by H A CULLEY
Ϯϯϯ
Our first problem was finding something a little more ladylike than trousers and a tunic for Leofflæd to wear. Thankfully Alric managed to buy something suitable from a clothier that was near enough the right size. He also purchased new tunics for me and the two Danish boys made of fine wool and embroidered at the hem, neck and sleeves. We already had trousers, ribbons for our calves and shoes that would pass muster.
Slaves bathed us in warm water - a real treat as normally we had to make do with freezing cold streams - and untangled and trimmed our hair. I was surprised how rank Wealmӕr smelled when he came to tell me that they would be sleeping in the warriors’ hall if I needed them. He also assured me that our money was safely stowed in the royal treasury.
Both Ælfred and his other guests – the captain of his personal gesith, the Ealdorman of Hamtunscīr and Bishop Asser – listened intently and were full of questions. Everyone accepted what they heard as true; everyone that is except Asser. He plainly thought that we were either braggarts or out and out liars.
I had a feeling that we might need some proof and so I emptied the contents of my pouch onto the table. It contained gold and silver Mjölnirs – the Thor’s hammer emblem worn by many of the pagans – silver pennies from East Anglia, Mercia and Northumbria, and other coins from Danmǫrk, Norweġ, Orkneyjar and even Sweoland. That was enough to silence his scepticism.
‘It sounds as if you could be very useful to us next spring,’ Ælfred said thoughtfully. ‘You say that all your warband can ride well, can follow a trail and are proficient with sword, spear and bow?’
‘Yes, lord. More importantly, they can all kill. Most boys their age haven’t done so and are hesitant the first time.’
‘They certainly lack the killer instinct your boys possess,’ the ealdorman said thoughtfully.
‘Lord, may I ask? What campaign is planned for the spring?’
Ælfred glanced at Erik and Ulf before continuing.
‘King Burghred of Mercia is determined to eject the Danes from his kingdom and my brother thinks that we should help him. I agree; if Mercia falls, then Wessex will be next.’
‘Yes, I can see that. Northumbria was conquered because it stood alone and, of course, it was previously weakened by the struggle for the crown between King Ælle and his brother.’
Ælfred nodded and then changed the subject.
‘You mentioned the vill of Silcestre when we first met.’
I was glad that he’d raised it. I’d sought to do so all evening but hadn’t wanted to seem self-seeking when there were more important matters to discuss.
‘Yes, lord. What payment would the king be expecting, if I may ask?’
‘I will need to discuss it with him, of course, so I can’t promise anything, but I intend to recommend that he accepts your bid subject to one condition.’
‘Yes, lord,’ I said expectantly.
‘That you and your score of warriors serve him as scouts whenever the need arises. That’s on top of the payment you will have to make, of course, but if you agree, it will be less than it would have been otherwise.’
‘Can you give me an indication of the money I will need to find?’
He was about to rebuke me for my persistence but Bishop Asser, who was sitting on Ælfred’s other side leaned across and whispered something in his ear.
‘Quite so, thank you bishop.’
He turned back to me and smiled.
‘Bishop Asser has reminded me that Silcestre is without a priest and the church has fallen into disrepair. Normally the king would expect a payment of ten silver shillings per hide but, if you undertake to employ a priest and repair the church as well as providing scouts for the army, then I think something in the region of half that amount might be appropriate. However, it is up to my brother and you can’t tell him I suggested any figure.’
‘I understand Lord Ælfred. Thank you.’
The weight of a silver penny varied, depending on where it was minted, but it averaged three ounces. Forty shillings would therefore equate to ninety pounds of silver in weight. If I traded some of the looted gold and jewels for silver I probably had enough to pay the king and still have some left over to repair the church. The priest’s stipend would have to come out of whatever my income from the vill proved to be.
Not only would we have a permanent base now, but there would doubtless be more opportunities to kill Danes and take their possessions in the years to come. Furthermore, I would be a king’s thegn which was higher up the social scale than my eldest brother. That made me think of Alric. He would never resent my good fortune, but the least I could do was to find him a farmstead of his own somehow.
Ϯϯϯ
Leofflæd and I were married in the newly repaired church at Silcestre at the end of March, just before I had to leave to join the king’s army, which was mustering at Suindune. The priest had been sent by Bishop Asser. He was young, well-educated and seemed pleased to have been appointed. He said he was a distant cousin of the bishop’s but I suspected that he was, in fact, one of his bastards.
My new bride was furious at being left behind but I insisted that she stay and run our new vill. There was another reason. It didn’t show much yet, but she was pregnant and I wasn’t about to risk losing the child.
Redwald would also be staying behind. One of my first actions after Æthelred had agreed to Ælfred’s recommendation was to dispense with Dudda’s services and support Redwald’s election as his replacement. Dudda owned a farmstead near the settlement and he retreated there uttering dire threats and promising retribution. I dismissed them as empty bluster at the time. I should have been less cocksure.
There were twenty five ceorls over the age of fourteen in the vill. They were obliged to bear arms when required, however five of the men were really too old to fight so I left them to defend the settlement.
I departed from Leofflæd with great reluctance. We were in love but that didn’t mean we didn’t row. Hers was a feisty temperament and when she disagreed with me she wasn’t backward in letting me know. However, when we did fight we soon made up and our lovemaking was all the more passionate afterwards.
Dudda was one of the twenty men who was obliged to come with us as part of the fyrd. I enjoyed watching him sweat as he heaved his bulk along the road, but I soon heard rumours that he was spreading dissent amongst my ceorls. The rumour had spread that we were heading for Mercia to help their king to fight the Danes. The men weren’t happy on either score: they were only obliged by law to fight in defence of Wessex and the Danes’ fearsome reputation frightened them.
On the day we were due to reach Suindune a delegation came to my tent and asked to speak to me. Dudda stood in the background and said nothing, but I knew that he was behind it all.
‘Lord,’ the eldest of the ceorls said nervously, wringing his woollen hat in his hands as he spoke. ‘We don’t think it’s right that we should be asked to fight the Danes in Mercia. We are Saxons and they are Angles; let them fight their own battles.’
There was a chorus of agreement from the rest.
‘Is Æthelred king of the West Saxons?’ I asked.
‘Yes, lord,’ the man replied, evidently puzzled by the question.
‘And do we follow him as our liege lord?’
‘Yes, lord, but not outside…’ he started to say.
‘And why do you think he is going to aid the Mercians, who have been our bitter enemies in the past?’
‘I don’t know, lord.’
‘Because it is better to fight the Danes on Mercian soil than it is to allow them to enter Wessex, which would mean that the heathens would be able to burn our homes, rape our women and enslave our children. Do you understand now why we are going to aid King Burghred instead of waiting for the Danes to invade our kingdom?’
‘Yes, lord. Sorry, lord,’ he said contritely. ‘It was Dudda who said…’
‘Yes, I know who has been stirring up trouble only too well. Don’t worry I’ll deal wi
th him.’
When the men had dispersed I sent Cináed and Uurad to fetch Dudda, but they came back empty handed.
‘He has deserted us, Jørren, taking one of the horses with him.’
‘Go after him and bring me his head,’ I said angrily.
I had said it in the heat of the moment and almost immediately regretted it, but it was too late. The two Picts had already left.
Darkness fell and there was still no sign of Cináed and Uurad and I began to hope that Dudda had somehow eluded them. It was a vain hope. It was midday before they caught us up. They were grinning triumphantly and leading the missing horse. Uurrad had a blood soaked sack in his hand and I didn’t have to be told to know what was in it.
‘You should have given him a fair trial, lord,’ one of my fyrd told me reproachfully.
‘Mind your manners, ceorl,’ Ecgberht scolded him.
‘No, he’s right. I acted hastily. I will naturally pay his family the appropriate amount of wergeld.’
My heart sank. It was the right thing to do and it would save further trouble with my men, but the fine for killing a ceorl was two hundred shillings. I had nothing like that amount left in my coffers. I could only pray that the coming campaign was immensely profitable.
Ϯϯϯ
We spent a week at Suindune waiting for the rest of the contingents to arrive. On the third day I was summoned to meet the king. Æthelred was nothing like his brother. Whereas Ælfred was small and looked young for his age, his brother was six inches taller, broad shouldered and, instead of the thin, wispy hair that Ælfred sported on his upper lip, the king had a thick moustache whose ends reached his chin.
Most Anglo-Saxon men favoured a moustache; it was one of the things that distinguished them from the Danes, who took pride in their beards. I was now seventeen and my facial hair had been growing for the past couple of years, but I preferred to keep my face clean-shaven so that I could pass for either Saxon or Dane.
Like Ælfred, the king had hair the colour of wheat. Whilst his younger brother had hair down to his shoulders, Æthelred’s was longer and worn in two plaits. There was a third man in the king’s tent who I hadn’t seen before. He had dark hair and a face which was scarred from his left eye to his mouth.
‘Good morning Jørren. Cyning, this is Thegn Jørren whose warband is to scout ahead of the army,’ Ælfred said by way of introduction.
‘And what will my huntsmen be doing, Ælfred? Scratching their arses? They are perfectly capable of making sure that we don’t walk into a trap,’ the dark haired man objected.
‘Yes, Pӕga,’ Ælfred said patiently, ‘but as I have already explained, Jørren had a score of young men who are mounted and well armoured. They’ve fought the Danes before and are much more mobile than our foresters and huntsmen. Their task will be to guard our flanks as we advance into Mercia whilst Jørren’s warband scout ahead of the vanguard.’
‘We are not here to bicker anew, Pӕga,’ the king said impatiently, ‘we’ve been through all this. Ælfred has faith in Jørren’s men and I can see the sense in employing mounted scouts.’
‘At least let’s have a look at these rascals before you make a final decision, cyning.’ Pӕga suggested.
I learned shortly afterwards that Pӕga was the king’s hereræswa. He was to command the vanguard and wanted his own foresters and huntsmen as pathfinders. I could understand his caution; after all, we were an unknown quantity. In truth I was surprised by Ælfred’s confidence in us.
That afternoon we paraded in front of the king’s tent. We might be young – the eldest of us was only nineteen – but we looked the part. Everyone wore a chain mail byrnie, a leather hood under a good quality steel helmet with a nose guard and each had a sword and a dagger hanging from his belt. Our horses were all rounceys; they looked well fed and had been groomed until their coats shone.
Each warrior had a quiver full of arrows and a war bow hanging from his saddle, together with an axe or a mace. We also carried a spear and had a round shield painted red and displaying a blue lion’s head slung on our backs. We were better equipped than the king’s own gesith, something that Æthelred commented on with a frown.
‘Are you all Saxons?’ Ealdorman Pӕga asked, looking distinctly put out.
‘No, lord. None of us are. Four are Jutes from Cent, one is from Wales, one from Mercia, two are Christian Danes, two are Picts and the rest are Northumbrians.’
‘Ha, I thought so!’ he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘How then can we be certain of your loyalty to Wessex?’
‘The last time I heard, Cent was ruled by the King of Wessex,’ I replied caustically. ‘Everyone here has sworn an oath of fealty to me and I am King Æthelred’s liege man. Are you questioning my honour?’
‘No, of course not,’ he replied with a scowl. ‘You all look very pretty but there is a world of difference between looking the part and being able to fight.’
‘You are right, of course, lord. Tell me Cei, how many Danes have we killed?’
‘Over a hundred and fifty, Lord Jørren,’ he replied with a grin.
He didn’t add that ninety of them had been killed whilst they slept.
‘How many Danes have you killed, lord?’ I asked Pӕga sarcastically.
‘That’s enough Jørren,’ the king barked. ‘You’ve made your point. Your men will scout ahead of the vanguard.’
We left four days later. Some two thousand men had answered the king’s summons. I’d wondered whether my brother Æscwin would be there, but I learned that only the fyrds of Hamtunscīr and the three adjacent shires had been called out. Although I would have dearly loved to see him again, I did wonder how he would have reacted to Cei’s presence. I was also worried whether he knew that it was Cei and I who had killed those four robbers in Hrofescӕster. It seemed like a lifetime ago now, but the law has a long memory. Owing one lot of wergeld was quite enough for me to deal with.
Initially we followed a broad valley heading north east, camping near Oxenaforda inside Mercia on the third night. From there it would take us another ten days to reach Snotingaham but we would be linking up with the Mercians at Ligeraceaster, which was around a six day march at our present slow pace.
The weather had been cold but fine at first, but on the day we left Oxenaforda dark clouds covered the sky and a strong wind blew from the west. Two hours later the rain started and it poured down incessantly from then on. Everyone’s instinct was to huddle inside their cloaks and keep their heads down and that’s exactly what we couldn’t afford to do. Scouts had to remain alert, even in friendly territory. We had stopped to refill our water skins from a stream and allow our horses to graze when the one of the sentries I had put out came riding in from the north.
Jerrik slid from his horse and came running up to me.
‘Danes,’ he panted. ‘A dozen of them on this road about two miles away.’
‘Right, this is what we do,’ I shouted. ‘Erik and Ulf, take the horses. It’s too wet to use our bows so our best chance is to hit them before they know we are here. Wealmӕr and Cei, you head back up the track behind us to cut off any Danes who manage to get past us. Cináed and Uurad, work your way behind them through the woods to stop any of them fleeing back the way they’ve just come. The rest of you get into the trees on the left of the road and wait for my whistle. Pick your man and make sure that you kill them before they realise what’s happening. Oh, and I want the rearmost man captured alive for questioning. Now move!’
We were evenly matched as far as numbers went, once the six in the cut-off groups had left, but I was relying on surprise to tip the odds in our favour. My heart was pounding and I tried to calm myself as the tension mounted. It seemed forever before we heard them coming. Although they were deep inside southern Mercia, they weren’t alert. Their heads were down to keep the rain off their faces and they hadn’t put scouts out ahead. This was going to be easier than I thought, or so I hoped.
Ϯϯϯ
It wasn’t. The tactic was to bring do
wn the horses with our spears and then kill the dismounted riders. The first part worked well but four of the Danes managed to jump clear of their horses before they collapsed. Several were trapped under their dead steeds but two managed to wriggle free and escaped to the north. Three more were thrown from wounded animals, but then the panicked beasts ran into us, disrupting our attack. Two of the Northumbrians were injured: Cola suffered a blow to the head when one of the horses reared up in pain and a hoof landed in his helmet and Swiðhun a dislocated shoulder when he was barged out of the way by another animal.
I didn’t discover this until later. I was too busy fending off an attack by a big Danish axeman. I blocked the first blow with my shield but the axe bit into it, splitting it. Thankfully the axe was stuck fast and, when the Dane tried to pull it free, he ripped the shield from my arm. I didn’t feel anything for a moment then an excruciating pain hit me. When I’d lost my shield my radius, one of my forearm bones, had snapped.
I struggled to overcome the agony as my opponent went for me with his dagger. I just managed to block his first thrust with my seax but he smashed his fist into my jaw and my vision clouded. I fought to remain conscious but the combined effect of the pain in my arm and the punch meant that I was quite unable to defend myself. I was convinced that I was about to die when another of the Northumbrians, Stithulf, chopped into the Dane’s neck with his sword. The head was half severed from his body and he sank to his knees. I gave a sigh of relief before the world went black.
When I awoke my arm felt as if it was on fire. My jaw hurt as well and I thought it might well be broken. As my blurred vision cleared I saw Erik kneeling by me, binding a splint to my forearm.
‘I’ve set it, Jørren, but we need to get you to a healer as soon as possible. The same goes for Cola, but I don’t think there is much hope for him. His skull is cracked; the helmet robbed the blow from the hoof of some of its impact but he’s still unconscious.’