by Martin Lake
Ulf risked a look behind. The horsemen had also picked up speed and were racing towards the road. He grabbed hold of Edward’s bridle.
‘You must fly,’ he ordered. ‘Cuthred knows these parts and will lead you to safety.’
‘I won’t flee,’ Edward cried.
‘You’ll do as I say,’ Ulf cried. ‘Holdwine, Grimbold, take Edward and the women, and half the men. Cuthred will lead you to Rochester.’
‘What about you?’ Holdwine asked.
‘We’ll delay the Northmen,’ he said. ‘Half the men with Holdwine and half with me.’
‘That’s madness,’ Holdwine said. ‘Twenty against eighty.’
‘I command here,’ Ulf said. ‘Do as I say.’
Holdwine opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it and took Edward’s bridle instead.
Ketil forced himself close to Ulf. ‘A word of counsel.’
‘From a Dane?’ Grimbold cried.
‘Who better?’ Ketil said. ‘Ulf, the moment you split your men, they’ll realise someone valuable is escaping. They won’t fight you, they’ll be after Edward like wolves on the hunt.’
Ulf considered his words for a moment only. ‘You’re right, thank you. We’ll keep together and hope to outrun them.’
They whipped their horses to greater effort. Cuthred led the way, shouting out encouragement to the others: ‘Four miles to Rochester and safety.’
Ulf glanced back at their pursuers. Four miles was a long way in such conditions. His greatest fear was that Inga and Rebekah were inexperienced riders. Ketil must have had the same thought for as Ulf moved closer to Rebekah he pushed his horse next to Inga’s.
‘Keep your head low,’ Ketil called to Inga. ‘You’ll ride faster that way.’
Ulf shot a glance towards Rebekah.
‘Don’t concern yourself about me,’ she yelled. ‘Arab horses are swifter than these.’ She kicked her heels and her horse darted forward.
Ulf sought sight of Edward in front of him. Holdwine rode ahead of him, Grimbold on his tail, a couple of thegns on either side. Every one of them would fight to the death to protect him.
Ulf thought that they would soon be forced to do so.
They pushed their horses onward, ignoring the wind which was sharp as knife blades. They could hear the fierce cries of the Vikings gaining on them.
‘Don’t look back,’ Ulf yelled. ‘Keep your eyes on where you’re riding.’
How much further, he wondered. But he thrust away all fear and forced his horse faster.
‘I can see the city walls,’ yelled Cuthred.
Ulf felt jubilant. They must have ridden faster than they realised. He stood in his stirrups and saw Rochester dead ahead.
But he saw something else which banished all jubilation completely.
The river beyond the city was filled with Viking Longships, a couple of score or more. And to the south of the city was a large encampment complete with walled fortress. He estimated that a thousand men were there. Rochester was besieged.
He gave another glance behind and cursed. The Vikings had closed on them. They had no fear of falls and capture, only the anticipation of plunder. They whipped their horses recklessly, heedless of risk.
‘Faster, men,’ he cried, ‘gallop for your lives.’
Even as he said it he saw another band of horsemen mounting up in the Viking camp and racing to cut in front of them. They were as good as taken.
But he would not give up. He leaned low in his saddle, whipped his horse without mercy and caught up with Holdwine and the Prince.
‘We’ll have to fight,’ yelled Holdwine.
Ulf nodded. ‘A boar’s head, Holdwine. Let’s use their own methods.’
Holdwine frowned. He had seen the Danes smash a shield wall using this formidable wedge shape but had never seen it used by horsemen. But he could think of nothing better. ‘Where do you want us?’
‘In the middle,’ Ulf cried. ‘The road’s wide enough for you to ride four abreast. Keep Edward between you, Grimbold and Cuthred.’
Holdwine slowed his pace, allowing half of the warriors to ride past. He saw Ketil forcing himself to the front, just behind Ulf, and swore. It should be he or Grimbold close to their friend, not a Dane. And then his heart leapt to his throat. Perhaps Ketil meant to slay him, to betray them all.
He thought to cry out a warning but stopped himself. He could have only one concern now; to protect Edward. They were in the middle of their party now, eight men behind, four directly in front and the rest tapering towards where Ulf rode alone at the head of the boar.
Where Ulf rode exultant. He felt the battle fever beginning to boil his blood, but now he welcomed it with joy.
The first of the Vikings had reached the road and were scrabbling up onto it, turning to make their attack.
‘Now,’ he cried, raising his sword aloft. ‘Destroy.’
His voice cut through the wind, a savage, mighty roar, on the edge of human.
And then Ketil raised himself in his stirrups and yelled: ‘A berserker. A berserker is upon you.’
The leading Vikings heard the Danish voice crying out warning and stared in horror. It was the last thing they did. Ulf rode between two men, slicing open the chest of one, hacking the leg of another.
Then he smashed into the men behind them, his sword swift as fire.
He heard Ketil crying, ‘Berserker’ and felt the madness begin to rage. He fought to master it, to control it just enough. He needed to be in charge of himself and his warriors.
But then Ketil yelled in his ear: ‘Embrace it, Ulf, welcome it.’
And he did.
It was over in moments. How many men Ulf slew he did not know, certainly all those who were rooted to the spot by his onslaught.
The rest of the Vikings turned tail in terror, tumbling off the causeway, crashing into each other in their haste to escape.
And then they were through. Ulf fought to master himself but his mind was already lost. And then he felt a touch on his arm and turned to see Rebekah staring at him anxiously. The storm within subsided as rapidly as it had built.
He took a deep breath and turned to check that Edward was unharmed. Behind lay a litter of corpses, their blood already staining the snow.
They cantered up to the eastern gate of the city which was thrown open to them. They were safe.
‘Who is leader here?’ Holdwine asked one of the guards.
‘Archdeacon Ceolmund,’ he answered. ‘The bishop is in Canterbury.’
‘Ask him to meet us here,’ Ulf said. He slid from his horse and stepped towards them. His eyes were wide, as if he had witnessed unspeakable horror, and his hands trembled. But his words, though breathless, were calm.
The guard raced off to the cathedral.
‘Are you recovered?’ Holdwine asked.
Ulf nodded. ‘Rebekah brought me back.’
‘Good.’ He glanced at Inga. ‘But what of Ketil? He sought to betray us.’
‘Or put the fear of the devil in the Vikings,’ said Edward. He turned to the Dane, his eyes thoughtful. ‘At any rate, so it seemed to me.’
‘And so Ketil will claim,’ Holdwine said. ‘But I’ve got my doubts.’
‘If he claims it,’ Ulf said, ‘then I deem your doubts justified. If he remains silent then I think Edward has the truth of it.’
Ketil approached and stared at Ulf. ‘You have recovered?’
Ulf nodded.
‘I saw that Rebekah had to call to you,’ Ketil said. ‘But perhaps you were not far gone, in any case.’
Ulf felt himself sway a little. His left arm was bleeding from a cut but that was not enough to cause this.
‘See to the wound, Ulf,’ Ketil said. ‘And you should rest. Those who run with bears find themselves strangely spent.’
He bowed to Edward and went over to Inga.
‘He did not make a claim,’ Cuthred said. ‘Perhaps Edward is right.’
‘Perhaps Ketil’s too clever,’ said Hold
wine.
A portly priest came hurrying towards them.
‘I have been told of your escape,’ he said. His chest was heaving from exertion. ‘I am Archdeacon Ceolmund.’
‘I am Ulf,’ Ulf said. ‘Thegn of Mideltun. And this is the Atheling, Edward.’
The archdeacon stared in horror. ‘Why have you come here? You are in deadly danger.’
‘Believe me,’ Ulf said, ‘we would not have journeyed this way had we known about the Vikings. How long have they been here?’
‘They came four days ago, at night. They seem on no hurry to attack.’
‘The walls are high and well-maintained,’ Ulf said. ‘They probably mean to starve you into submission.’
‘Either that or they wait for reinforcements,’ Grimbold said.
‘Perhaps we should ask the Dane what they plan to do,’ said Holdwine.
‘That may not be a bad idea,’ Ulf said. He pretended to ignore the sarcasm in Holdwine’s voice.
SIEGE
Rochester, January, 885
Ulf and Holdwine looked over the battlements. They had been here almost a month and still the Vikings had not attacked. Ulf believed he had been correct in his initial thought that they planned to starve the city into submission rather than risk an attack.
Yet now, all seemed about to change.
Reinforcements had arrived. The Viking fleet crowded the river Medway and the army swarmed on all sides of the city.
The reinforcements must have arrived after dark,’ Ulf said.
Holdwine did not answer. He was too busy trying to estimate the number of enemies engulfing them.
‘I would say there are three thousand, now,’ he murmured after a while.
‘Perhaps more. Look to the east. There’s a large force by the woods.’
Holdwine turned that way. ‘What are they doing?’
Ulf strained his eyes to see. ‘Chopping trees, I think. It’s green wood, it can’t be for fires.’
‘But for what else?’
‘How high are these walls?’ Ulf asked suddenly.
Holdwine leaned over and peered at the ground. ‘About twenty feet I would say.’
‘Can a ladder be as long as twenty feet?’
The two friends stared at each other. They did not say anything, they had no need to. If the Vikings could construct twenty foot ladders long the city was doomed.
‘We need wood,’ Ulf said. ‘There’s nothing better for throwing a man off a ladder than a flaming brand thrust into his face.’
He hurried down to the centre of the city.
With the Vikings laying close siege to the city there was no way anyone could leave to forage for wood. Ulf organised his men to go to every house demanding timber, chairs, tables, beds, cooking utensils, anything.
‘Not cooking utensils,’ Holdwine said. ‘People need to eat.’
‘Then let them keep the bare minimum,’ Ulf said. ‘They won’t be able to fill split bellies nor swallow with a severed throat.’
Cuthred was given the task of building stacks of wood at strategic places around the city, where they could be readily lit for the soldiers on the walls. He placed them as far from buildings as he could but it was not always possible. He cursed when he realised this and hurried to find Ulf.
‘We’ll have to demolish some houses,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘A number are too close to where I need to build the fires. And the winds are contrary on this tongue of land. Unless I have a clear enough space around each fire, the flames could spread. And then you won’t have a town to defend.’
Ulf bit his lip. He had tested the resolve of the inhabitants by taking their furniture. Demolishing their homes might be a step too far.
‘We have to do it,’ Cuthred said. ‘We cannot risk a fire within the town.’ He paused. ‘And there’s a small church as well. It’s made of wood and full of oil and candles. It will burn as hot as my smithy.’
‘We can’t knock down a church,’ Holdwine said. ‘It will incur the wrath of God.’
Both men turned to Ulf. He blinked rapidly, struggling to come to the right decision.
‘The wrath of God might be terrible,’ he said, ‘but the wrath of the Vikings is more immediate. Besides, God will see we have no choice.’
‘Will you tell Him this?’ Holdwine said.
‘No. But I promise I will replace His church out of my own wealth. With a better one.’
‘That might do it,’ Cuthred said with a grin. ‘And it will placate the priests. I fear their wrath as much as that of the Vikings.’
‘I’ll go and tell the priests why we’re demolishing it,’ Ulf said. ‘I’ll take Wighelm with me.’
Holdwine nodded, glad that he was not in command.
The priests were incandescent with rage. Most called him a savage, a few named him the servant of Satan, two even hurled curses at him.
Wighelm started forward angrily at this. ‘You are wrong to do this, friends. Lord Ulf has no alternative.’
‘He is no lord,’ said one of the priests. ‘He is a boy filled with overweening ambition.’
‘I’m a Thegn,’ Ulf answered. ‘And I will save your city and people, whatever it takes.’
‘Even desecration?’
The priests fell silent.
‘I will build a bigger church and endow it from my own purse.’
‘You do not have enough wealth,’ sneered the priest.
Ulf stared him down. He would find the wealth, even if it meant ransacking the corpses of the Vikings.
‘I have no time to dispute further,’ he said. ‘Cuthred, begin the demolition. Take anything made of timber to your wood stocks.’
‘Not the altar,’ cried an old priest. ‘It’s sacrilege.’
‘God will forgive me,’ Ulf said, turning to leave. Or at least he hoped so.
As he left the church he found Rebekah helping collect wood. ‘You look troubled,’ she said.
Ulf sighed. ‘I am. Cuthred says there is a danger of the fire spreading unless we demolish some of the buildings.’ He pointed behind him. ‘And that includes this church. The priests are angry at me.’
She shrugged. ‘They have their work and you have yours.’ Then she reached out and touched him on the arm. ‘They must have oil in there.’
‘So says Cuthred. Why?’
‘It can be used as a weapon. I have seen the Egyptians use it. They heat the oil to boiling point and fling it on their enemies.’
Ulf kissed her on the forehead. ‘Clever. I see that Edgwulf has a new competitor as a warlord.’
He ran back into the church and ordered Cuthred to collect oil and candles.
Although some of the priests complained bitterly at this new outrage, to his surprise, most hurried to do his bidding. He left the church with some relief. Perhaps God was already acting on his behalf.
In the centre of the city he saw Holdwine and Grimbold walking out of a building bearing a pile of sheep pelts. ‘These are full of rancid fat,’ Holdwine said. ‘Once we’ve set them alight they’ll make a lovely gift for the Vikings.’
‘Whatever we can lay our hand on as weapons will be useful,’ Ulf said.
Every inhabitant of Rochester worked to make ready for the attack: men, women, even the smallest of children. At last, exhausted, they drooped to a halt. The city fell silent, until one solitary dog howled at this strange turn of events.
Ulf leaned on a wall, every bone aching, every sense stretched to near-breaking. He looked around and smiled.
Every open space contained a large pile of wood with cauldrons and pots placed nearby, the buildings which had posed a danger of conflagration had been demolished, heaps of stones and throwing axes lined the battlements, every man had a weapon close to hand: spear, sword, knife, axe, mallet or scythe. The only thing he lacked was sufficient warriors. But those he led, he knew, would fight like furies to defend the city.
And at that moment a sentry on the wall cried out that the Vikings were la
unching an attack.
INTO THE MAELSTROM
Ulf leapt up the steps to the battlements. A moment before he had been weary to his bones but now all that was forgotten. He reached the top, followed moments later by Holdwine, Grimbold and Cuthred.
He turned and ordered the men below to light the fires and heat the cauldrons. The largest were filled with oil and wax. Smaller ones contained horse-shoes, nails and other pieces of metal which would soon begin to glow red-hot.
He watched the flames taking hold and then turned back to stare at the ground beneath the walls.
The Vikings were advancing from the south, a huge mass of men in a well-ordered shield wall. Like the people of Rochester they had made good use of the day. Behind the main mass of warriors came others wielding tall ladders. Tall enough to overtop the walls of the city.
‘We’re done for if they get those ladders up,’ Grimbold said.
‘Then we can’t let them,’ said Holdwine.
‘Of course not,’ Ulf cried. ‘But how do we stop them?’
‘Push them over,’ Cuthred said. He demonstrated with a thrust along the top of the wall. ‘Grab one side of the ladder and push. It will slide and topple over.’
‘Even with the weight of men climbing on it?’ Ulf asked.
Cuthred cursed. ‘It will need many of our men to do the pushing,’ he admitted.
Ulf picked up the branch of a tree. ‘A couple of men with a piece of timber should do the trick. Like a battering ram.’
Cuthred nodded. ‘Best if we can find branches with prongs to catch hold of the ladders.’
Ulf nodded and Cuthred hurried off along the walls to arrange it.
‘He’s a good man,’ Grimbold murmured. ‘I didn’t realise ceorls could be so clever.’
Ulf turned back to look at the Vikings marching towards the attack. There must be two thousand, all told. Too few to launch a heavy attack at every part of the wall but enough to stretch the defenders to the limit.
‘Why are they attacking so late in the day?’ Holdwine said.
‘They have no idea that they’re facing King’s-thegns nor what we’ve prepared for them,’ Grimbold answered. ‘Perhaps they expect an easy victory.’