by T S Florence
Now and then, Ivar would turn around, his eyes searching for her. Her heart pained, just looking at him. Hate him, hate him! Her head screamed, but her heart drowned out the noise I cannot, I love him. But that love could not quell the anger she had towards him.
But he had become hard since she had escaped. Even their closer moments of making love were mixed with anger and frustration. He was distant, as if managing his emotion, as if preparing himself for something. Hardening his interior from the outside world.
Ivar
One thing Ivar admired about Isla’s father was his ability to stay one step ahead of his adversaries. He recognised it in the dealings he had with his own father, and he could see it in the dealings the man had with his brother, Duke Alfred.
It was something Ivar had practised his whole life, to great success. Planning ahead of your adversaries. And now would come the greatest test of his life.
I have faced men far greater than Duke Alfred. I have faced men smarter, men who inspired greater loyalty in their followers. Alfred will not outwit me. Today, Alfred will die.
Alfred began his ritual, his mind turning dark. Before battles, his father had taught him to train his mind, to become strong. Separate yourself form your fears and desires. Men who clear their minds before battle are strong, and strong men live.
15
Isla
Isla could hear the noise of Englishmen. She could hear their trumpets, their drums, their laughter. After some time, she could see their banners. Her heart began to hammer so hard she was fearing it would break out of her chest. Her eyes grew wide and she began to look for Ivar as the fear set in. Will he really hand me over to my uncle?
Her body trembled, matching the panic of her mind, as they came into sight of her Uncle’s party. There looked to be at least 100 men with her uncle, all dressed in their armour, with their swords at the ready. Isla saw Ivar look behind, signalling for her to come forward. She kicked lightly at her horses belly, encouraging it to speed up.
“Whatever you do, do not get off your horse,” Ivar looked to her, as she approached.
“Why?” She asked.
“Now is not the time for questions,” he clipped.
“Do you see your uncle?” He asked.
“I thought this was not the time for questions,” Isla answered.
“This is not a game, princess,” Ivar said.
“I see him,” Isla answered.
“Good. Do you fear him?” Ivar asked.
“No. But I fear what he will do to me,” Isla answered.
“Good. Stay close,” Ivar said.
As they got closer, Isla could see her uncle’s face. He had grown fat and had lost hair. His face was twisted into an angry scowl as he barked orders at a man standing behind him. He looked back, locking eyes with Isla. His dark, beady eyes gleamed with a greedy hatred that made her feel sick. There he was, her family, a man who was supposed to protect her from all the ugliness in the world, from people like Ivar and his men, yet there he was, paying a sum large enough to make thousands of men rich, so he could kill her.
“Ivar, please, don’t do this,” Isla asked, her voice hitching with nervousness.
“It is necessary, princess” he said, his eyes locked on the men ahead.
“The savages and the princess have arrived” Duke Alfred said, his voice pompous and his body language arrogant, yet perspiration on his brow betrayed his nervousness.
Isla felt fury rise in her belly as she watched him speak.
“Show me the gold,” Ivar said, ignoring the comment.
Isla watched her uncle’s face twist in an ugly display of contempt, not used to his insults falling on deaf ears, not having respect conferred simply because of his title. This was a man who did not earn his right to lead on a battlefield like Ivar, but took it through politics, a slimy maneuver that would have Isla’s father, the real Duke of Newcastle, turning in his grave.
Isla looked to Ivar. His eyes were on her uncle. She could reach out and touch him, she desperately wanted to. Please, don’t leave me with this man. Please Ivar. The only man who could protect her on this earth was standing next to her, on his great black war horse, in all his war glory, with his great white bear fur. His sword at his back, ready to be used at any moment.
Alfred waved a hand after several moments, instructing his men to bring the gold forwards. Five men pulled a large cart, assisted by a mule, before stopping and putting blocks behind the wheel to stop it from rolling. One of the men jumped onto the cart, and opened the wooden chests that sat on the card, one by one. The gleaming gold sat there in the sun, shining.
This pointless material, Isla thought, that so many men have died for. That I will die for. That is the sum of my life. Chests of a golden metal. She felt strange looking at the material that she was being sold for, thinking to herself how could this inanimate material be worth more than human life, God’s greatest creation? Her heart, already seemingly shattered, seemed to beat faintly in her chest, acknowledging defeat.
Ivar said something to one of his men in his native tongue, then repeating himself in English. “Go and check the gold,” he said.
One of his men walked forwards to the cart. As he reached the cart, Duke Alfred spat at the man’s feet, causing the man to grab the hilt of his sword. Immediately, all of Alfred’s men half-drew their swords in their scabbards. “Stay your hand” Ivar roared at his man, “And check the damned gold.” The man removed his hand from his hilt, and Alfred’s men returned their swords to their scabbards. Isla’s chest thundered at the anticipation of violence, her mind still shaken from the battle she witnessed just days ago.
The warrior climbed onto the cart and inspected each chest. He picked up various pieces of gold, bit coins, smelled and ran his hands through various treasures. He put a golden bowl on his head like a crown and did a little dance, causing Ivar’s men to burst out in laughter, but earned scowls from Alfred and his men. He put the bowl back down and moved onto the other chests. After spending several minutes, inspecting the plunder, he hopped down, and walked back to Ivar.
“The gold is real, and there appears to be the amount you requested, lord,” the man said. He winked sat Isla, and walked back down the line. Why did he wink at me? Isla thought, watching him walk away with suspicion. She could feel the tension in the air, and when she looked to Ivar, she saw a vein sticking out of his neck, his muscles taut. His eyes set with the fury of a thousand fires. Ivar was at the very front, the first man to wear any attack should the English attempt to ambush them.
But Isla forgot one thing. Ivar was not Ivar the Cruel amongst his people; he was Ivar the clever. People followed Ivar because he did not get ambushed. Ivar was not the prey. Ivar was the hunter. Ivar was the one who set the traps. And today, the English were the prey.
Isla saw Ivar raise his hand from the corner of her eye. A whistle sounded, the noise coming from behind Isla. Her horse’s ears pricked up, causing it to move restlessly, before turning, and galloping at a furious pace, back towards the way they had come. Isla looked behind her, and seeing commotion. A horn sounded. The same horn that sounded on the day Freya’s people had been ambushed. Isla saw a man riding behind her. It was Skald.
Ivar
Ivar checked that Isla was well and on her way down the line of his ferocious warriors, each one who would sacrifice his life to save Isla, before he turned to face Alfred. The thunderous sound of hooves erupted from each side of them. He looked at the wide, white eyes, similar to that of a horse who fears for its life, when they realized they had been ambushed.
The beating of drums sounded out, the blowing of the great Viking war horns filled the air, and the Vikings knew that today would be a day of slaughter. “You’re making a mistake,” Alfred roared, turning his horse, but too late, as he saw that his rear had been attacked. They were contained, like sheep being rounded by shepherds. There was one thing that the English had learned since the arrival of Vikings, and that was a shield wall.
“Shield Wall” Alfred’s military commander shouted, the soldiers obeyed his orders, overlapping their shields, until they had formed a seemingly impenetrable barrier of shields, with their lances sticking out, like a porcupine’s needles.
“Shield Wall,” Ivar shouted to his men, as he slunk his shoulder back, narrowly dodging an arrow. Men surrounded Ivar, their shields moving into place like they trained every day, since they were young boys. “Forward” Ivar boomed, his men taking one step forward at a time, chanting ancient war songs as they advanced.
Both sides advanced, though the Vikings advanced with greater pace, having fought in so many shield walls over their life. Their shields met with a great clash, and then began the horrible business of shield wall to shield wall combat. The men behind Ivar covered him from incoming javelins and arrows, and parried swords. Ivar felt swords hitting at his feet, though he wore metal capping under his boots, that would prevent any damage.
Blow by blow, Ivar felt the Englishmen crumbling under the pressure of the mighty Viking shield wall, Ivar dropped his shield to observe the enemy formation, seeing that they had started to break in some points. He used a short sword to jab at the men in front of him, causing a break in their wall. And that was all it took, the men either side of Ivar poured through that hole, tearing the English formation to shreds.
The English archers began to shoot mercilessly at Alfred’s frantic command. “My whore niece betrayed me, I see,” Alfred shouted over the noise at Ivar, as Ivar cleared the path of Englishmen around him, heads rolling at his feet.
“Englishmen who do not want to die, drop your weapons and get on your knees” Ivar boomed. Ivar’s men knew that when he gave this order, if any one of his men attempted to kill an unarmed opponent, he would face them himself in the square. And Ivar’s renown for the square was known through the Viking lands for his ruthlessness, and the inability to be hit.
Men began to drop their swords, and shields, and he listened to men cry, beg and plead for their lives. Ivar turned, looking at Alfred, who had also dropped his sword and shield. Pain erupted in Ivar’s left shoulder, causing him to drop his shield. The last arrow fired from the enemy had struct true. If it had gone an inch to the right, he would have received an arrow in the throat, ending his life.
He did not make any sound, internalising the anger and pain from being shot. He snapped the arrow off at its entry point, leaving the rest of the wood and the peak of the arrow lodged deep in his shoulder. You coward bastard, Ivar thought, eyeing the man.
“You would kill a woman unarmed, would you not?” Ivar said to Alfred, who was on his knees before him.
“I intended to marry her,” he said, his voice shrill.
“Like hell you intended to marry her,” Ivar said, his voice venomous.
“How dare you question my motives,” Alfred spat, clearly not used to being argued against, before apologising to Ivar.
“Get up, old man.” Ivar said to Alfred.
The victory horn sounded as the final archers were killed. The man who had shot Ivar was no longer alive. Men cheered and hugged as they rounded up the surviving Englishmen, tying their hands behind their backs.
I did this Isla. I did this for you.
Isla
At first, Isla did not understand what was happening; It seemed to all change so quickly. One moment, she was preparing herself to be traded for the gold, and the next, Skald had a hold of her reins, taking her into the woods.
“What are you doing?” Isla shrieked, fearful that Skald was going to hurt her.
“Your lover could not bear to give you away to your uncle, he is selfishly keeping you for himself,” Skald drawled, looking at her with his icy eyes.
“What do you mean?” Isla asked.
“What I mean is, Ivar did not want you to know the truth, for he wanted your fear to be real. If your fear was not genuine, the trap would have not worked. He wanted to tell you the truth many times, but I stopped him,” Skald smiled at her, cold and calculating.
“How many people knew?” Isla asked, fury rising in her stomach.
“We all knew, princess.” Skald chuckled, amused at her anger.
“He let me believe I was going to die, just so he could trap my uncle?” Isla fumed.
“If he did not kill your uncle, your uncle would have eventually got his grimy hands around your neck, princess. Don’t think for a second that it wasn’t a crucial aspect of Ivar’s plan to end your Uncle’s life.” Skald looked toward where the battle was taking place, as if he would be able to see it through the trees.
Suddenly, three men emerged from the trees. Alfred’s men. Isla’s gasp at their sight caused Skald to turn around. A growl emitted from his icy lips.
“I was sad that I could not take any English lives, until you three pathetic piglets decided to follow,” Skald said, his voice threatening.
The men, who had chased on foot, drew their swords. Quick as a flash, Ivar had drawn his bow, shooting one man down, leaving two to advance. Skald leaped from his horse, landing between Isla and the two men.
“Stand aside and we’ll let you live” one of the soldiers said.
“And miss my chance at Valhalla, I think not.” Skald said, drawing his sword. Skald was taller by a head and more, compared to these men. He was long and lean, built for close combat, fast and unpredictable.
He swung his sword upwards, taking a man by surprise, striking between his legs and tearing up through his stomach. The second Englishman went to raise his sword to strike, but skald reached his other arm out, blocking him from preparing his strike. Skald then let go of his sword, using both hands on the Englishman. He head butted the Englishman, causing him to howl in pain, and then continued to headbutt. Again, and again, and again. The man stopped making noise after the 7th or 8th headbutt, Isla had lost count. Skald finally let go, his face covered in more than just blood, but bits of broken bone and flesh from the Englishman. A blood ridden smile crossed his terrifying face, as he spat onto the ground.
“Let’s go and see our great leader,” Skald said, hopping back onto his horse, sheathing his sword. Isla was too shocked to move, and so he grabbed her reins, directing her horse back to where the battle had taken close. It’s over so soon? Isla was shocked at the pace in which the Vikings had overcome her uncle and his men.
What were left of her uncle’s men were on their knees, their hands tied. Then she saw Ivar, his left arm hanging down uselessly. She saw the end of an arrow poking out, seeing he had been hurt. Bodies were strewn around him, evidence of the carnage he had wreaked in her name. More deaths. More deaths because of me. Isla’s heart ached at the pain that Ivar must have been feeling.
But then, she saw Alfred. his sword hanging limp in his hand, as Ragnar set the same square on the ground that Ivar had used when he took Tomlin’s life. Isla hated her Uncle, but she did not want to see Ivar kill him.
“Ivar, I do not want you to kill my uncle,” Isla said.
Ivar turned around, surprise on his face. “What’s she doing back?” Ivar turned to Skald.
“I didn’t want to miss the best bit,” Skald said, a cruel smirk on his lips.
“Get in the square,” Ivar said to Isla’s uncle Alfred.
“We can work something out. Islas, please, I don’t want to fight him, stop him,” Alfred pleaded, looking to Isla with pathetic fear in his eyes. She felt disgusted just looking at him, but nevertheless, her protective instinct kicked in. She jumped from her horse, running to Ivar.
“Don’t do this” Isla looked him in his eyes, but she did not see love or compassion. She saw the eyes of a warlord. A bringer of death. A man who had been trained from birth to kill men far greater than Alfred.
“Hold her,” Ivar said to Ragnar.
Isla lashed out at Ivar, hitting his chest “You animal,” She screamed, “how could you do this?”
Ivar
I’m sorry, my love. But I made a blood oath. I would kill this man to protect you, even without the blood oat
h. You may not understand, but at least you will live.
Ivar stepped into the square. “Step into the skin or I will have my men cut the skin from your body and boil you alive,” Ivar said to Alfred.
He could hear Isla sobbing as Ragnar held her back. “Get a shield,” Ivar said to the Duke. He picked up a shield from a dead soldier, clearly unsure of how to effectively hold it.
“Let’s make a deal, Duke. If you can beat me with your two hands against my one, then my men will let you live. If you cannot, well, you will be dead.” Ivar’s men laughed. Knowing that even injured, a man like Alfred would not stand a chance.