by C. R. May
‘Do we know if Cuaran has reached the earl’s hall?’
Erik shook his head. ‘No, but if they intend to install him in York before Eadred and his army return south he cannot be far away. A major river known as the Ribble runs from its source in the hills above Sheptun to the Irish Sea so it is likely that they will make the majority of the journey by ship, and with Sturla’s Milky Moon to guide them they can make that journey day or night.’ Erik shrugged. ‘He could be there or not, but we can be sure that he is close by. If we can finally catch this bastard and lop off his head, you can be sure that the archbishop will join me in showing his appreciation.’ He allowed himself a chuckle as the men crowded together within the glade yapped and grinned, turning to his huskarls with a smile. ‘There are two things that no man can ever get enough of and one of them is silver.’
‘Aye,’ Helgrim beamed. ‘Silver and ale!’
Erik exchanged a look with Sturla as he tossed the reins of his mount across and saw they were of one mind. ‘All right,’ he conceded to his banner man’s delight, ‘three things. I am going to get my head down for a few hours; set the guards and do the same. We have another long night ahead of us, and we will need our minds to be a lot sharper than Helgrim’s in the morning.’
‘Horse Hair Gisli is back, father,’ Harald said in an undertone. ‘He says that they have found the perfect place.’ A rustle in the brushwood announced the arrival of Arinbjorn’s huskarl, and Erik watched as his eyes picked him out from the crowd before moving forward with a smile.
Erik nodded in greeting as he came across. ‘Harald tells me we are all set?’
‘The gods are smiling on our endeavour Erik,’ he replied, before catching himself to mumble an apology for his familiarity.
Erik clapped him on arm and flashed a smile of his own. ‘Gisli, you taught me to tickle trout more years ago than I care to remember, back when my chin still smelled of tit milk. It is true that very few men on Midgard can call me Erik and not get to feel Jomal tickle their own necks, but never fear, I count you among them. Spit out your news and we can put this thing to bed.’
Gisli relaxed for an instant, but his features soon came alive again as he began his report. ‘We have them, little more than ten miles to the west. You were right,’ he said with a gleam in his eye. ‘They must have travelled upriver by ship before picking up the road to Sheptun, because there are barely enough horses with them to carry the leading men and the heaviest of the stores.’
Erik smiled his wolf smile. ‘So they will be tired and immobile. Have we found a good place to raise our standards?’
‘Arinbjorn has it, lord, only a mile or so shy of Orm’s hall.’ His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. ‘It is Óðinn work, lord,’ he said. ‘We could not have asked for better.’
Erik could feel Gamli Eriksson’s eyes on him even through the gloom of the witching hours, and he called him across with a jerk of his head as men began to rise from the ground and check weapons and straps. ‘Arinbjorn has located Olaf and his men and awaits the rest of us,’ Erik said as his eldest reached him. ‘Set off right away for Sheptun; you know what to do.’
Gamli nodded, turning back to the place where his men had stood to brush damp earth and leaf mulch from shirt tails and breeches.
Erik caught his sleeve. ‘If you can, wait until the wolf light flares to set the fire. Gisli says that the place is only a short distance west of the hall and they still have a way to go to reach it. Let us hope that they are keen to reach York today and set out early.’
Gamli was away with a nod, and Erik turned back to see that the men were saddling up for the short ride ahead. Harald had spread the word among his brothers and they were already beginning to move their hirdmen to the track. Erik flashed Gisli a smile: ‘let’s go!’
Thickening clouds had blown in from the west as the night had come on, but the road was broad and straight and Erik’s mind ran through the journey so far as Horse Hair Gisli led them away. Less than an hour had passed before they gained the old Roman highway after their afternoon stopover, and as Erik had hoped the lateness of their arrival had already driven all traffic to their homes and firesides. Despite the great width of the stone laid roadway and the gathering gloom, the evidence for the passage of the invading army from south of the Humber was clear to see. Ruts, foot and hoof prints had pulped the ground all around, and it required only a momentary glance to confirm that each footprint was pointing northwards. Putting the great scar in the landscape behind them they had stuck to the smaller Roman road which shadowed the River Wharfe, halting in deep cover in the hills near earl Orm’s hall at Sheptun as the moon approached its zenith. Erik and his huskarls had gone forward to spy out the hall and its outbuildings, but it had been plain from their vantage point that Olaf Cuaran and his men had yet to arrive. Backtracking to the glade, Erik had ordered Arinbjorn forward to search for any signs of the foe and hopefully find a place on their route where they could form a strong defensive line. Now with Horse Hair Gisli confirming the success of his efforts, Erik felt the thrill of imminent battle course through his blood as the horses picked their way westwards.
The cloud was thickening as the night wore on, the moon now only glimpsed through portals rimmed by its light as they left the roadway and took a side track. Gamli and his hirdmen would have branched off to the north only a few moments before and Erik looked across to see, but the darkness had already swallowed them and he contented himself with a wish for Godspeed. The loop to the south would cost them time, but it could not be helped. The Roman road led directly through Sheptun, right beneath the gaze of Orm’s hillside hall and surprise was paramount if they were to have any chance of bringing Cuaran to bay.
The track descended into a dip before rising once again to breast a ridge, and Erik was jolted from his thoughts as Gisli’s arm shot out to grip his sleeve. The moon peeped clear of the cloud at just that moment, bathing the path and treetops in its cold light, and Erik’s eyes jabbed the shadows as his hand flew to the handle of his sword. Seeing no danger he turned his face to Aribjorn’s huskarl, but if he had hoped for reassurance the look of horror he saw slew any hope.
‘What is it?’
Gisli’s features were a mask as he cocked his head to listen, and Erik was about to hiss the question again when Thorstein and Helgrim forced themselves to his side. ‘Can’t you hear it lord?’
Erik thrust a finger into his ear, waggling furiously before removing it to listen again, but his hearing was no longer as sharp as it had been and he snapped out as his frustration boiled over. ‘No! Hear what?’
‘The sound of fighting, lord’ Helgrim said; ‘away to the south.’
25
LEIF THE UNLUCKY
Horse Hair Gisli hauled at the reins, shooting Erik a look of panic as the horse slew to block the way ahead. ‘We have to stop lord,’ he blurted, ‘we have ridden too far. I must have missed the side path.’
Erik opened his mouth to reply, but Arinbjorn’s huskarl was already hauling the head of his mount around to head back the way they had come, squeezing the horse between the rest of the column and the startled riders.
‘Back! Back!’ Erik cried as he turned to follow, and within moments the narrow path had descended into a mad scrum of horses and men as the crews of five dragon ships tried to turn back at once. The moon had finally been driven from the sky by the cloak of greyness, and the night was as black as pitch in the bowels of the hollow. Erik had difficulty forcing his own horse through the crush as the darkness robbed him of his identity, but the men knew the heft of his voice and the ferocity of his curses of old, and he was soon back alongside Gisli as Arinbjorn’s man grew increasingly frantic. The clash of arms which had drawn them on had petered out a short time before to be replaced by the cries and chants of the victorious and Gisli, and Erik, were growing more desperate with every step.
The sky to the east was lightening moment by moment; up on the ridge top day was threatening to break as the wolf chased the sun b
ack into the firmament, and as Erik looked back to the north a flash of flame told where Gamli and his men had begun the killing. He was close enough now to make a grab for Gisli’s reins, and Erik tugged the horse to a halt as he reached a decision. ‘We will have to retrace our steps to the Roman road,’ he shouted through the mayhem which surrounded them. ‘If Olaf has broken through they will fall upon Gamli and his men in no time.’
Gisli’s face shot around, and Erik saw the relief there as the huskarl cried out a reply; ‘No, lord, I have found it. That is it! That is the path!’
Erik looked and saw the place where a smaller track took a turn westwards revealed now by the gathering light, but shook his head as he reached a reluctant decision. ‘It is too late. If Arinbjorn has fallen, Olaf will see the flames where Gamli is burning in Orm and will already be on his way to save the day or wreak vengeance. We must assume that Arinbjorn and the others are dead and go to the aid of my son.’
Erik dropped the reins and was about to put back his heels when Gisli shocked him by reaching across to grab his horse by the cheek piece. ‘Forgive me King Erik,’ he said as Erik swung back angrily. ‘If Arinbjorn is dead we will never make it to the hall in time if we go back the way we came. Remember I said that most of Olaf’s men were on foot?’ Almost any other man would already be dead if he had done such a thing, but Gisli had earned the right and Erik calmed himself enough to return a curt nod. ‘If they have forced their way past our men they will be strung out along the road as they chase after their horsemen. Not only is this way far quicker,’ the huskarl said with a jerk of his chin. ‘We can roll up Olaf’s men from the rear, even as we come to Gamli’s aid.’
Erik’s thoughts raced as they sifted Gisli’s words. Fronds of flame now lit the sky to the north as the traitorous earl and his men met their fiery end, but the returning light had begun to move down into the woodland hollow, and it revealed just how far they would have to retrace their steps before they could even begin to bring succour to his eldest and his house men. Erik gave a sharp nod as he saw the merit of Gisli’s words and changed his decision. ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘Lead us towards the battleground and we shall deal with whatever we find when we arrive.’
Gisli was away as soon as the king stopped speaking, and Erik thundered in his slipstream as the huskarl angled away from the main path. The western face of the hollow was now directly facing the dawn, and the thick woodland turned the air above the winding path into a latticework of sunbeams as they rode. Shadowy hollows and roots littered the way ahead waiting to snap a leg or unhorse a rider, but Erik placed his faith in the mount to pick his way through as the deafening rumble of hundreds of hooves filled the air. With all of his concentration fixed on the pathway ahead, Erik was taken by surprise as they gained a false summit and burst out into the sunshine of the new day. Now on higher ground Erik raised his eyes as they rode, searching across to the north for the first signs of how the battle had gone. He picked up the seal grey line of the Roman road easily enough, spear straight and glistening with dew, and the king of Northumbria just had time to see that it looked clear of both riders and spearmen before the trees closed in to hide the view.
A short gully snaked up to the summit of the ridge, still hidden from view by the density of foliage, and Erik released the peace bands which secured his sword in its scabbard as the horses began to trend upwards once again. Loose scree made the going tougher than he would have liked, but the gelding he had been gifted by the archbishop was a horse trained for war and it dug in to power itself up and clear of the defile. Erik drew his sword across his body as he followed Gisli up onto the roadway and kicked on, eager to reach the place where the huskarl had left his lord and companions blocking the road only a short while before. Gisli’s great frame still blocked Erik’s view ahead, his childhood mentor bellowing a war cry as he swung his own sword in great sweeps about his head, but they were very close to the high point now and Erik felt a sense of mounting joy as the sword swings slowed and Gisli’s belligerent yells became whoops of glee. It could only mean that Arinbjorn and his men still held the ridge, and now that Erik had led hundreds of Norsemen to the field of battle the great war axe Jomal would soon be gracing the pretender’s head, not the ancient crown of Northumbria he had expected.
Erik could feel the old roadway tremble through the hide of his saddle as the cut disgorged the rest of the army in a torrent of muscle and steel and he slowed his mount, turning to head off the charge lest their war lust cause a disaster. Gisli had dismounted when Erik turned back, disappearing among his friends in a wild scrum of backslapping and laughter; Arinbjorn was grinning like a fool, and Erik threw himself from the saddle and rushed across. ‘We heard fighting. What happened?’
‘Sorry Erik,’ he said as the smile began to slide. ‘We asked him to wait for you to get here, but he seemed in a hurry to be elsewhere.’
Erik looked at him in bemusement. ‘Olaf Cuaran?’
Arinbjorn spat, the contempt he felt obvious as the smile faded completely. ‘The bastard has run again.’
Erik’s shoulders sagged. ‘Already?’
Arinbjorn nodded. ‘He took off on horseback leaving most of his men behind.’
‘Well,’ Erik said, ‘you had the victory and we have chased him away. We shall have to settle for that, and spread the word that he abandons his men to save his own hide at the first sign of trouble.’
‘The victory belongs to you Erik.’ Arinbjorn replied. ‘It was your idea to carry the bloodied axe battle flag and the banners of the Erikssons along with us. Fighting uphill with the light of the dawn in their eyes, Cuaran’s men could have no way of telling that they were facing a single ship’s crew and not the king of Northumbria at the head of his army. The moment they appeared on the skyline Cuaran was away; without their leader even Norsemen will break and run.’
The rest of Erik’s army were up on the ridge and filling the roadway now, and Erik turned to pick out his sons from the mass. ‘Guttorm?’
‘Yes lord?’
‘Take Sigurd and burn the coward’s ships. Kill the ship guard and any fugitives you overtake on the road.’
The shield wall barring the roadway parted as Guttorm led his younger brother and their combined crews away to the west, and Erik called out again as the last of the riders cleared away. ‘Harald!’
The Eriksson dragged his eyes away from the diminishing figures of his brothers and their hirdmen. ‘Yes lord?’
‘I want you to take your men and let Gamli and his lads know what has happened here, but keep a sharp eye open on the road. We don’t know where Cuaran and his horsemen made for when they left the field.’ Erik raised his head to sweep the skyline to the east. Clouds were building there and the sky was as sallow as a day old corpse, but the undersides of those to the north were streaked with red where they reflected the flames of the earl’s balefire. ‘It should be obvious what has happened, but never underestimate the guile or stupidity of an enemy. Once you know the full story, send a couple of good men to York and let Wulfstan know all that has happened here.’
To Erik’s surprise his son dismounted and began to fish about in a heavy leather pouch suspended from his saddle. He turned back with a smile. ‘I can do better than that father,’ he said. ‘You can tell the archbishop yourself in your own words.’
Erik and Arinbjorn exchanged a look as Harald sat cross legged on the ancient roadway and made a table of the carrier. Smoothing out a length of parchment he sat poised with his quill and cocked his head expectantly. Erik’s thoughts ran on as he began to rattle off the results of the night’s action. It was the first time that he had truly grasped the opportunities which writing held out for a leader, rather than being merely a means by which a man could leave a record of his achievements for the entertainment of others yet unborn. To be able to send and receive detailed orders and reports was a powerful aid, not only to the running of a kingdom in peacetime but also in times of war, and he made a pledge that he would not only st
ep up his own lessons when Eadred’s army had been seen off, but he would insist that his senior men learn the wizardry too. His report made, Erik walked Harald back to his horse. ‘Ask Gamli to add the events at the hall burning and wait there for us,’ he said. ‘The horses will need grazing and watering after a night on the hoof, I will catch up with you shortly.’
Harald nodded as he retied the carrier and hauled himself back into the saddle. ‘I shall raid the late earl’s storehouse father,’ he smiled as he guided the head of his horse away to the east, ‘and lay on a victory feast for you all!’
Erik turned back as Harald led his men away, but his good humour evaporated as he saw what the breaking of the shield wall had revealed for the first time. Arinbjorn had followed his gaze, and he explained who the group were before Erik could question him. ‘Olaf’s men,’ he said, ‘survivors of the rout.’
Erik stalked across, his anger rising a notch with every step taken. These were some of the men who had taken silver to unseat him from a throne rightfully his, as ordained by Christ and the iron will of Óðinn, and a night spent groping his way around a darkened wood had long driven any chance of mercy from him. Stripped and herded like sheep the men sat hunched beside the roadway, a pale pool of misery as they waited to discover whether the Norns yet hovered over their life threads with their shears of woe. One look at the figure stomping towards them seemed to confirm to most that the old girls were preparing to get to work, as Erik released Jomal from its carrying strap and his eyes flashed his hatred.