Several more ships came to join Thorkel, from Skania and Halland; and when, at last, a favorable wind arose, the fleet put forth, fifty-five sails strong, and spent the autumn plundering in Frisia, and wintered there.
Orm inquired of Thorkel and others of his comrades whether they knew what had become of King Harald’s household. Some said they had heard that Jellinge had been burned, others that Bishop Poppo had calmed the sea with psalms and escaped by ship, though King Sven had done his best to catch him. But none of them knew what had happened to the King’s women.
In England things were beginning to be as they had been in the old days, in the time of the sons of Ragnar Hairy-Breeks; for King Ethelred had come to the throne. He had not long come of age and taken the reins of government into his own hands before men began to call him the Irresolute, or the Redeless; and honest seafarers from the north flocked joyfully to his coasts to give him the chance to justify his reputation.
At first they came in small bodies and were easily repelled. Beacons were lit along the coasts to signify their arrival, and stout warriors armed with broad shields rushed to meet them and drive them back into the sea. But King Ethelred yawned at his table and offered up prayers against the Northmen, and lay cheerfully with his chieftains’ women. He screamed with rage when they brought word to him in his boudoir that in spite of his prayers the long ships had returned; he listened, fatigued, to much counsel and complained loudly at being thus inconvenienced, and otherwise did nothing. Then the invaders began to arrive more frequently and in stronger companies, till the King’s levies became inadequate to deal with them, and the larger bands of them would sometimes drive deep inland and return to their ships bent double under the weight of their booty; and the word spread abroad, and many believed it, that no kingdom could now compare with King Ethelred’s in wealth and fatness for valiant seafarers who came in good strength. For it was by now many years since England had been properly plundered, save in her coastal areas.
But as yet no large fleet had sailed there, and no chieftains had learned the art of demanding danegeld in minted silver from King Ethelred’s coffers. But in the year of grace 991 both these deficiencies were remedied; and thereafter there was no lack of men willing to be instructed in this art as long as King Ethelred was there to pay good silver to such as came and asked for it.
Soon after the Easter of that year, which was the fifth year after King Ethelred’s coming of age, the beacons were lit along the Kentish coasts. Men gazed pale-faced into the morning mists and turned and ran to hide what they could and drive their cattle into the forests and take themselves into hiding with them, and word was sent to King Ethelred and his jarls as fast as horse could ride that the biggest fleet that had been sighted for many years was rowing along his coasts, and that the heathens had already begun to wade ashore.
The levies were assembled, but could achieve nothing against the invaders, who split up into powerful bands and plundered the district, gathering into one place everything that they laid hands on. Then the English fell into a panic lest they should drive inland, and the Archbishop of Canterbury betook himself in person to the King to crave help for his city. However, after the invaders had enjoyed themselves for a short while in the coastal area and had carried off to their ships everything that they found worth taking, they embarked again and sailed away up the coast. Then they landed in the country of the East Saxons and did likewise there.
King Ethelred and his Archbishop, whose name was Sigerik, promptly offered up longer prayers than ever; and when they heard that the heathens, after sacking a few villages, had put out to sea again, they had rich gifts distributed among those priests who had prayed most assiduously, believing themselves to be rid at last of these unwelcome visitors. No sooner had this been done than the Vikings rowed in to a town called Maldon, at the mouth of the river Pant, pitched camp on an island in the middle of the estuary, and prepared to assault the town.
The Jarl of the East Saxons was called Byrhtnoth. He had a great name in his country, and was bigger than other men and very proud and fearless. He assembled a powerful army and marched against them, to see whether blows might prove more effectual than prayers against the invaders. On reaching Maldon, he marched past the town toward the Vikings’ camp until only the arm of the river separated the two forces. But now it was difficult for him to attack the Vikings, and equally difficult for them to attack him. The tide came in, filling the river arm to the level of its banks. It was no broader than a spear’s-throw, so that the armies were able to hail one another, but it did not appear as though they would be able to come to close grips. So they stood facing each other in merry spring weather.
A herald of Thorkel the Tall’s army, a man skilled in speech, stepped forward to the river’s edge, raised his shield, and cried across the water: “The seamen of the north, who fear no man, bid me address you thus: give us silver and gold, and we will give you peace. You are richer than we, and it will be better for you to buy peace with tribute than to meet men of our mettle with spear and sword. If you have wealth enough, it will not be necessary for us to kill each other. Then, when you have bought your freedom, and freedom for your families and your houses and all that you possess, we shall be your friends and will return to our ships with your freeing-money and will sail away from this place and will remain faithful to our word.”
But Byrhtnoth himself stepped forward and, brandishing his spear, roared back: “Hearken well, sea-rover, to our reply! Here is all the tribute you will get from us: pointed spears and keenedged swords! It would ill become such a jarl as I, Byrhtnoth, Byrhthelm’s son, whose name is without spot, not to defend my country and the land of my King. This matter shall be settled by point and blade, and hard indeed must you hew before you find aught else in this land.”
They stood facing each other until the tide turned and began again to run toward the sea.
Then the herald of the Vikings cried across the river: “Now we have stood idle long enough. Come over to us, and we will let you have our soil as battleground; or, if you prefer it, choose a place on your bank and we will come over to you.”
Jarl Byrhtnoth was unwilling to wade across the river, for the water was cold and he feared lest it might make his men’s limbs stiff and their clothing heavy. At the same time he was eager to join battle before his men should begin to feel tired and hungry. So he cried back: “I will give you ground here, and do not delay but come now to fight us. And God alone knows which of us will hold the field.”
And these are the words of Byrhtnoth’s bard, who was present at this battle and escaped with his life:
The sea-men’s army feared not the flood.
Blood-wolves waded west through Panta.
Clear through the current’s crystal water
Bore they their linden shields to the strand.
Byrhtnoth’s men stood awaiting them like a hedge of shields. He had ordered them first to cast their spears, and then to advance with their swords and drive the heathens back into the river. But the Vikings formed into battle-order along the bank as they emerged from the water, each ship’s crew keeping together, and straightway raised their battle-cries and charged, with the captain of each ship running at the head of his crew. A swarm of spears flew toward them, bringing many of them to the ground, whence they did not rise; but they continued to advance relentlessly until they found themselves shield to shield with the Englishmen. Then there was fierce hewing and loud alarums; and the Vikings’ right and left wings were halted and hard pressed. But Thorkel the Tall and the two captains nearest to him—Orm was one, and the other was Fare-Wide Svensson, a famous chieftain from Sjælland, whom King Harald had proclaimed outlaw throughout the Danish kingdom, and who had fought with Styrbjörn at the battle on Fyris Plain before Uppsala—assaulted Byrhtnoth’s own phalanx and broke it. Thorkel cried to his men to fell the tall man in the silver helmet, for then the day would be theirs. Straightway the fighting became fiercest in this part of the field, and there was li
ttle elbow-room for men of small stature. Fare-Wide hewed his way forward, slew Byrhtnoth’s standard-bearer, and aimed a blow at Byrhtnoth, wounding him; but he fell himself in the same instant, with a spear through his beard. Many of the chieftains on both sides were killed; and Orm slipped on a fallen shield that was greasy with blood, and tumbled headlong over the body of a man he had just slain. As he fell, he received a blow on the back of his neck from a club, but at once those of his men who were closest to him threw their shields over his body to cover him and protect his back.
When he regained his senses and was able, with Rapp’s assistance, to get to his feet again, the battle had moved away from that part of the field, and the Vikings had gained the upper hand. Byrhtnoth had fallen, and many of his men had fled, but others had formed themselves into a tight ring and, though surrounded, were still resisting valiantly. Thorkel shouted to them over the noise of the battle that he would spare their lives if they cast down their arms; but the cry came back from their midst: “The fewer we be, the fiercer we shall hew, and the shrewder shall be our aim and our courage crueller.”
They fought on until they all lay dead upon the ground, together with many of their foemen, about their chieftain’s corpse. The Vikings marveled at the valor of these Englishmen, praising the dead; nevertheless, this battle at Maldon, fought three weeks before Whitsun in the year 991, was a grievous setback for King Ethelred and a disaster for his realm. For now, far and wide about them, the land lay helpless before the fury of the invaders from the north.
The Vikings buried their dead and pledged them and the victory they had won. They handed Byrhtnoth’s corpse over to the sorrowful envoys who came to beg for it that they might give it Christian burial; then they sent proclamations to Maldon and other towns in the district commanding that the inhabitants should pay fire-tribute and ransom without delay, lest a heavier penalty be demanded of them. They rejoiced at the thought of so much wealth lying in store for them, counting it already as their own; and their anger mounted as the days passed and no Englishman came with surrender and gold. So they rowed up to Maldon and set fire to the stockade on the riverbank and stormed the town and sacked it fearfully. Then they wept because so much had been burned that there was little left for booty. They swore that in the future they would be more sparing in their use of fire, for it was silver that they yearned for and not destruction, which swallowed up silver with all else; and they set to work to whip in horses from the whole district, that they might the more speedily descend on those parts of the land which reckoned themselves safe from the invaders’ wrath. Soon bands of them rode forth in all directions, and returned to the camp laden with booty; and there was now such dire panic throughout the land that no chieftain dared to emulate Byrhtnoth and challenge them to battle. Prisoners whom they took reported that King Ethelred was sitting pasty-faced behind his walls, mumbling prayers with his priests, wholly redeless.
In the church at Maldon, which was of stone, some of the English were still holding out. They had fled up into the tower when the Vikings had stormed the city, priests and women being among them; and they had drawn the steps up with them as they ascended, that they might not be pursued into their retreat. The Vikings suspected that they had taken much treasure with them, and strove their utmost to persuade them to descend from their tower and bring their treasure with them. But neither by fire nor by force of arms could they achieve anything; and the people had plenty of food and drink with them in the tower, and sang psalms and appeared to be in good heart. When the Vikings approached the tower to try to induce them by words to act sensibly and come down and part with their treasure, they cast down stones, curses, and filth upon their heads, yelling with triumph when any of their missiles met their mark. All the Vikings agreed that stone churches and their towers were among the most vexatious obstacles that a man could find himself confronted with.
Jostein, who was an old, hard man, very greedy for gold, said that he could think of only one way to break down these people’s obstinacy: namely, that they should bring their prisoners to within sight of the tower and there kill them, one by one, until the people in the tower could endure it no more and so would be forced to surrender. A number of the men agreed with him in this, for he had a great name for wisdom; but Gudmund and Thorkel thought such a plan unwarriorlike and were unwilling to be parties to it. It would be better, said Thorkel, to bring them down by guile; he added that he was well acquainted with the foibles of priests and knew how best to approach them and get them to do what one wanted.
He ordered his men to remove a great cross from above the altar in the church. Then he approached the tower, with two men carrying the cross before him, and, halting at its foot, cried up to the people there that he needed priests to tend the wounded and also, which was more urgent, to instruct him personally in the Christian faith. Of late, he explained, he had begun to feel strongly attracted toward the new religion; and he would act toward them as though he was already a Christian, for he would allow everyone in the tower to leave it unscathed in life and limb.
He had proceeded thus far in his discourse when a stone shot out of the tower and struck his shield-arm near the shoulder, knocking him to the ground and breaking his arm. At this the two men dropped the cross and assisted him to safety, while the people in the tower cheered in triumph. Jostein, who had been watching, curled his lip and observed that guile in war was not such a simple matter as inexperienced young men sometimes appeared to imagine.
All Thorkel’s followers were inflamed with fury at seeing their chieftain wounded thus, and flights of arrows were loosed at the loopholes in the tower; but this achieved nothing, and the situation appeared to be insoluble. Orm said that in the southland he had sometimes seen Almansur’s men drive Christians from their church towers by smoking them out; and they at once set to work to try to do this. Wood and wet straw were piled together inside the church and around the foot of the tower and were lit; but the tower was high and a breeze dispersed most of the smoke before it could ascend. In the end the Vikings lost patience and decided to leave things until the inhabitants of the tower should begin to feel the pangs of hunger.
Thorkel was dejected by the failure of his stratagem, and feared lest his men should taunt him on the subject. Apart from this, he was irked at the prospect of having to sit idly in Maldon guarding the camp, for it was clear that it would be some time before he would be able to ride out and plunder; and he was anxious that men knowledgeable in medicine should come and examine his injury. Orm came to commiserate with him as he sat before a fire drinking mulled ale with his broken arm hanging at his side. Many men thumbed his arm, but none of them knew how to put it in splints.
Thorkel groaned uncomfortably as they thumbed the fracture, and said it would be medicine enough for the moment if they could bind up his arm as well as it would allow, with or without splints.
“Now the words I spoke at the foot of the tower have come true,” he said. “I need a priest badly, for priests understand such matters as this.”
Orm nodded in agreement and said that priests were cunning doctors; after the Yule feast at King Harald’s he had had a much worse wound than Thorkel’s healed by a priest. Indeed, he added, he would welcome a priest no less than Thorkel, for the blow he had received on his skull from a shoed club was causing him incessant headaches, so that he was beginning to wonder whether something might not have come loose inside his head.
When they were alone, Thorkel said to him: “I hold you to be the wisest of my ship’s captains, and the best warrior, too, now that Fare-Wide is dead. None the less, it is clear that you easily lose your courage when your body is afflicted, even when the injury is but a slight one.”
Orm replied: “It is so with me that I am a man who has lost his luck. Formerly, my luck was good, for I survived unscathed more dangers than most men face in the whole of their lives, and emerged from all of them with profit. But since I returned from the southland, everything has gone wrong for me. I have lost my
gold chain, my sweetheart, and the man whose company pleased me best; and as for battle, it has come to such a pass that nowadays I can scarcely draw my sword without coming to some harm. Even when I advised you to smoke these English out of their church tower, nothing came of it.”
Thorkel said that he had seen unluckier men than Orm, but Orm shook his head sadly. He sent his men off plundering with Rapp in command, and remained himself in the town with Thorkel, spending most of the time sitting by himself and contemplating his woes.
One morning not long afterwards the bells in the church tower rang long and loud, and the people there sang psalms very zealously, causing the Vikings to shout up and ask them what all the fuss might be about. The people had no stones left to throw down at them, but they shouted back that it was now Whitsun, and that this day was for them a day of rejoicing.
The Long Ships Page 23