Gods of War

by C. R. May

  The plan was working far better than they could ever have hoped. It was obvious that Freki’s gut was akin to a brewer’s barrel, the dog little more than a fur covered fermentation tank, quickly converting the rich meat and gravy of its earlier meal into a throat gripping miasma. As the sun had left the sky and the population of Hroar’s Kilde had drifted away to the halls and ale houses in the town the guards, tiring of the never-ending farts, had moved the dog to the far side of the clearing, staking it out as far away from Ubba’s hall as they could. It had also meant that, with the dog chained only feet away from the English prisoners, they had felt able to cut back on patrolling and cluster near the shelter of the hall and its outbuildings. As soon as the dog had drifted off to sleep, Eofer and Swinna had set about loosening the nails which held the lower planking in place on the corral. Now that the first nail was free, Eofer had used the excuse of needing to take a piss to cover up the need to exchange places with his companion.

  Eofer settled back against the fence as another soft phut broke the air behind them and he stifled a giggle as, despite the seriousness of their situation, Swinna caught his eye and jabbed upward with the sharpened stick. To his delight the nail had already worked loose from the earlier movement of the planking, and Eofer placed a hand on Swinna’s shoulder to let him know that all was set. A quick glance at the sky told the thegn that the clouds were still a broiling mass of grey as a steady wind carried them away to the East. He looked back at the ceorls and was met by a line of sullen faces. They had been given the opportunity to join the escape of course, but had elected to stay and trust their fate to the gods. Eofer could hardly find it in his heart to blame them; he had suckled the flames of war from his mother’s teat, but he had seen enough of the world to know that the gods rarely troubled themselves with the fate of men.

  Swinna had moved into position and the pair exchanged a look. Together the nails were worked free, and the stave was lowered carefully to the floor and slid to one side. A look over his shoulder told him that the guards were still at the hall, firelight reflecting orange from spearpoints and faces as the men there endured the boredom of their watch. Swinna slipped the stake into his hand, and Eofer lowered himself to the ground with a parting smile as he wriggled under the paling.

  A deep growl, and a shadow hardened into the shape of powerful shoulders and an ox-like head; a flash of white at the edge of his vision as the dog lunged. Eofer pulled his head aside as the chain snapped taut, the dagger-like teeth brushing his cheek. He could feel Swinna tugging him back but his cloak was snagged, and he felt a rising sense of panic as the dog’s fetid breath washed over him. The sound of running feet and the snarling dog was hauled back and replaced by a familiar face: ‘going somewhere, lord?’

  Strips of light cut the floor like the furrows on a field, motes of dust gliding lazily in the musty air as they drifted down from above. Eofer shifted onto his right side, grimacing in the dark as the blood flow returned to prickle the left. The days had come and gone with agonising slowness, and he chastened himself again for not counting them off. Was it three or four? He thought that it must be more like four now, but in truth time had lost it’s meaning. Arching his back he pushed into the corner of the cell and straightened his legs, working his knees until the pain there subsided.

  He was in a space not more than two paces by one. By hanging his head or dropping a shoulder he could sit upright, but only just. Wood lined, the musky smell of damp earth was all around, coffin-like, and the thegn gave thanks that so far the spring had been unseasonably dry in the northlands.

  Footfalls crossed the floor above, and he looked towards the trapdoor in hope. Even if it was to be the final journey, he would be glad to out in the air one last time. A powerful snort came, and Eofer watched as the blast of air sent a new shroud of dust swirling into the void. He tensed his body as he prepared to move towards the sound but fell back with a sigh. In the early days it had amused him to entice the big mastiff to press his nose against the floor as it sought his scent, waiting patiently for the right moment to thump the wood to draw a growl, but those days were past; he just couldn’t be bothered to make the effort anymore. The bolt snapped back, and Eofer squinted into the light as the hatch was levered upright. ‘Steady now boy,’ came the voice he had grown to hate. ‘Not long now and you will be chewing on his innards.’

  Despite his thirst, Eofer raised his face and attempted a weak smile. ‘Deer flesh today, Ulf?’

  The blur hardened into the form of a man as Eofer’s eyes grew accustomed to the light, and the thegn recognised the familiar look of contempt twist the Dane’s features. ‘You think you’re funny don’t you,’ Ulf spat. ‘Let’s see how hard you laugh when the priests get their hands on you.’

  Despite himself, Eofer let the fear which he felt flicker momentarily into his expression and the Dane gave an evil chuckle. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed in triumph. ‘Found your weak spot at last.’ Ulf lowered himself down onto the edge of the opening, drumming his feet against the wooden wall. It was unusual for Eofer’s jailer to allow himself to come within reach of his prisoner, but the Engle’s brief surge of hope was quickly extinguished as he saw that a ring of spear points hovered menacingly in the background. Ulf had recognised the look for what it was and he laughed. ‘Eofer; boar by name, boar by nature eh?’ he snorted. Eofer gave him a look of surprise. ‘What? You didn’t know that I could speak your tongue? Yes, I know that Eofer is the English name for a boar, all of the guards here speak other languages. You would be surprised what prisoners can let slip once they become delirious or,’ he mused as he fondled the dog’s ears, ‘what they will reveal when Frecki here is sinking his fangs into a tender part of their body. Come on,’ he said gleefully, ‘out you get. I will tell you what’s going to happen to you on our way to the wagon.’

  Eofer slid across to the hatch and eased himself upright. Frecki let out a low growl as the Engle came into view, straining forward as a thrall tugged him back by a heavy chain and the dog’s spittle-flecked lips drew back in a snarl. A dozen spearmen eased away as Eofer hauled himself out onto the floor of the hall and stretched his weary body. Amused at the number of guards the reeve had sent to move him a few feet, Eofer threw them a smile. ‘Don’t worry lads,’ he said. ‘I won’t give you any trouble.’

  To their credit, those Danes who didn’t return the smile looked away in embarrassment as Ulf snapped an order to the dog handler. ‘Once we have got rid of our guests, feed Frecki and tie him up. Then get down there and clean up,’ he added with a nod towards the underground cell, ‘it smells like someone’s been living in it.’

  To Eofer’s amusement none of the Danes showed any emotion at the warder’s weak joke, and Ulf was sour faced as he led them away. Several warriors were at their ale, and Eofer noticed the sadness in their expressions as he was led towards the big double doors. An enemy of their folk or not, the Englishman suspected that the respect in which the leading warriors of all nations held their foemen was behind it. It did not bode well for his immediate future, and the suspicion was confirmed as the guard turned back with a glint of malice. ‘Oh,’ he said, as they neared the doorway, ‘I almost forgot. I was going to tell you what they intend doing with you, wasn’t I? It seems that you are to be honoured. King Hrothulf has got your army pinned down in the south of the country, they never even got close to Hleidre.’ The Dane had been looking sidelong for a reaction from Eofer, but the thegn had quickly recovered his senses now that he was back among men and he stifled any show of interest. Struggling to hide his disappointment, the Dane frowned again and went on. ‘So much for your great invasion,’ he spat. ‘All it has done is hasten the fall of Engeln itself. King Hrothulf has gathered his host and is preparing to move against Eomær and his rabble of an army. When he does he will chase them back over the Belts, clear across the Wolds and into the German Sea. Which makes it a shame,’ he added with a murderous glint, ‘that you won’t be there to see it; after depriving the gods of the company of your bro
ther last yule and burning old Hrothgar’s hall, the king has decided on a suitable end for you.’

  Eofer fought to keep his expression deadpan, but he could see from the glint in the jailer’s eyes that the end in question was to be far from pleasant. Sure that he had got his charge’s full attention now, Ulf continued in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘It’s to be a blood-winding for you, king’s bane,’ he said with glee. Ulf reached across and flicked an imaginary blade the length of Eofer’s belly. ‘The priests will cut you here and nail your guts to the trunk of a big old ash. Some say that it is the same tree which Woden himself hung upon when he learned the mysteries of runecræft, you might have seen the compound in the barrow field outside Hleidre the night you burned the king’s hall. From there it all gets a bit grim,’ he added with a malicious wink. ‘I will let you imagine what that could be.’

  They had passed the fire-pits and the doorway loomed ahead. Eofer was close enough now to see that a large crowd had gathered before the hall, the hubbub building as the mob realised that he was on his way. Eofer allowed himself a snort of irony as he realised that the number of guards which had been sent to escort him from the building were for his protection, not to prevent his escape. To his surprise the hall steward handed Gleaming across to one of the guards as they passed, and, despite the fact that his ancestral sword was in the hands of a foeman, the glimmer from the gold backed garnets which decorated the hilt caused his heart to flutter with pride.

  Several of the guards pushed their way to the front as they exited the hall, moving out to the sides as the crowd vent their fury. As the harassed spearmen bundled the people back with the shafts of their spears, Ulf chivvied him on. ‘Come on,’ he said as he snatched at Eofer’s sleeve, ‘on the back of the cart. The guda demand a sacrifice, and if the crowd kill you first that poor sod might be me.’

  Stones began to rain on their heads as the warriors forced a path through to the place where the carter was growing visibly paler by the moment and the crowd, whipped up into a frenzy by the sight of the man who had ordered their town burned surged forward. Unarmed, Eofer bunched his fists, ready to strike out as individuals dodged the cordon and rushed forward to try to land a blow of their own. It would be an easy thing for a man, woman or even child to slip through and plunge a dagger into his side and earn reputation for themselves. The guards were beginning to cast anxious glances across their shoulders as they struggled to contain the mob and Eofer prepared to go down fighting.

  He looked ahead and saw the fear etched faces of the other captives lining the cart as a bevy of Danish spearmen clustered about them. He was glad to see that Swinna had survived the last few days, despite the infection in his thigh, and they exchanged a fatalistic look as Eofer drew nearer to the cart. A scrawny Dane found himself thrust in front of the Englishman as the crowd surged forward, and Eofer almost laughed as the curses and hate-filled cries drained away from him as he came face to face with the object of his ire. Before he could retreat back into the anonymity of the mob, Eofer’s hand shot forward to grasp the man by the hair. A twist and a tug, and the Dane’s face was falling to meet the eorle’s upcoming knee with a crack of shattered cartilage and a spurt of blood. As the Dane fell away with a howl of pain the crowd drew back, some of the venom drawn from their sting as they saw that the object of their hate still packed a punch.

  The respite was all that the guards needed and Eofer was manhandled onto the lip of the cart and pushed onboard. Immediately the wagon set off, the iron rimmed wheels rolling across the uneven ground like a ship in a swell. A pair of Danish spearmen leapt aboard as the goad flashed overhead, dangling their legs outboard as they swung their weapons to point at the crowd.

  Eofer felt helping hands slip beneath his arms, dragging him upright until he rested against the side of the cart. He exchanged a look with Swinna, and the big duguth shook his head and laughed despite the obvious finality of their journey as Eofer grinned and cried above the noise: ‘how’s your leg?’

  14

  ‘Woah!’

  The carter guided the horse to one side of the track as it slowed to a halt. Glancing back his mouth drew a line as he shot his charges a look of sympathy. ‘This is as far as I take you, boys.’ He fingered the pendent at his neck and lowered his voice: ‘stay brave.’

  As the outriders dismounted, Eofer glanced across to the royal compound one last time. The blackened remains of Heorot had been removed and the beginnings of a new hall, the stout oak posts buttery yellow in their newness, were reaching skywards in their place. Swinna sniffed at his side as the ceorls began to disembark. ‘Is that the place, lord?’

  A ravening smile came to Eofer then as he recalled one of his greatest victories, old Hrothgar’s hall a balefire in the night. The staircase up which he had ridden the horse during the attack was still there, the wooden steps a dark line on a rampart of green, and his mind’s eye saw the flash of steel as he once again fought the shield wall single-handedly at its summit.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, the pride obvious in his tone. ‘That is the place.’

  Slipping from the tailgate his hands were bound tightly behind him as he noticed the group across the brook for the first time. A wicker sided cart had pulled up at the ford, the white oxen yoked to it gleaming in the morning sun as a line of silent figures lined the bank. One look was enough to make even the battle hardened thegn falter in his steps as they stood, stock still, watching the prisoners approach. The guda were dressed completely in black beneath a crow head helm, the long polished beaks lending the men an unspeakable air of malevolence as they glinted in the sun. Guards waited at the exit to the ford, their own dress unremarkable apart from a wolfskin cloak, the snarling head of which encased their own as the great grey pelt hung down to cover their backs.

  Swinna was struggling to the end of the wagon, and Eofer was surprised to see the care with which the Danish guards lowered his new friend to the ground. One of the warriors moved forward with a length of rope, and Eofer furrowed his brow as he threw the man a sarcastic look. ‘He’s not going to run far, is he?’

  The Dane glanced at his leader who shook his head, and the man lowered his gaze as he stepped away.

  ‘Here,’ Eofer said. ‘Rest your hand on my shoulder.’

  The ceorls were already being shepherded towards the crossing place by spear wielding Danes, the shambling gait betraying the fear they felt for the men awaiting them across the brook, and Eofer followed on at Swinna’s best speed. Soon they had managed to stumble across the narrow waterway, and the pair hauled themselves aboard the wain as the whip cracked overhead. The royal compound was soon lost from view as the wagon entered the barrow field, the grassy domes which guarded the remains of the kings of Daneland awash with the blooms of spring. Butterflies flicked to and fro in the breeze, and the air resounded to the rasp of crickets as each man sat lost in his own thoughts. The kingly mounds gave way to a stand of woodland, the trees, ash, oak, gnarled and twisted by their great age.

  And then, with startling suddenness, Eofer realised that they had arrived. As the woodland opened out into a sun filled grove the wagon halted before twin pillars of great height, rune carved, each mighty timber capped by the figure of a raven. Craning his neck to see beyond the wattle fencing, Eofer could make out the telltale glint of sunlight reflecting from water through a screen of alder. One of the ceorls was simpering with fear at his side, the distinctive tang of piss filling the air, and Eofer moved aside with a look of distaste. He cast a look about him, waiting until they were all aware that he wanted their attention before speaking. ‘A great man, one of the last of the Romans, once said to me that how we face death is important. It is the final act in our life story.’ He looked from one man to the next, fixing each man with his gaze as he drove the message home. ‘The gods move in this place, they are watching you now. Brave men are guided to the place of their ancestors, the rest are sent down to Hel’s bone hall beneath the earth. Look to your courage lads,’ he said with a smile of encour
agement. ‘Choose your destination carefully, you will be there a long time.’ One or two watery smiles greeted his speech, but most of the men still looked too fear struck to comprehend what was about to happen to them. Eofer was about to speak again when wolf snouts appeared at their side and the spearmen ordered them to disembark. The crow priests had gathered at the entrance pillars to the grove, and Eofer once again waited for Swinna to join him as the ceorls moved fearfully away.

  Once through the entrance the air felt oppressive, pressing down upon the men as they made their way forwards. At the heart of the grove an ancient ash had been chased into a giant figure, its single eye glowering balefully as the sacrifices were led before it. A wolf, a real one this time, it’s once muscular body now hoary and withered with age watched from cover, the amber beads of its eyes flicking over them before it slunk away and was lost from sight.

  A bell chimed close by, concentrating his thoughts, and Eofer watched dispassionately as the first of the ceorls were taken to the nearby trees and hauled aloft. As the macabre fruit kicked out the last of their lives in the canopy a priest, tall and wiry, his face whitened by ash, approached the pair. Eofer knew that this must be the chief guda of the grove but, despite the weirdness of the place, he was taken aback as the priest greeted them warmly and an acolyte moved forward to cut Eofer’s bindings. ‘Welcome to our grove, king’s bane,’ he chirped happily. His eyes moved from Eofer to Swinna and back again. ‘We reserve a special treat for proven warriors, it gives them a chance to enter Woden’s hall.’ He threw them a wink.‘We try to be helpful like that, considerate you might say. Now,’ he said with a clap of his hands, ‘who would like to go first?’