to Ecgbryt.

Ecgbryt didn’t take it.

“I don’t-I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking it. I don’t know how to use it and-so, anyway, thanks.” She pushed the spear at him again.

Ecgbryt took it but did not return it to the ranks. He held it lightly, absentmindedly, between his fingers and thumb. He shrugged and turned to Daniel, raising his eyebrows.

“And now, young Daniel, we come to you. You defended yourself well with a poker, did you not? How did you find it?”

Daniel squirmed uneasily. “I don’t know. It was . . . difficult.”

Ecgbryt nodded patiently. “Aye.”

“Also frustrating,” Daniel added, “because I couldn’t hurt him with it. I could only defend myself, and it was hard to move. Heavy.”

Ecgbryt smoothed his beard braids. “Yes. A mace or war-hammer would take much strength that would be difficult for you to muster-although you managed to wield it quite swiftly against a knife. Perhaps something to grow into.” Turning, he said, “I have an idea which may be better.”

“Wait, Ecgbryt,” Freya blurted. “Wait a second.” Ecgbryt turned to her. “All this fighting, all these weapons-are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

Ecgbryt’s face appeared blank in the torchlight.

“I mean, isn’t there a peaceful way to do this, without, you know, killing things? It might have been different in your time, but these days people like to talk about peaceful . . .”

Freya’s voice trailed off as Ecgbryt crouched down in front of her, his eyes looking earnestly into hers. He knelt on one knee and squared an elbow on the other. “Bless you for saying that,” he said in a low voice. “Bless you.” His eyes lost focus, his gaze drifting behind her, beyond the walls of the room.

“In my time,” he started and then stopped. He swallowed, looking down at the floor. His eyes came back up and they were steady and firm. “I grew up in the west lands of South Briton-the Kingdom of Sussex. Since before I was born, the Dane men had been making raids upon the northern kingdoms of the isle in their long boats. They would merrily leave their homes waving good-bye to their wives and children as if going on a hunting party. When they arrived, after working themselves into a battle-blindness upon the waves, they would kill another man’s wife and another man’s children for the gain of his pantry, sacking churches, monasteries, feast halls- “As I grew they became bolder, going so far as to settle the land they were continually attacking in order to more efficiently ravage the south lands. There was no telling when they might strike or where. One summer the village next to ours was hit. Everyone was killed-everyone. Lads I had known since before memory were hewn in two like saplings and men gutted like pigs. The noble men and women were bound and taken away to be ransomed.

“It was then that ?lfred the Geatolic arose to defy the invaders. He was an honourable man. As bold as he was wise, as loving as he was fierce. And he was canny, oh so canny. But he was not jealous of his intelligence, for he built up men’s minds and souls as he built his fleet, always strengthening and improving. In this way he was able to rally and unite the kingdoms of the realm and to continually press the Danes and harry them as never before.

“Swa swa,” he continued with a sigh. “There was much fighting. Much blood. Terrible hardships. Their king, Guthrum, the Battle Wyrm, was wily and deceitful, and despite ?lfred’s tenacity there looked to be times when we would not win through. But at Ethandun we did. It was a day lived in hell by every man there. We fought from dawn until dusk, bitter, hard, with watering eyes and grinding teeth, and we beat them back, all of them, to their burgh in Readinga. Come fortnight, they surrendered.

“And ?lfred, instead of killing the invading king as an example for all other would-be attackers, forgave him, schooled him in the way of The Cross, and stood father to him in the church as the heathen Dane had his soul washed. I was there and near wept like a babe.

“War is only barbaric when fought by barbarians- dishonourable when fought by those with no honour. We did not fight for gain, ambition, our right, or even justice in those days. To revenge ourselves on the Dane would have forced us into atrocities as great as they raised against us and made our souls as dark.

We fought for peace, for every man’s peace-including those who opposed us. And our actions bear us out, for they were allowed to reside on the island from that day forth, so long as they lived in peace. Was there ever such fruit of war as that? Perhaps you have seen such. I pray you have, for I would pity you if you have not.

“That is why I fight now. For peace. And I will fight until the end of time to win it.” He tilted the spear, still in his hand at Freya, but she refused it again.

Ecgbryt turned to Daniel.

“I want a sword,” Daniel said, smiling. “A long one, I think.”