by C. R. May
THE RAVEN AND THE CROSS
ERIK HARALDSSON
C. R. MAY
Copyright
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on real figures, are purely the work of the author’s imagination.
It is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the writer’s prior consent, electronically or in any form of binding or cover other than the form in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Replication or distribution of any part is strictly prohibited without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Copyright © 2018 C.R.May
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-9996695-1-5
The Raven and the Cross is for Sue Callaghan
Glossary
Brynja - A mail shirt.
Drekkar - A large warship similar to a skei but heavily ornamented. A dragon ship.
Ealdorman - A high ranking royal official holding civil and military duties directly from the king. The English equivalent to the northern earl or Scandinavian jarl.
Gesith - An English rank similar to the Scandinavian huskarl.
Hersir - A landowner and local chieftain who owed tax collecting duties and military service to his jarl and king.
Hird - The armed retinue of a Scandinavian warlord or king.
Huskarl - House-man. A bodyguard or retainer to a powerful chieftain, jarl or king.
Jarl/Earl- A regional lord responsible for administrating a province on behalf of the king for whom he collected taxes, duties and owed military service.
Knarr - An ocean-going cargo ship.
Markab - A large three masted Moorish trading ship.
Skat - Tax, tribute.
Skjald-borg - Shield-fort.
Skei - ‘that which cuts through water.’ A large sleek warship mounting thirty oars and above.
Snekkja - ‘thin and projecting.’ A small warship mounting twenty to thirty oars.
Styrisman - The helmsman on a ship.
Svinfylking - Swine or Boar-snout: a wedge shaped attacking formation used in battle.
Thane - A minor nobleman in Anglo-Saxon England.
Úlfheðnar - A wolf-hide warrior, similar to the more widely known berserk or bear-shirt.
Contents
I. GORM’S WAR
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
II. SEA KING
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
III. CYNING
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Afterword
Characters
Places/Locations
About the Author
Also by C. R. MAY
Bloodaxe
Sorrow Hill
Wræcca
Monsters
Dayraven
Fire and Steel
Gods of War
The Scathing
Terror Gallicus
Nemesis
Part I
GORM’S WAR
1
SNAKE-EYES
Jutland
Sól Month
By the Christian Calendar 937
Guthrum spoke, the reediness of the sound betraying his fear. ‘That is the channel lord, just up there where the trees peter out.’
Erik looked beyond the sweep of the bow, running his eyes along the southern shoreline until the break in the bank revealed itself. ‘I have it.’ He gave the guide a pat of encouragement. ‘It looks like there are no watchfires on either bank, that usually means it is unguarded.’ Thorstein and Helgrim Smiter were at their king’s side, and the trio shared looks of grim determination as Guthrum moved the steering oar to guide the ship from mid channel.
The journey the length of Slienfjord had taken a full day, even with the help of the small sail the trader carried. Nobody would expect such a middling craft to be packed to the wales with battle hardened Norsemen, and the cheery smiles and waves which had come from the guard ships along their route had drawn relief and wonder in equal measure.
As the Eider came about and the steering platform swung to the north, Guthrum pointed out beyond the nearby strand. ‘See that place over there? The Hill of Ghosts that is, not a place you will find me on a moonlit night like tonight.’ He giggled nervously as he fingered a gods-luck charm at his neck. ‘Or any other time come to that. Men say that it used to be a place called Sleyswic, but a ghost army drove the people who lived there away. I spoke to a man once who went up there. He said that you can still see the bones of the dead in among the grass if you dig about with the toe of your boot. They are everywhere, all across the hillside: men and horses-’
Erik firmed his grip on the guide’s shoulder as he came to realise that it would take more than a simple pat and a few words of encouragement to drive away the Dane’s jitters, and Guthrum’s voice faded as he turned and saw the big Norwegian’s scowl.
‘weatherworn skulls...’
‘Save the folktales for frightening halfwits and children. We have not sailed twenty miles through waters controlled by Gnupa’s spearmen for your nervous chatter to give us away in sight of the town. I think we can make our own way from here, so I would stow your tongue if I were you.’
Three years had passed since he had been driven into exile, years he had put to good use Erik reflected as Guthrum eased the bows around to point towards the narrow channel and Hedeby Sound beyond. He had spent the previous summer helping king Gorm chase the Swedes of Olof the Brash from Sjæland. It had been a time of spear work and axe work as they had driven the enemy from the island which was sacred to all Danes: days when they had fed the horny beaked raven and the white tailed eagle; the grey wolf of the Weald. That victory had allowed Erik’s father-in-law to transfer his high seat from Jelling to the ancestral heart of the Danish kingdom at Leijre, and had gone a good way towards uniting the people of the Danish diaspora under his rule. Now only the great trading town of Hedeby remained in Swedish hands, and Erik had been given the task of leading the fight to retake the fortress from Olaf the Brash’s son Gnupa and his host. Defeated in battle by the Christian king of the East Franks Henry the Fowler, Gnupa had allowed himself to be baptised rather than fight on. Henry had died the previous summer and the kingdom had fallen into disarray as the supporters of rival princes rallied to their man’s cause. With the nobility fighting for control of the Frankish heartland south of the River Rhine, a lightning war in the north must push the Christians back to the River Elbe. Tonight, Óðinn willing, the one-eyed god’s raven war banner would once again fly above Hedeby, and Erik would have helped gain at least a small measure of retribution for the loss of his own kingdom by chasing the Christians away from his kinsman’s lands.
They were through the channel now, the dark forms of the town walls solidly black against the moonlit sky beyond as the sail was shortened and the spar rattled down the mast. Oars slid free of the hull as the little ship entered the calmer waters of the sound, and Erik paced the centreline as the arc of posts which s
hielded the harbour from frontal attack came into view to starboard. All appeared still as the rowers pulled nearer to their goal, and before Erik had reached the bow Guthrum was working the steering oar to edge the vessel into the anchorage. As the Eider swung in and the wharf and jetties of the town came into full view, Erik reached the bow and slid in beside his prow men. ‘All set?’
Up ahead the braziers of the harbour guards were circles of warmth and light, and squinting to pierce the gloom between them Erik could just make out the sentinels pounding a lonely beat.
Shredded clouds ghosted across to lace the moon as they drew nearer to the landing stage, and Erik searched out the walkways for signs of life as the rowers shipped their oars and the Eider coasted the final few yards to shore. The shadows had deepened as the moon’s light retreated but Thorstein’s eyesight was as sharp as a blade, and he plucked at Erik’s sleeve as he pointed out movement on the boardwalk with a jerk of his chin. A shuttered light winked into life ahead, just enough to reveal the place where a small cutting ran between two of the boat sheds, and the shipmen gripped their weapons a little tighter as the bows came about and the helmsman steered a course directly for it. Within a few moments they were swallowed by the darkness, and Erik led Thorstein and Helgrim Smiter ashore the instant the sheer strake kissed the quayside. Guthrum followed on as the last of the men disembarked and Norwegian eyes swept the area as they guarded against ambush or betrayal.
The lamp holder stepped forward, throwing his arms around Guthrum in welcome; even in the dim light it was clear that the Danes were kinsmen, and the realisation caused Erik to breathe a little easier as the men began to form up. The pair flashed smiles as they came across to lead them on. ‘This is Godred lord,’ Guthrum said, ‘my brother.’
Erik gave a curt nod. ‘Is the way clear Godred?’
‘The Swedes have been a bit jumpier of late lord, and they have set an extra guard or two,’ the Dane replied as he flicked a look along the Norwegians now standing in column. ‘Nothing which would trouble your men though.’
‘Well, let us hope they remain unruffled for the next hour,’ Erik said. ‘The less of an uproar we cause the better, at least until we reach the gate.’
The men moved off, and soon Godred was leading them alongside the burn which bisected the town. The quality of the buildings lessened the further they went from the quayside; low roofs of tatty moss covered thatch, the stench of animals clawing at their throats in the muggy air of late summer, but just as Erik began to hope that they would pass through the town unnoticed Guthrum glanced back to hiss a warning. ‘There is a spearman guarding the bridge lord.’
Erik narrowed his eyes. ‘I gather from your tone that that is unusual?’
Godred turned his head to back up his brother. ‘I have never seen it before lord.’
Erik was about to ask the guide if there was another way across the waterway when Anlaf Crow leaned in and spoke in an undertone. ‘We may be able to use this to our advantage.’ Erik cocked his head and his huskarl explained. ‘If they are preparing for trouble any guards will expect to see groups of warriors making their way about the town, either to reinforce those manning the defences or guarding the dockyard. King Gorm sent us ahead because we don’t sound like locals.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it will be enough to fool the guard, maybe not, but it’s worth a try and he is alone. If the men on the walls see that the guard is happy to let us cross, they should feel that it is safe to ignore us in the lead up to the attack.’
Erik gave a nod. ‘You are right. If he looks like he suspects anything we shall have to kill him, but we shall try to bluff it out first.’ He turned back to the Danes. ‘How far is the North Gate?’
‘Cross the bridge and you will see it dead ahead, lord.’
Erik nodded. ‘A party of Swedes would not need to be guided through their own town.’ His eyes shone in anticipation of the killing to come as they moved from face to face. ‘Take yourself off to your family and remain inside. Seek me out in the morning when Hedeby is back in king Gorm’s hands, and I will see that your work tonight is well rewarded.’
A very few paces brought the raiders onto the approach to the crossing with its lonely watchman, and Erik put on his best Upland accent as he hailed the man.
‘All quiet?’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘Stay alert,’ Erik snapped. ‘Gnupa has heard that Erik Bloodaxe is in the area.’
The Swede pulled himself upright and fixed his face into a frown. ‘He’ll not get past me, lord.’
Erik clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. ‘I can see that. Keep it up man, if only all our guards were as sharp as you.’
The far bank was clear of buildings, the northern gate not more than a hundred yards distant, and he exchanged a look of amusement with Anlaf as he upped the pace as much as he dare without drawing unwanted attention to his little group. They had reached the northern bank and the attitude of the lone guard had been encouraging; if they were all as relaxed, and doltish, it bode well for the attack which was now just moments away.
Another roadway joined from the west, and Erik looked across to the gatehouse which guarded the point where it entered the town. Just to the right of the gateway itself, across the steely sheen of the burn, he could make out the point where the great bank of the Dane Work joined the defences of Hedeby, and nestling in its shadow the hog-backed ridge of the hall which housed the guards whose duty it was to man the defence. All appeared quiet, and a glance skyward at the moon confirmed that it had passed its high point in the night sky. The timing was perfect; a dozen miles inland king Gorm would be storming the defences along the great North-South road which men called the Army Way, and Erik’s guts tightened as horns called men to arms from the ramparts all about the town and distant flames blushed the sky.
The Norwegians were approaching the gate now, the earthen bank and timber palisade curving around to either side, and Erik called out to the knot of spearmen gathered there as Thorstein and Helgrim moved to his flanks. ‘The Dane Work is under attack. Gnupa is putting together a relief army to come to their aid. Get yourselves back to the hall, I am to take over here with my men.’
Erik swept the Swedes with a wintry look. Most of the guards before him seemed happy to take him at his word, but there was always one, and Erik recognised the look as his face hardened from the crowd. Standing a little apart from his companions, snake-eyed and thoughtful, it was clear that the man was not as easily fooled as his friends. Anlaf had noticed too, and Erik watched from the corner of his eye as his huskarl ambled forward, exchanging pleasantries with the Swedish guardsmen as he drifted across to strike up a conversation with his neighbour. Erik waited until Anlaf had closed before chivvying his companions along. ‘Come on, we have not got all night. Our friends are fighting for their lives, and Gnupa is not a man who likes to be kept waiting.’ As the Swedes shouldered their weapons and began to drift away snake-eyes made his move, levelling his spear to stab at Erik’s face with a cry of fear laced defiance. But the lunge when it came exposed his flank, and the same eyes went wide with shock and pain as steel flashed in the moonlight and Anlaf’s dagger plunged in deep. The death was the signal for the Norwegians to fall upon their opponents, and Erik looked on with a cold heart as they died before they really understood what was happening.
For once Erik left the slaughter to others, and as the panicked cries of the dying were smothered by their killers Erik was already crossing to the doors. ‘Here, help me with the locking bar.’ Bodies rushed to his side in the gloom, and the men heaved the timber up and away to land on the hard packed earth with a clatter.
Helgrim appeared, his bloodstained blade black in the moonlight, and the pair tugged the doors inward as another snatched up a lighted brand from a wall sconce and hastened to their side. Erik cocked his head as the doors came open, motioning the man forward as Helgrim searched the shadows. ‘Make the signal but stay within the protection of the doorway.’ He threw the young warrior a fatherly sm
ile. ‘It would be a shame to come all this way to catch an arrow from the walkway at the moment of victory.’
Erik threw a look back across his shoulder as the young warrior raised the torch and began to wave, but it only confirmed what he had expected to see. The men of his hird had thrown a crescent of overlapping shields across the inner part of the passageway, their spears bristling forth as they prepared to defend the position to the death, and he felt a surge of pride at the warlike qualities of his countrymen as Helgrim gave him a nudge and spoke the words they all longed to hear. ‘They are coming lord!’
Erik looked back, beyond the signaller, out past the bank and ditch defences of Hedeby and along the road to the distant woodland. Horsemen were spilling from cover onto the moon-washed scrubland before the town, and Erik relaxed a touch for the first time that day as he threw Thorstein, Anlaf and Helgrim Smiter a well-earned smile.