by H A CULLEY
‘I’ve pushed Swiðhun’s shoulder back into its socket,’ Ecgberht added, ‘and strapped it up so he should be alright in a few weeks.’
‘What about the Danes?’ I asked through gritted teeth.
‘All dead bar one, as you wanted,’ Alric said from my left. ‘We’ve collected a useful amount of coins, arm rings, hack silver and weapons as well.’
He pushed a young Dane who looked to be about fifteen, judging by the wispy beard he was trying to grow, into my field of vision. Just then Øwli held a leather flask to my lips and dribbled some fiery liquid into my mouth. It felt as if it was burning my insides as it went down but, after a few mouthfuls, the pain receded a little.
‘Found it on that big hairy man who nearly killed you,’ he said with a grin.
I gingerly felt my jaw with my other hand and was relieved to find that, although it was badly swollen, it wasn’t broken. After drinking more of the contents of the flask than was perhaps wise I lapsed back into blissful unconsciousness. I was dimly aware of being hauled up to sit in front of Alric and of being bumped around but my next memory is of waking up back in my own tent.
Alric had taken Swiðhun and me back to the main army and, when the king heard about the Danish patrol, he decided to set up camp early that day. One of the many priests and monks travelling with the army, who was an infirmarian, had checked my forearm and said that it had been set well. He rebound it into a proper splint whilst I was still unconscious and Alric had set up our tent for me to rest in.
The next morning I was still in pain, but it was bearable, so I went to check on Swiðhun before reporting to the king. I found Æthelred with Ælfred and several ealdormen, including Pӕga, outside the king’s tent. The rain had stopped although the air was still full of moisture. The Dane we’d captured was on his knees in front of the king with Erik standing beside him acting as translator.
The boy was evidently terrified but Erik was making a hash of both the questions addressed to him and his answers. No doubt he was overawed at being in the company of so many nobles.
‘Ah, Jørren,’ Ælfred said, with evident relief. ‘Your man is making a poor fist of interrogating this heathen, I fear. How is your arm by the way?’
‘The infirmarian says that it will take a month or more to heal and then another month before I can build up its strength again.’
‘I see.’
‘I’m grateful to you for intercepting that patrol, Jørren,’ the king added. ‘Hopefully the Danes still don’t know where we are or in what numbers.’
He smiled at me and even the obnoxious Pӕga nodded and muttered something that sounded like ‘well done’.
‘I’m puzzled that there are Danes so far south of Snotingaham and, I must confess, a little concerned as to the fate of the Mercian army at Ligeraceaster.’
I questioned the terrified Dane and learned that, according to him, the main body of the Great Heathen Army had entrenched themselves at Snotingaham for the winter. They had planned to march south and conquer Western Mercia until they heard that King Burghred had mustered a large army to oppose them. When rumours began to circulate that Wessex was marching to join the Mercians Ívarr, Halfdan and Ubba had decided to stay put and improve their defences.
However, they had sent two patrols south; one to ascertain the strength of the Mercians and the other to bypass Ligeraceaster and find out how strong the army of Wessex was. In the meantime they had sent forage parties far and wide to gather provisions for a siege.
‘So presumably the heathens still don’t know where we are or in what numbers,’ Æthelred said with satisfaction. ‘Thank you Jørren. Who will lead your scouts until you’ve recovered?’
‘Oh, I’ll still ride with them, but I won’t be killing any more Danes for a while,’ I replied with a smile. ‘My brother, Alric, will take command if there is any fighting to be done.’
We buried Cola in the graveyard of a nearby settlement. It was a long way from Northumbria and we all felt depressed for some time afterwards. We had been lucky I suppose, to have only lost two of our number; I didn’t count Ceadda and Hroðulf as ever having been part of our group. One was a rapist and a murderer and both were traitors as far as I was concerned.
I can’t say I was comfortable riding with a broken arm but I managed using my left hand and my knees to control my horse. Thankfully there were no more incidents until we linked up with the Mercians a few days later.
Chapter Ten
Summer 868 to Spring 869
The Danes had built a palisade around much of the settlement, the rest of the perimeter being protected by a steep cliff. Although our combined armies outnumbered the Danes by two to one we had no siege engines and so our only alternatives were to attack the defences using ladders or starve them out. The palisade was fifteen feet high and we would have lost too many men in an assault, so we sat outside the three gates and waited.
I used the time to improve the training of my men, both in scouting and tracking and in fighting with bow, sword and spear. We also went hunting and were mostly successful. Consequently we ate better than most during the dreary months of April, May and June. The fyrd were not only bored but they were increasingly concerned about harvesting, which began in late August. Without a good harvest they and their families would starve this coming winter.
When the Danes asked to parley it came as great relief to everyone. Some of the fyrd had already started to slip away, although I’m glad to say that none of my men did so. They had been incorporated with the rest of the fyrd of Hamtunscīr until recently. Now they had been returned to me at my request so that I could improve their fighting skills.
I made a gift of the Danish byrnies and helmets we had taken off the patrol to those who they fitted best and awarded the enemy’s weapons to those who proved most skilled at using them. If there were any lingering doubts about their loyalty to me, this put an end to them. They were most appreciative and inordinately proud of the fact that the fyrd of Silcestre were now better equipped than anyone else; better even than some of the professional warriors.
‘Your skills as interpreter are required again, Jørren,’ Wealmӕr, who was one of the sentries on guard in our section of the camp, told me early one afternoon in June.
I made my way through the mud and slime to the king’s tent. Predictably the interior of the encampment had quickly become churned up and, even though duckboards had been laid down, they had eventually sunk below the surface. I tried to remove as much mud from my boots as possible but inevitably traipsed some filth inside the tent. I’d given up wearing shoes as soon as I’d lost one in the mud. Now I wore expensive leather boots made by some itinerant cobbler who accompanied the army, and no doubt made a fat profit from doing so.
‘Ah, Jørren, good. How’s the arm?’ Ælfred asked me as I handed my cloak to a servant.
‘Thank you, lord. Much better. The splints can come off next week, or so I’m told. Then I’ll be able to concentrate on building up the wasted muscles.’
‘Good, let’s get on,’ Æthelred said impatiently. He turned to the Mercian king who theoretically we were here to support. I had met Burghred twice before and hadn’t been impressed by either his foppish appearance or his rather weak character.
‘The Danish leaders, Ívarr, Halfdan and Ubba, have asked for a meeting,’ he began. ‘No doubt their food supplies are running low. We need an interpreter as none us speak Danish well enough.’
Or at all I thought to myself.
‘Will you translate for us Thegn Jørren?’
‘Of course, cyning. However, Ívarr and Halfdan are from Norweġ and therefore speak Norse as their mother tongue.’
‘Are they not Danes?’ Æthelred interrupted.
‘No, cyning,’ I explained patiently. ‘The Great Heathen Army is a mixture of Vikings from Danmǫrk, Norweġ, Orkneyjar and Irlond. The last three all speak Norse, not Danish, as their mother tongue. There are also a contingent of Sweonas as another of the Ragnarsson brothers is Bj�
�rn Ironside, King of Sweoland,’
‘Then how on earth do they communicate with each other?’ Burghred asked, somewhat bewildered.
‘The languages are similar and Norse is probably the common tongue, amongst the leaders at any rate. No doubt the two Raganarsson brothers also speak Danish fluently, but my point is that they can converse amongst themselves in Norse and I probably wouldn’t know what they were saying.’
‘Ah, and you think it would be useful if we had someone present who could listen to their private conversation?’ Ælfred said, nodding in agreement.
‘Precisely, lord. That way we might have a good idea how far we can trust them.’
‘Who do you have in mind?’ Æthelred asked.
‘Ulf. He’s a Dane but his mother was Norse. He might be a bit out of practice but he’s the only one I know who was brought up speaking both Danish and Norse.’
‘You want him to translate instead of you?’ Burghred asked.
He seemed slightly annoyed that the King of Wessex and his brother seemed to have taken over the meeting.
‘No, cyning. I suggest he stands behind King Æthelred’s chair and whispers anything they say in Norse to him.’
‘Good idea, thank you Jørren.’ Æthelred said, earning himself a scowl from his fellow king.
It was the first time that Æthelred had smiled at me and I felt elated that, at long last, he might be warming towards me.
Ϯϯϯ
The three Danish leaders were quite dissimilar in appearance. Ívarr was the youngest and the fact that he was beardless added to that impression. His long dark hair was well groomed but otherwise he looked unkempt. His clothes looked greasy and were made of rather coarse wool. He had charisma but there was also an aura of menace about him. There was no doubt that he was the leader of the three.
Halfdan had similar facial feature to his younger brother but they were partly hidden behind a full beard. It was well groomed but he had tied various gold, silver and jewelled rings into it. His hair was fairer than Ívarr’s and he was dressed in a good quality tunic and the baggy trousers favoured by the Vikings.
Ubba was a head taller than the other two. He was a bear of a man with muscular arms. He was the only one to wear a chain mail byrnie over a short-sleeved tunic. His beard was trimmed close to his face and his long blond hair was also cut short. I doubted if I could get my hands more than half-way around his bull-like neck.
All wore soft leather boots like mine and, like us, none wore even a dagger at his waist. There were three chairs set out for them but they remained standing. Behind them stood three of Ívarr’s hirdmen, just as three of Burghred’s gesith stood with us. None were armed but the two groups of bodyguards looked as if they only needed the smallest excuse to lay into each other.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Burghred began. ‘We are here to listen to what you have to say.’
‘We are safe behind our walls and your farmers must be getting anxious about their crops,’ Ubba said with a sneer. ‘We want to give you the chance to withdraw with honour before your men desert you.’
The two kings looked at each other in surprise when I translated this.
‘If you want us to withdraw, why don’t you come out and fight us in the open instead of skulking inside Snotingaham like a load of fearful old women?’ Æthelred asked before Burghred could reply. ‘Your supplies must be running low, many of you will be ill and I imagine that your men are getting bored with doing nothing.’
The three Vikings looked at each other when I translated what Æthelred had said and started to converse fiercely in Norse. Ulf told me later what they were arguing about. It was evident that Ívarr wanted to leave to pillage elsewhere, Halfdan was in favour of returning to Eforwic and Ubba wanted to stay put until they’d extracted a sizeable bribe to leave.
‘How much do you want to leave Mercia?’ Burghred asked, fastening onto the latter.
‘Five tons of silver,’ Ívarr replied without hesitation.
Æthelred and Ælfred immediately protested that it was a ridiculous amount, but Burghred held up his hand for silence and so I waited for his reply.
‘Two tons,’ he told me to say, but I hesitated.
Even that was enough to give every heathen warrior about fourteen ounces of silver each; not that it would be shared out equally, of course.
‘Offer one,’ Æthelred whispered to me.
‘You won’t be paying it,’ Burghred told him angrily. ‘It’s my kingdom and my money!’
‘No, but you are setting a precedent here. They have hardly lost a man yet and so this is easy money for them. It gives them a reason to come back again next year and demand more.’
King Æthelred was right, of course, but Burghred wouldn’t listen.
‘Offer them two,’ he insisted.
I looked helplessly at Æthelred but he looked away. I looked at his brother instead and he nodded after a pause, so I offered two tons.
They discussed it and Ubba pressed for acceptance but Ívarr shook his head.
‘Not enough; four tons. Accept it or we will ravage Mercia next year.’
I thought that they probably would anyway but Burghred nodded.
‘Tell them that it will take time to collect it.’
I did so and Ívarr told him he had two months to deliver it.
In fact it wasn’t until the end of August that the final shipment was delivered and the Danes returned to Eforwic. By then we had returned home. It was with mixed sentiments that I rode back into Silcestre. I noted with pleasure that Redwald had completed the repairs to the gaps in the defensive wall with timber and the settlement now had a proper gate.
I couldn’t wait to see Leofflæd again but, despite the loot from the score of Danes we had ambushed, I still didn’t have enough to pay Dudda’s family the wergeld that was due to them.
Ϯϯϯ
The summons to appear in front of the ealdorman’s court came on the day that Leofflæd gave birth to a little girl. It seemed that my offer to Dudda’s wife and son to pay the two hundred shillings to them in instalments hadn’t worked. They had appealed to the Ealdorman of Hamtunscīr for immediate payment. My euphoria at the baby’s birth and, more importantly in a time when many mothers died in childbirth, the relative ease of the birth, evaporated immediately.
There was only one solution. I would have to borrow the rest of what I owed. It would mean mortgaging my vill but I could see little alternative. I asked Alric to choose two others to accompany us and to get the ostler in charge of the stables to saddle the horses. I was getting impatient and went to the door of the hall only to find the whole warband coming towards me.
‘Jørren, we’ve collected what we have and I think it will be enough to make up the difference,’ my brother said.
‘No, I gave that to each of you as your share of the spoils. I can’t accept it, although the gesture is greatly appreciated.’
‘Then look at it as a loan,’ he replied. ‘We won’t demand a punitive rate of interest either, unlike the usurers in Wintanceaster. There is one thing we ask in return, however.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That you end the tenancy of Dudda’s family. We won’t suffer Ailwin’s jibes and enmity any longer.’
Ailwin was Dudda’s thirteen year old son. He’d been an arrogant and spiteful little sod when his father was still alive; now he was insufferable. I had given some thought to the tenancy of Dudda’s farmstead but hadn’t reached any conclusion. Normally it would have been inherited by the dead man’s son after the payment of the appropriate inheritance tax. This hadn’t yet been paid, or even agreed with me.
A further factor was Ailwin’s age. He wasn’t yet an adult and couldn’t therefore take on the tenancy. His mother could have done, but I would have to agree. What I didn’t know was whether I had the right to end the tenancy. I needed advice and the best person to give me that was the shire reeve.
His name was Tunbehrt. Like me, he was a king’s thegn, but his hold
ing was much greater than mine, being thirty hides or three tithings. Ten tithings made up a hundred and there were forty-four hundreds in Hamtunscīr. He was therefore an important man and only the ealdorman was senior to him in the shire’s hierarchy.
I took Alric, Redwald and Wealhmær with me as escort and rode to Tunbehrt’s principal hall just outside Wintanceaster but he wasn’t there. He was away hunting a band of outlaws who were robbing merchants and farmers travelling along the road through the forest to the south. As it stretched from Wintanceaster to the south coast and covered an enormous area I had little option but to await his return.
The one thing I did manage to do was to register my daughter’s birth with one of his clerks. We had decided to name her Cuthfleda, meaning gift of God.
Tunbehrt’s wife invited us to sleep in the hall but I decided to go and see the ealdorman and settle the business over the wergeld whilst we were waiting. Wintanceaster was also the seat of the Ealdorman of Wintanceaster as well as being Wessex’s capital.
Ealdorman Merewald was an old man, which explained why he hadn’t accompanied the army to Snotingaham the previous year. I gathered that he only had daughters, one of who was Tunbehrt’s wife, who I’d met earlier. It didn’t take a genius to work out who the next ealdorman would be.
He received me sitting in a chair in his bedchamber being fussed over by another daughter, a pretty girl called Guthild who appeared to be about fourteen. Alric had accompanied me whilst the other two waited outside with our horses. I could sense his interest in Guthild as soon as we were shown into the room by Merewald’s steward. She smiled shyly at us and I was conscious of the fact that her eyes lingered rather longer than was seemly on my brother. I groaned inwardly. She was far above him socially and I had enough problems without Alric falling in love with the unattainable.
‘Lord, I am sorry for intruding on you when you are unwell.’
‘Please don’t apologise. I may be old and bedridden but there is nothing wrong with my brain. What can I do for you?’