by Tony Roberts
And it seemed to be working! As the leading elements of the attack came close, suddenly the entire line seemed the melt and shrink away, fleeing! Rudolf Eidursson, in the midst of the biggest group in the center, roared in delight. Now these motherless fools would taste death! He’d been in two minds whether to side with The Walker, but he had been persuaded to switch sides by his wise men who pointed out Mittenmark were strong and proven, whereas Husborg were neither. Best to share in the spoils, even if they were not great, rather than be conquered and placed under the boot of a victor.
Casca led his men through one of the three channels and then turned, just in front of his second line who were picking up their roughly-hewn spears. They weren’t well-made nor pretty, but they were heavy and had sharp points, just how he wished. As the front line peeled away, the sharpened stakes in the ground became visible to the surprised men of Sundsvalk.
Eidursson screamed in outrage. The sneaky bastard! Some of his men were running too fast and were too close to avoid the front points, and besides, they couldn’t stop as the men behind would crash into them; the ones behind still couldn’t see what was before them.
Men leaped. They tried to avoid the sharpened points, gleaming with sap. Most failed. With scream of pain they landed amongst the wicked points, and the waiting men of Husborg used their axes to chop the prone and helpless men before them.
Eidursson shouted to his men to pour through the now visible channels, waving his axe in the air.
Casca nodded to Magnus behind him. The big Viking filled his lungs. “Throw!”
Almost forty spears arced over the front line and plunged down into the milling Vikings before them. Men fell, transfixed by the rough and crude missiles, but they did their job. Eidursson was beside himself with fury. “I’ll kill that piece of shit!” he promised, dragging aside a writhing man clutching one of the spears embedded in his upper chest.
With his axe waving before him, the Jarl of Sundsvalk stepped over another of his downed men and came for Casca, roaring in rage. Casca stepped forward and met his downward blow. He was dimly aware that the surviving men of Sundsvalk were now pressing in on his men, but the defenders now outnumbered the attackers. Twenty or so had perished in a matter of heartbeats, and others were badly hurt. Nothing to him mattered at that moment but the onrushing, bare-teethed Jarl. Eidursson was intent on smashing Casca down, but the Eternal Mercenary was having none of it.
With a shorter swing, the Jarl had the advantage in getting his blows in faster. Casca had the longer reach. He thrust at Rudolf’s throat and the Viking had to dodge hastily. His axe came up in a reflex to protect himself.
As Eidursson planted his right foot down hard, Casca moved to his own right, half-turning. He knew the Jarl was going to swing up hard. He’d seen it all before. The keen edge of the blade came for Casca hard. Casca dodged back and the blow missed him by inches.
Casca now slashed hard. Eidursson took it across the chest, from the bottom of his ribcage on the left to his right pectoral. The sharp tempered steel blade tore through the fur and finely-crafted chainmail. Both knew it was a serious blow.
The Jarl staggered back, both hands to his injury. He went three steps then fell down on one knee, his face screwed up in pain. His men hesitated, seeing their leader down and the failure of an attack they thought would have been easy.
Sensing they were wavering, Casca raised his sword. “Attack!”
The men of Husborg roared and rushed forward, hammering into the men of Sundsvalk. Axes blurred through the air. Blood flew. Suddenly the men of Sundsvalk had had enough. With their leader down they broke and fled in all directions. Casca screamed at his men to stop.
This was what Henningsson had waited for. With a deep roar, he ordered his men to attack.
Casca ran to the front and physically grabbed two men who were still pursuing the fleeing enemy. “Get back into line! Mittenmark is coming!”
He got a few men to obey but the majority just weren’t used to discipline. The front line was scattered in knots and now the Mittenmark men were beginning to pick them off at leisure.
Screaming in frustration Casca ordered his second line to stand behind the stakes. They watched in frustration as the front line was overwhelmed in moments. Only twelve made it back.
“Get back behind the line,” Casca snapped. “Get your breath back. Wait for my order!”
At least he had a second reserve, but it was a pitifully thin number. He still had his secret weapon, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they would be needed. Now Henningsson marshalled his forces before them, his teeth fixed in a grimace of pleasure. He knew he had them. His men were too numerous and they had taken down enough of the Husborg warriors to make the outcome certain. He split his force into three. He still kept a reserve handy just in case. He hadn’t become Jarl and remained at the top by being stupid.
The other two groups, numbering fifty in each, lined up. The right-hand group would pin the front of the enemy against their stakes. This force’s remit was to press and keep the Husborg line fixed where they were. The left-hand force would sweep around the end of the stakes and crush the flank of the enemy and roll them up. It shouldn’t last very long.
Casca could see what was going to happen. His special reserve would have to time their intervention precisely. He motioned to Magnus. “Keep this line at all costs. I’m going to command the flank. We’re going to be hit there hard.”
The Viking nodded. All he had to do was to hold the three gaps with his thirty men. Ten men to a gap. Enough for two lines of five for each. He stepped up to the center of the small force and slapped the blade of his sword into his open palm. “Well, men of Odin,” he said calmly, “shall we show the gods how to fight like true men?”
Casca reached the ten men holding the flank. “They’ll hit hard,” he said. “You’re to give ground, swing back against the stakes here,” he pointed. “Make them present their backs to our hidden reserve.” The men nodded, sweating. They understood. He then strode quickly to the churned-up area hiding the reserve. He could see the eyes looking up at him, but he was looking for them. “Don’t move until they have their backs to you, then strike, and strike hard!”
He only just managed to get back to his line when the attack came. Roars to the gods filled the air. The smell of sweat, blood and churned-up earth came to him. Battle called him, flowed through his veins. Dammit! This is what makes me feel alive!
The flank attack came very fast indeed. Vikings holding hand axes ran at them and threw themselves furiously against the line of circular wooden shields. The teeth-jarring, bone-shaking sound was indescribable. Casca’s men were knocked backwards by the fury of the assault, some taking three steps backwards, shields raised in a reflex.
The men of Mittenmark pressed forward, axes and swords rising and falling, pressing the defenders back. Casca stepped to the extreme end and smashed his shield into the face of one Viking who came at him screaming in battle fury. The blow rattled Casca’s left arm, then he struck back.
The Viking grunted in pain and slid to the ground. His neck was almost severed. Casca edged backwards, pulling the man alongside him to follow. They went back four steps, the line bending into an ‘L’ shape. The enemy pushed on, eager to exploit the advantage. Two of Casca’s men were down but six of Mittenmark had gone with them.
Now! Casca’s mind yelled.
Almost as if they had heard him, the ground behind the attackers erupted and ten men burst clear, roaring mightily. The surprised Vikings couldn’t disengage and were butchered mercilessly. Suddenly the defenders were pushing forward. Casca slammed his metal boss in the center of his shield into another enemy’s face, knocking three teeth out. His blade slammed into the guts of the luckless Viking and yet another warrior had fallen to the merciless hands of the Eternal Mercenary.
Axes cut down man after man and suddenly the Mittenmark left collapsed. Henningsson flew into a rage as he saw his men scatter. “Motherless cowards! They’re
only a few! Get some balls and turn and face them!”
He urgently gestured to his own reserve. They stepped forward, a line of shields. They outnumbered Casca’s men by two to one and now any element of surprise that had existed was now gone.
Casca quickly glanced to his left. His line was holding but only just. Bodies were piling up, and Magnus had been left with no choice but to bring the remnants of the first line back to help keep things from collapsing. Both sides were bleeding one another white. There were no reserves left and now his men were to face the Mittenmark reserve which was fresh and twice their number.
“May the gods smile upon us,” Casca muttered. He gripped his sword tightly. “Stand together, men. Lock shields. Brace.”
The Vikings stood defiantly, trying to find stable purchase amongst the churned-up mud and blood. Body parts littered the ground and here and there someone was whimpering, trying to drag himself away from the fight. The Jarl of Mittenmark led the attack himself, shouting out loud to his men that Casca The Walker was his. Suits me fine, he thought.
The sides closed. This time there was no run nor charge. This was a deliberate closing in. The last few paces would be quick and violent, everyone knew. Henningsson arranged them into blocks of svyn fylking. He was going to try to shatter the line into pieces. If he did that, then it was all over.
Casca stood facing one of these formations. He gritted his teeth and tensed himself. He and the man alongside him would be hit. It came, shocking and sudden. He was, however, hugely experienced and knew what to do. He pushed hard with his shield and stabbed hard. His old Roman army training came to him at that moment, and he could almost hear the centurion screaming at his unit in Latin: “stand fast! Lock shields! Keep in formation!”
He was not aware of it, but he was repeating those commands out loud to his men, but they did not understand Latin. Still, they took his yelling as encouragement and tried to keep the inexorable force at bay, but there were too many. Casca pulled his sword free of the first man’s guts and ducked behind his shield as the one behind smashed his axe down towards the eternal mercenary’s head.
Quick slash. Step backwards. Two men swung at him. One got his axe blade stuck on the edge of his shield. Casca slammed his sword blade down hard, cutting through the Viking’s forearm. Leaving the man on his knees screaming, the eternal mercenary clashed blades with the other man. Block. Step to the right. Another Viking came at him, sword whirling. Casca’s shield blocked it and he thrust hard under his opponent’s guard into his guts.
Two more came at him from the left. His men were being scattered and now it was just a matter of time.
“Now you swine-fucker,” Henningsson announced his arrival before Casca. “Time to put you where you belong.”
“Where’s that,” Casca responded, gripping sword and shield tightly. “Your woman’s arms?”
The Jarl sneered. “I’ll make her a present out of your genitals.”
“I’ll do that without your help you eunuch. Time she had a real man.”
Henningsson growled and flailed at Casca, stepping forward. Casca used his shield and then hacked back. His opponent blocked and swung hard, aiming to cut the former Roman legionary’s head off. Block. Thrust. Casca’s attack was fast and the Jarl only just blocked it. All around the battle had broken into a myriad of small melees. No cohesion remained.
Henningsson came forward once more. This scarred warrior was the most difficult and toughest opponent he’d ever fought. One downward blow was deflected by Casca’s shield and the eternal mercenary chopped for the neck. The Jarl thrust his shield up and stopped it but before he could get a blow in retaliation, Casca’s shield slammed into his face, sending him stumbling back in shock. That was the hardest he’d been hit, ever!
Now was the opening. Casca sent one blow across Henningsson’s chest from near the neck across to the lower right. As Henningsson grunted in pain and disbelief, Casca’s second blow, with a backhand sweep, went down the other way so there was a large ‘X’ etched in blood across the Jarl’s chest.
Slowly the Jarl sank to his knees at Casca’s feet, then pitched forward and lay still. Casca looked up, aware of a roaring. He stared. From ahead, directly behind the Mittenmark warriors, a wave of new men were running hard to join the battle. Jaegland!
They had finally come.
The warriors of Mittenmark hesitated; they were on the point of smashing the remaining men of Husborg, but now their leader lay face-down at the feet of a brute of a man splashed head to foot in blood and who was staring at them with wild eyes, and now a new force was bearing down on them from behind. The biggest of them realized they were now outnumbered and caught between two forces. “Flee! The Jarl is down!”
Casca bared his teeth. “Cut them down!” he screamed. His men roared in triumph and ran after the widely scattering foe. Many of the victorious men though were too tired or hurt to set off. They left that to the men of Jaegland who were relatively fresh, and they began setting to the fleeing men with delight.
Casca placed the tip of his sword against the slick ground and breathed in deeply. They had won but only just. The ground was littered with the fallen and the smell of blood was sharp. He could even taste it.
Drakenskald appeared, an amused glint in his eye. “Seems we got here just in time.”
Casca nodded and used one of the fallen enemy as a seat. By the gods he was tired! “Sundsvalk betrayed us. I thought we were finished.”
“You nearly were. We got word from your rider just in time. There’s a small blocking force on the route to Mittenmark’s settlement so we had to avoid it, and then we came up the route they took, after we found their tracks. We were advised by one of their scouts that Sundsvalk had gone over to Henningsson.”
“Did that make you think twice about joining them?”
Drakenskald chuckled. “In my place, what would you have done? We arrived in time to see you cut that bastard down, so that made my choice so much easier.” He stood before Casca, fists on hips. “So what are you going to do now? You have killed two Jarls and their forces are leaderless, for the moment. Wait too long and they’ll get organized.”
“I don’t have the men to move on both.” He looked up at the Jarl. “You up to moving on Mittenmark? You can hold it under your vassaldom.”
Drakenskald grinned. “I think so. I’ll take that old dog’s head to prove their Jarl is no more. We’ll have to swear allegiance to Sigfrid, though.”
“Sigfrid?”
Drakenskald nodded, fumbling in a leather bag and pulling forth a chunk of bread. He broke it in two and passed half to Casca who gratefully accepted it. “Calls himself King. Got a large army at his beck and call. Has his attention on the south because of the Saxons, Franks and Obotrites. His local Thane is at a place called Hedeby. If you take over Sundsvalk you’ll have to get it ratified by the Thane, who happens to be the King’s son, Gudfred.”
“Didn’t know the Vikings had a king.”
“Oh, sort of,” Drakenskald admitted with a shrug. “Lets us do what we want mostly. Calls us together if there’s a threat from beyond. To be honest, I think he’ll be relieved that old bastard Henningsson is dead. The swine was beginning to think he was equal to or better than Sigfrid.”
Casca chewed for a moment. “So why didn’t you or Eidursson mention there was a king when we met at the Stones? Couldn’t the king have intervened?”
Drakenskald shook his head. “He’s getting old, and he’s only the second king we’ve had. A lot of Thanes and Jarls only tolerate him if he keeps out of their business. Henningsson was one such. It’s a loose confederation of holds, allied together to see off the Saxons or Obotrites or even the Franks. That’s why Gudfred is based in Hedeby; he’s keeping an eye on things further south.”
“Not too far from here, is it?”
“Nope. News will travel fast once Mittenmark’s defeat gets out. Others might want to muscle in, so it’s important we take over fast and ensure nobody else gets a piec
e of what we’ve fought here today for. I’ll subject Mittenmark to my rule, and put a Thane of my choice there, who’ll pay me fealty. What about Sundsvalk?”
“Depends. Some of their men escaped and we’ve had very high losses here today. It’ll be difficult enforcing a new regime if we haven’t the soldiers to do so. Still, I’d best be going and seeing to my men. There’ll be a few days of mourning and burials.”
“I’ll leave you to it. Send a messenger once you decide to travel to Hedeby, but don’t leave it too long.”
Casca stood up and clasped forearms with the grizzled veteran. Then they parted and went their separate ways with their men. Casca gathered his survivors and had the fit and able carry the fallen on stretchers back to Husborg, while the walking wounded struggled in their wake, limping, grimacing.
He sent a messenger on ahead to announce the victory, but that there were many losses. When they reached the hold, there was a nasty surprise.
Thordein had gone, taking the two sisters with him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Casca left the burial details to Magnus. He confronted Jurgen angrily. “So what in the name of the gods did your grandson think he was doing?”
The old man shrugged helplessly. “He thought you were walking into a trap. The Jarl of Sundsvalk and he made a deal whereby Thordein would be recognized as Jarl here under Sundsvalk overlordship. We had little choice but to go ahead with that as there were no warriors to stop it. Sundsvalk even sent in a few men to enforce this. When news came back of your victory, Thordein panicked, took the Sundsvalk men and your two women and fled.”
“Then where has he gone?”
Jurgen shrugged. Casca grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the wall. There came a scrape of steel and Casca’s eyes flicked to the side. He guessed Freya was behind him. “Another step and I run him through, then I’ll take your head,” he vowed. “I’ve had enough of your fucking family. Now tell me, where has he gone?”