by Chris Bishop
‘You’ve come against him before? If so who is he?’ I asked anxious to know his name.
‘Pah! I can’t remember all the pathetic sods I’ve fought!’ he protested. ‘But what does it matter? If he was any sort of a warrior he’d have taken us by surprise this morning and been done with it. Instead of that he has his men line up to be slaughtered.’
‘But surely you won’t attack? You’ll wait for them to come to you?’
He looked around at the ruined Abbey. ‘What good would that do? The walls are scorched and weakened and the doors so badly damaged that they can no longer be properly secured. What’s more, I have barely a score of men who are fully fit for battle which means no more than half a dozen to each wall at best, so we couldn’t defend this place for long. I’m more worried that your Saxon friend will try to starve us out. Although we have all the supplies from the Abbey, we can’t afford a siege as that would allow him time to send for reinforcements.’
‘So what have you told your men?’ I asked wondering how he’d managed to persuade them to face such odds.
‘I told them the truth,’ he said laughing. ‘I’ve told them that I’m bound for Valhalla and that the road there lies through those fools on the hill. If we die with our blades steeped in their blood the Valkyries will surely carry us all to the Great Hall of Dead Warriors.’
With that he left me, still secured against the post with my hands tied but also under the watchful eye of Arne. Presumably he was considered too young to join the fray and I assumed his orders were to kill me if the battle didn’t go well. He therefore sat some way away from me with his drawn sword on his lap, fingering the blade as though he would relish the chance to use it. With my hands tied I would be helpless to resist if he did, which seemed a strange irony given how little time had passed since Alfred had spared his life when I offered to adopt him as my brother.
As Torstein went to join his men it seemed that they were no more concerned at being outnumbered than he was. Certainly there was no sign of panic or fear in their ranks. Instead, they kept the Saxons waiting as they prepared themselves and only when they were good and ready did they walk out through the gates towards the base of the slope.
* * * * *
The Saxons had been kept waiting long enough. As soon as the Vikings started moving up the slope towards them they began beating the backs of their shields impatiently, voicing their war cry of ‘OUT! OUT! OUT!’ Then, when the Vikings were close enough, they did what they always did when an attack was imminent, they hastily formed their shield wall. I noticed that this was only two rows deep and therefore would struggle to absorb the impact if the Vikings formed into a wedge and hit them hard. I wondered whether perhaps whoever commanded them planned for his men to break rank and swarm down the slope to meet the Vikings head on, thereby using his numbers to good effect. If so, I just hoped he knew what he was doing.
Meanwhile the Vikings saw no cause to tire themselves by rushing up the slope. In fact only when the Saxons loosed a volley of arrows into the air did they trouble to form their rank and then only so they could share the cover of those who had shields. Fortunately for them, it was not a well-directed volley and nothing like the hail of arrows I’d witnessed at Combwich which had so devastated Ubba and his band of berserkers, but it was enough. Unwilling to stand and endure more arrows, the Vikings surged forwards and slammed into the Saxon rank with such force that it surely shuddered under the impact.
What followed was utter carnage. Those on both sides were hacking, cutting or stabbing with their weapons, trying to bring men down and thereby secure whatever advantage could be gained. It was bloody work but, as I feared, the Vikings were clearly having the better of it. They seemed to suffer few losses whilst the Saxon shield wall was all but breached, several men having fallen when their legs were cut from under them. The Saxons were slow to step into the gaps and I could barely watch as the Vikings prepared to push through them, knowing the slaughter which would follow once they did. At that point it seemed that Torstein had been right: they were not well-trained warriors he was facing but men pressed reluctantly into battle. But then, quite suddenly, everything changed.
I could make no sense of it at first. Just as it looked as if the Vikings would secure their victory they turned and retreated down the slope! The Saxons could not believe their luck and, like fools, followed intending to exact their revenge. Their Ealdorman was screaming at them not to break rank but either they couldn’t hear him or they were too incensed by their lust for blood to hold themselves back. Thus almost every man broke free and charged after the retreating Vikings, spoiling for their share of the slaughter.
The Vikings kept running until they reached the foot of the slope. There they stopped, turned and hurriedly formed a defensive line of their own. Almost at once the Saxons realised their mistake. A few could not help but run headlong on to the Viking’s wall, but others managed to turn in time and began running back up to where their Ealdorman still waited. Many were caught as the Vikings then advanced once more and all were cut down and brutally slain, being no match for Torstein’s blood-crazed warriors when it came to fighting one to one.
As always, the Vikings showed no mercy and by the time they’d finished hacking and slashing at the terrified Saxons, over half of the members of the fyrd lay dead or dying. Those farmers and merchants knew then what it was to face trained warriors.
Whoever the Saxon Ealdorman was he was surely no coward but then neither did he seem to know much about battle craft. Instead of standing his ground, he marched down the slope to gather up what he could of his depleted force. As he did so, the Vikings simply moved back as if inviting him to join them again in combat. In fact Torstein even let him reform his shield wall at the bottom of the slope but, once it was set, the Vikings put into effect the next part of their fearful plan.
As the Saxons reformed their line, several of Torstein’s men took up a large beam taken from one of the ruined buildings and, between them, lugged it to where their comrades waited. With the beam in hand, they advanced quickly, using it like a battering ram which they slammed into the shield wall. The result was obvious. The wall was immediately breached as men were simply knocked aside and, with that, the rest of the Vikings swarmed into the gap to wreak their havoc.
The fighting which followed could never be described as epic; it was more like a rout. I recall Edwin telling me that in battle a man is beaten from the moment he fears he’ll lose and so it was with the members of the fyrd. Having lost heart, they were easy targets for the Vikings and most were cut down where they stood. Those who did survive formed up into a single group clustered around their Lord, crying out for mercy as they waited for their turn to die.
To my surprise, Torstein ordered his men to cease their butchery then went across to speak with the Ealdorman, calling on him to surrender.
‘Why should we? You’ll kill us anyway!’ came the reply.
‘There’s no profit in blood,’ replied Torstein. ‘Be it yours or mine. Give me tribute and you can live.’
The Ealdorman seemed pleased at that. ‘How much silver would it take for you to spare us and then leave this Shire?’
Torstein looked back at the scorched doors of the Abbey to which the body of the poor abbot was still nailed. ‘I demand the abbot’s weight in silver,’ he said, at which the other Vikings all roared with laughter when he repeated his demands to them.
I looked around at what was left of Torstein’s horde, trying to decide whether they were still a viable threat. They had taken losses as well and, as far as I could see, were down to just a dozen men plus some who were wounded but probably still able to wield a weapon if needed.
‘I can’t find so much silver just like that!’ pleaded the Ealdorman. ‘You’ll have to give me time!’
I think Torstein had not truly expected him to agree to pay so much tribute, but he wasn’t about to pass up the chance of such a great haul. One of his men seemed to feel differently and began reasoning w
ith him, perhaps pointing out that the battle had gone their way and given them the chance to make good their escape with all the booty they’d plundered from the Abbey. If that was so, Torstein’s greed quickly overcame any qualms he had about remaining. ‘I’ll give you two days,’ he replied. ‘No more.’
‘Then you’ll have to let me go to raise it,’ said the Ealdorman, clearly seeing a chance for him and his remaining men to escape.
Torstein knew the answer to that. ‘Who is your second in command?’ he demanded.
‘My son, Caelin,’ replied the Ealdorman proudly but without thinking.
‘Then we shall hold Caelin until you return. He will be well treated but shall be held as a hostage and as surety for your pledge. If you don’t return to make payment in full I shall kill him and nail his carcass up beside that of the abbot. Is that not fair?’
The Ealdorman could now see his mistake, but he didn’t seem to have much choice. He therefore agreed to the terms.
‘But your men must leave their weapons here,’ added Torstein. When the Ealdorman agreed, Caelin was sent forward from their ranks and went to stand beside Torstein looking petrified and probably half expecting to be killed anyway. With that the Vikings lowered their own weapons to allow the Saxons to leave.
The Ealdorman and his few remaining men departed having failed to fight off even a modest band of Vikings. They went as quickly as they could, glad to have escaped what must have seemed to them like the very shadow of death, even leaving those of their wounded who couldn’t walk to bleed out on the field where they lay. With their heads lowered and unarmed, they presented little in the way of a threat, but I knew what Torstein was thinking. They could just as easily return with reinforcements and, with his numbers depleted and his warriors so weary, he could not expect to fight a second battle in as many days and win.
* * * * *
When they’d gone, Caelin was also bound and made to stand beside me, his hands clasped together in front of him and his head bowed. He was a lusty lad of about my age, not tall but strongly built. However, looking at his clothes I was certain that he wasn’t the son of an Ealdorman, not least because he had no mail vest nor even a proper helmet. The Vikings pushed and shoved him a bit and no doubt he received the odd kick or punch, but he was otherwise not harmed.
‘I have a feeling that I’m going to be putting you to the sword in two days’ time,’ said Torstein as he came to inspect his new prisoner. ‘I don’t think your friends will be coming back for you, do you?’ I think he hoped that in answering, Caelin would reveal whether or not the Ealdorman was likely to return in force, but the lad made no reply. Instead he just looked at me with terror in his eyes.
‘What’s the matter, boy? Don’t you think your father will consider you to be worth a few sacks of silver?’
Still Caelin said nothing.
‘What kind of warriors were they anyway?’ mused Torstein, looking at me. ‘They were so keen to be gone from here they willingly surrendered their weapons and didn’t trouble to recover their wounded or even ask to bury their dead.’
I had to admit he had a point. Whatever I thought of the Vikings, the Saxons on that day had shown neither discipline nor skill in battle. Their tactics had been woefully lacking and their Ealdorman was, as Torstein had said, a fool.
Caelin and I then watched the Vikings strip the bodies of the fallen of anything which was of value. It didn’t amount to very much as the members of the fyrd were mostly poor farmers. Even their weapons were not worth taking and anything which might be deemed to be worth something had been left behind in the hope that if they were slain it would help to sustain their families in time of need.
At one point during the battle I thought I’d seen Aelred, though I knew that could have been wishful thinking on my part. Even so, I needed to know. ‘Tell me,’ I asked Caelin once we’d been left to ourselves. ‘Was there a man among your ranks by the name of Aelred? And if so, do you know if he survived?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Caelin. ‘Though I cannot say for certain.’
‘But you do know him?’
‘Aye. I think so. He came to us a few days ago. He said he knew which way the Vikings were headed and could find them. He also said it would be easy pickings as they were so few in number, yet it seems that even then we bit off more than we could chew.’
‘But why did he help you? Surely it was no concern of his?’
Caelin looked at me curiously. ‘He said he had a friend who was being held captive. A man who is great warrior and can cheat death. I assume he meant you?’
I nodded to affirm the point. ‘But why did he come back for me; he owes me nothing?’
‘Are you not his master?’
‘No, as far as I know Aelred has no master; at least not one he answers to. He’s neither freeman nor slave, but then we are none of us what we seem, are we? You, for example, you’re not the Ealdorman’s son are you?’
Caelin looked down at his feet. ‘No, but then neither is that fool an Ealdorman. He’s a thane sent by his Lord to see off these raiders.’
Suddenly it all made sense. ‘Not an Ealdorman?’
‘No,’ said Caelin shaking his head. ‘Lord Sigbert governs here but he leaves matters to one of his thanes, a man named Eadred.’
‘And that was Eadred? The one who made such a hash of the battle?’
‘It was. He’s supposed to have a way in matters of war so was given command in preference to the other nobles but…well, you saw how poorly we fared against even such a small band of Vikings.’
I was astonished that such an important task as defending the Shire had been entrusted to a man so incompetent. ‘And you’re what? Their scapegoat? The one they’ve sacrificed to save their own precious skins?’
‘I had no choice,’ he managed at last. ‘I owe my Lord taxes and Eadred promised me my dues would be forgotten if I pretended to be his son. If I hadn’t agreed my mother and father would have been driven out and forced to become beggars in their dotage. This way at least my family can keep our small farmstead.’
‘That was a costly debt!’ I noted.
‘All I hope is that they kill me quickly when they realise they’ve been duped,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard how cruel they can be.’
I looked around at all the dead both on the battlefield and within the remains of the Abbey. ‘A quick death is something the Vikings only bestow on enemies they respect and there’s not much chance of that given all that’s happened here.’
‘How will they do it?’ he asked, clearly very frightened.
I shrugged. ‘That depends on what they can think of at the time. Just remember that the braver you are the quicker it’ll be over.’ This didn’t seem to be of much comfort to him.
‘But they haven’t killed you?’ he said.
‘No, not yet. But they will. At present they don’t seem to know what to do with me but they’ll kill me in time, of that I’m certain. Unless of course your Lord comes back with reinforcements in time to save us both. Either that or with a chest full of silver.’
‘Not much chance of that either,’ explained Caelin. ‘It’s my guess he’s now sitting by his fire drinking and whoring, knowing that his Lord will be grateful to have avoided paying tribute and got away with it.’
‘Then they’re all cowards,’ I said sternly. ‘An Ealdorman should be looking out for those within his Shire, not sending them to their certain death under the command of an incompetent fool.’
‘It’s always the way,’ agreed Caelin. ‘We pay for their excess; first with our sweat and then with our blood.’
‘Well, if I do get out of here Lord Alfred shall hear of this idiot’s treachery,’ I said. ‘I know him well enough to be sure that he’ll not permit his subjects to be treated thus.’
For a moment Caelin stared at me. ‘So who are you that you can speak to Lord Alfred in person?’ he asked.
‘That’s a long story and I suspect that neither of us has time enough for me to tell it. Suffice
you should know that I’m called Matthew but was christened Edward. My father was Lord Edwulf and I was on a mission for Lord Alfred when I was wounded and ended up here, a prisoner like you.’
He hesitated, clearly surprised that I was of such noble birth given how wretched I must have looked. Then he glanced at my torn shirt and must have seen my scar. ‘But are you…?’
‘The warrior with the pierced heart? Yes, I am he. But don’t believe all the stories you’ve heard. I’m as mortal as any other man and was just lucky that the wound was not fatal,’ I explained. ‘How I escaped death I cannot say but I fear I may not fare quite so well the next time.’
Chapter Twelve
Once the last of the Saxons had fled, the Vikings passed the time by tending to their wounds, mending their weapons and resting. Ironically, the monks they’d slain at the Abbey were most likely the people who could have best helped them heal the deep cuts and arrow wounds some of them had suffered, but such is the futility of war – for no clemency is ever shown to those with skills or ability any more than it is for the pious and the righteous.
After a while, those Vikings who had avoided injury prepared fires on which to cremate their dead. They ignored the bodies of the monks and the Saxons, leaving them to the mercy of the crows and wild beasts which would no doubt see in them the chance for easy pickings.
‘How long will you wait?’ I asked Torstein, certain that whenever he chose to kill Caelin my own life would be forfeit as well. I was not sure why, but Caelin had been taken away by then and secured in another part of the ruined Abbey.
Torstein just laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve time enough to kill you both. Then he seemed more serious. ‘That’s assuming this boy is who we’re told he is, not just some poor wretch sent to die in place of the others.’
I realised then that Torstein had seen through the ruse all along. ‘So why did you let them go if you feared that to be the case?’
‘There was no profit in killing more of them,’ he reasoned. ‘Besides, I’ve lost near half my men and even those remaining are tired or wounded. I need to buy them a few days to rest.’