Gods of War

by C. R. May

  The rider prised the helm from his head, and a grin came as he replied. ‘Welcome back, lord, the whole army has been thrilled by your exploits. I am Eadric of Theodford. We have warm ale and a damp sod to rest your head each night,’ he laughed, ‘but I am afraid that the food might be a disappointment. If you follow us I will escort you in. The Danes have started to sniff around us at last, I wouldn’t want any doubts as to your allegiance. Some of the lads are beginning to get a little jumpy.’

  As the two parties began to mingle, swapping tales and sharing news, Hemming gave Eofer a look of wonder as the events of the previous month ran through his mind.

  ‘It seems like an age ago that we left the Sley,’ he began. ‘Do you remember the fishing fleet?’ Eofer nodded as he recalled the little boats, awash with herrings as they reaped the shoals off Engeln for the last time. ‘I wonder if they all got away?’

  ‘They will be long gone, I daresay that they are wetting their nets in the waters off Anglia as we speak.’

  ‘And the fight on the beach, when Ubba silk beard and his men had us hiding behind a fallen tree. I thought that was it.’

  They shared a laugh.

  ‘So did I!’

  ‘Stuck on a sandbank, chased the length of Scania, and you carted off to live in a hole.’ Hemming sniggered. ‘You stank like a pig when we caught up with you. And that bastard guda! I thought that we were too late when I saw the knife come out, and then Horsa sticks him with a shard of wood!’

  They laughed again, before Eofer turned and raised his brow in question. ‘Horsa? The horse?’

  Hemming chuckled. ‘It’s what the lads have started calling Swinna, ever since Spearhafoc’s comment about the baby’s arm.’

  Eofer glanced back and saw that the big man was happily emptying the contents of a rider’s ale skin, the smile draining from the face of Eadric’s man at the same rate as the ale from the container.

  ‘He seems happy enough. What does he think of his new name?’

  Hemming smirked. ‘Hates it.’

  ‘That’s settled then, Horsa it is.’

  The king saw them first and Eofer was overjoyed to see a smile spread across his features, despite his lord’s careworn appearance. As the warriors surrounding King Eomær parted and looked his way, the thegn slid from the back of his horse and knelt before him. Eomær gripped Eofer’s shoulders, hauling him back to his feet as wide grins illuminated the faces of the surrounding gesith.

  ‘Your boys managed to get you back then!’ the king exclaimed.

  Noticing Eofer’s look of surprise, King Eomær gave a warm chuckle. Despite the king’s obvious fatigue following the rigours and worries of the sea journey and campaign, the eorle was pleased to see the twinkle of mischief which he knew so well remained in the king’s eyes as he explained. ‘The ship thegn, Eadward arrived back last week. He described the events surrounding your capture and Hemming’s harebrained plan to free you. I have to say,’ he added with a shake of his head, ‘that we all had our doubts that they would be successful.’ He looked back across his shoulder and Eofer saw for the first time that his brother was among the warriors there, shaking his head slowly as his mouth curled into a smile. ‘Apart from Wulf, of course,’ the king chuckled. ‘Who I had to place under guard, to stop him racing off northwards to help. You will be pleased to know that King Heardred’s men burned the Danish ships after they helped Eadward to retrieve his own. Eadward cruised off the coast to ensure that this Ubba couldn’t return to Daneland in a gaggle of fishing boats, but they must have got word to the Danish mainland somehow because a fleet of dragon ships put in an appearance and the Hwælspere was forced to flee.’

  Eofer nodded. ‘The Danes are on the march, lord. We watched their army moving south this morning. They are looking to pin us here against the coast.’

  The king frowned. ‘That is a problem.’ He plucked at Eofer’s sleeve and guided him towards the summit of a grassy knoll. The day was all but spent, but the pair emerged into blinding sunlight as they reached the summit. King Eomær turned his back on the orb and pointed away to the East with his chin. ‘They appeared before us, just as we started to make camp here for the night. The light had just started to go, it was perfect timing on their part. Too late for us to mount an attack, but just light enough for them to form a battle line. Now, with the information which you have just provided about the whereabouts of the main Danish host I can understand why.’ The king turned to Eofer and pursed his lips. ‘You now know these lands better than most, Eofer. When would you expect King Hrothulf to arrive?’

  Eofer scratched at his beard as he thought. ‘Armies move at a slower pace than either mounted war bands or flying columns,’ he replied. ‘Their levy, the leding, will have to tramp along behind the mounted warriors so…’ He sucked his teeth as the journey which the Danes would need to take to cut them off unfolded in his mind’s eye. ‘They cannot be here in full force before tomorrow evening, lord,’ he finally decided. ‘Of course that does not stop them from reinforcing the men straddling the road before us long before then. Once Hrothulf discovers that we are being held here he will move with speed and vigour.’

  The king nodded, the worry etched upon his features plain to see. ‘I thank the gods that you have returned, Eofer,’ he replied. ‘Eadward told me what knowledge he had gained from Prince Hrothmund of his cousin, Hrothulf. I know him by reputation, what impression did you gain of the new king during your time as a captive?’

  ‘All men speak highly of him, lord, his accession to the king helm has reinvigorated the kingdom. The overthrow of old King Hrothgar was well planned and executed. Hrothmund’s huscarls died to a man to allow the boy to escape, his brother was not so lucky. Starkad told me that most Danes attributed the victory over the Heathobeards last year to his leadership after Hrothgar was wounded by an arrow.’

  The king interrupted with obvious surprise. ‘You saw Starkad Storvirkson?’

  ‘Yes, lord, he has hired out his sword arm to the Danes. I got the impression,’ he added with a look, ‘that this arrangement predated the Heathobeard invasion.’

  Eomær snorted. ‘Well, at least we didn’t invite that wolf into our own fold last year. King Ingeld did and paid the ultimate price.’ The king glanced Eofer’s way. ‘You know that the Swedes also have a new king and that the old king’s sons are with your kinsman in Geatland?’

  Eofer nodded. ‘Hemming told me, lord.’

  Both men looked back, their shadows stretching before them as the wolf chased the sun down in the West. The land dipped before the English camp, bottoming out in a wide valley before it rose sharply to the crest of a ridge. The Danish holding force was a line of silver as the last rays of the sun picked them out from a carpet of green. The woodland pinched the roadway there as it trailed away to the East, and king and thegn both recognised the strength of the enemy position. The shield wall was already long enough to anchor itself against the trees to north and south; reinforced it could prove insurmountable.

  ‘Another day and we would have been away,’ the king lamented.

  Eofer looked at him in surprise, and the king explained.

  ‘You will have to forgive me. I never intended there to be a great battle during this campaign Eofer, despite my words back in Sleyswic. We had to guard against news of our planned attack reaching the Danes before we arrived.’ The king shrugged apologetically. ‘We had to set a false trail to encourage them to hold their armies back to defend Hleidre, but the fact is there is simply no need for it on our part. This war was never meant as a war of conquest; to take and hold land or capture the king’s hall.’ He gave an ironic chuckle. ‘I will leave the hall burning to younger men like yourself. No,’ he continued, ‘if I could have kept the Danes occupied while the people got away to Anglia without losing a man I would have counted that a great victory. I daresay that there will be plenty of fighting for us in the new land, we will need every warrior we can muster to ensure that we have a future there.’

  Eofe
r had been racking his memory as the king had spoken. There was something familiar about the landscape before him. Suddenly he had it, and he clenched a fist with glee. ‘I know this place, lord!’ he exclaimed. He rounded on the king, and Eomær saw the excitement shining in the thegn’s eyes as he spoke. ‘Lend me fifty of your best warriors, lord,’ he said. ‘Make your dispositions; plan to attack the ridge at dawn and I will hand you the victory.’

  16

  He had come awake the moment that the tent flap had been tugged aside, but Eofer remained where he was, eyes tightly shut in the hope that the time had still not arrived. A moment later a hand was shaking him gently on the shoulder and he tried not to smile, despite his exhaustion, as he sensed it was Hemming who towered over him. ‘Come on open your eyes, I know that you are awake.’

  Hemming shook Eofer again, and the thegn fought down a grin as his duguth tutted in frustration. ‘Eofer, wake up. The lads are ready.’

  One eye flicked open, and he finally let out a chuckle at the sight of his weorthman standing over him, hands on hips, shaking his head slowly from side to side like a long suffering mother. Eofer rubbed his face, levering himself up onto one elbow as his mind came back to the matter at hand. ‘What’s the moon like, Thrush?’

  ‘Well, it’s big and round and hangs in the sky. Some people say that it’s made of cheese, but then some people think that women are just like men without cocks. Those folk have either not met many women, or they are one.’

  Eofer snorted. ‘I did ask for that. Is it going to be a help tonight?’

  Hemming threw him a smile. ‘Why don’t you come and see for yourself?’

  As the big man left the tent, Eofer swung his legs to the floor and crabbed across with his toes to hook the lip of his boots. Forcing his feet inside he laced them up, dragging himself from the comfort of the king’s cot as he reached for Gleaming. Eofer took a last look around the interior of King Eomær’s campaign lodging as he attached the baldric and tightened the straps. In the corner the king’s own battle gear rested proudly on an iron stand, the mail shirt and full faced grim helm gleaming in the wan light of a lantern. Stedefæst, the king’s ancestral sword was already on his person, but Eomær’s stabbing spear with the distinctive gold and blue bands rested against the weapon stand alongside his battle board. The oversized war shield, blood red, sparkled as the light danced on the golden dragons and ravens which decorated the leather, while the eye of Woden stared balefully at the eorle.

  The king had eagerly grasped at Eofer’s plan earlier that evening, a scheme which would hopefully go a long way towards removing the men who had rushed to block their eastwards progress. The thegn had quickly surveyed the nearby coast from the adjacent spur of land before the onset of full darkness had hidden the features from view, but what had been revealed had been enough to confirm that it was the place which they had visited during the coastal attacks from the Hwælspere. On his return, the king had insisted that he rest from his exertions in his own tent while he discussed the plans for the dawn assault with his ealdormen and war thegns. Eofer had gratefully accepted as the rigours of the past week caught up with him, and now he was fully alert and ready to go.

  The men’s smiles flashed red in the sawing light of a brand as he exited the tent, and they came together as he returned the smile. ‘All set?’ Nods and a chorus of mumbled comments answered his question as Eofer ran his eyes over the group for the first time. Aside from his own duguth, Hemming, Osbeorn and Octa he had allowed the king to choose the men who would mount the attack, men who had already distinguished themselves during the campaign in fighting spirit and valour; by the looks of the men before him the king had chosen well. Many of them he already knew from past campaigns or the king’s mead hall, and he hailed them now, picking them out from the crowd, recalling past deeds and showing them honour. Eofer was surprised to see that Hemming had added the youth, Finn, to the numbers but he found that he approved and he caught his weorthman’s eye and gave him a small nod of endorsement as the youth looked proudly on.

  A quick glance upwards told him that the weather had taken a turn for the worse while he had slept. Slate grey clouds broiled and tumbled in the skies above the English camp and the air fairly crackled as a strengthening wind gusted in from the sea. ‘It looks as if we are going to get wet,’ he said as the men followed his gaze, screwing up their faces to peer southwards. ‘Let us hope that it keeps the Danes huddled around their campfires.’ He looked across to Octa and threw him a sympathetic smile. ‘Oct’; get yourself over to the corral and fetch a bucket of horse shit. Make sure that it is fresh, nice and moist.’ As the men swapped questioning looks, Eofer ran his eyes across their weapons and armour. ‘Has everyone brought a spear, and is the blade covered by cloth as I ordered?’ They all nodded. ‘Everything metallic wrapped in a bundle?’ Again the warriors mumbled the reply: ‘yes, lord.’

  As Octa bustled off with the pail, Eofer ran through the final instructions. ‘It will not be easy tonight, but if we can pull this off we can sweep these Danes aside in the morning and the army can be on its way once again. I am sure that you have all learned by now that the Danish king is coming against us with full force. I myself saw the army of King Hrothulf earlier today.’ He paused to add emphasis to his words as the men looked on, stern faced. ‘It is a mighty host, one which the king is eager to avoid meeting on the field of battle if that is at all possible. Remember,’ he said, repeating the king’s words from their earlier meeting in an effort to expand on the reasons for the lack of aggression, ‘this is not a war of conquest. Even if we swept the Danes aside and crushed them utterly we would still be sailing away forever. And it would be a costly victory, make no mistake. Other folk, Heathobeards, Wulfings, Jutes or Swedes would gather the harvest which our bodies would have sown on that battlefield.’ He fixed each man with a stare as he moved down the line and was gratified to see the acceptance there. The king had chosen well. Eofer could sense that the men’s fighting ability was matched in the keenness of their intelligence. ‘Our own people should be safely away by now, sowing the first crops in the new country across the German Sea and harvesting the shoals. But remember, it is only a new country to us. To the Britons it is already an ancient land, the land of their forefathers back to the days when Woden walked the earth. Despite what you may have heard they are a tough and vigorous people, we will need every spear that we can muster if we are to survive and flourish there.’

  The first rumble of thunder sounded out to sea and the men instinctively touched hammer pendants for luck. Eofer did likewise and threw them a smile. ‘Old red beard,’ he said, ‘come to watch the fun. Let’s give Thunor a worthy tale to tell our ancestors at their mead benches in Valhall when he returns over the rainbow bridge to Asgard.’

  Octa had returned as the first spots of rain arrived and Eofer reached inside the pail, scooping out a handful of the fibrous dung before rubbing it into his hands and face. ‘Come on lads,’ he smiled, his teeth flashing unnaturally white against his darkened features, ‘get stuck in.’ As the men wrinkled their noses and came forward Octa spoke. ‘We could have used earth and ash, lord. It’s a bit smelly.’ Eofer glanced upwards again as the storm crept nearer. ‘Not in this, it would soon be washed away. Shit is greasy Oct’, it stays where it is put.’

  A last look around the group and they were set. ‘Remember, the going will get tougher after we reach the cliff face. Use the heel of your spear to feel your way forward. If it comes to a choice between going into the sea and losing your bundle, let it go or you will die. It’s the reason that we are carrying our armour after all.’ He shot them all a parting smile as spears clattered together in the binding. ‘We will be moving slowly and steadily. It is not so far, and we have until dawn to be in position, so take things easy.’

  A gully sloped away down towards the nearby coast, and Eofer shouldered his pack, melting into it as the men filed in behind him. It was a purposely inconspicuous start to their night, disappearing into the gl
oom as the king, lit by great fires which glinted from the armour and spear points of his army, rallied his troops in full sight of the Danes opposite. Away to the South the first spot of light flickered in the dark as lightning arced, and Eofer pulled his head into his shoulders as the rainfall increased to a steady patter.

  The first part of the descent was the easiest. The rock strewn Combe snaked downhill, its wide banks making it good going for the war party, but soon the cutting took a turn to the East, steepening, its sides drawing together as it approached the place where it joined the main valley. Soon they were there, and Eofer waited until all the men were up with him before he slid into the watercourse below. The rain increased in tempo again as they hugged the valley side, each man feeling his way through the boulder field which littered the floor with the butt of his spear. The storm was almost overhead now, the occasional lightning flash causing the men to turn to stone but also lighting the way ahead for a heartbeat, the chalky valley aglow. Eofer could already hear the waves, driven ashore by the force of the winds, and he grimaced as he thought on the trial to come. It was bad enough, he reflected, that the passage had to be made when the tides were at their peak. Now it would appear that the weather had turned against them, and he fingered the silver hammer which hung at his neck as he sent a plea to the god of storms that he quickly move on.

  The distant rumble of the sea slowly became a roar as the war band reached the beach and Eofer raised his head to spy out the clifftops for any signs of life. As he had expected the Danish force were still too small in number to guard against attack from all directions and, satisfied that they were in the clear, he indicated that the men follow him across the stony beach to the foot of the cliff. The crash of the surf filled the air as the sea grasped hungrily at the steeply sloping strand to their right, wave following wave as they were driven ashore by the power of tide and wind. Satisfied that all were set, Eofer waited until a bolt of lightning illuminated the scene, the blue-white frond fizzing through the sky turning night to day. A heartbeat later thunder boomed and they knew that the storm was directly overhead, the thunder god hurling his hammer all about them as they waited to move forward. Hemming placed a hand on his shoulder and Eofer turned to see the weorthman’s grinning face inches from his own. The big duguth pointed at the sky and gave the thumbs up, as pleased as his lord that the storm must be moving away soon.