by H A CULLEY
There were still a few more questions but, from the atmosphere in the cathedral from that moment on, I knew I had won them over.
~~~
The first time I got to speak to Sige was at the feast afterwards. She was shy and demure at first but after she had drunk a tankard of mead or two she lost her inhibitions and began to talk quite animatedly. She was not only beautiful, she had a fine sense of humour and a gift for imitating people. I’d feared that, at fifteen, I would find her gauche and immature with limited conversation, but she entranced me.
Oh, she didn’t have the incisive mind that Ecgfrida had, nor was she as knowledgeable about the kind of things that interest men, but she was good at banter and she had an insightful mind as far as people were concerned. For that reason she evidently didn’t like her younger brother, who sat next to her, very much.
He had just turned fourteen and his name was Thurbrand, which meant bear. He would have been better named Slange – snake. I quickly realised that he had a high opinion of himself. Whereas his sister could imitate several of the nobles present in an amusing, but not derogatory, way, Thurbrand expressed opinions of his elders that were snide and demeaning.
His mother sat on the other side of him and seemed to find her son funny. I didn’t and eventually tired of hearing him deride people, some of whom were my friends.
‘If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, Thurbrand, then I suggest you keep it still before I tear it out.’
I had spoken in Danish so many of the Anglo-Saxons sitting nearby didn’t understand what I’d said. However, from my tone and the way that the boy glowered at me afterwards, no one could be in any doubt that my new brother-in-law had displeased me more than a little.
Sige grasped my hand and squeezed it.
‘Well said,’ she whispered. ‘He’s a spoilt brat.’
His mother looked offended and glared at me whilst his father, sitting on my other side, continued to talk to his neighbour, the archbishop, without a pause. I guessed that his wife spoiled the little shite and Styr let her get on with it for the sake of domestic harmony. My new father-in-law might lack moral fibre if that were the case. I hoped I was wrong because I needed the man.
Thurbrand spent the rest of feast sulking, not uttering a word, despite his mother’s attempts to cajole him into a better humour. His silence suited me fine. If I’d known the trouble he was going to cause in a decade’s time I’d have had the nasty little prick quietly murdered, but hindsight is a wonderful thing.
~~~
At last Sige and I could leave the feast and be alone together for the first time. I was anticipating the moment like a love struck sixteen year old, but I was determined not to make the same mistake as I had with Ecgfrida. Sige was even younger than my first bride had been and I was no longer a young man. She must be dreading what was to come. I didn’t think what her mother had told her would have prepared her at all well either.
By the time I entered my bedchamber in the earl’s hall Sige had been undressed by her maid and lay in bed waiting for me. I started to undress myself but Sige got up and came to me naked. She undressed me in a way I can only describe as sensual. If I wasn’t excited before, I was now.
I contained my urges as she led me to the bed and I forced myself to take my time, caressing and kissing her all over. By the time I had finished she was moaning with desire and I was also in a heightened state of excitement. Nevertheless I took things slowly to ensure that Sige got as much pleasure from our lovemaking as I did. If anything, I think she may have got more, to judge by the scratches on my back the next morning.
We made love twice more that night and again in the morning. Of course, I had no way of knowing at the time, but when I left her to lead the army north the next day my second son was already growing inside her.
~~~
If I wanted to kill as many of the invaders as possible to ensure that they couldn’t invade again for a generation I needed to secure the old Roman bridge over the River Wear at Chester-le-Street. This was the only crossing point to the east of Durham and the route the Scots had taken on their way south. The only other crossing points were to the south and, if we managed to defeat them, they would hardly be likely to flee in that direction.
Originally built in stone, sections of the triple span bridge had been washed away and other parts had crumbled into the river over the centuries since it was constructed. It had been repaired in timber several times and the central span was now rather narrow. Four men on foot, two horsemen or a cart would take up the full width of it. It was therefore going to be relatively easy to defend it against a routed enemy.
My scouts had reported that both ends of the bridge were guarded. Evidently Malcolm appreciated its strategic value. I needed to take out both sets of guards at the same time and make sure none escaped as my strategy for trapping Malcolm’s army depended on taking him by surprise.
I had left Leland on his sick bed and, to tell the truth, I didn’t expect to see him alive again. I had appointed a warrior named Osric to replace him. He had been with me since we were both boys and I trusted him implicitly. I now gave Osric the unenviable task of picking thirty men to swim across the river two miles upstream. On my signal they were to surround and kill the guards on the far bank. It had to be coordinated with the attack on the Scots on this bank and so I allowed them four hours to get into position.
They set off just after dark had descended over the land. The sky was cloudless but it was a new moon so there was just enough light to see by without being too bright to give our plans away. My scouts had counted the Scots and their estimate was two score on the east bank, the side we were on, and a dozen on the far bank. I needed to cut off the men this side of the bridge or they would run across and Osric would find it difficult to contain everyone; some would inevitably escape to raise the alarm.
I chose Styr to lead his Danes in the main attack on the Scots on the east bank whilst I led the rest of my household warriors in a race to seize our end of the bridge before any of the enemy could cross.
The signal was to be a fire arrow fired at low trajectory over the river so it couldn’t be seen from the main Scots encampment outside Durham. When I judged it to be around three o’clock in the morning I prayed that Osric and his men were in position and gave the signal for the archer to light and fire his arrow.
As it sped across the river I ran silently from the trees fifty yards from the end of the bridge with forty of my men close behind me. Styr launched his attack with his fifty Danes simultaneously. Of course many more trained warriors were available but I knew that if I took too many with me chaos would result and we’d either end up killing each other in the darkness, or some of the Scots would manage to slip away in the confusion.
I reached the bridge just as two Scots came haring towards me. I could hear the sound of combat coming from the area of their tents and prayed that Styr would quickly deal with the rest. I pulled my shield close to my body just as the first of the Scots thrust his spear at me. It glanced harmlessly away to one side and I brought my sword up, piercing his chest just below the sternum.
Before I could pull it out the second man thrust his own spear at my throat and I had to jerk my head to one side to avoid it. Nevertheless I felt a searing pain in my neck and knew that he had sliced into it at the side. Blood started to flow down onto my shoulder and chest just as Kenric reached my side and chopped my assailant’s head from his body with an axe. The head bounced away into the gloom and the body collapsed at my feet.
He examined my neck and said that it looked worse than it was. Nevertheless I was losing a lot of blood. Just at that moment Uuen reached me and unceremoniously pushed Kenric out of the way.
‘Lie down so I can sew it up before you bleed to death,’ he told me, taking charge as if I was the servant and he the master.
I grinned at him. ‘Yes, lord. At once, lord!’
He looked at me impatiently and I did as I was bid.
‘Someone
get me some river water and I need a clean cloth.’
A minute later someone handed him both and he proceeded to wash the blood away and press the cloth to the gash to slow the bleeding.
‘Can you hold the cloth in place please, and press hard,’ he asked Kenrick whilst he got catgut and needle ready.
Just at that moment Styr arrived, blood gleaming blackly in the moonlight on his arms and byrnie.
‘It’s not mine,’ he said grimly. ‘They’re all dead.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied faintly.
Everything around me was growing darker and I began to lose a grip on reality. I saw Eadwulf coming at me with a sword and behind him Thurbrand was grinning slyly as he took coins from a man dressed as a Dane, but who I didn’t recognise. Then everything went black.
When I awoke my neck hurt like fury and I felt extremely weak. I was still lying where I’d fallen and I became aware that Uuen was wrapping a bandage around my neck.
‘Will he live?’ I heard Osric ask someone.
‘Yes, the spear missed the carotid artery on that side by a whisker, but the earl has lost a lot of blood. He’ll be weak for a day or two until he recovers,’ Uuen replied.
‘Osric, did you get them all?’ I asked, trying to sit up, but being pressed back into the prone position by Uuen.
‘Yes, lord. No-one escaped. I took the precaution of putting four men a few hundred yards along the road to Durham and they caught the one Scot who managed to evade us.’
‘Well done. Uuen, do stop fussing,’ I told him impatiently. ‘I feel fine.’
I felt far from fine but I needed the army to see me on my feet.
‘Help me up, and get someone to bring me my horse.’
I knew I couldn’t walk the six miles to Durham but I should be able to cling onto the pommel of my saddle for long enough.
‘Lord, there is no point in exerting yourself until the army is ready to march, and I assume that won’t be until dawn? Just lie there for now,’ Uuen said, speaking to me as if I was a small child.
‘And have rumours that I am seriously wounded start to circulate? What effect would that have on morale do you think? Now move and do as you’re told!’
Uuen shrugged as if to say ‘on your own head be it’ and went to fetch my stallion.
‘Oh, and Uuen,’ I called after him. ‘Thank you,’ I said as he turned back to look at me.
He smiled, nodded and ran off towards our camp.
Chapter Thirteen – The Battle of Durham
Late July 1006
I suppose I could have left the main bulk of the army further south whilst we secured the bridge, but I didn’t want to split my forces. Now, leaving two hundred of the fyrd under Osric’s command to erect defences to hold the bridge, the rest of us turned about and headed south again along the east bank of the Wear.
When the Wear turned south west towards Durham we turned off the old Roman road that we had followed on our way north. Now we were making slower progress along little more than a track. I was worried about sending up a dust cloud which would alert the Scots to our approach but, thankfully, most of the track ran through a wood, which meant that the track was hard but not dry enough to turn to dust. Anything we did throw up would be hidden by the trees.
Two scouts came back to say that the Scots were camped in the open between the end of the wood and the palisade defending the approach to Durham. Like the palisade, the camp lay between the two sections of the river, Durham itself sitting on a hill around which the river flowed in a curve. I rode forward with the scouts to see for myself.
As I had hoped, we had them trapped, but it was late in the day and I didn’t want to risk allowing too many of them to escape as night fell. We withdrew further into the woods and spent an uncomfortable night sleeping in the open. I still felt weak from loss of blood but, despite waking stiff and cold, I felt stronger than I had the previous evening. My neck hurt like hell though.
Uuen bathed the wound again and changed the dressing, muttering that it didn’t seem to have got infected.
‘Make sure you stay well away from the fighting,’ he admonished me.
‘I’m not a child, and you forget your place.’
‘Please yourself. I just don’t want to have to find a new master,’ he said sourly.
It was only then that I remembered that he was a Pict by birth, a Scot in other words. He could have run off during the night and re-joined his own people. Not only that, he could have warned Malcolm of our presence and no doubt the king would have rewarded him, and not just with his freedom. The fact that he hadn’t said a lot about his loyalty to me.
‘And I couldn’t have wished for a better body servant,’ I told him. ‘Thank you for looking after me so well. I owe you your freedom and, if you wish, I’ll give you a farm after this is all over.’
‘Thank you, lord. My freedom means a lot to me, but I have no wish to work the land. If you will have me, I’d like to stay as your servant.’
‘I couldn’t be more pleased. Now help me get this damned byrnie on without opening up the wound again.’
~~~
I was honest enough to admit that I’d be more of a liability than a help as a warrior that day, but it was difficult for me to stay safely in the background and watch others do the fighting for me.
As dawn was breaking the army of Northumbria formed up at the edge of the wood. We were as quiet as possible but there was the inevitable clang of spear point against helmet and the crunching of twigs underfoot. However, the Scots camp was quiet until one or two men appeared to make their way over to the west hand branch of the river to collect water whilst others used the east side to piss in and crouch in the water near the bank to defecate.
No one noticed us until the armoured warriors in the first three ranks advanced into the open meadow, shoulder to shoulder and carrying their shields before them. They were followed by everyone who could use a bow and then came the fyrd. I brought up the rear with fifty of my household warriors, all mounted. Their role wasn’t so much to guard me; hopefully that wouldn’t be necessary; but to hunt down any who managed to get past our shield wall.
When the cry of alarm went up, the Scots rushed out of their tents to gawp at us before frantically scrambling for their armour and weapons. The first flight of arrows was in the air, aimed at high trajectory, as soon as the warning cry was sounded. The wicked points came down to hit unarmoured bodies, killing and wounding scores. Almost immediately a second volley landed and then a third.
By the time that the Scots had thought to raise their shields, called targes, above their heads there must have been a couple of hundred who’d been hit. Even after they had the targes raised the barbed points stuck fast in legs and other parts of the body unprotected by the small shields. A few even penetrated the targe itself, pinning it to the hand holding it.
Then someone managed to instil some sort of order to the chaos in front of us and the whole mass of men ran towards us, howling their rage. They were in no particular formation, just a wild horde.
‘Brace,’ I ordered and my warriors halted. The front rank lowered their large circular shields to cover their legs and the row behind used theirs to protect the torsos of their comrades. Finally the third rank held their shields at forty five degrees above the other two to protect everyone’s heads and shoulders. The archers withdrew and the first ranks of the fryd came forward to push against the rear row of warriors to help them maintain their position. The rest of the fyrd waited behind. I had trained them how to fight the Scots otherwise we could well have been overwhelmed.
The screaming wave of Scots hit the shield wall, many dying on the spears and swords poking between the narrow openings between shields like the spikes of a hedgehog. Others leaped in the air and landed on the upper shields before jumping down into the space behind the formation. This was where the fyrd came into their own. They were ready for them and killed them as they landed, before they had a chance to defend themselves. Those with daggers w
ere particularly effective at slitting the throats of the Scots as they hit the ground.
Within ten minutes the attack was over and the survivors were running back to their camp to regroup. They left behind many hundreds of dead and wounded. As we advanced once more my men killed the wounded with a quick thrust into their necks.
The Scots had lost much of their bravado and they milled about at the edge of their rows of tents, unsure what to do. Then Malcolm appeared and urged them to form up ready to make one last attempt to break our shield wall. However, there were not so many now and we had suffered no more than fifty casualties.
‘Archers to the fore’ I ordered and this time the warriors parted to let them through.
Now they sent arrow after arrow at low trajectory at individual targets, concentrating on the leaders and those who had now managed to don their byrnies and vests of chain mail. The Scots roared again and started to charge. There was less than a hundred yards between the two armies and the archers only just made it to the rear in time before the shield wall reformed.
This time the attack was more measured. The Scots used their shields to protect themselves as they thrust through the gaps between our shields and they killed and wounded many more of us. But they were dying in droves all the same.
Men of the fyrd helped the wounded to the rear as the Scots finally gave up the attack and withdrew to reform once more. Now there weren’t enough of our armoured warriors to make a shield wall three deep and so I gave the order to concentrate our strength in the middle. The wings would only be two deep. Furthermore our archers had nearly run out of arrows. I prayed that the next attack would be the last. It was, but not in the way I imagined.
This time the Scots formed up in one massive wedge with their warriors who had chainmail and the larger shields at the point. They would try and split our shield wall in half. I glanced to their rear where Malcolm and his mormaers, thanes and chieftains sat on their horses with his personal bodyguard on ponies. There were perhaps eighty of them in total. I had expected to see Owain with Malcolm but I didn’t spot him.