In the pause as the English set up their shield-wall two things happened. Alan had water-carts with barrels of fresh water move through his lines, allowing the men to drink and wash the enemy’s blood from their faces, arms and weapons, and the cavalry to water their horses using the leather collapsible buckets that each horseman carried. The other was that the Danish leader had finally realised that something was amiss to his rear. The more seriously Danish wounded were assisted to the ships, mainly by those with lesser injuries but also with some fit men to secure the remaining ships.
For perhaps half an hour, the Dane and English stood looking at each other, the shield-walls separated by about 150 paces. Light rain began to fall, making the men uncomfortable as it soaked through the leather on which the chain-mail or scale-armour was sewn and into the padded garments below. Alan was on the English left flank sitting on his destrier Odin next to the cavalry and gladly accepted a towel his servant Leof handed to him, wiping the moisture, part rain and part sweat, from his face. Odin was fidgeting, moving his weight from foot to foot, keen to get to work as all he had done so far that day was stand and watch.
The leaders who Alan had appointed for his forces were Brand, in overall charge of the infantry, with Leofstan, Leofson of Moze and Alwin of Little Bromley as his deputies. The cavalry was led by Alan’s men Hugh, Ainulf, Edric (still with his axe in hand) and Alfward, together with Gerard de Cholet from Elmstead. The archers, all Alan’s men, were led by Owain, Roger, Barclay, Abracan and Aethelbald. Ranulf the Huscarle, Brand’s deputy, commanded back at the village.
The preponderance of his own men in charge of the cavalry and archers showed Alan’s basic battle philosophy- kill as many as possible at long range and smash what was left with repeated charges of heavy cavalry from the flanks. This was a philosophy intended to maximise results and minimise casualties.
The English were now positioned with a main shield-wall of about 200 men facing the Danes, in three ranks. Two groups of each of fifty men stood slightly behind in reserve. The archers were deployed in five squads each of ten men, two squads on each wing and one in the centre. Alan instructed Hugh to take a ten-man squad of cavalry to the right wing to provide protection for the archers on that flank, leaving forty mounted men on the left wing. The archers on the other flank were standing ankle-deep in water on the tidal-flat and were in effect protected from attack by the soft nature of the ground. The Danish leader in response sent more men to his right wing to counter the strength of the English on that side.
Preparations complete, Alan ordered his men forward fifty paces and for the archers to again begin to loose at the Danes. Further supplies of arrows were already being brought forward even before the barrage began. In response, the Danes crouched, the large round shields of the front rank facing the English providing cover to the front and those of the second rank, standing close behind, providing cover overhead.
At times of stress Alan’s language tended to become colourful, even if his mind remained ice-clear. This was one of those times. A string of the vilest oaths and imprecations he could think of both in English and French burst forth. There was a polite cough from Gerard de Cholet next to him, and Alan turned and saw that Anne was sitting on her white palfrey Misty just behind him. “Holy Mary, Mother of God! Just what I need right now!” Alan complained loudly. He didn’t ask her how matters were progressing in the village. He knew that if things weren’t in hand she wouldn’t be here. Ignoring her he went on, “I knew I should have brought up those damn onagers. Just throwing fucking big rocks at them would break up that shield-wall! Bad planning!”
While Alan debated with himself whether to call for the onagers, which would take two hours to break-down, move and re-assemble. The longbowmen were killing and injuring Danes at a slow but steady pace. In the end Alan decided to send the archers further forward, to be level or behind the Danish shield wall, and deployed his cavalry to equally cover both flanks.
This forced the Danes to pull back both their flanks and commit their reserves, resulting in a near round-shaped formation- the Danes had learned their lesson earlier in the day. In the face of the accuracy and sheer power of the longbow, together with the threat of further smashing cavalry charges, they were not prepared to commit suicide by attacking. Similarly, Alan did not want to throw either cavalry or infantry against the Danish shield-wall. The Danes were no longer encumbered by being crammed together and without doubt many would wield the two-handed battle-axe in a way to cause many English casualties. Alan was bearing in mind that his objective was not to kill the Danes, but remove them as a threat at the least possible cost to the local fyrdmen and troops, and he tempered his impatience accordingly.
He moved a force of thirty horsemen past the right flank of the Danes to threaten the remaining Danish ships, and then had them hold. The Danes responded to the threat to their only avenue of escape in the manner which Alan had expected, by withdrawing towards the remaining ships in an orderly fashion, one or two ship-loads of 50 men at a time, forming a new line 100 paces back, and then resuming their withdrawal. Alan was content to let them go. The alternative was to force a battle by sallying his men- but he did not want to end up owning a battlefield strewn with Danish and English corpses. The former he was not concerned about, but the latter were important. He knew he could only achieve one at the cost of the other.
Gerard de Cholet rode up to Alan, pulling up his charger only about arm’s length away, shouting and gesticulating that the enemy were escaping, spittle flying from his mouth in his agitation as he demanded action. De Cholet had neither been knighted nor made the owner of the lands he held from fitzWymarc, and as such his social position was so far below that of Alan that his opinion was worthless.
With some difficulty Alan stayed his hand from his sword to take retribution for the aspersions cast on his manliness and courage. After a brief pause while Alan considered he could not refer to de Cholet as ‘Sir Gerard’ or ‘Mesire’, he simply and bluntly replied, “I know that damn well, de Cholet! I intend for them to escape, rather than fight like trapped wolves. I don’t know if you feel a need to prove something, but I do not! To annihilate them will cost the lives of 200 of our men, to no useful benefit. I want our men alive to bring in the harvest in the next few weeks. If you and your five men want to mount an attack and prove you have balls, by all means feel free! We’ll give you a big cheer as a Danish axe-man chops you in twain! Learn to fight with your head, not your balls!”
De Cholet threw his lance away in disgust and wrenched his mount to one side so abruptly as to cause almost certain damage from the bit to its sensitive mouth, and used his spurs on the abused beast to canter several dozen paces away.
As the Danes boarded their ships Alan sent fifty men to secure the village of Brightlingsea and instructed Swein and his men from Great Bentley that they could return home to see what damage had been wreaked by the enemy. Riders were sent to St Osyth and Frowick Hall to determine the damage suffered by those villages.
Shortly afterwards Thegn Edward, who held about one third of the land at St Osyth, the balance belonging to the Bishop of London and placed in the care of the Fleming Albyn of Bruges, rode in. Edward reported that Albyn and most of his foreign troops had been killed, as was the case with Roger de Montivilliers at Great Clacton. Geoffrey of Rouen and his men at Little Clacton had survived. The corrupt priest Engelric’s manor at Frowick Hall had been burnt to the ground but almost all the geburs had fled to safety. Given past differences Alan found no difficulty in controlling his grief about Albyn of Bruges or his men, Arnaud and Josselin, Roger de Montivilliers or Engelric’s manor.
Indeed, with his past disputes with Edsel the King’s Reeve of Brightlingsea and Edsel’s refusal to work with the thegns with a claim of special privileges resulting from the village belonging directly to the king, Alan also shed no tears about the partial devastation of the village before him. People not prepared to work together have to stand alone, and the cheorls of the village sho
uld have understood that as well as any. Alan mused that those who were still alive would certainly remember that in the future.
The Danes boarded their remaining ships with some difficulty, the press of men aboard making it difficult for the rowers to use the oars properly as they backed into Barfleet Creek, then departed south to navigate through the sandbars at the mouth of the estuary. Several mounted scouts followed along the shoreline to ensure that the Danish fleet then headed east for home to lick their wounds.
The English were busy tidying the battlefield, stripping and throwing the Danish corpses into several of the defensive ditches that had been dug and transporting the more seriously injured of the English and the few lightly wounded Danes back to Thorrington. The three dozen or so seriously injured Danes were finished with a knife across the throat or between the ribs. The villagers from Brightlingsea were drifting back from the swamps and trees to the north where many had fled the night before when the Danes had attacked, saving nothing but their lives and the clothes in which they stood.
Alan rode the short distance into Brightlingsea, noting that eleven buildings, houses and barns, had been burnt, with wisps of grey smoke still drifting in the air. Most of the livestock was gone, eaten by the Danes, but a few escaped chickens and pigs rooted amongst the vegetable gardens. The villagers gathered up their dead and placed them outside the small wooden church, over a dozen pathetic bundles, mainly men but with two women and several children and youths. Three men hanging from a make-shift gallows had not yet been cut down and Alan saw that one of these was Edsel the Reeve, the other two presumably being elders of the village. His mouth gave a twitch of a smile.
A few injured were being cared for out of the still falling rain inside the Moot-Hall and a number of women were sitting, some alone and some with others, with the frightened vacant expressions of the abused. Brother Wacian, the priest from Thorrington, was organising the survivors into groups to attend to necessary tasks. The village had been plundered of what few valuables the people had and most of its food, but the Danes had not wreaked total devastation- perhaps because they had intended to use it for shelter for another night. As Alan rode past the villagers stared at him apathetically. Even as an ox wagon arrived from Thorrington with cooked food and ale there were no smiles and no thanks.
Leaving Brother Wacian and the villagers of Brightlingsea to their own devices Alan rode back through the rain to Thorrington in the late afternoon. There the village women and the youths were busily preparing food either over their own hearths or in open cooking pits, that latter experiencing some difficulty due to the constant rain. The baker and his apprentice had been busy all day and loaves of fresh bread were being handed out and ripped into several pieces to serve every man. Meat was being roasted over the cooking pits, mainly pigs, and cauldrons of beef and vegetable stew were bubbling over cooking fires and being served in wooden bowls.
The tavern had run out of ale, but was still packed with men getting out of the rain, as was every barn and stable. The Old Hall was being used to care for the wounded and the New Hall was packed full with about 100 of the leaders and the more important men. Several tables had been set up at one end of the Hall but it was impossible to seat all of the guests and most were standing with ale mugs in hand, engaging in shouted conversation with their neighbours, fighting the battle again blow by blow. The noise was incredible. Most of the men were wearing the stained tunics they had worn under their gambesons and armour, and the woollen breeches they habitually wore. Their clothing was wet with sweat and rain. Despite the windows and doors being open to allow in the evening sea-breeze the rank smell of the solid throng was overpowering.
Servants wended their way through the mob carrying platters of food which they placed on several of the tables near the door, and at another table two men were serving ale as fast as they could pour from the barrel spigot. Another barrel was being trundled in as an empty was rolled out. Alan was sure that his store-room was taking a real beating that day, but mused that this was what it was there for. Better to be used for a victory feast by the English than by the Danes. The guests held their ale mugs in one hand and in the other an open sandwich that they had made by taking a slice of bread and topping it with the meat and sauces available on the tables. Some instead held joints of meat, fresh apples or slabs of cheese. Clearly Anne had required the kitchen staff to work hard that day producing the copious quantities of food required and Otha the cook had responded well. The food was simple but tasty and able to be eaten by hand. Hungry warriors did not require the tasty titbits expected by courtiers. In deference to it being Friday fish was available on the tables, mainly pickled herring, but most of the warriors had granted themselves dispensation to eat as they saw fit from the varied provender supplied.
Alan hurried upstairs to his bedroom and was starting the difficult task of stripping off his wet armour and gambeson when the door opened and Anne slipped in, gave him a lingering kiss and then a hug- her nose wrinkling in disgust at the rank smell of the armour and the uncomfortable feeling of being crushed against metal rings.
A moment later Leof also arrived and together he and Anne worked to undo the wet thong ties that fastened the armour and then lift the hauberk off over Alan’s head. “Make sure you dry it well and oil it,” Alan instructed Leof. “Otherwise you’ll be spending weeks burnishing off the rust!” He pulled off the padded gambeson and his under-tunic, both soaked with sweat and rain, poured cold water from a ewer into a basin and quickly washed his face and hair before wetting a towel and sponging off the worst of the sweat from his body. He then slipped on a clean plain black tunic and hose and sat on the bed to don his boots.
Still sitting, he leaned forward, put his head in his hands, sighed tiredly and cleared his mind for a moment before standing and then proceeding arm-in-arm with Anne down the stairs and to a small raised dais in the Hall.
At a signal from Alan Brand blew a single loud note on a signal-horn and the hubbub in the Hall lessened over several seconds as the warriors turned and looked at Alan. “Hlaford!” he said. “Thank you for responding to the call to arms so quickly and in such strength. Thanks to you and the efforts of your men together, and with God’s good grace, we won a battle that does honour both to you and your men and shows the benefit of the hard work and money spent in equipping and training your men.
“Today we faced an enemy of fierce, well-equipped and well-trained warriors, who outnumbered us two to one. But, thanks be to God, we prevailed as our men showed their mettle, their skills and their bravery. The example and leadership of each and every one of you was instrumental in the outcome, as was the speed with which you responded to the threat. Events such as today are the reason why we are who we are, and why we do what we do. It is our privilege and responsibility, before God and before the people, to protect this land and everybody in it, down to the last humble slave. That is why we have the privilege of holding the land as we do and why we must all work as hard as we can to be ready at a moment’s notice to defend what we have and hold. Yes, God fought with us this day, but we all know God helps those who help themselves. Our victory, hard won as it was, comes from the hard work we have all done over many years and in particular in the last two years since the Danes last visited.
“Brother Wacian will say a morning Mass of thanksgiving at Terce tomorrow. You and all your men are welcome to attend and are also welcome to what hospitality the village can offer. Hopefully we will be able to find a dry place for each man to sleep this night! As to booty, it appears that there is little enough to share as the Danes had just arrived on these shores. Apart from fertiliser (here Alan had to pause for several moments to allow the laughter to die away), we have about 400 sets of weapons taken from their dead and wounded, which will be shared amongst those who ask and should be available after Mass tomorrow. The thegns can send wagons, but any freeman can claim a set of arms and armour- we should have enough to give to any who ask! There are five longships, which I intend to offer t
o the sheriff together with my share of the weapons, if he agrees to man them and keep them available at Colchester to support the shire against future attacks. I trust that this meets with your approval. Now, I’ll have a quick bite and sup and away to the Old Hall to visit the wounded. Once again, my thanks and God bless you all!”
There were several cheers of acclamation as Alan stood down and a dozen or more men came forward to clasp his arm and thump him on the shoulders, expressing their appreciation of his leadership and in particular the skill and tactics shown that day to defeat a more numerous and skilled enemy. Amidst the interruptions Alan ate a hurried meal of mutton stew with vegetables, roast pork with pickled vegetables, fresh bread and cheese. He then went upstairs to change into an old brown tunic and walked over towards the Old Hall, still munching on an apple.
Darkness had fallen and in the torch-lit Old Hall the dim and flickering light showed lines of injured men laid out on the rush-covered earthen floor. Some were moaning in pain and two or three were screaming. Brother Wacian and the wise-women of several villages were doing what they could to assist. Father Ator the priest from Wivenhoe moved amongst the men, praying with them, shriving them and occasionally administering Last Rites. Aedre, the elderly wise-woman from Thorrington, had taken charge. The woman, her young assistant, the other wise-women and some of the village women were doing what they could to ease the pain and tend the injured. Wise-women had some basic knowledge of herbs and treatment of injuries, some could even set broken bones, but most of the injured in the Old Hall were beyond their abilities.
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