by The Golden Horn; The Road of the Sea Horse; The Sign of the Raven (epub)
Trumpets blared in the English array, and again it rolled down with spears like lightning through the dust. Harald's blade screamed. He struck the nearest Housecarle to earth ere the man could raise ax. Now . . . back a step. . . . Hold firm . . . back another step. Stamford Bridge resounded under feet.
For many crazed minutes they fought. Then the last few Norse stood before the bridge, their king among them, and hewed so mightily that the foe reeled away.
"Get over!" cried Harald. "Who can hold the bridge awhile?"
"I, my lord." Gunnar Geiroddsson stood forth. Blood dripped from his byrnie and clotted his shock of bright hair, but little of it seemed his own; his byrnie was beaten to rags, but he held his ax unwaveringly.
Harald gazed a moment at him. "You and I are the only men who could do that," he said. Gunnar's eyes glowed. "Withdraw when I sound the horn twice and run to the ranks. But it will take us a small time to ready, and the longer you can ward us the better rested we'll be."
Gunnar nodded, grinned, and planted his feet near the English end of the bridge. Harald ran after his men.
"Well, come you," taunted Gunnar. "Come hither and be split into kindling."
A Housecarle rushed forward. His ax blazed high, but Gunnar smote sideways and took off his head. "There's one!" he bellowed.
Two more lunged at him. Gunnar kicked at the right-hand fellow, who lurched and pushed his comrade into the river to drown beneath weight of mail while Gunnar killed him. "Three!" shouted the defender.
A couple of arrows ripped toward him, but they missed and the rest seemed to have been used up. Four troopers lumbered against him in single file. Gunnar's ax smashed helm and head of the first, took a leg off the second, caved in the breast of the third, and knocked the fourth into the Derwent. "Seven!" he jeered.
A spear whistled toward him and missed. Another he struck down in midflight, and a third bounced off his tattered ringmail. He cupped hands to his mouth and cried aloud: "Come on, you milk-livered toothless whelps, come if you dare! Small wonder I found your wives an easy prey. Thor hammer me if I beget not a race o' men in this island!"
The Housecarles howled and went against him. His ax rose and fell, slashed, chopped, hewed, and thundered. The Norse across the river began counting with him, calling it out together: "Ten! Eleven! Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!"
"Jesu Kristi," said Harald, "if he holds that bridge long enough, help will come to us." As two more English sped to meet the Norseman, the king shouted: "Gunnar, you shall have my daughter Ingigerdh to wife, and the greatest fief in Norway."
Gunnar struck down the two men in as many blows and ran to slay the next.
The dead were heaped before him, nigh two score had been counted. He waved his ax and made rude remarks. Two more attacked. He cut the first down, and his ax haft broke against the second. At once his fist jumped forth; men heard neckbones snap. He picked up a Housecarle weapon in either hand. "Small are these toys," he cried, "but good enough for the likes o' you."
The English drew back. Danes among them remembered Asa Thor and fear struck them. Harold Godwinsson stepped forth. "Will you take peace and lands from me?" he asked.
Gunnar boomed out laughter. "I might take your wife for a whore when I've trimmed you down, lad," he bawled.
Harald Hardrede loomed in his line, watching. "There stands the old North," he said to Thjodholf. "This day decides if it is to live or not."
Suddenly he yelled and cursed. Another Housecarle, a giant of a man, was trading blows with Gunnar; but the English king had spoken to a spearman who ran and slid down the riverbank and crawled along the piers.
"Gunnar!" shouted Harald. "He comes beneath you! Run!" He blew his horn twice, cursing himself that he had not done it before.
The defender heard him not. The clang of steel was too loud. He struck down his foe, but at that moment the spear thrust up between the planks.
"Thor help us!" groaned Gunnar. He sank to his knees, pawing at the shaft which bit through him. Harold Godwinsson winded the trumpet, and the Housecarles streamed across the bridge. The first of them slew Gunnar Geiroddsson and the rest passed over his body.
4
Harald Hardrede had drawn up his ranks in a circle. He himself looked toward the river. There was naught else he could do; so many had fallen that the enemy could flank a line. He felt tired, his bruises throbbed and his cuts stung; a heaviness filled his head.
The English drew into a long row. Harold Godwinsson gave his orders, and they began to throw spears and stones as they went around and around the circle. Such fire was deadly against unarmored men. The Norse crouched behind their shields but the points sought them out. Hallvardh Flatnose fell there, and Arinbjorn Erlendsson whose brother Vigleik lay dead across the river, and Gyrdh, and many more.
A spear plunged toward Harald. He knocked it away and said: "These English know how to fight."
"And we must stand here and suffer it?" shrieked Styrkaar.
"Aye," said Harald.
The rain went on. The Norse cast some spears and hammers, but to small good. Now Harald saw a number of men go back across the bridge and gather arrows.
"If Eystein comes not soon, we are done," he said. He looked to the sun, which was slipping west though the air remained hot. He tried to think of a scheme, but his mind seemed rusty. Visions flashed unbidden through it: a ship on a cold winter sea, the towers of Miklagardh, a time he had held little Maria high above Ellisif. That was in Denmark, when his hopes still lay before him.
King Harold's trumpet blew, a frost-cold note that sent the crows cawing off the dead. The English wheeled about and rushed down on the Norsemen.
Harald struck out at the nearest. His sword bit an arm, but not cleanly through; it was blunted from use. The Englander screamed and tried to swing his ax. Harald pierced him under the mailcoat. "That for Gunnar!" he shouted, and yanked the sword free and smote at the next.
This was a big man. His blade met Harald's in a yell and a rain of sparks. The king felt his grasp almost torn loose. He caught the hilt again and sent the brand down in a red blur. The Englishman's sword spun away. Harald snarled and slew him. Another came leaping over the corpse. Harald took the ax blow on his shield and felt it smash; his own weapon snaked out, sheared through defense and neck.
A triumphant bellow lifted to his rear. Turning, Harald saw an English standard across the circle, some earl's against Gudhrodh's. It went staggering back, and the Icelander whooped and rushed after it with his men.
"You fool!" screamed Harald. "That's a feint…."
He whirled about to meet the Housecarle who threatened him. They battled for minutes, the ax striking helm and shoulder and remnants of shield, the sword raging around. Harald crashed through the man's guard and gave him a mortal wound, he fell and the king threw his useless shield atop him.
And meanwhile Gudhrodh and the nearby men had been drawn out. The English assailed them from all sides and they died.
"St. Olaf!" shouted Harald. "Close the ring! Stand fast!" It was Tosti who drew the line back together. And then the storm broke over them, and they met it and hurled it back.
Harald leaned gasping on his sword. "If we've done naught else," he said to Thjodholf, "we'll be remembered for this day."
"Aye," said the skald. "It may be God does not like men who strive for too much."
"Odhinn did," said Harald. "I was born either too late or too soon."
The English had been thrown into confusion by the fury which met them. They milled about some distance off, regathering their ranks. The ground between was thick with dead and wounded.
But now men sped back across the bridge bearing armloads of arrows. "This will finish us," growled Styrkaar.
"Well," said Harald with a lopsided smile, "we've finished so many in our day that it may be no more than just." He looked westward, but found no sign of help.
"Let them think they can shoot us at will," he said, "but rush at them when I blow my horn." He bent his head
. The gilt was gone off his helmet, his sword was nicked and his knees felt strangely weak. "Ellisif," he murmured, "I should have hearkened."
The English lines formed anew. Behind the spearmen and the axmen, the archers were taking arrows. Harald straightened himself. This was the moment of victory. He set the horn to his lips and blew.
"Olaf with us!
God send the right!
Thor help his folk!"
The Norse line swung about, formed a wedge, and charged behind the raven flag.
As Harald ran forward, he felt weariness and despair drop from him. Almost, he was young again, high-hearted, bound forth to take the world. The long blade sang in his hand.
They shocked against the English and the clamor rose to heaven. Ax and sword! Spear and hammer! Drive them into the sea!
Harald's steel whirred. A Housecarle toppled before him, he sent the mortally hurt man staggering into another, he leaped above them both as they fell and clove a third in the jaws. Two men rushed at him, one from either side. He cut down the left, whirled, met the right and split his shield. Thjodholf darted to help him. Back to back they returned into their ranks.
Hew, sword, hew!
Drunk with battle, Harald hardly saw the men he killed. There seemed to be wings beating over him. His blade rose and fell, smashing down whatever stood before it. A Housecarle chopped at him, he caught the ax on his sword and drove it back and sank edge into bone. Their line was before him; he sent down three who stood side by side and sprang into their ranks. Fridhrek came after, holding the banner aloft. It was Edwin's standard which faced them, it wavered and Harald came up to the shield wall before it and the English retreated.
The king's blows belled, and as they fell he began to chant aloud. It was the Krakamaal, the death song of Ragnar Hairybreeks and all the old bold North.
"Swords we were a-swinging!
Sooth, was I a young one
when east in sound of Ore,
all the wolves got booty;
and the yellow-footed fowl
had much to feed on,
where 'gainst high-nailed
helmets hardened swords were singing;
wet with blood, the war birds
waded through the slaughter."
The English gave way. The Norse took up the verses, striking as they croaked them forth.
"Swords we were a-swinging!
Storm of darts struck shields
and angry dead fell earthward
as we in Northumber's morning
had no need to urge
the mustered men on,
where the swords were whining
while they sundered helmets—
men did more than kissing
maidens in the high seat
The Yorkshire banner fell, and the whole line shook and bent. Harold Godwinsson drew back from the fray and sounded his horn, almost on a note of terror.
"Swords we were a-swinging!
Swart bit brands in shield rims
when the spears were splitting;
swords were raised to Valkyrs.
England's isle remembers
ages through, how kings went
boldly into battle,
blazing blades before them. ..."
The Housecarles heard the trumpet, and those in the rear ranks withdrew. "Bowmen!" cried their king. "Give them the arrows or we're dead!"
"Swords were a-swinging!
One and fifty slaughters
have I seen where hosts
were hailed by word of arrow.
Among all men I never found
a one more valiant.
(Young of years and early
yare was I for battle.)
Us now Aesir summon home,
and I go death ward.
"I wish now no waiting
War maids sent by Odhinn
from the halls of heaven
homeward to him bid me.
Ale I'll drink with Aesir
eagerly in the high seat.
Now my life has left me.
Laughing gang I death ward!"
The arrows sleeted down.
Harald did not feel the shaft that smote him. He saw it in his breast and touched it, not understanding it first. Darkness rushed across him and he went to his knees.
He fell and lay on his side while the battle ramped past. A sharp sweet smell of hay was in his nostrils, it brought him back a little. He saw that his head was on Thjodholfs knees, while more men stood around.
"My lord, oh, my lord. ..." groaned the skald.
Amidst the blood that sprang through him and from him, Harald found answer: "I have held up your head long enough; now do you hold up mine."
Thunder and night rolled over him.
When their king died, the Norse were driven back, the English followed them, striking and striking, as the arrows gnawed them away. Almost had their line broken, then Tosti came at a run and took the king's banner even as Fridhrek sank beneath an ax. The raven unfurled anew, the Norse rallied, and the English were beaten off.
There was a pause while both sides re-formed their ranks. Not many of the Norse remained on their feet; the English curved around them and pointed spears inward. Thjodholf stood near Harald's body tears furrowing the dust and blood on his face, and made a lay:
"Hard has it gone with the host now,
hopelessly are we standing;
for little gain has our lord
led us into the Westlands.
Lying there with his life gone,
he of all lords most valiant,
few has he left to follow.
Fallen our king and our hope now."
A growling went up from the men. Wounded lurching in their tracks, garments ragged and weapons blunted, they would not yield. .
Harold Godwinsson trod forth. "Tosti!" he cried "Will you take peace of us?"
"It was never my wont to betray my friends,' croaked the earl.
"You and all with you."
"No!" The voices lifted together. The Norse felt they could not give in while their king lay dead before them.
The battle began anew.
Eystein Gorcock was seated under a willow by the Ouse, making a verse for Maria, when the three messengers came into camp on spent and staggering horses. The sheriff jumped to his feet. "What is it?' he cried. "What word do you bear?"
"The English have set on us at Stamford Bridge, They have an overwhelming army," answered the nearest of the riders. "Your help is sorely needed."
Eystein sped into the house and got his horn. He came out of Riccall’s gate blowing it till echoes hooted.
When Skuli, Ketill, and the Thorbergssons heard the news, they wanted to go, but Eystein told them to stay behind with a small guard for the ships; they were young yet, and untried. Olaf was pulling on his undercoat, a sword at his feet. "Do you stay too," said the sheriff.
"Christ's blood!" shrieked the boy. "My father is in danger of his life!"
"And you may be the last hope of his house," answered Eystein. He would not be gainsaid. Olaf watched him go till tears blurred his sight.
The last third of the Riccall men followed Eystein. They were in armor, and the heat flamed around them. He drove them ruthlessly, no few fainted by the wayside, but the sun was almost down when he reached the bridge.
There he saw the last remnant of Harald's men, still at war. He rushed ahead with a yell, his folk pouring after him, and cut a way to the raven flag. Styrkaar bore it.
"Where is the king?" shouted Eystein.
"Fallen," whispered the marshal. "Earl Tosti fell a short while back, Thjodholf, Gudhrodh, your old friend Gunnar—not many are left. Hell take you, couldn't you have come faster?"
Eystein snatched the standard. "Maria's father," he said in his grief. He lifted his voice like the flag: "God and St. Olaf! Forward, Norsemen!"
That charge, the last of the day, again drove the English back. Almost, they broke and fled. Harald Hardrede and his men had felled a g
ood two-thirds of the Housecarles, the shire levies were worn out, and it was a ghastly thing to see the Raven overhead.
Their king rallied them and led the counterattack. "Once more!" he cried, "you ward your own hearthfires!"
So fiercely had Eystein brought his men here that they were nigh dead from weariness. Some burst their hearts in his charge ere ever weapon touched them. The rest met the English, and were scattered. Harold Godwinsson yelled and followed them at the front of his warriors.
Then battle madness came on the Norse, they cast off their too-heavy byrnies, threw their shields at their feet, and struck two-handed. Spears and arrows reaped them, and as the sun went down they broke. Such as still lived, fled; only a shield-burgh around Eystein remained, where Landwaster flew above the bloodied helmets.
Then did Harold Godwinsson attack. Eystein fought for a long time, even when all the others had been slain. As twilight stole forth, he dropped on a heap of the dead with a spear through him. Harold Godwinsson cast down the raven flag, and it covered the last of the Norsemen.
Epilogue:
Of Olaf the Quiet
1
Styrkaar was among the few who escaped. He hammered a road for himself through the enemy lines and ran across the darkling battlefield. There he found a tethered horse, and leaped into the saddle and galloped westward.
The breeze began to strengthen, chill and mournful out of the north, and as the first stars appeared Styrkaar grew aware that he was cold. Blood and sweat were thick on him, and he had only a tattered shirt. On his head was a helmet and in his hand a naked sword he had picked up after throwing away his ruined ax.
The teeth clapped in his jaws. He felt too tired and frozen even to curse. After he had ridden for some miles, he saw a bulky shadow on the road ahead. As he neared, he found that it was a hay wagon. The yeoman driving it had on a thick furry coat.