Dayraven

by C. R. May

  Aldwulf was a man of about forty winters, tall and broad with features which time and countless campaigns had worked to fashion into a formidable cast. If the man's countenance seemed belligerent his eyes told a different story. Beowulf had long ago learned that the eyes were the wind hole to the soul and Aldwulf's shone with warmth and good humour. To Beowulf's unexpected pleasure the Saxon moved forward and, smiling openly, extended the hand of friendship to him.

  “Welcome to Saxland, Beowulf Ecgtheowson,” he began, “I have heard many good things about your exploits, both in the North and in Britannia.” Aldwulf gripped Beowulf by the shoulders and grinned. “I greet you as an equal, Ealdorman of the Weagmundings. Come and take ale with me and avail yourself of Saxon hospitality. We are looking forward to the tale of how you killed the monster in Dane Land!”

  Aldwulf glanced across to the gifts which Beowulf's men were carrying.

  “You didn't need to bring us gifts if you were going to attack the Fris and the Francs,” he laughed, “we would have shipped treasure to you if you would have agreed to do it!”

  The Saxon hall steward had assured them of a riotous evening ahead and his lord had more than lived up to the promise. Beowulf had felt relaxed and welcome from the moment that he had arrived in the town of Honovere and the hospitality provided by the ealdorling had been lavish and varied.

  Beowulf was pleased to see that his men had been allowed to mix freely with the Saxon warriors and both parties were clearly enjoying the opportunity to trade tales of the many battles and lands which they had experienced.

  Beowulf had asked Aldwulf for permission to introduce the 'story barrel' which he had first experienced during his time as a wræcca, an exile, in Swede Land. A barrel was produced and upended in the centre of the hall. The men then took turns to stand on the barrel and share an experience which they had with the warriors in the hall.

  Beowulf had elected to go first and told the tale of the fight with the trolls in northern Swede Land. The tale was always well received and it gave him the opportunity to pass around his magnificent gold handled gladius which he had used to kill the giant.

  Hrafn had told the tale of the great battle at Ravenswood. Rightly famous throughout the northern lands it had witnessed the deaths of two kings and Beowulf's own father. He had honoured Beowulf, his lord, by recounting the manner of his father's death, fighting whilst blinded at the forefront of the Swedish boar snout. By a quirk of wyrd Hrafn had been the only one of the Swedish King Ongentheow's hearth warriors to survive and he had held the rapt attention of the Saxons as he recounted his tale of that fateful day.

  As each man completed his tale and stepped down he called on the next man to take his place. Many of the Saxon warriors told tales of their campaigns in Britannia and amongst the Francs. Beowulf was astonished to discover that despite the apparent Saxon aversion to rule by kings, a Saxon called Aelle seemed to have established a kingdom in all but name to the south of the Jutish kingdom of Cent in Britannia. A few of the warriors present had lived and fought there against the Wealas before returning home heavy with riches and reputation.

  As the evening wore on Beowulf and his men had been ushered outside to witness a display by a party of Huns. They had watched in awe as the arrows loosed by the small men with their strange shaped bows had easily punched through the shields and mail which had been set up on the far side of the courtyard. It was the first time that he had seen members of that people and he was amazed at the similarity between their high cheek boned features and those of Kaija, the Sami volva back home in the temple at Miklaborg.

  The highlight of the evening was of course Beowulf's description of the fight with the monsters at Heorot, Grendel and his mother. Unferth had played his part as he had produced the grotesque head of the fiend at the appropriate time to the accompaniment of gratifying gasps of amazement from the watching Saxons.

  Aldwulf finally revealed that he had been authorised by the war council to inform Beowulf that as long as the Geat army respected the Saxon border which ran along the Rivers Emesa, Isla, Rin and Lupia, that no Saxon army would interfere with their raid. He would provide an escort for Beowulf and his party as far as the settlement known as Theotmalli. From there it was but a short ride into the Osning, the holy place, where the Irminsul was located. Following the ceremonies it would be an easy matter to follow the course of the River Lupia to the mighty Rin, on the northern reaches of which stood the Frisian settlement of Dorestada, Beowulf's ultimate goal.

  Tired but elated the Geats had finally retired to their hall as the new day flashed crimson in the eastern sky. It was less than one week now to the midsummer celebrations at the Irminsul and they really did need to complete their journey. Beowulf knew better than most that Woden, the furious one, was not a god to accept disappointment lightly.

  7

  Hygelac was momentarily stunned by the news from his ealdorman but, realising that all eyes would be on him for his reaction, he quickly snapped back to the matter at hand which was, he now knew, survival. His mind raced as he tried to think of a reply for the man, with the Francish front line now only moments away. Suddenly, almost magically, his mind cleared and his decision was made. He recognised the sword peace which came over him at such moments and knew that it was a gift from Woden. He managed a smile to himself despite his apparently precarious situation. The Allfather had not deserted him yet. He grinned encouragingly at the obviously shaken messenger and tapped the man's framea with his own.

  “What is your name?”

  The young warrior looked confused at his king's reply but managed to stammer.

  “Bjorn, lord.”

  Hygelac could already hear the tramp of Francish feet as the army of King Theodoric came upon them. He deliberately moved onto the bridge and turned his back scornfully on the approaching fiend as he continued his conversation. He knew that the ranks of Geats to each side of the bridge, protected as they were by the deeply channelled rivulet, would be looking at the point of contact and watching the actions of their king and he flashed a glance to his left to see their reaction. They were, to a man, smiling at his confident action and he calmly replied to the messenger.

  “Well, Bjorn, it would seem that we could use a bear today. Come and fight with me and you can tell your grandchildren the tale when you are old and grey!”

  Bjorn joined the smiling men of his king's comitatus and advanced onto the bridge. Hygelac called a halt at the midpoint where the roadway rose slightly to allow boats free passage beneath. It was a perfect position, only twenty paces wide and flanked by solid walls of stone. The earlier rain shower had left a greasy film on the cobbled surface of the roadway which would make the uphill fight of the Francs all the harder.

  Hygelac beat his framea on his shield rim and cried a challenge which was echoed by his hearth warriors. Within a heartbeat it had been taken up by the Geat shield wall, a crescendo of noise which seemed to roll along its length in waves.

  Satisfied now in the strength of his men and their deployment Hygelac took up the position of honour at the mid point in the front rank of the wall of shields, the white boar of Geatland snapping proudly above him in the freshening breeze.

  At his command the men on the bridge heft their shields and framea and took up the position with a cry. Left foot forward and braced, shields' interlocking, spears raised and ready.

  And then, just as the leading Francs neared the far side of the bridge, the dogs came.

  Hygelac watched, bemused, as the enemy line slowed briefly and bunched together. Suddenly, from their midst burst forth a dozen of the largest, most ferocious dogs that he had ever seen. Their massive, slathering heads and broad powerful forequarters were encased in a shell of leather armour. Around their neck was fixed a collar studded with long, wickedly sharp, metal spikes.

  Hygelac and the men of his comitatus looked on in horror as the war dogs bounded clear of the Francish line and came on at them in a silence heavy with menace.

  Hyge
lac was the first to recover from the shock and his mind and body reacted to the unfamiliar threat in a heartbeat. Sinking to his knees he cried out to the shocked Geats.

  “Front rank fall to one knee. Skewer them in the belly as they leap at the shield wall!”

  Hygelac prepared his thrust as the men to either side of him crashed down beside him. The dogs were close enough now that he could tell which animal would be his target and he threw his left shoulder behind his shield as he waited for the time to strike. Hygelac gripped his spear tightly as the beast loped silently on, the folds of loose skin on its face rising and falling as it came.

  With a snarl the dog leapt and Hygelac slammed his right arm forward with all his strength. The framea slid into the unprotected belly of the dog and plunged through, liquidising its innards as it did so. The animal let out a high pitched yelp and fell in front of the wall. Hygelac screamed out above the mayhem as the Francs gained the entrance to the bridge.

  “Front rank up and draw swords!”

  The Geats rose up as one and braced themselves to receive the charge which was now only moments away. Hygelac savagely kicked the mortally wounded dog before him out into the path of the onrushing Francish warriors. Far from crashing into the Geat shield wall and leaving it in disarray the attack by the war dogs had merely succeeded in littering the narrow roadway with dead and dying bodies, the hedge of spears protruding from the howling animals only adding to the defence.

  Realising the effect that the unexpected obstacle would have on the Francish charge Hygelac yelled his last command before the shields clashed.

  “Hold this line. Let them come to us!”

  Seeing the obstacles before them the leading Francs, led by a man in magnificent scale armour which seemed to ripple and flow as he moved, leapt across the writhing bodies and crashed into the Geat front line. Hygelac brought his shield across and swept the framea of his opponent up and away as he landed. Already off balance the Francs' defence was opened up by the move and Hygelac quickly took advantage, stabbing his sword down into the area of the man's unprotected middle. The blade slid through leather and flesh as it passed deeply inside. Shaking the screaming man from his sword Hygelac braced himself for the next attack. A groin wound was instantly debilitating and agonisingly painful and Hygelac knew that the strike would add another thrashing, pain filled body to the growing barrier before them.

  The king sensed the blades of his men's swords flicking out to the left and right as he watched the enemy attack begin to descend into confusion and chaos. He started as a bloodied face appeared before him and instinctively pulled his head to one side as the shaft of a framea flicked forward to transfix the man's throat.

  Ahead, the Francs were beginning to hesitate as they reached the bloody barrier which separated them from their enemy and appeared to be almost panic stricken as they attempted to wend their way through the obstacles which stood between the two sides. Suddenly two huge warriors seemed to appear from nowhere and burst through the growing pile of bodies which littered the roadway. Hygelac braced for the considerable impact as the Francish giants crashed into him but, to his surprise, no contact came. His head darted from behind his shield just in time to see the enemy ranks open up to swallow the pair as they carried the badly wounded man in scale armour to the rear.

  The action seemed to signal the end of the attack and the Francs began to back away from them. Sensing an opportunity to score a morale boosting victory in front of the watching armies Hygelac instinctively knew that the time had come to carry the fight to them. One big push should chase them off he reasoned and with a cry of “Geats!... Geats!” he vaulted the miserable collection of dead and dying.

  He had judged the moment to perfection and the Francs broke and ran as the men of Hygelac's comitatus, his hearth warriors, poured across to support their lord. They halted at the end of the bridge and watched the retreating Francs tumble back across the field. Behind them the massed ranks of the Geat shield wall roared and called their acclamation of the small knot of men who had won the victory against the odds.

  As the enemy left the field Hygelac's hearth warrior, Ealhstan, turned and looked across with a look of puzzlement.

  “If they darken the meadow with their numbers, lord, why did they attack with so few?”

  As Hygelac made to reply Wulf, Ealhstan's colleague, supplied the answer. Along with Thurgar and Tofi the pair carried the rings on the hilts of their swords which marked them out as warriors of the special brotherhood which had accompanied Beowulf to Dane Land to kill the Grendel. They were close friends but delighted their colleagues with their constant ribbing of one another.

  “Because, my witless friend, I suspect that you just witnessed what happens when a young member of the royal family takes it into their head to gain himself a reputation by chasing off the wicked fiend before his elders arrive and steal all the glory. Little did he know that we had just enlisted the aid of Bjorn the bear and all he got for his trouble was a spear in the arse!”

  They all laughed and turned to the slightly built messenger and found him examining the gory tip of his framea and grinning like a fool. He did not, Hygelac suddenly realised, have the look of a typical warrior and a thought suddenly struck him.

  “Have you ever fought in the front rank before Bjorn?”

  “No, lord,” Bjorn answered, clearly both surprised and elated to have survived the onslaught, “I have never fought anywhere. Ealdorman Hromund said that he needed all the warriors to defend the bridge.”

  Wulf and Ealhstan grinned as Hygelac began to comprehend that he had entrusted his life to an inexperienced boy.

  “But I recognised the colours on your spear shaft as it shot past my ear and took that Franc in the throat.”

  “Yes, lord!” Bjorn beamed proudly.

  “So what work do you normally do, if you are not a warrior?”

  Wulf and Ealhstan could retain their composure no longer and collapsed into laughter at the bemused expression on the king's face. They clearly already knew Bjorn's identity and were revelling in their lord's confusion.

  “I work in the kitchens with Flosi,” he replied. “I prepare the vegetables, lord.”

  After the initial furore of activity the army of the Francs proceeded to leisurely make camp half a mile from the Geat position. The acres of pasture became a whirl of activity as the thralls and common warriors worked feverishly to construct, what looked to the watching Geats, to be a long term camp. Tofi had trotted across from his position further down the line during the lull and motioned across to the enemy camp which was rapidly taking shape.

  “Do you think that they are going to lay siege to us, lord?”

  Hygelac shrugged.

  “It's a possibility. It's not as if we are going anywhere in a hurry, after all.” He conceded gloomily. “They must know that we have very little, if any, food with us and no fresh water. Even if we drink from the river they can easily fill the upper courses with dead cattle and sheep and let them float down on us.”

  He turned to his hearth warrior and prised his helm from his head.

  “Here wear this for a while. I need to speak with Hromund and I want our friends across there to think that I am still here.”

  Hygelac made his way back through the lines offering words of encouragement to the men as he did so. To a man they smiled happily as he passed them and he was thankful that they appeared to be either fatalistic or mad. Unless Woden intervened on their behalf, as far as he could see they were already dead men.

  Retrieving his mount from the place where they had been corralled Hygelac trotted down to Hromund's position at the lower bridge. As he did so he cast a practised eye over the situation there. The Geats clearly still held the bridge in force and enough warriors had been distributed along the riverbank to deter any opportunistic crossing attempts. To the rear Hromund had collected a large reserve of warriors which could quickly react to any threat from the large Frisian army which had gathered in Dorestada.

>   As he came up to them he found that Hromund had been alerted to his imminent arrival and stood waiting to report the situation to his king. Hygelac dismounted and smiled ironically at his ealdorman's happy greeting.

  “We seem to have upset the locals, lord!”

  Hygelac snorted and took the horn of ale he had been offered. Downing the contents in one long draught he wiped his beard and grinned at his friend.

  “That was the best ale that I have ever tasted. Have you been keeping a secret supply from us?”

  Hromund laughed and glanced across to a collection of wagons which had been drawn together and placed under guard to one side of the meadow.

  “I managed to scoop up the supplies and get them across the bridge before the Fris arrived. We have enough food and ale for about a week, lord.”

  Hygelac clapped him delightedly on the arm as he saw the first glimmer of light appear amongst the storm clouds which had suddenly broken upon them. Hromund indicated with a slight shift of his head that the king follow him to a quieter spot. Each man grabbed up a hunk of pork from the table there and slowly strolled across the water meadow. Hygelac was the first to speak.

  “I have already repulsed one attack on the southern bridge with ease. If we can hold them off until night falls we can mount up and attempt a breakout.”

  Hromund smiled sadly and shook his head. He stopped and turned to face him.

  “Not this time old friend, this is where our story ends. Every man here knows it but they will all fight to the end nevertheless.”