The Warrior with the Pierced Heart

by Chris Bishop

  ‘That sword is rightfully mine,’ I challenged, hoping I might at least be given the chance to fight him for it. ‘If he wants the right to carry it he should have taken it in battle, not scrabbled around in the bushes to find it whilst I lay wounded.’

  The man recognised the challenge when Torstein told him what I’d said and so came over to me and said something I couldn’t understand. Torstein translated for me.

  ‘He says that if you value the sword so much you should have taken more care of it. You were sleeping when he took it, thus he spared your life so accepts the sword as a token of your thanks.’

  ‘I wasn’t sleeping; I was wounded. He would not have had the guts to take it from me in equal combat.’

  Torstein repeated this to the man and they both laughed.

  ‘You Saxons and your precious honour! Do you not know that a life of honour is always a short one?’

  ‘Perhaps, but it got us victory at Edington,’ I said, knowing that any reminder of their defeat there would be like scratching at an open sore.

  For a moment Torstein stared at me so hard that I thought the death blow would surely follow in an instant. Thinking those were my final moments, I readied myself to die, but nothing happened. Instead, he knelt beside me. ‘That was surely a great victory and we are with much respect for Lord Alfred. We are not cowards,’ he added. ‘We are warriors who honour courage, though, unlike you, we see honour in death, particularly if it’s death in battle. My warriors would all gladly die so long as they can do so bravely. I wonder how you will face it when the time comes for me to put you to the sword?’

  ‘What’s that to me?’ I shrugged. ‘I’ve faced death often enough and even succumbed to it once, as well you know.’

  ‘How would I know that?’ he asked, looking curious.

  ‘It was you and your band of thieves who attacked me. You then butchered all my men and stripped our bodies of all we owned.’

  Torstein was clearly thinking back, trying to recall the incident which was probably just one of many. ‘You mean when we rescued Arne!’ he said sounding surprised. ‘You were there then?’

  ‘Rescued him? Rescued him from what? He was set for a life of ease as part of a noble Saxon family. I’d even offered to adopt him as my brother!’

  Torstein shook his head. ‘He would have rather died a thousand times than endure such an insult! His father was a much-respected warrior, a friend to Lord Guthrum himself.’

  ‘And that’s why you rescued him?’

  ‘Of course. Why else? Was that when you were struck by the arrow?’ asked Torstein.

  I nodded. ‘And as I died I watched you butcher all my men, one by one.’

  One of the other men standing beside Torstein then said something which again I couldn’t understand.

  ‘He says that we checked all the bodies,’ explained Torstein. ‘He assures me that no one there was left alive. Yet here you are and with a scar above your heart to prove you were indeed killed that day.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘I died and was sent back to kill as many of you heathens as I can.’

  Torstein turned to look at the man who carried my father’s sword. ‘Do you see any sign of fear in these young eyes?’ he asked loudly, pointing straight at me.

  I doubt the man understood enough of our tongue to know what he was being asked so I was not surprised when he didn’t answer, but that didn’t deter Torstein. He just shook his head. ‘No, nor do I. All I see is defiance. He lays here, ready to die but has no fear of doing so. Which is why I shall let him live, but only for now.’ With that he looked at me again. ‘No one will touch you, boy. Your life belongs to me now and I shall take it only when I’m ready.’

  ‘My life belongs to me,’ I said defiantly. ‘If you deign to steal it from me know that I shall die with a curse upon my lips that will hang over you like a cloud for all the days of your life.’

  The prospect of such a curse from a man whom he believed had returned from the dead seemed to trouble him greatly. He nodded as though to acknowledge the words but was then silent for a moment. ‘I shall still kill you,’ he said at last. ‘Be assured of that. But like I say, only when best it pleases me.’ With that he turned and walked away, leaving me to contemplate my fate.

  * * * * *

  After that I was left to myself as the Vikings continued searching for yet more spoil. Naturally, I looked for any chance to escape but my hands were tied and I was watched constantly. The pain in my chest had passed by then but had left me desperately tired, so I settled myself beside a tree and lay back against the trunk to rest.

  Having finished their business of thieving and pillaging from the dead, several Vikings found the livestock which had been hidden in the small wood and drove it back to be slaughtered. Whilst they were doing this, others began to tend their wounds or clean their weapons. Apart from those we’d slain, none of them seemed to have been seriously hurt but at least one of them needed to have his arm bound to stem the bleeding and another had a cut to his shoulder.

  Their next concern was to strip their own dead and then cremate the bodies on a funeral pyre. There seemed to be no special ceremony for that, they just shared out the men’s belongings then watched as the bodies were consumed by the fire. As they burned, those watching drank to the dead men’s journey to Valhalla and recounted what I assumed were stories of their lives.

  Even before the fire had died down, one of the men mounted up and, having been given orders from Jarl Torstein, rode off towards the north. I assumed he was simply going to scout ahead for yet more farmsteads to plunder but that assumption was my third mistake. I regret to say that even that was not to be my last.

  * * * * *

  It occurred to me that it was strange that the raiders had been allowed to pillage so freely. The local fyrd should have intercepted them but presumably either couldn’t find them or didn’t want to. I could well understand if it was the latter. Torstein’s men were warriors of some merit, not just a ragged band of thieves or slavers. They were also well trained and used to moving quickly as, by the following day, they were ready to set off again, all the food they’d taken from the farmstead having been placed on a cart they’d found and hurriedly repaired. They’d also found the mule Aelred, Brother Benedict and I had used to carry our supplies and set that to pull the cart. With my hands still bound and secured by a long rope to the mule’s harness, I was made to follow as, at Torstein’s command, the whole group then moved off.

  ‘You could at least cut him down,’ I shouted, looking at the body of poor Brother Benedict which still hung from the tree.

  Torstein, who was one of only three men on horseback, came across to speak with me, riding alongside me as we spoke. ‘He’s a priest and I hate priests,’ he said venomously.

  I knew the truth of that. The Vikings relished the chance to torture monks and priests almost as much as they loved to rape any women they could take alive. They even took pleasure in despoiling their bodies once slain. ‘He was a monk, not a priest. A Holy man of peace and learning.’

  Torstein just sneered. ‘What difference is that to me?’

  ‘Then at least bury the others,’ I pleaded. ‘They did you no harm.’ Even as I spoke I was looking round for Aelred’s body but could see no sign of it. I could only assume that he’d been taken whilst still alive and then dragged off to be butchered elsewhere. If so, I regretted it with all my heart for he was a brave man and had proved a true and loyal friend. I was also filled with remorse for the fact that both he and Brother Benedict had died on my account. It seemed unfair that once again I should be the only one to survive and that their names should be added to the already long list of those whose death would weigh heavy on my conscience.

  ‘I haven’t the time or the mind to bury them,’ replied Torstein. ‘I’ve ensured they’re dead and thereby ended their suffering. I could have just left them all to bleed out where they lay but was merciful enough to at least hasten their end. What more would you have me do
?’

  ‘Bury them,’ I said again. ‘You could at least do that.’

  ‘Pah! Let your precious God take care of them. Besides, there’s no hurry. There are people in the far north of my land who leave their dead unburied for many weeks, freezing the corpse in ice as they then compete in races and contests of strength to see who shall inherit items from the dead man’s possessions. Only when all is spoken for do they burn the man’s body and scatter his ashes to the wind.’

  Scarcely able to believe that anyone could be so callous, I looked back at the ruined farmstead. ‘Then at least tell me why you attacked so brazenly?’ I asked. ‘Surely you should have taken the farmstead by surprise?’

  Torstein laughed. ‘You Saxons have never understood our ways,’ he said simply. ‘You think we come just to whet our swords in Christian blood, but there’s no profit in that. I have over thirty men to feed so need food and provisions. We sounded the Lur and marched down upon them openly in the hope that any of the fools who lived there would run. That way there would be fewer of them to fight us.’

  I suddenly realised what he was saying. ‘You wanted them to run away!’

  ‘Of course! We could then simply pick up what we need and be gone to seek more profitable raids. Poor farmsteads have nothing worth stealing except for food so why risk my men being wounded or slain for that?’

  ‘You killed them for a few cattle and a couple of swine?’ I said. ‘Is that all their lives were worth?’

  ‘I killed them because they resisted. We have no choice but to live off the land as we go, scavenging for food and anything else we need.’

  I looked at the cart which contained the carcasses of the stock they’d butchered and the few things they’d deemed worth stealing. ‘So much blood shed for so little profit,’ I said sorrowfully.

  ‘Why do you pretend to be so coy about the shedding of a little blood?’ he asked. ‘You did your share of the killing back there. I’m told that at least three of my men are dead on your account alone.’

  ‘I would have killed you all but for my wound,’ I boasted.

  ‘It seems you do a lot of killing,’ he observed. ‘And what difference did it make to the outcome, except to shed even more blood?’

  ‘I’m a warrior and I did my duty.’

  ‘Ah, a warrior is it? And you scarce pulled from your mother’s tit. What are you? Sixteen? Seventeen years of age?’

  ‘Did my age make any difference when I had a sword in my hand?’

  ‘You fought well enough,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll grant you that. But you’ve forfeited your life for nothing. That is unless Lord Alfred thinks well enough of you to pay your ransom.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve sent a rider to demand payment in return for sparing your hide. From what I hear of it he’ll pay willingly enough to see you safely restored. Though looking at that wound of yours he’ll be wasting his precious silver. I doubt you’ll live long even if I spare you.’

  I was suddenly shocked. ‘But how will he know it’s me?’ I demanded.

  ‘The rider will tell him that you’re the warrior with the pierced heart. That should be enough.’

  ‘He won’t know that’s me,’ I moaned.

  Torstein shrugged. ‘Well then, so be it. I can’t spare another rider now.’

  It was then I realised that by not telling him my real name I had made yet another mistake. Because of it, I’d be denied any hope of being ransomed and thereby returned to Alfred and to Emelda. ‘So what then will become of me?’ I asked, ruing having been so foolish. I should have realised they’d seek ransom for a captured warrior.

  Torstein looked down at me. ‘Half my men expect me to kill you whilst the other half fear we’ll be cursed if I do. Thus they would rather ensure that you died of your own accord.’

  ‘I’d never take my own life,’ I challenged.

  ‘I somehow doubt you’ll be quite so sure of that once they start to torture your feeble hide. I’ve never yet seen a man who would not readily open his own veins to avoid dying thus.’

  I needed no elaboration on the means at their disposal, so fell silent to contemplate my fate.

  ‘Or perhaps I’ll take you with us,’ he added.

  I looked up at him, not sure whether that was good news or not.

  ‘With that wound you won’t be worth much as a slave as I doubt you’d survive the hardship of a life in bondage for more than a week. But some might regard a man who has returned from the dead as a talisman or perhaps…’

  ‘Perhaps what?’

  ‘A rich man who has lost a son or a brother on a raid might pay for the privilege of exacting his revenge on you. I pity you if that’s the case but for me the decision is simple. I’ll take the best price I can manage and let the Gods decree your fate from there.’

  ‘Bastard!’ I said. ‘Have you no mercy in your soul?’

  ‘Ah, if it’s mercy you want I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If I can’t sell you I’ll kill you myself using your father’s sword. Is that not the merciful thing to do?’

  Chapter Ten

  Learning of Arne’s treachery had helped to salve my conscience about the loss of my escort, but I still felt responsible for the death of both Brother Benedict and Aelred. Whether I was guilty on that account or not I cannot say, but either way I had little option but to accept my own fate and face it with as much courage as I could manage. The best I could hope for from Torstein was a quick death, something which the Vikings were more likely to bestow on a man who faced his end bravely. Therefore I knew that I needed to keep up the pretence of being unafraid of dying as best I could. Yet hiding my fear was easier said than done. I had seen so much of death in my short life that the prospect of actually dying didn’t concern me unduly; it was the manner of my death which worried me – and not only because of the pain. My pride required that I neither begged for mercy nor died pissing myself from fear as I’d seen many others do before me.

  The strange thing was that although I hated Torstein for what he’d done to my escort, I also quite admired him. In some ways he reminded me of Sweyn, the merchant I’d met on my way back from spying on Guthrum’s camp at Chippenham. It was true that they both lived very different lives; Torstein was a warrior who commanded such respect from his men that they seemed never to question his leadership whereas Sweyn worked alone and lived in the shadows. Yet both used their guile and cunning to good effect and neither seemed to fear anything, despite the dangers they each faced every day.

  As a fellow warrior, I would have liked to discuss this with Torstein more fully but, as it turned out, he didn’t speak to me again for the rest of that day. Instead, he concentrated on keeping his men moving, presumably anxious to avoid meeting the fyrd if they had indeed been mustered. With no prisoners other than me to guard, the Vikings marched in no particular formation, albeit they kept up a good pace and were ever watchful for an ambush or for the chance of further pillage. During this time Arne kept his distance. He seemed to struggle to keep pace with the column as he insisted on carrying his father’s sword which was much too big for him to manage but which he wore tucked into his belt. I knew Red Viper to be a very fine weapon and recalled Edwin showing his prize to Alfred during our retreat from Chippenham. Thus I regretted having returned it to the boy as it deserved to be better treated than having the tip of the blade dragged along the ground, but neither Torstein nor any of the others seemed inclined to help the boy with his burden.

  Naturally, as we went I began to think of ways I might delay the Vikings to give the fyrd more time to reach us but, bound as I was, there was little I could do. Even as we settled down to make camp that night I was simply tied to a tree then left to my own devices. I was not offered food or even water as none seemed inclined to squander their supplies on a prisoner, especially one who’d killed some of their comrades and, in their eyes at least, was simply waiting to be slain.

  The next morning we were roused early and I was given water but nothing to ea
t. There was clearly great excitement in the camp and I watched as they began to prepare for something which I could only assume meant yet another raid. Men were busy cleaning and sharpening their weapons and all seemed eager for whatever it was that lay ahead.

  Torstein came across to speak with me. ‘My men think I should kill you now and be done with it,’ he said simply. ‘They fear that a man who has returned from the dead will bring us nothing but ill fortune.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘You are prepared to die?’

  I shrugged. ‘You’ll kill me sooner or later,’ I said. ‘Better to get it over with so I can return to be with my God in heaven. He’ll no doubt be pleased with me now that I’ve killed a few more heathens.’

  He drew his sword and studied the freshly sharpened blade.

  ‘I thought you were going to let me die by my father’s sword?’ I said.

  He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You truly have no fear of dying, do you, boy? It’ll be a pity to kill you but if I were to let you live you’d have to swear to do exactly as I say and make no attempt to escape. We’ve much work for our blades to do this day and I can ill afford to have you getting in our way.’

  ‘Why, what are you planning?’

  He knelt down beside me. ‘There’s an Abbey less than an hour’s march from here,’ he said as though that told me all I needed to know.

  In truth he was right; I needed no elaboration on what they would do when they reached the Abbey. It would be an easy target and would amount to wholesale slaughter with the monks who lived there having little with which to defend themselves. Even if they could conjure up some form of weaponry, it was unlikely that many of them would know how to fight or even have the will to do so, being more concerned for their souls than for their lives. ‘I’ll not give my word to watch as you butcher defenceless men, so do your worst and be done with it.’

  Torstein looked at his still drawn weapon. ‘I have never before met a Saxon who didn’t beg for mercy rather than feel the edge of my sword,’ he said, fingering the blade.