by H A CULLEY
‘Do you mind if Cei greets his brother?’ I asked Æscwin.
‘No, provided he doesn’t give him ideas. I’ve few enough slaves as it is,’ he replied with a scowl.
The two greeted each other warily, one because he had run away leaving the other with more work to do and the other because he was overawed by the young warrior standing before him wearing fine woollen clothes, an expensive byrnie and a stout helmet with a nose guard. He wore a sword and a seax from his belt, weapons no slave was allowed.
Eventually they overcame their shyness and embraced each other. I caught snatches of their conversation, although I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I learned with sadness that both Bedwyr and his wife were dead and that Cei’s brother, whose name I had forgotten, now had a wife and a daughter of his own. It was more than Cei had. Household warriors tended to marry late in life. Being the wife of one was not an attractive prospect. The husband tended to be away a lot and could be killed at any moment, leaving the wife and any children destitute.
By this time the hail had stopped and, after a fond farewell and promises to keep in touch, we set out again as the sky lightened and the odd patch of blue appeared. I was in an ebullient mood after the meeting with my brother but I was brought back to earth with a jolt when Lyndon came riding back to say that there was a Viking raiding party just ahead of us.
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‘They are in a sorry state,’ the boy reported with glee. ‘There are perhaps fifty of them but only two are mounted. Quite a few have been injured by the hailstones, those without byrnies that is. Perhaps twenty are limping or have their arms in a sling.’
Even so, fifty was a sizable warband and I wasn’t about to pit my dozen men against them, especially as I couldn’t fight or use a bow. On the other hand, they were headed towards my brother’s settlement and I had to do something to protect them.
‘Cei, ride back and warn my brother that a large group of Danes are coming his way. Tell him to bring every man and boy capable of bearing arms and meet me at the black pool.’
The black pool was where we used to swim as children and was sited in a clearing in the woods not far from the road from Cantwareburh to Hrofescӕster. It was where a stream fed a pond before splashing over some rocks and dropping a few feet, hardly a waterfall, before continuing on its way.
We reached there a good ten minutes before I expected our enemies to walk past on the road but there was no sign of Æscwin. I could only pray that he and his ceorls would reach us before we were overcome. I left Acwel and Lyndon there to guard our horses and to tell my brother were we’d gone.
We were just in time. The Viking raiders came around the bend just as we’d finished moving into position. Lyndon was correct; they were a sorry looking bunch, but still dangerous for all that. Only two men rode; both wore byrnies and helmets, as did about ten of their followers. The rest wore gambesons, leather jerkins or plain woollen tunics and cloaks. All had a sword or an axe, and a few carried spears. Only half had shields and they were all unharmed, having had the sense to shelter under them. Most of the rest had been injured to some extent during the storm.
They had neglected to put scouts out, a foolish oversight in enemy territory, and I surmised that they were poor Danish or Norse bondi who farmed for a living and had come to England in the hope of easy plunder.
Then I noticed the wounded in the rear of the column. My guess was that they had attacked Hrofescӕster and had been repulsed with heavy losses.
We waited until the leaders and their immediate entourage had passed us and then I hooted like an owl. Three quick volleys sent a score of arrows to strike the column before they reacted. Consequently ten of their men had been wounded or killed by the time they managed to form a shield wall. To launch more arrows at them after that would be a waste so I gave the order to switch targets to those who hadn’t been able to protect themselves, in essence the injured and the wounded. It wasn’t something I enjoyed doing but I wanted to inflict as many casualties as possible to dissuade other jarls from leading their men into Wessex in the hope of plunder.
We had reduced the enemy numbers to around thirty by the time they organised themselves properly and advanced into the woods. I gave the order to withdraw but told Cei to fire one last arrow before we retreated. His target was the man who was evidently their jarl or hirsir. His aim was true and the man was struck in the chest. At such close range the arrow penetrating through his byrnie and other layers to lodge in his heart. His death caused the others to hesitate, but they came after us again after another man had harangued them, calling them cowards who would never reach Valhalla unless they avenged their jarl.
We arrived back at the Black Pool to find that my brother and his fyrd had just arrived. I nodded to thank Æscwin for bringing me over thirty reinforcements, but we didn’t have time to say anything to each other.
‘Form shield wall, my men in the front rank,’ I yelled.
We had just formed up when the first of the yelling Vikings erupted from the trees. They came to a halt when faced with forty opponents. Although they had nearly as many men and they had the advantage of being more experienced fighters, they had lost so many already that day that they hesitated to lose more. After all, they had little to gain by fighting us, except revenge, and their new leader knew that.
After staring at us for several minutes the raiders vanished back into the trees and we all breathed a sigh of relief. A few hotheads were all for pursuing them, but I was confident that the survivors would slink back to Ludenwic. Cilleham was safe for now. Hopefully other Vikings would hear of their losses and be put off raiding south of the Temes.
It was my last skirmish that year, and indeed for some time to come, and a month later I returned to Leofflæd and my children at Readingum for the winter. Many of the new burhs were far from complete but, if the Great Heathen Army headed north to confront Ricsige, as expected, we would have the whole of next year, if not longer, to finish the project. King Ælfred would have to be content with that.
The story of Jørren’s part in the battle for Wessex will continue in
The King of Athelney
To be released later in 2020