We found the road from Saint Maclou and I led my horsemen towards it. Lord Bertrand waved off his young warriors. As we neared the gate a voice shouted, “Halt! Who are you?”
“We have come from Jengland. We bring news of our great victory over the Franks.”
“And who is your lord?”
“Lord Salomon.”
“Lord Salomon? I thought he was north of here.”
“He is. We fought for him.” I was running out of answers. I sensed that they were becoming suspicious. How much longer would it take my men to scale the wall and kill the gatemen?
“I will send for the captain of the guard. Do not move. There are crossbows aimed at you.”
Just then we heard a shout from the sea side of the walls. At the same moment there was a cry as one of the guards was pitched from the walls. Another two men followed and then I heard the sound of the bar of the gate being removed. It was opened and we galloped into the town. The young warriors of Lord Bertrand waved cheerily as we galloped through the gates. My men needed no orders. We would ride as quickly as we could and get to the sea gate. Men ran from buildings as the sound of battle erupted. I leaned from my saddle to hack into the chest of one of the warriors who was rushing, sword in hand, from his home. Our horses drove others back into the shelter of their houses and halls. We had enough men following us to enable us to clear the homes later. Our priority was the gate.
There was a press of men before us. They were trying to gain access to the fighting platform. Our sudden appearance threw their plans into utter confusion. Soren and Karl flanked me and our three horses and swords drove a wedge into the mass of Bretons. Most had not had time to don mail. The greatest danger was to our horses.
I pointed my sword at the gate, “Get to the gate!” I pulled back on Dawn’s Light’s reins and stood in the stiraps. His hooves clattered down on a group of Bretons. Others moved out of the way of his snapping jaws. I leapt into the gap they had left. Karl and Soren followed me. Three of Lord Bertrand’s men were also there and they turned their horses to enlarge the enclave we had created. I slipped from the saddle and ran to the two men who guarded the gate. I blocked a blow on my shield as I slashed at the thigh of the other. I brought my head back and butted the warrior who had hacked at my shield. His head went backwards and I lunged at him with my sword. He died quickly. With one man dead and one bleeding to death I was able to sheath my sword, lay down my shield and lift the bar.
I shouted to the men I heard banging on the other side. “It is Jarl Ragnvald!” I did not want to lift the bar and then be trampled beneath the feet of my own men! The bar was heavy but I managed to manhandle it. I threw it to the side and then pulled on the gate.
Folki and his oathsworn stood there grinning. He raised his sword, “Now let us show the rest of the clan how we can fight!”
I stood back to allow the rest of my men to enter. I confess, lifting the bar had taken more out of me than I cared. Karl had dismounted and he led my horse over to me. He said, “We have them, Jarl Ragnvald!”
I mounted my horse, “We had best make sure.”
Many of the Bretons who lived in the town fled. There were, we discovered, four gates. They could not use the sea gate nor the west gate for we had taken that first. Pursuit was impossible as we were having to fight our way through knots of men trying to buy time for their families. They died well for Christians. By the time dawn had broken we had taken the town. This time the treasure was worth the butcher’s bill. Many warriors would not be returning home. The church was well endowed and had fine candlesticks and platters. There was even a golden goblet. We found three holy books. They had begun to collect in their wheat and we loaded a knarr with the cereal we took. We did not take slaves. We could not have carried them. Every ship was laden. We were lucky that there were three knarr in the harbour and we took those too. If we had not then the oar ports on our drekar would have been under water.
The Lord of Cancale died well. Folki and Rollo One Ear killed him and his bodyguards. Our ships’ boys were avenged. We found another twenty horses in the stables. We took those too. We left at noon. Our ships lumbered north and west. I heard the songs as the victorious crews rowed and celebrated their treasure. It was my father’s song for, without him, we were nothing.
The horseman came through darkest night
He rode towards the dawning light
With fiery steed and thrusting spear
Hrolf the Horseman brought great fear
Slaughtering all he breached their line
Of warriors slain there were nine
Hrolf the Horseman with gleaming blade
Hrolf the Horseman all enemies slayed
With mighty axe Black Teeth stood
Angry and filled with hot blood
Hrolf the Horseman with gleaming blade
Hrolf the Horseman all enemies slayed
Ice cold Hrolf with Heart of Ice
Swung his arm and made it slice
Hrolf the Horseman with gleaming blade
Hrolf the Horseman all enemies slayed
In two strokes the Jarl was felled
Hrolf's sword nobly held
Hrolf the Horseman with gleaming blade
Hrolf the Horseman all enemies slayed
I knew that we would be in the most danger. Our ships would be safe from retribution but the Bretons would follow us. Horses left a trail which was easy to follow. Our horses would be tired. We were driving our captured horses and that would slow us down. All went well until we reached the island stronghold. Riders were waiting for us at Mont St. Michel. They blocked the road home. To pass them we would have to fight them… and defeat them. At low tide it was possible to walk across to the mainland. Sixty horsemen had done so. We were lucky that our scouts spotted them and we had time to prepare. Leaving the ones without mail to watch our spare horses and captured horses I arrayed the other sixty in two lines.
I realised that we had parity of numbers but more than half of our men had no mail. They had the leather jerkins studded with metal. What we did have was a Viking behind forty of the blades. That would make the difference. I saw that the Bretons had ten of the horsemen armed with javelins. They too had no mail. I turned to Lord Bertrand, “Take ten of your men and take out the javelins.”
Are you certain, jarl?”
I nodded. “I do not want our numbers thinned. Do not let them release their javelins. Do that and we have a chance.”
“Aye jarl.”
“Karl, leave the standard here with the spare horses. I have need of your right arm this day.” As he handed it to one of Erik Gillesson’s men I raised my sword. “These Bretons think we are barbarians. They think we cannot ride horses. We are Vikings! We are the Clan of the Horse. Today they will learn to give us more respect! Charge!”
I do not think the Bretons thought that we would initiate the attack or perhaps they were waiting for more men to join them. I knew that we would not be able to do as my father liked and hit them together. We did not have enough men who had that skill. We would rely on the fact that they did not have a Valhalla ahead of them. So long as we died with a sword in our hand then we would live forever! The Bretons we faced had spears. That did not worry me. A long spear is hard to control. I saw the Breton horsemen with javelins as they raced away from Lord Bertrand and his men. The Bretons relied on warriors not coming after them. They could not throw whilst they were running away.
I guessed it was a Breton lord who came for me. His horse looked expensive and his mail was burnished. I hefted my shield so that it was held closely to my side. His horse was slightly bigger than Dawn’s Light. He would be striking down at me. That made my head safer. I allowed him to choose the side he would attack. It would be shield to shield. I had to make him fight that way. If I did not then there was a chance he could end up spearing Karl and Karl was not as experienced as I was. The lord stood slightly and pulled his spear back. I saw the head wavering up and down. I had my sword held horizontally
from my body. As the spear cracked into my shield and down towards my leg, I began my swing. My blade hacked into the back of his left arm and his back. His spear tore through the mail and into my leg. I had not killed the lord but Karl did. His sword sliced into the chest of the lord when his shield fell from his hand.
I forced myself to ignore the blood dripping into my sealskin boot and I rode for the next Breton. He had just seen his lord killed. Perhaps he was angry, I know not, but he rushed at me wildly. I easily took his spear on my shield. He hit it so hard that it shattered. He seemed taken by surprise. I swung my sword at head height and it sliced through his cheek and jaw. He fell sideways and died beneath the hooves of the horse which was following him.
I slowed down Dawn’s Light. My mount was tiring and there were more enemies behind me. I rode at three Bretons who were trying to get at Soren Asbjornson. Soren was a wild man. He fought on the back of a horse the way he did in a shield wall. It was with reckless abandon. He used sword, head, shield and his horse to get at any foe. He cared not how many wounds he took. I galloped into their backs. I struck my shield against the spine of one while I stabbed a second under his raised arm. Soren brought down his sword and split the head of the third.
“Watch out jarl!”
A Breton galloped at me with a spear aimed at my back. Even as I was turning my tired horse I knew I could not avoid it. Soren threw his sword. It spun end on end and embedded itself in the Breton’s chest.
“I owe you a life Soren.”
He pointed at the two I had slain. “And I owe you two!”
That was the end of their attack. The survivors rode south. We had won. I looked around to see who had survived and saw, to my horror, that Lord Bertrand’s body was being draped over his saddle. He had been slain. That was a cost which would be hard to bear. My father, I knew would be upset. I saw that Karl and Soren were unhurt. “Fetch the horses and our dead.”
Lord Bertrand’s men rode over. “He did as you asked, jarl but he was slow to react. One turned and hurled a javelin into his chest. He could not avoid it. We slew the man.”
“I am sorry for your loss. We will take our dead and bury them at my hall.”
We camped close to Coutances. I could not believe that the young Frank who had trained me to become a horseman was dead. Was it my fault? Should I have used some other to charge the men with javelins? I could look back all I liked. The simple fact was that I could not change what had happened. His thread had been cut. He was a Christian. What would his fate be?
It was a sombre column of horsemen who rode through my gates into my stronghold. The ships were all tied up and Folki, Rollo One Ear and my oathsworn were cheering as we rode up. As soon as they saw the cloak covered corpse on Lord Bertrand’s grey they knew the worst. Had he been a Viking we would have celebrated for he would be in Valhalla. But a Christian?
My son and his band of boys were unaffected by the deaths. That was in the nature of youth. They thought they would live forever. Bertrand had been older than I was but he was a reminder that death was just around the corner. We divided the spoils. There was much to be divided. I told Rollo One Ear to wait until I was ready to travel. I would go and see my father and my son. I had to break the news of Lord Bertrand’s death. I could not rid myself of the feeling that all of this was my fault. It was my curse. I had brought this tragedy upon the clan.
Part Two
Brother’s Blood
Rollo grandson of Hrólfr the Horseman
Chapter 7
It had been four years since I had returned to my father’s hall. It had been four years of constant trials and tribulations. My grandfather had not wanted me to return but I knew that I had to face my tormentors or forever hide in the Haugr and that was not my way. I did not return after the death of Lord Bertrand. My grandfather was too upset. My father recognised that. I stayed until the new grass and then I returned. In that time, I grew even more. I was now the tallest and broadest Viking in the Land of the Horse. I towered over all of them. Behind my back my brother called me ‘the Giant’. It was not a term of endearment. It was an insult intended to hurt me. My grandfather had had to buy a specially bred horse from Gilles. The others were too small and my feet trailed along the ground.
My mother had been pleased to see me. My father was most definitely delighted. All of the older warriors like Snorri and Harold were also delighted but Ragnvald and his band of crows, as I called them, were not. It was partly that I had outgrown all of them. My brother could not bully me for he could not defeat me. I was the better horseman and I was better with a sword. He knew more about ships but, as we raided, I soon picked up skills. He was galled when I was chosen to take an oar before he was. My size and my strength made me an asset. He was still a ship’s boy for he was the same height now as he had been four years earlier. He did not work as much with a sword and shield and it showed in his frame. That was the moment when he began to hate me. I had always thought he disliked me but after that it was pure hate. He moved into the warrior hall with Arne and the others. There they could mock me and belittle me. They would not do it to my face but they would behind my back. They were inseparable. I stayed, happily in my father’s hall.
Ragnvald then tried to make me look bad in front of others. He would get smaller youths to challenge me to combat knowing that if I defeated them then I would look like a bully and if I was defeated then I would look foolish. My grandfather had not only taught me how to ride and how to fight. He had taught me how to use my head. I made the bouts more like training despite the taunts I endured. That exacerbated the problem for Ragnvald was the one who ended up looking foolish. The defeated youths became sympathetic to me and Ragnvald began to lose friends. He stopped that. I knew he had something else planned but I knew not what. I was just pleased that I almost had a normal life.
All changed when my father decided to raid Lundenwic. The city had grown since the last Viking raid and was now a centre of trade for Wessex. The land of Wessex had grown rich and we wished to have some of those riches. The king of Wessex was Æthelred. He was not as strong as some of the other kings they had had. The Danes were making inroads from their Kingdom of the East Angles. We heard that there were other ships gathering for a raid. There was safety in numbers and the rewards so great that they were worth the risk. We sailed with five other drekar to Lothuwistoft where other ships were gathering for the great raid, as it was called.
Ragnvald had not grown much. He was still scrawny. I know that my grandfather thought that he had been cursed. He believed the curse was the reason he had not grown. For myself I was not certain. He was still a ship’s boy. Admittedly he sometimes helped to steer the drekar but he was just a ship’s boy. He had to fetch us water and beer as we rowed. Even then he tried to make me look foolish. He would spill the beer and water on me. I just smiled and shook my head. I had learned that was the best way to defeat him. He could not get over that I was younger and yet I had an oar.
Lothuwistoft was a lively port. I had never seen anything like it. My father had told me that, in the past, Dorestad had been a dangerous place. This felt dangerous. There were Danish ships, Norse, Frisians and our ships from the land they were calling Normandia. While Ragnvald and his band of youths walked around the port together I stayed with Harold Strong Arm. I liked Harold. He had a good sense of humour and stories that I enjoyed hearing. I had been given him as an oar brother and I felt honoured. It also helped that my father was close by too. We went ashore without mail. The jarls had agreed that it would be better that way. I was disappointed. I had a fine byrnie. My grandfather had had it made by Bagsecg. He now made it quite clear that he did not like Ragnvald and the gift of a suit of mail had angered my brother. It was a well-made byrnie and a sword would not penetrate the links. It was no long enough to cover my thighs but I liked it nonetheless. Instead of the mail I wore a fine kyrtle and a cloak. I had my sword. Grandfather had given me that too. Ragnvald and his band deliberately chose a different path from us as
we left our drekar.
As we headed to an ale house I saw a fight between a Dane and Norse warrior. It would end in death. They both had blades in their hands. That would mean weregeld. I determined not to drink too much. I was such a big warrior that many smaller men felt offended and would challenge me. Such was the way of little men. Ragnvald was a little man. Without too much drink I could be funny and end it peacefully. If I had had a drink then blood would be shed and I did not wish to let down my father.
“Why do we raid, father? The Bretons and the Franks are no threat and we have supplies aplenty.”
“That is simple. Young men need to blood their swords. If they do not then they fight amongst themselves.”
Harold Strong Arm said, “Besides the Saxons are little better than the animals of the field. Since they became Christian they are not even warriors.”
“Do not let my wife hear you say that, Harold.” He turned to me. “Keep your eyes and ears open. Oft times you can learn things when men are in their cups.”
I nodded. My grandfather had told me much the same. The ale house was full of warriors. Two were rolling around just outside the door. My father’s four oathsworn ensured that we were not bothered. He pointed to a Norse jarl, “Come let us have an ale with Jarl Bjorn Arneson. He is as honest a man as you can ever meet. He is a friend of my father’s.”
The huge Norse jarl saw my father and jumped up to embrace him. “By the Allfather but you have grown! And who is this giant next to you? Surely that cannot be your son? Is your wife a giant?”
My father laughed, “I like that you never change! This is my son Rollo!”
Brothers in Blood (Norman Genesis Book 7) Page 11