by Chris Bishop
‘Why should I fear death?’ I said sounding braver than I felt. ‘I’ve died before, remember? All I hope is that your sword is sharp enough to get it over with without too much pain.’
He looked at me long and hard and, at that point, I truly believed he would kill me – not out of anger, but in the manner of a cold-blooded execution. Once more I prepared to meet my fate by crossing myself and uttering a short prayer, though it was said more for my spiritual comfort than as an attempt to secure redemption.
‘This nailed God you worship must be a powerful God if you are so anxious to meet him again,’ he mused, clearly unnerved by my steadfast refusal to plead for my life. ‘I should like to know more about him.’
‘Well, for a start, the one we nailed to a cross wasn’t our God, that was his only son; a man we call Jesus.’
‘And this God you worship let you do that? He let you nail his son to a cross and watch him die? That doesn’t sound like much of a God to me.’
‘He died that we might live,’ I explained.
‘How is that? How did this son of your God secure the lives of you all simply by dying himself?’
‘Because he didn’t die. Or at least he did, but he rose from the dead and then went to sit beside his father in heaven. As Christians we believe we can do the same if we do enough to please him.’
‘Like you?’ said Torstein. ‘Did you not also rise from the dead?’
I shook my head. ‘No, not like me. As I told you, if I’ve returned from the dead it’s only to kill a few more of the likes of you. Obviously I didn’t do enough of that in my first life.’
With that he laughed, got up and then sheathed the sword, clearly having decided to let me live – at least for the time being. ‘Such courage deserves better than to be cut down whilst still bound to a tree and unable to defend yourself,’ he said respectfully. ‘Instead, you will come with us. I want to show you just how inventive my warriors can be when it comes to slaughter. Maybe then you won’t be quite so keen on dying again.’
As they finished their preparations I looked at the other warriors more closely. They were indeed a ragged band, many of them carrying wounds that had only part healed or were marked from their previous battles in other ways. Several had fingers missing, which was a common injury in battle, and almost all of them bore terrible scars. Apart from that, they still seemed eager for yet more fighting as they donned their war gear. It was mainly mail vests or leather jerkins like the one I’d taken from the dead slaver but no longer owned. Most also had helmets or leather caps and they all carried an array of weapons. For many of them that was a battleaxe which I knew to be a dreadful weapon to come against, but others carried spears and all had a seax or shortened single-edged sword tucked within their belts. Some of them didn’t even bother with a shield as it was not their way to form up for a raid on a settlement or an Abbey as they might for a battle, preferring instead to remain free from any encumbrance as they charged headlong into the fray, hitting hard and fast then hacking their way through any defences. Once engaged it would be every man for himself, though I doubted they would keep anything they seized as personal plunder. Spoil would be shared out by their Jarl afterwards according to merit and seniority.
They were ready to leave almost before I knew it. I was therefore dragged to my feet and had a rope looped around my neck, the other end of which was held securely by one of the warriors so that I had little option but to try to keep up. That wasn’t easy with my hands still bound and all I could do was stumble along behind them. Arne was left to lead the horses and the cart so that the others could move swiftly and quietly, all of them anxious to reach the Abbey.
After a while they left the road and began working their way across country, by then moving more slowly so as not to make more noise than could be helped. Soon we crested a ridge with a steep escarpment beyond it that led down to a vale of rich pastures where we could see their objective.
* * * * *
The Abbey was not one I recognised nor, I think, one I had ever visited before. It was a roughly square building, probably originally a large Roman villa or possibly a garrison, with rendered walls and a red-tiled roof, part of which had been replaced with thatch. In fact time had not been kind to the building, most of it having been repaired, extended or improved, though its original form could still be seen. For the most part it was a single storey high and fully enclosed by a wall to the front and sides and by a wide river to the rear. There was a gateway to the front which had a tower to one side of it and was secured by two heavy oak doors, each braced with iron. The doors, I assumed, would lead directly to a large courtyard which would contain various stores and workshops, perhaps a kitchen with a refectory and at least one chapel, all secure within the fortifications. The layout and facilities of an Abbey didn’t always follow a pattern that was common to all, therefore I could only guess how that particular enclave had been arranged. Being at the centre of the courtyard, I assumed that the main building housed the offices for the abbot and more senior brethren who would thus be afforded the privacy of a cell to themselves, as would any visitors. The more junior monks and novices would no doubt share one of several dormitories where utter silence would be the rule to allow for quiet prayer and contemplation. Some Abbeys included a nunnery but that one was too small to accommodate both sexes.
Beyond its immediate precincts, the Abbey was surrounded by fields which were needed to provide the monks who lived there with food and anything else they required. Indeed, I could see one or two of the good brothers toiling at the soil and, had we been closer, I might have been tempted to call out to warn them. As it was, I doubted whether any of them would hear me at such a distance and I knew what to expect if I did. There were also some other outbuildings which were probably barns and possibly a brewhouse, plus a dovecot, a number of coops and various pens containing livestock, together with a large pond that was no doubt stocked with fish. All this I noted carefully in the hope that it might prove useful if I did get the chance to escape whilst the Vikings were busy with their raid.
The hardest part for Torstein would be to breach the huge doors in order to secure the courtyard. Once that was taken, they would torch all the buildings there in case anyone was inside who might be able to mount some sort of rearguard assault. Then, with the courtyard secure, it would just be a question of working their way through the various rooms and cells in the main building until they’d completed their slaughter and pillaged all they could find.
‘You’ll never break them down,’ I mused as Torstein surveyed the doors.
He said nothing but must have known I was right. He would also have known that if they tried to rush them, many of his men would be easy targets for anyone armed with even a hunting bow mounted in the tower beside the doorway. Although most monks were men of peace, some of them might have sought to retreat to the monastic life as self-imposed penance for lives spent as a warrior or worse, thus those few might not be averse to defending themselves and their Holy Brothers, even though poorly armed.
‘So how will you get past the doors?’ I taunted him. ‘Will you simply stroll up to them and ask to be admitted?’
He grinned, clearly having already formed his plan. ‘No, I won’t do that,’ he said. ‘But you will.’
I was stunned for a moment. ‘Why in God’s name would I help in the slaughter of innocent monks?’ I protested.
‘Because if you don’t I’ll slit your gizzard and pull out your guts with my bare hands, that’s why.’
I was scarce able to believe that after all we’d spoken of he could still imagine that I wouldn’t readily trade my life for that of so many innocent people. ‘I might betray you and raise the alarm,’ I said coldly.
‘You might. There’s only one way to find out and that way we’ll also see how brave you really are.’
With that he outlined his plan to his men and then to me. It seemed that this time they would wait for the cover of night and then creep as close as they dared be
fore waiting to make their attack at first light. Those were the tactics I was more familiar with but knew there was a flaw. The monks would be at prayer for Matins well before dawn and therefore unlikely to be taken by surprise. In fact for most of them the day would be well underway by then, meaning they would not be caught whilst still abed as Torstein seemed to expect. Needless to say I said nothing of this. As far as I could tell the plan was for Torstein and me to go forward to pound upon the doors and ask for shelter. As the doors were opened, he would barge through, kill whoever was on the other side of them then wait for his men to follow him into the courtyard.
‘One false move,’ he warned. ‘One word out of turn and I’ll cut you down where you stand. Do you hear me?’
I nodded, though of course I had every intention of warning the monks, even if it cost me my life to do so.
* * * * *
Just before dawn Torstein’s men moved down the escarpment to take cover as close to the Abbey as they could without being seen.
Torstein looked around one last time to ensure none of his men were visible, then he and I walked towards the Abbey. He held a knife to my back the whole way and kept it pressed hard against my spine as he pounded on the doors. After only a few moments we heard the sound of footsteps beyond and I knew that whoever they belonged to would open the small viewing hatch in one of the doors to see who was knocking. That was to be my chance – but Torstein was one step ahead of me. He struck me hard across the back of the head with the handle of the knife, so hard that I was knocked almost senseless. As he did so he stopped me from falling by tucking his arm under mine. Then, as the small hatch was opened, I half heard someone ask who was there and Torstein reply that he had found me injured. ‘This good Christian needs your care,’ he said. ‘I think he’s been set upon by robbers.’
I wanted desperately to call out but Torstein gagged me with his hand. Then, as one of the doors was opened, he thrust me forward on to the man who stood there before striking the fellow down with his sword. That done, he kicked the other door wide open and gave his signal for the rest of his horde to attack.
The raiding party swarmed towards the gateway with lighted torches, screaming and shouting like fiends as they advanced. Once past the doors the slaughter began in earnest. There would have been at least forty men residing there, all of them men of God. As they scurried for cover, some of them were looking to hide treasured artefacts and relics, others simply trying to hide themselves or flee from their impending doom. All were cut down as the Vikings relished the slaughter they inflicted upon them.
I did what I could to delay matters but no sooner had we entered the courtyard than I was tied to a post and left to watch the terror from there. I saw men cut down with axes or run through with spears and I saw several tossed into the flames of the burning buildings whilst still alive.
Most shocking of all was that the Vikings seemed to revel in all that, jeering and shouting as they did their worst. Gradually, men would appear bearing items they’d found and deemed worth stealing. Silver cups, gold crosses and all manner of precious relics were brought forth from the buildings and thrown into a heap on the ground.
Several monks and one I took to be their abbot were taken captive and they too were brought into the courtyard to await their fate. One of them saw me and looked at me questioningly, though whether he took me for a spy who had betrayed them or was simply curious to know how I came to be there I cannot say. Either way the slaughter seemed to be over for which I at once gave thanks. But once again I was mistaken.
The Vikings built up a huge fire in the centre of the courtyard on to which they threw all the books they could find, having first prised the precious stones from the covers and torn out any pages they thought pretty enough to be worth something. What I couldn’t understand was why they needed another fire. All around us parts of the main building were burning fiercely by then as were most of the lesser buildings in the courtyard, but I soon learned what they had in mind.
Once they’d built the fire high enough, the monks they’d taken prisoner were dragged towards it one at a time. A rope was secured to each arm and then stretched out to the sides so that as these were tightened, the poor soul could be dragged closer and closer to the flames. Restrained from behind by a further rope, the luckless victim was prevented from throwing himself into the flames and thereby ending the torture. In this way they were held in place and virtually roasted alive by the intense heat. The Vikings seemed to love that particular torture which they called boiling the blood, and all stood and chanted as the helpless victims died in excruciating pain. The abbot, who was made to watch all this, could do nothing but kneel in prayer, his hands clasped together and raised to God. When it came to his turn he was dragged towards the gates then pressed back hard against one of the doors. A rope was then looped around his chest and he was hoisted up so that his feet no longer touched the ground. Helpless to resist, his arms and legs were then spread wide like wings and a third man brought a large hammer and some brutal nails and, between them, they then set about nailing him to the door. The goodly abbot screamed in terror and agony as the nails were driven home, first through his outstretched hands and then his feet.
Mercifully, the poor man soon lost consciousness and his body hung limply from the door, blood streaming from his wounds. He was left there until God chose to take his soul, though it seemed that the good Lord was in no hurry to receive him for it took a long time for him to die.
Even Torstein seemed shocked by the sheer brutality of the abbot’s death. ‘And that’s what you did to the son of your God?’ he said to me quietly. ‘You nailed him up to die like that? If so, all I can say is that he’s either a very weak God or a very forgiving one.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ I said defensively. ‘As I told you, his son died to save us all.’
I had no words with which to defend my faith beyond that so said nothing more. Instead, I sunk to my knees having at last found the strength I needed to pray in earnest. But it was not for my own life that I prayed; instead I was imploring God to receive the innocent souls of those who had been so cruelly slain for doing nothing more than devote their lives to Him.
Chapter Eleven
That night it rained so hard that I began to think it was God’s plan for washing away so much evil. If so, it also served to rinse away the blood from the ground and douse the flames which had engulfed every building. The Vikings cowered from the downpour in whatever shelter they could find within the courtyard – but that didn’t amount to much as even though some of the walls of the Abbey still stood, the tiled roofs had collapsed once the timbers supporting them had burned through. Almost all the other buildings were reduced to not much more than charred and blackened ruins and even the perimeter walls and the doors had been scorched and damaged by the flames. The Vikings posted two men to stand guard in the tower overnight whilst the rest of them slept as best they could, all no doubt cursing as the rain soaked them to the skin. I was still tied to the post where I was left to endure the longest, wettest night I could remember, huddled into a ball like a sleeping dog to keep myself as dry as possible given that I had no shelter of any kind.
The dawn brought better weather but also a new problem for Torstein. As we roused ourselves from sleep we looked out on what appeared to be a small army which had taken up a position on the ridge above the Abbey, the one from which we had first seen the Holy enclave. I knew at once it was the fyrd come at last to set matters right. The protection of an Abbey within the Shire was a solemn duty and I couldn’t understand why they’d not come sooner. However, whilst their arrival was too late for the goodly abbot and the monks, it did at least mean there was a chance that I might be rescued at last.
The members of the fyrd had lined up in single file on the ridge and looked to be armed and ready. They numbered perhaps seventy men all told and were clearly ready to exact their revenge. Even as we shook ourselves from sleep, three men waited halfway down the slope to speak with
Torstein, presumably intending to entreat him to surrender.
Torstein calmly donned his war gear before riding out to meet them, taking two of his senior warriors with him.
I cannot say what passed between the two parties but whatever it was amounted to no more than a few words before they returned to their respective ranks.
Torstein looked angry when he got back, though not unduly concerned by the fact that, by my reckoning, he was outnumbered by at least two or possibly three to one. Not only that, but whilst he’d lost no men taking the Abbey, a few were still injured from the previous raid and barely fit for battle.
As his men prepared themselves, Torstein was shouting his orders, all of which the men seemed to receive readily enough.
‘Not so sure of yourself now!’ I chided as Torstein walked past me.
The Viking just sneered then inclined his head towards those on the hill. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, boy. I shall swat those fools like flies.’
‘You’ll be slaughtered,’ I said looking again at the numbers set against him. It was true that the Saxons would have marched through the night to get there but the Vikings were already battle weary and in no fit state to fight again so soon.
Torstein seemed unperturbed. ‘Slaughtered by what?’ he challenged. ‘A few farmers armed with nothing more than pitchforks and rusty spears? They’re thinking of their cattle or of screwing their fat little wives, not fighting. Hence they’ll flee as soon as we attack.’
‘Don’t be so sure of yourself,’ I warned. ‘They still have the advantage of the slope. That was the way of it at Edington as I recall.’
He stopped for a moment as if to consider what I’d said. ‘I can deal with that. The man who commands them is a fool and he’s followed by nothing but sheep. I’ve shorn him and his flock before and shall do so again, you mark my words.’