08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

Leo was too busy imagining the victory. The two hills would be the jaws of their trap. The Great Wolf, lured into the valley between them by his own arrogance, surrounded at the bridge and crushed against the water. What a song that would make! He was already wondering what they’d call the battle, when the history books were written.

‘I like it,’ said the Dogman. ‘If there’s one thing you can rely on, it’s young men’s folly. I’ll send word for Uffrith’s warriors to gather here and be ready for a battle.’ He paused, wind stirring the grey hair about his craggy face. ‘Lady Finree … I’ve fought beside great warriors. Great War Chiefs. Against some, too. But I rarely saw an army better handled than by you. Might be men who think there’s something weak in what you’ve done, the last few weeks.’ He curled his tongue and spat over the battlements. ‘Those men know less’n nothing about war. Would’ve been easy to break faith with us. Let us be swallowed up. But you kept your word. Aren’t many who do, once they see it’ll cost them.’ And he held out his hand.

Leo’s mother blinked, evidently moved, and took it. ‘I’ll have kept my word when you are back in your garden in Uffrith, not a moment before.’

He broke out a great toothy grin. ‘Then we’ll drink to our victory there.’ And the Dogman turned and trotted down the crumbling stair with a new spring in his step.

It gave Leo a flush of pride, to see the respect the old Northman had for his mother. The respect they had for each other. He took a breath of sharp air through his nose and let it sigh happily out. ‘I’ll lead those men at the bridge—’

‘No,’ said his mother. ‘I want your standard there to draw him on. But not you.’

‘The first wave of reinforcements, then—’

‘No.’ And she gave him that look down her nose that always made him feel like he was still a little boy. ‘We’ll keep our cavalry in reserve in the village of Sudlendal.’ She nodded towards the faint smoke rising beyond the bridge. ‘I want you with them.’

‘With the reserves?’ He waved a hand towards the valley. Towards the glory. Towards the songs. ‘Finally we fight and you leave me with the baggage?’

‘It’s not as if I’m sending you back to Ostenhorm.’ The muscles at her temple squirmed as she clenched her jaw. ‘If something goes wrong, as it very well might, you can ride in and save the day. That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? To bear witness to your legend?’

‘That’s so unfair!’ he whined, the niggling thought that it might be entirely fair making him even angrier. ‘When you’re fighting for your life, you don’t leave your best sword on the mantelpiece and charge in with a bread knife!’

‘There are other men in this army who can fight.’ She spoke with icy calm, but there was an angry colour spreading across her face. ‘Experienced men who understand the value of caution, and planning, and of doing as they’re bloody told. You’re reckless, Leo. I can’t risk it.’

‘No!’ he snarled, thumping the crumbling battlements with his fist and sending stones clattering down the wall. ‘I’ll be lord governor soon! I’m not a boy any more—’

‘Then fucking act like it!’ she snarled, with such violence he shrank back a little. ‘This isn’t a negotiation! You’ll stay with the reserves, and that’s the end of it! Your father’s dead! He’s dead, and I can’t lose you, too, do you understand?’ She turned her back on him to look into the valley. ‘I can’t lose you, too.’

There was the slightest quaver in her voice, and somehow that cut him down more sharply than any sword blow. He stood staring, suddenly guilty and ashamed and feeling an utter fool. She’d carried him, when his father died and he fell all to pieces. She’d stood dry-eyed and stern by the grave, and through his tears Leo had thought how heartless she was. But he saw now she’d stayed strong because someone had to. She’d been carrying them all, ever since. Instead of being grateful, being a good son, helping her lift this impossible weight, he’d moped, and whined, and picked at her as if there was nothing bigger at stake than his pride.

He had to blink back tears himself, and he stepped up and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You won’t lose me, Mother,’ he said. ‘You’ll never lose me.’

She laid her hand on his. An old hand, it seemed, suddenly, frail, the skin on the back wrinkled around the knuckles.

‘I’ll lead the reserves,’ he said.

They stood together in the wind, looking down into the valley.

The Party’s Over

The clatter of the handle, the gurgle of filthy water as it surged into the bucket, the slop and trickle as she lifted it, breath wheezing, legs, arms, shoulders trembling, and passed it to May, and took an empty bucket from the old man on her left, handle clattering, and bent to the water again.