XXXVI
From Pearmol, the king went northwards to Oydnawl, not far from the southern bank of Fegennas, where his army was mustering. The full host numbered nearly half a hundred sixties, which put it among the largest amassed by any of his predecessors. They first set off for Fegenlog, intending to cross the river and proceed northwards to Bealnew, whereafter the king would be joined by Solvega the Earl. However, the whole army was brought to a halt mid-crossing when the old forewarden came out of his tower to stop them. Standing alone in the middle of the bridge, his spear aloft, he said he could not allow so large a warband across.
The king came forth at once and said, ‘Move out of my way, man, or I will move you. I am your king. I will cross this bridge whensoever I choose.’
‘You are the king, are you?’ said the forewarden. ‘If you had said so sooner, this embarrassment could have been avoided. The earl has bidden you be let across unimpeded.’
Then the forewarden slunk away. It turned out his comrades had recognised the king’s royal helmet at once, but they had nonetheless let their old foreman try to stop him.
‘It would be quite a lark,’ one of them doubtless said, ‘to let him make such a fool of himself.’
They found the matter rather less of a lark when the forewarden found out about this. He went straight back out to tell the king what had happened, and the whole tower was evacuated. The king had the wardens lined up before his army, and they were each stripped bare and beaten with clubs until they were bruised all over. It was not until every one of them had begged for mercy three times that the king put a stop to this.
‘Your tomfoolery,’ he said, ‘has cost me valuable time, and your penalty yet more so. It is only fitting that you pay the appropriate price.’
Then they were each thrown into the river, and most of them drowned, too weak to get themselves out of the water.
So the king marched his army onwards, but it soon became apparent that the whole expedition had been more than poorly planned. They were far too often stopped by obstacles that could have very easily been avoided, such that they had not travelled even half as far as expected by the time they stopped for the evening.
It was then that Bane-of-the-Tongues crept into the matter. They found the king’s booth, where he was discussing the route to Bealnew with some of his chiefest companions, and put their ear against it. After much discussion, the king had agreed a new route, and Bane had heard every detail. As but another shadow in the night, they stole out of the campsite and rushed off westwards.
The next morning, while the king resumed his march up to Bealnew, Bane found their way to none other than Thrandeo, the Earl of Noynavol. He had spent the past months moving around the western reaches of Eylavol with an army of his own, harrying Solvega’s magnates in a bid to turn them against her, or else to permanently diminish their number. When Bane came to him, they said the king had come into Eylavol, and that they could tell him exactly what route he was taking to Bealnew.
‘Who are you?’ asked Thrandeo. ‘Why should I trust you?’
‘You are my earl,’ said Bane, and they did so with a voice much like those heard in Noynavol. ‘I came to this land as a trader, but with all that has been happening, it has been more than difficult to find the courage to leave. I was finally able to flee not two nights ago, only to catch sight of the king’s army, many sixties strong. I deemed it my duty to tell you about this, that you can turn it to our advantage—we are fellow countrymen, after all.’
‘If what you say is true, I am quite glad to have heard it. But tell me this: how do you know the king’s course exactly?’
‘I am very clever. I know the lay of this land better than many who have lived here all their lives. The king’s route is the only route, or the only route worth taking. There is a valley east of here called Thwenawl. There is a high ridge on one side, and the lake Snakkyal stands on the other. The king will pass between them. Need I say more?’
‘You need not.’
Then Thrandeo had Bane bound in ropes and rushed his army eastwards. They came to Thwenawl late that afternoon. Thrandeo set some of his warriors up atop the ridge, with a troop of horsemen hidden near each end. There they awaited the king.
Soon enough, the king’s army came through the valley just as Bane had foretold. When the bulk of the army was between the ridge and the lake, Thrandeo let up a fearsome cry, and his fighters all put up their shields and rushed down the slope. They formed their line and pressed the attack so swiftly that the king’s army had barely a moment to rally their resistance.
Many on the western side of the valley were killed outright, struck down by spear or axe before they had even a hand on their own. Many more took flight the moment battle was met—much of the king’s army had been levied from his shires, comprised more of over-eager farm boys than proper warriors. To be attacked in the heart of Eylavol, where they were supposed to be safe, proved unexpected enough that they fled without thinking.
Some tried to rush on northwards and escape the confines of the valley, but a troop of Thrandeo’s horsemen awaited them there, ready to force them back or lay waste to them as they fled. Some tried to go back southwards, but much the same fate awaited them there. Some even found themselves desperate enough to turn to the east and flee into the lake. But though it was a warm day for that time of year, the water was nonetheless bitterly cold. Those who were not dragged below by the weight of their armour were struck hard by the chill and drowned all the same.
Yet amid this turmoil, some stalwart few still chose to fight. The king rallied his choicest thanes, and they put their shields together and fought Thrandeo’s company with all the courage they could muster. But it was not enough. Even though the king started with some five or six fighters for each of Thrandeo’s, once his army was routing, the few who stood firm were far outstripped. They soon faltered and succumbed to the slaughter likewise.
Thrandeo stood in the middle of this, and he himself struck the king’s death blow. As his line crumbled around him, the king was wounded in the leg, and he fell weeping to the floor, his thanes all falling around him. There it was that Thrandeo loomed above him.
‘I beg of you,’ said the king, ‘have mercy. I am your king!’
‘There can be no mercy given,’ said Thrandeo, ‘where no mercy is received. Blood can only be repaid with blood!’
Then he picked up his axe and cut off the king’s head.
Still encased in its glittering helmet, Thrandeo lifted it into the air, and he cried out, ‘O glory! You southern men, heed me! Thrandeo is my name, and I have killed your king! The glory is mine!’
Only a very fortunate few of the king’s army survived this battle. Among the dead were Gefyona and the whole troop from Samnew, as well as Enlovo the High-reeve, whom the king had forced to come, lest he be stripped of his position. The king’s eldest son, Arveno, was also slain fighting alongside his father. He had only seventeen years behind him.
As for Bane, they were able to free themself from their bonds and slip away while no one was looking. They poked their nose over the ridge, saw the slaughter of the king’s army, and knew at once that their work was done. With great haste, they went southwards out of Eylavol and came back to Pearmol for the first time in many years, where they rushed forthwith into the hall and cried out, ‘The king is slain! The king is dead!’
Karvalo happened to be in his seat as Bane entered. He strode down the aisle to meet them, and there he bade them say what had happened. They said Thrandeo had ambushed the king as he was travelling through Eylavol and laid waste to the whole army, including the king himself. When Karvalo heard this news, that spiteful man, he could not contain his joy.
‘Oy-oy!’ he cried. ‘The king is dead! Oy-oy for the king!’
Never before, it is said, had he been moved to such verve, not even at his wedding feast, nor those of his sons.
Karvalo sent out a great many messengers to spread the word as far as it would go. There was not to be a lordly hall anywhere in the kingdom that was not abustle with the news of the king’s death. That is, all except one. No news was sent to Samnew.