by Hume, M. K.
The Bible, Revelations 16:16
Another grey day came late to Calmar as the nights lengthened with the onset of the autumn winds. Arthur huddled in his furs and wondered why he had come to this pass, a foreign mercenary fighting for no money in a land that wasn’t his own.
He dressed with care on this dismal morning, ensuring that his armour was comfortable over his woollen shirt, for he reasoned that he would have no time to change his clothing for a week or more. His well-fitting leather trews, now showing signs of wear, would suffice for the time being. His furs and a heavy, waterproofed cloak completed his dress. With a sigh, he strapped on his sword belt, picked up his helmet, found his Roman shield and then squared his shoulders.
A flurry of dead leaves swirled around his feet in a small whirlwind of rust and red. One red leaf attached itself to his cuirass like a slash of fresh blood over his heart. As one gloved hand brushed the leaf away, Arthur shivered in the sudden breeze. He could smell rain in the air which promised to make conditions on the march far nastier than the present chill. Birds were calling from a nearby oak, and ravens were resting on rooftops and cawing resentfully at their lost titbits from the Geat dead, whom Arthur had ensured had been rolled into pits in the town midden, away from the reach of scavengers.
It was time to finish what he had started. Snorri was waiting for instructions, his face eager considering the cold wind that ruffled his hair and blued the tips of his fingers.
‘Assemble our captains, Snorri, for I intend to leave this place in two hours. Before then, I want to find one of the older men of Calmar who knows the terrain. I’m prepared to promise freedom to any of the prisoners who’ll guide us to the religious community near the lakes that lie to the north of here. Find some potential volunteers and bring them to me, one at a time, so I can assess their suitability.’
‘You seem very sure that someone will trade freedom for betraying their people, even after what we’ve done to their village,’ Snorri replied with a wry grin. ‘What if they refuse?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘You’re older than me, Snorri, but I’ll wager I’ve seen more of the darker side of human nature than you have. People will act entirely out of character if they think that will buy them and their kin a little more of life. At the moment, the prisoners in this village don’t know what we plan to do with them. Their nerves will be stretched taut, and they’ll be fearful of what the future holds for them. Most of Calmar’s survivors have lost family members and loved ones during the fighting too. And those women who have children will do anything to save them. I think one of the prisoners will assist us with what we need to know.’
Arthur set his bodyguard to work preparing the cleanest bench seats at the one table that was sound. Using cold water and a handful of sand, the men scrubbed the table top to remove at least some of the layers of grease and accumulated grime, and then sluiced it clean. The warriors finished off the task just as the first of Arthur’s captains appeared at the hall entrance. None of the jarls complained that the table was wet, being accustomed to Arthur’s strange penchant for cleanliness.
Before Snorri returned, the full complement of officers was present. Arthur called them to order and explained the reason for their presence.
‘Calmar has been taken and the plunder from this victory is now ours to distribute among our people. Today, in less than two hours, we begin our march towards the religious community that lies to the north. I know many of you are Christian, so we’ll spare their lives provided they choose to surrender. Nor will we destroy the precious books or relics in their scriptoriums if they should possess such things. However, the treasures held by the community will be forfeit to us. According to my captive, Beowulf Minor, the church and the village are wealthy. I have no doubt that his information is correct.’
The captains seemed content with his words, although one tall, red-headed warrior from the Jutland peninsula, who had lived his whole life under Saxon threat, asked what would happen to any Dene warriors who disobeyed Arthur’s edict on the rape or murder of inhabitants of the enemy community.
‘I will brook no disobedience, Roganvaldr. I’m your commander and I’ll personally punish any man who disobeys my orders. Men who cannot discipline themselves are dangerous to us all, so be assured that my punishments will prove severe.’
‘You may have some difficulty with rape,’ one of Stormbringer’s cousins rumbled jokingly and the captains laughed good-naturedly.
But Arthur was not yet done with the issue.
‘I appreciate your sense of humour, Diarmaid,’ Arthur continued without a trace of a smile. ‘To be perfectly frank, my friend, I will certainly consider castration as a punishment, for I have no inclination for the flesh of other men.’ Diarmaid laughed politely.
‘But the problem is not what any miscreant does! It’s the fact that one of our men should feel safe to defy my orders. In exactly the same way, you should expect to be obeyed by your warriors. The concept of self-discipline is difficult to understand for some of them, so stress that they will obey all orders during this campaign – without question!’
One of Roganvaldr’s compatriots stood to speak, while the room was filled with the hubbub of raised voices. Arthur called for quiet in a voice that brooked no argument; the young man’s face stained a bright red under the cold scrutiny of his commander.
‘Speak out, young man. No one will think the worse of you, as long as you state your beliefs openly and honestly.’ Arthur gave a quick smile that heartened the young warrior.
‘What if a significant number of our men should refuse to obey their orders or, worse still, are slow to comply?’ He coughed nervously, but stood his ground.
‘It is possible that our whole force would be put at risk. We will be facing a stronger force than we can put into the field, so cowardly behaviour or a lack of resolve could kill all of us. Do you understand that, lad? You must stress to your men that we will survive if we obey our orders. Life or death – the choice lies with every man who marches with us.’
The jarls glanced carefully at each other, and Arthur noted that some of the men weren’t quite able to meet his eyes.
‘If you don’t trust a man to obey your orders immediately and without demur, you must leave him behind. A small contingent of men must remain here to guard Calmar and the longboats anyway. This isn’t a safe berth, for the Geat king may choose to clean out Calmar and burn our ships to ensure we have no means of escape. That is precisely what I would do if I were in Heardred’s boots. However, he’s not me, and that might be our edge.’
Arthur watched his captains begin to waver, so he pressed home his message.
‘There are men under your commands who are good and honest warriors, but are unsuited to the demands I’m placing on them. These warriors are the very men who can be trusted to save our longboats if Calmar should come under attack during our absence. Protecting what we have won demands heroes, men who are prepared to die for their brothers in the field.’
Several of the jarls looked a lot happier after this explanation.
‘You must understand the task that we are attempting, my brothers. Fewer than six hundred of our men must form a fighting square and defy Heardred as he throws his best troops at us. His warriors will probably outnumber us by two or three to one. He will do everything in his power to break us, while we must repel his assaults as best we can without stepping out of the line to retaliate. Many of our number will be killed, but worse than the fear of the Geat warriors will be the claims that we are cowardly curs who won’t come out of our lines to fight the Geats as individuals.’
Arthur paused.
‘I fought in a similar impossible line at the siege of Calleva Atrebatum only five years ago. At the time, I was young and angry, for five hundred British warriors were sacrificed by our kings to lure our Saxon and Jute enemies into a trap. Some of my friends were only b
oys, and they were cut down like chaff on the hooks of the reapers, because they had no idea how to hold a combat line under pressure. I was so angry that I broke from the line and fought without a shield until two beloved friends risked their own lives to drag me back. I should have perished that day! I nearly killed my servant and my mentor and now I’m telling you the truth when I say there is no place for individual glory, or anger, when you are part of a shield wall.’
The stillness that followed was almost visible as it settled over the seated men.
‘I will allocate you and your crews to all four sides of our fighting square and I thank you now for the pains that you will suffer during this battle. I will command the northern perimeter. You, Roganvaldr, will command the western side which will not only face Geat warriors, but will have to bear the shock of the cavalry attack on our enemy. You, Thorquil, have the doubtful honour of holding the western side, from which direction Stormbringer will attack. You, Talorc, will command the southern perimeter, and in case you think I’ve given you the easiest position, you should remember that Heardred is a dog, a mongrel that always tries to attack from the rear.’
He paused again to ensure his jarls were giving him their full attention. ‘Should I die in the front line, you will take your orders from Snorri, who knows my mind. Believe always that I will never ask you and your warriors to do something that I’m not prepared to execute myself.’
The jarls were impressed with this last argument and those who weren’t allocated to a particular point in the square began to jostle for positions that attracted them. Arthur set Snorri to work taking notes of those who desired set positions in the lines. He had been surprised and pleased to discover that Snorri was literate, because he was now able to depend on the laconic helmsman to keep notes for him, even though the runes used in the northern climes were gibberish to Arthur.
Eventually the meeting was over, and the jarls scattered to select those men who would be detailed to stay behind to guard the fleet while the remaining warriors must be organised into the marching order that would be followed during the trek to the religious village.
As the last captain departed, Snorri informed his commander that he had found a potential guide. Their turncoat was an old fisherman with no kinfolk, a man who had no intention of placing himself at risk for his peers.
‘He’s a man with a deep bitterness in his soul against his Geat neighbours. Traitors usually sicken me, but I like him,’ Snorri explained laconically.
‘Show him in then, Snorri. We can give him the benefit of the doubt until such time as we learn more about him and his motivation.’
The elderly fisherman who was ushered into Arthur’s presence was a wrinkled gnome of a man somewhere in his fifties, but still sprightly. His seamed and sunburned skin had the texture of a tortoise’s and his eyes were very dark and small. He was quick-moving and limber, even though he lacked height. Arthur realised that the man was unlike any other Geat he had met in these lands, for the short fringe of hair that encircled the freckled brown dome of his hairless skull was almost black.
Snorri was correct in his assessment. Every line on the fisherman’s face had been deepened by sadness and bitterness. As another outsider, Arthur knew that this small man was friendless and had suffered his whole life from the slurs and criticisms of his neighbours.
Now the turncoat’s actions made sense. Arthur immediately considered how difficult it must have been for this short dark man to be reared in a country such as Gotland. The young Briton knew that the Dene believed fair colouring was far preferable to raven locks and brown eyes. Even now, Snorri’s lips twisted contemptuously as the little fisherman sat, uninvited, on a bench seat.
‘What is your name, grandfather? I will need to know something about you if I am to trust you.’
The wizened little man grinned engagingly, revealing several brown teeth that were still embedded in his gums. Arthur had to steel himself to overcome the natural advantage of charm that this Geat fisherman had been given by nature. Perhaps this was the only attribute that had made his younger life bearable.
‘I’m Ivar Svensen, your highness,’ the old reprobate answered. Arthur’s lips twitched in response, although he knew the fisherman’s pretence of being a harmless old bucolic was false.
‘I’m not a king, Ivar. You’ll call me Master Arthur at all times, and nothing else. I’ll not wear other men’s honours.’ Arthur tried to look stern, but this old man had a wicked, comic eye and an adroit tongue. It would be easy to forget that this old man was dangerous – but Arthur was no such fool.
‘Whatever pleases you, Master Arthur. I’ve been a fisherman for nigh on fifty years, like me father before me! I can’t even remember me mother – who must’ve been foreign.’ He laughed raucously. ‘Look at me! Either me mother or me father had to be an outlander, didn’t they? Let’s say I’m not the usual type of fisherman around these parts. At any road, I wasn’t having any kids to share the benefits of bein’ different.’
Arthur thought he detected an edge of anger in the fisherman’s voice. For a short moment, something hot and burning had peered from Ivar’s pupils.
‘In the last few years, I haven’t been able to catch heavy loads of fish the ways I used to do when I was a younger man. Aye! And I can’t live on charity, even if anyone were offering it – which they aren’t! I hate my neighbours in Calmar and most of my fellow Geats who’ve made me life miserable for nigh on fifty years. I’ll tell you what you want to know for my life – and for five gold coins.’
Ivar’s effrontery in demanding payment endeared him to the Briton. Ivar licked no man’s boots, even though it meant that he went hungry. Arthur decided that he sincerely hoped the old man would prove to be worthy of trust. Snorri’s instincts had been accurate.
‘You know you won’t be able to return to Calmar after our little jaunt. Your companions in the village will know that you’ve agreed to serve us.’
‘Aye! But I’ve had my fill of Calmar at any road. I think I’ll try my luck on Rugen Island. Apparently I’ve got kinfolk there. The gold will set me up. I won’t be rich, but I won’t starve. By Loki’s balls, I can always survive by catchin’ some fish.’
‘That’s true, Ivar. Now! I want you to begin by telling me all you know about the large religious community that lies to the north. I plan to attack it. I don’t intend to destroy it, or to harm the monks. However, I’m going to tweak the tail of your king once again, because I want him to come after me and try to destroy me.’
‘Heardred’s not my king, Master Arthur, but I can tell you that the religious community is more decent than most. I was sick with the lung disease, you see. Even though I had to walk for days, I made my way to the gates of their precinct, as they call it, but I was too weak to drag meself any further. The monks took me in, cared for me and then prayed for my soul. I don’t think the prayers did much good, but I ain’t coughing no more so I don’t want you to kill the little fathers.’
‘I won’t. But I intend to plunder their church to gain Heardred’s attention. I want him to attack us in the hope of gaining his revenge on me. I can swear to you that I have no argument with true men of God.’
Arthur crossed his heart like a child and this homely action caused Ivar to smile. Something about this intense young man appealed to the fisherman. Perhaps it was the fact that he, too, was an outsider. Perhaps his intention to kill King Heardred also appealed to Ivar, a man who knew how to hate.
‘If you can promise to do your best to protect the little fathers, then I’ll be your man.’
The old man’s face was transfigured with a wide, gap-toothed grin and Arthur realised he was excited at the prospect of experiencing new things.
At Arthur’s request, the fisherman used a stick to scratch out a plan of the route to the religious community on the sod floor. He then described the layout of the buildings that housed the pr
iests and the lay members of the monastery. His advice was already proving invaluable.
Arthur sent Ivar off with one of his crewmen to collect any of the fisherman’s personal belongings that hadn’t been destroyed in the initial attack on Calmar. They were warned that Arthur intended to leave within the hour.
Somehow, the jarls created miracles and five hundred and fifty men were made ready to march, each loaded down with their rectangular shields, shared tents, a week’s supply of rations and their weapons. Dene warriors were always reluctant to travel on foot, so a general air of discontent settled over the massed group of men who were divided, as previously, into squads based on ship’s crews as a basic fighting unit.
Another fifty-three men leaned casually against Calmar’s walls on the narrow palisade, offering ribald comments concerning the attack force’s anatomy. They had been selected by the jarls to remain behind to guard the longboats, the slaves and protect the town from any more brigands.
Arthur climbed on top of a large, flat rock so he could survey his troops as well as the rear guard. He began to address the men under his command.
‘Some of you probably resent having to stay behind to guard this town, but every warrior who marches today will be in your debt, because your presence here ensures we have an escape route from the cesspit where we will fight the next battle. I’m certain that you will keep our longboats safe, regardless of enemy attacks, so you can be assured that you’ll earn an equal share of any plunder that is taken by the main body. As for glory, we were attacked only a few hours ago, so there is a strong chance that it could happen again.’
A cheer began to rise from the assembled warriors as they absorbed the details of Arthur’s generosity.
‘And you won’t have to lug those heavy shields over hills and rivers,’ Arthur added with a boyish grin.
Men slapped each other’s shoulders and a festive air gradually settled over the troops who would remain to guard Calmar.