The Warrior with the Pierced Heart

by Chris Bishop

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Have no concern on my account,’ she said. ‘That fool Ljot is arrogant enough to think that I lay with him for my own pleasure and am so enamoured of his vile carcass that I’ll not even try to escape. Because of that I’m now left unbound. But don’t worry, I’ll not leave until I’ve freed you all.’

  ‘And you’ll then come with us?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘No, I shall return to the forest where I’m more at home and where they’ll not find me again however hard they try. You, on the other hand, must rest. You know what to drink to make yourself stronger?’

  It was my turn to scoff.

  ‘Do it,’ she said firmly. ‘But remember, find somewhere safe and lie low there for at least two weeks to give your wound a chance to fully mend within. And do nothing to exert yourself for two weeks after that.’

  * * * * *

  Later that day Ingar lay beside Ljot, playfully offering him morsels of food and gently caressing and teasing him. He was more interested in resting at that time but Ingar made it clear that she was keen to keep his company, as if whetting his appetite for the night ahead. Given it was all just a ploy on her part, I can only say that she played it well, seeming both compliant and eager. It appeared that her ruse was not to control him but rather to let him think that he was controlling her. We could only hope that she knew what she was doing as any chance we had for freedom depended upon it.

  During this time all the new captives sat either in silence or sobbing quietly to themselves, probably regretting not having opted for death when they had the chance.

  Meanwhile the slavers seemed intent on playing some sort of board game, gambling and arguing, so much so that it seemed to absorb them fully. So engrossed were they that they failed to notice someone creeping towards us. Whoever he was, he was at pains to use the bank of the small stream as cover in order to get as close to us as he could. Aelred and I had both seen him and wondered why he was so intent on joining us. We half hoped that he was with others come to free us but, as he showed himself more fully, we realised he was just a young boy of no more than eight or nine years of age. Not only that, but he was clearly alone.

  By then, one of the new captives had seen the boy as well. As soon as he did he became very upset and tried desperately to usher the lad away. But the boy was having none of it. Instead, he broke his cover and ran towards us, boldly brandishing a small knife with which he clearly meant to cut our bonds. Unfortunately he didn’t get far. He hadn’t seen the hunchback who, for whatever reason, seemed disinterested in the game the others were playing and was instead resting in the longer grass and idly making a whistle from a short length of reed. As soon as he saw the boy, he leaped to his feet then rushed across to seize him so roughly that the poor lad was lifted up then slammed down hard upon the ground.

  As the boy lay there, stunned and clearly harmed, the hunchback kicked him brutally in the face so that blood spurted from his mouth and nose. Then the Viking picked up the knife the lad had been carrying and examined the blade.

  For a moment it was not clear what would happen next but, unbeknown to me, one of the new captives was father to the boy. I heard him cry out in desperation, but the hunchback merely looked back at him, grinning as though he relished what he was about to do. The other slavers had, by that time, realised what was afoot and went across to watch. As they roared their encouragement, the hunchback dragged the boy to his feet again, gripping him by the nape of his neck so tightly that I feared he would kill the lad with his bare hands. In the end he almost threw the youngster down once more then set about him with a stick.

  As the thrashing continued, the boy’s father was up on his feet shouting at the hunchback to stop but the more he shouted the more severe the beating became. The man called him the son of a whore and a coward, but the Viking didn’t understand a word he was saying and, even when it was clear that the boy was unconscious, continued striking him without mercy. Then, when he’d finished, he strode towards us, clearly intending to beat the boy’s father as well.

  I thought at first that others sitting close to the man might rise to his defence, perhaps overpowering the hunchback or even killing him. It would have made little difference to our plight but at least it would have been something. Instead, they just sat there as the man was dragged across and made to kneel beside his bruised and bloodied son.

  By some miracle the lad was still alive, but only just. As the man wept, one of the other slavers drew a knife from his belt, clearly intending to slit both their throats. It was at that point that Ingar intervened, getting to her feet and screaming at Ljot, ordering him to stop the slaughter. Her tongue was as sharp as any knife though I doubt he understood a word she said. More likely he was thinking of his profit, but we were all relieved to see that, on his orders, both father and son were spared. Ingar was not allowed to tend the boy and instead he and his father were each given a few more brutal kicks before being dragged back to be bound with the rest of us.

  * * * * *

  Most of the captives spent what was left of the day in silence, any thoughts of escape having been settled by the brutality inflicted on the man and his brave son.

  Meanwhile the girl was still weeping as she tried to come to terms with all that had befallen her. It was therefore left to Ingar to prepare the food on her own as well as tend those with wounds, including Knut who, from what I could see, was all but dead by then. Certainly he didn’t move or make any sound other than a low moaning as he endured his pain.

  The Vikings were set to enjoy a veritable feast from what had been taken from the stores at the settlement whilst we, as usual, were expected to share very little of what was on offer.

  ‘So you’re called Matthew?’ asked Aelred as we waited to be fed.

  There seemed no point in hiding my true identity any further. ‘Yes, but I was christened Edward,’ I explained. ‘My father was an Ealdorman and friend to Lord Alfred himself.’

  ‘So why did you change your name if you’re from such good Saxon stock? And how the hell did you end up here?’

  ‘I was destined for the Church but got caught up in the battle at Chippenham. I was therefore one of the few who went with Alfred into hiding and became a warrior.’

  ‘A warrior! But you’re not much more than a boy!’

  ‘That’s as may be, but I proved myself and even commanded part of Alfred’s army at Edington. Besides, I had a good teacher. My brother was one of the greatest Saxon warriors of our time. His name was Lord Edwin, son of Edwulf.’

  Aelred clearly knew of Edwin’s fame and looked impressed. ‘No wonder you kept your name a secret! If these bastards learn who you are they’ll tear you limb from limb! And that only after they’ve boiled your flesh in oil!’

  ‘I know it. So say nothing. Just be ready to follow when I make my move. I made a poor fist of it last time, but I will prevail if I get the chance. Either that or I’ll die trying.’

  ‘And do you think that woman of yours can do anything to help us?’

  ‘As I’ve told you, Ingar is not my woman.’

  ‘Well, I wish she was mine. Though by the time Ljot is done with her she won’t be worth having as she’ll no doubt be riddled with the pox!’

  * * * * *

  Later, Ingar brought us food. She said nothing as she passed it round but then no words were needed – the look on her face told me that the time had come for her to act.

  The food didn’t amount to much, it was just some thin gruel which we all ate hungrily enough considering how little we’d been given over the previous few days. We also shared some stale bread which helped to swell our bellies. Meanwhile as our captors waited to gorge themselves on roasted pig, they drank so much mead that I thought Ingar’s plan was to get them drunk but, as soon became clear, she had an even darker scheme in mind.

  Among the food on offer she’d mixed some mushrooms she’d gathered whilst searching for what she needed to tend the men’s wounds. The Vikings seemed
to favour mushrooms and all ate them greedily as the meat was being cooked, picking out the most succulent and gorging on them like sweetmeats or pastries. It therefore didn’t take long for Ingar’s plan to take effect.

  One by one the slavers started to complain of feeling unwell and several of them began to vomit. Within no time at all it was clear they’d been poisoned by Ingar but, even if they realised that, they were all too busy retching their guts out to punish her. Yet, as was her way, Ingar tried to comfort them, encouraging them to vomit freely or to allow their bowels to loosen to ease their pain. Even so, their sufferings gradually grew worse as they began to endure all manner of torments – clutching their stomachs as their bowels rumbled and their bellies ached. I’d seen men endure less pain from wounds they’d received on the battlefield though, to my discredit, I couldn’t find it in myself to feel any compassion for their suffering.

  Seeing her ploy work so well, Ingar seized a knife from one of the Vikings who was too ill to protest, then came across to where we all waited. ‘Is your freedom reward enough for what I took from you?’ she asked pointedly.

  ‘You owe me nothing,’ I managed, impatient to be free. ‘You healed my wound and if you now free me whatever account there was between us is settled in full.’

  She nodded as if accepting that, then handed me the knife.

  Once I’d cut myself free I passed the blade to Aelred then began rubbing my neck and wrists where the coarse rope had chaffed the skin. ‘What in God’s name have you done to them?’ I asked looking round at the slavers, all of whom were in agony.

  ‘I did nothing in God’s name,’ she assured me. ‘But as I told you, the Earth Mother has ways enough of her own.’

  I must have looked puzzled. I knew she had the skill to poison them but was certain it would be against her creed as a healer to actually kill them.

  Having freed himself, Aelred passed the knife to the next man. As others waited for their turn Ingar explained what she’d done. ‘The mushrooms I fed them were yellow stainers,’ she said. ‘I sometimes use the smallest piece to purge the gut. These greedy fools have eaten a hundred times that amount and more. There is a remedy, but they’ll have to find it for themselves.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll not leave them to suffer long,’ Aelred assured her.

  He was right about that. Even as Ingar calmly walked away from the ruined settlement we set about the Vikings, seizing their weapons and wreaking such revenge as would have put even their kinfolk to shame. I went first to Ljot who was, by then, on his back clutching his stomach as the gripes wreaked their way through his whole body. I picked up his sword and, as he looked up at me, drove the blade into his already aching guts. Rasping and choking, he turned to one side, his whole body shaking. There was never any hope that he’d survive that but, partly for Ingar’s sake and also as a way of venting my own anger, I let him suffer. Then something from my Christian conscience prompted me to show some mercy. I realised that the vengeance I sought was for my men who’d been slain that day in the forest and for which I alone was responsible, not him. Thus I plunged the sword into him again with so much force that he died even before I could withdraw the blade, choking on his own blood and vomit.

  I turned and looked for Ingar. ‘Now we’re even,’ I shouted as loudly as I could in the hope that she might hear me. ‘I’ve repaid you for freeing us by doing that which you couldn’t do yourself.’ Unfortunately she was already much too far away.

  Killing Ljot reminded me of how wretched I felt after killing the unarmed warrior during the battle at Chippenham and the merchant Sweyn – and even after slaying the traitor Cedric. Such slaughter did not sit well with me even though I knew that in all cases I’d had good cause. Therefore even though I knew I should help to finish off the rest of the slavers, it was not something I relished. I resolved to start by killing Knut but, when I went to him, I was relieved to find that he was dead already, having died from his infected wound at last. After that I just watched as others did the rest of the killing for me.

  Once freed, the girl who’d been raped set about one of her tormentors with particular venom, repeatedly stabbing him in a frenzy of blood lust as she took her revenge. The other captives were less vindictive but offered no mercy as they slit the slavers’ throats or sliced open their aching bellies. Soon all the Vikings lay dead or were in the throes of dying.

  * * * * *

  ‘What now?’ asked Aelred.

  I was surprised that with the slavers dead all the captives seemed to be looking to me to lead them. ‘You have your freedom,’ I said loud enough for all to hear. ‘Why waste it?’

  Four of the original captives took me at my word and left, but Brother Benedict remained with me, seemingly intent on helping those from the ruined settlement. Meanwhile Aelred busied himself stealing what he could of the Vikings’ booty and taking a few amulets and rings from the bodies as if that might be some recompense for all the insults and ill treatment he’d suffered at their hands. ‘Don’t you want a share of this?’ he asked.

  I held up Ljot’s sword and said that I had all I needed and that he was welcome to the rest. The sword was not a particularly fine one, the blade having been used to hack and slash indifferently rather than as was intended. Still, it was better than nothing. In any event, the slavers’ booty didn’t amount to much as they’d only raided a few poor farmsteads where there was little in the way of silver or jewels to be had. Ingar’s torc was probably one of the most valuable items and that she’d recovered before she left.

  Some of those from the settlement who’d managed to escape when the slavers first attacked then emerged from hiding in the reeds. They included a man I later learned was engaged to be wed to the girl who’d been so ill used. Still struggling to preserve her modesty, she wandered towards her betrothed and held up her bloodied hands as if to show that she had defended his honour and avenged her own. For a moment he seemed not to know what to do, but then went to her and wrapped his cloak around her. I thought they would be reconciled but, as they embraced, he slid a knife he was holding gently and quietly into her belly. She gasped as she pulled away from him and looked down at the wound but otherwise made no complaint as she slipped to the ground, seemingly grateful to him for having ended her plight. He knelt beside her as she died, weeping as he cradled her head on his lap. Then he took the knife and used it to sever his own wrists so that they lay together, reunited in death.

  Even though it was getting dark, the others who were from the raided settlement started laying out their dead, intending to bury them the next day.

  ‘So what will you do now?’ asked Aelred looking pleased with himself as he spotted another ring and set about cutting off the dead man’s finger to retrieve it.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said firmly. ‘My wound pains me again and, as Ingar advised, I need to rest.’

  ‘Then what?’ he demanded, looking bemused.

  ‘Then I shall return to Chippenham and there repent my many sins. I assume Lord Alfred will by now have gone back to his royal Vill there and I would join him to reclaim my former life. I have treasure enough so will marry the woman I love, raise children and serve my King. What else is there for a Saxon warrior to do in time of peace?’

  Aelred shrugged. ‘Then I’d best come with you. From all I’ve seen and heard of you you’ve a nose for trouble and are going to need someone to keep an eye on you.’

  I didn’t agree as, by that time, I was certain I could look out for myself. But I did need someone to watch over and provide for me whilst I recovered. Besides, I had come to like Aelred. ‘What of your family? Are you not anxious to return to them?’

  Aelred laughed. ‘I’ve a sour-faced wife who has a mother with a tongue as sharp as flint. Why the hell would I want to find them again?’

  ‘What about your children or your parents?’

  ‘My parents passed away many years ago and I never had any children, though I have a sister and two nephews I should like to see again one day.’ />
  ‘So when did you last see your wife?’ I asked, hoping to learn a little more about him.

  He shrugged. ‘Several years at least. Like I said, I once lived near the sea where we had no cause to fear the raiders. Even so, we were obliged to serve in the fyrd and were one day forced to help a settlement nearby which had no such alliance. I fell during the battle and was left for dead. When I came round I found that everyone had gone so, seizing my chance, I went to the forests where I joined others who, like me, had grown weary of working land we didn’t own and for a master who treated us like dirt.’

  I should have reproached him but I could see he had a point. ‘What part did you play in the fyrd?’ I asked.

  He grinned, clearly remembering it with no small amount of pride. ‘I was a spearman, and a good one,’ he boasted. ‘I had no problem with that but when we weren’t fighting I resented slaving behind a plough for days on end or reaping corn that would feed some other man’s family. Thus when I got the chance to leave I took it and have never given any mind to going back.’

  I looked at Brother Benedict who had thus far remained silent. ‘And what of you good Brother?’

  ‘God has answered my prayers and seen fit to spare me,’ he said solemnly. ‘I would therefore return to my abbot if I can and there give proper thanks for my deliverance. The trouble is I’ve no idea which way to go and would therefore travel with you if you’ll have me.’

  I sat and rested on a fallen log for a moment, leaning forward against the hilt of Ljot’s sword to support my weary body. ‘There’s just one problem with that,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve no idea which way to go either.’