by Jason Born
“Fife? Who is? Oh, of course, your shadow. Where did you pick him up again? He’s Welsh or something, right?”
“Scottish. I inherited him from his previous master who died of severe indigestion.” Olaf looked confused by my attempt at humor so I added, “Leif killed his fat Welsh master, while I freed the boy from his prison. We’ve struck up a little bargain.”
“Did I hear my name?” asked Leif as he and Magnus slogged through the dense mud to us. Behind them I saw Fife on all fours pulling a Dane’s boot that had gotten stuck in the mud. The Dane stood awkwardly on one foot waiting on Fife.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“Let’s go,” said Olaf who was already traipsing five paces ahead through the swampy forest. He called ten of his most trusted crew members by name to catch up as he plunged deeper into the woods. They hurried from behind.
“Fife, quit playing around! We’re going,” I called back to Fife who looked like he just told a joke to the Dane with the missing boot. Did the boy speak Danish, too? Scottish, Welsh, Danish, and as I discovered earlier when he understood Sweyn’s speech to the Norsemen, Norse. Where and how did a thrall have the ability to learn all these languages so well? He was strange.
The terrain made the walk difficult. Mud and water weighted down our boots and trousers. It was a challenge to keep up with Vigi and Olaf who seemed to plow right through the mess. I quickly worked up a sweat under my battle dress so I removed my helmet and hung it on the hook on the back of my belt. It was humid on the island with all the water around. The trees killed any hope of a breeze which made the heat all the more oppressive. We had to ford at least three small creeks which cut their way through the island, but after travelling about one-quarter mile we came out of the forest.
The last one-half mile to the apex was fertile farmland, not like the swamp from which we just emerged. It was open except for a man-made tree line that separated one field from those surrounding it. The field encircled by the tree line was left fallow this year. The one in which we now stood was barley that had already been harvested. A field of wheat swayed and appeared to be ready for the reaper’s scythe, for the heads tilted and the whole field made a dry rustling sound. Closer to the island’s apex a field of peas grew at various states of maturity. Olaf paused several feet into the barley stubble surveying the area when a peasant popped his head up from working in the pea patch. He saw us, each in expensive mail and dressed to kill the English, and he dropped his bowl of peas and ran toward the mainland. Olaf said, “Halldorr, get him and bring him to me.”
“Magnus, Fife!” without thinking I broke into a sprint followed by these two. Magnus and I struggled from the mud caked on our boots, but Fife actually ran ahead of us for a time because he had no armor or shoes. The barley stubble must have stabbed his calloused bare feet, but he didn’t seem to care. Within ten or twenty strides we achieved our full gait and Magnus and I passed Fife. Vigi thought we were playing and ran in and out of our group. When he saw our target the dog ran ahead to him nipping at his heals. Our quarry was nearly to the point of the island when a snap from Vigi caused him to veer to his right toward one of the tree lines. This change of course caused him to run at a right angle to us and we adjusted our own course to cut him off in the pea patch. He was almost to the tree line when Magnus dove at him. Magnus fell, but tripped the prey up so that I could slam into the man’s back and tackle him. The two of us hit the ground hard and rolled into the brambles growing amongst the trees. He was already trying to get up but I had a hold of one of his feet. He kicked and fought like a wild animal. Fife then jumped on the man’s back, pulling his hair and jamming a finger into one of his eyes. Any hopes the man had of shaking us vanished when Magnus slowly strode up wielding his sword, touching the point to the man’s cheek. The man froze as a trickle of blood ran down the cheek and Vigi lifted a leg to piss on his feet.
My third father sat chatting with Leif and the others on a fallen tree at the edge of the forest when we returned. Olaf swatted at the mosquitoes that overran the island. Magnus held our captive by one arm, throwing him to the ground in the circle of men. In English Olaf asked, “What is your name?”
“I am Amleth, lord,” the man answered in reverence to Olaf’s obvious position of power. He spoke like the rest of us when we used the English tongue, so Olaf asked him if he was a Norseman. “No, lord, I am a Dane, a slave in the house of Byrhtnoth, ealdorman of Essex.”
“Well son you are now a free man, for we are here with a large contingent of Danes to take back England for King Forkbeard.” Olaf was pleased to give the man the news. For his part Amleth looked equally pleased. “Shortly, we will send you through the forest straight east to join with your brethren. But right now I have some questions for you.” Olaf paused and smacked the back of his neck. He rubbed the bloody mosquito off onto his muddy pants. The blood-sucking pests would increase in activity by the minute as the sun fell below the horizon. “What do they call this island?”
“The English call it Northey Island, lord.”
“Northey, good. Now how far is the town Maldon from here and how far is London?”
“Maldon is very close. Just across the river and north less than one mile. London is southwest about forty miles, lord.”
“What kind of terrain will we come across on the march to London?”
“Mostly open farmland, lord. Some rolling land.”
Olaf’s face brightened then he said to his men, “We could be in London after a two day march. Halldorr, this was the right place to put ashore.” I smiled to myself with pride at the acknowledgement. “Now one last question. You obviously did not know we were in the area. Does Byrhtnoth?”
Amleth answered uneasily not wanting to disappoint his liberator, “Lord, I was sent to gather peas for the earl’s personal bodyguards. The ealdorman called in the fyrd several weeks ago and the army’s numbers have grown by the day. It is camped in and around Maldon. I suspect that they have gathered in force south of the town by now.”
Olaf gave a heavy sigh. So we would fight unless we could trick the army into giving us a gift. Sweyn’s harrying had indeed alerted the men of Essex. “Do you know the army’s numbers?” asked Olaf.
Amleth thought about the question for a time. “I think there must be a force of over three thousand.”
The air over the group thickened, any breeze seemed to disappear. I ignored a mosquito that siphoned blood from my cheek. Three thousand. The ealdorman would not likely be quick to give away coin if he was able to assemble such a force. I had never seen three thousand armed men in one place before and until now was confident that our force would be able to overwhelm whatever the English could throw at us. Now we were two evenly matched armies. Olaf leaned his elbows forward on his knees and picked at the barley stubble before him. A straw of barley broke off and Olaf placed it into his mouth to quietly chew.
Leif brought us all out of our reflections, “Lord, the sun is setting. We should move to the point of the island at least to have a look at the army with what light remains.”
Olaf spit out the straw and stood quickly, “Absolutely, Leif. You’re right. Amleth walk straight east and you’ll find our armada. Tell the men you find that Olaf sent you to give a message to King Forkbeard. When they take you to Forkbeard tell him that we will likely do battle tomorrow. He should double the size of our picquets and make sure the men are ready to march first thing in the morning. Only one mug of ale per man tonight.”
Amleth stood and bowed low to Olaf, “Yes lord.” He carefully picked his way past Olaf’s men and ran into the woods. Olaf turned to Amleth’s disappearing form and shouted, “And by Odin, don’t get yourself killed by our guards. Make sure they know who you are.” Without a pause, Amleth kept running deeper into the forest. Olaf didn’t pause either, “Let’s examine the army this earl can pull together.”
We reached the apex of the island and saw the damned map was only part right. The island was attached to the mainland by a narrow c
auseway about five hundred feet long. The tide had turned and was dropping now, but we could see that at high tide the causeway was only about fifty feet wide. At low tide the area would be wider, but our army could not cross with the English opposing us. The mud would make the marching, let alone maneuvering, impossible. Spears and javelins would make the mud at low tide the final resting place for countless Northmen. All this meant that we would have to cross over the narrow causeway regardless of the where the tide lay. Our front would only be twenty men strong in that case. As I look back on it now it reminds me of the battle Leonidas from Sparta fought against the Persians at Thermopylae. I didn’t know the history at the time, but learned it from Olaf later. Leonidas was able to hold off fifty thousand Persians with just three hundred Spartans. The English would certainly be able to hold us off if we could only send twenty men in a row.
Byrhtnoth had indeed been successful in calling in the fyrd. A sea of men scattered out over the plain across the river. Dozens of the banners of the ealdorman’s thegns hung limply in the fading light. Each banner was surrounded by the men of the thegn. I scanned the men and tried to count but gave up and just thought that Amleth’s estimate looked to be accurate if not on the low side. Fife spoke up in wonder, “Three thousand six hundred ninety is my best estimate. If you gave me more time I could get a better count.” We all looked away from the enemy’s position at the diminutive boy. How did he do that?
When we looked back one of Olaf’s men, Vikar, stated the obvious, “That’s a lot of men.”
“We’ve got company coming,” I said, stating the obvious too. At least fifty men on horseback were pounding down the coast from Maldon. At the vanguard rode a giant of a man who must have been near sixty years old. His long hair was white like a swan’s feathers and he sat tall and proud in the saddle like a man half his age. By the mail he wore and by the men travelling with him I could tell he was a man of importance, probably the earl himself. They were coming directly to the end of the causeway on the mainland side. I then realized we were in an inopportune position. We were twenty hardened warriors, but if Byrhtnoth ordered his fifty horsemen to thunder across the jetty, our band would be cut down in the blink of an eye. Olaf already knew this and said, “Steady men. Stand firm or we’ll invite a charge.”
The ploy worked and Byrhtnoth pulled hard on his reins and held up his hand commanding a halt. The riders leaned down and back into their saddles as their horses stirred up sod and dirt, pounding to a stop.
Still carrying his helmet Olaf said, “It looks like we’ve got some lying to do,” and he led us down the causeway to the arrested band of horsemen. After a minute or two we stood face to face with the Englishmen who remained pinned to their saddles. A silence ensued, broken by the occasional snort of a horse or the stamp of an excited hoof. Byrhtnoth looked regal indeed atop his white charger. His armor was in impeccable condition and he looked down his nose at Olaf and his weathered gear and dirty cattle dog.
Olaf broke the silence with a bow to Byrhtnoth, “Lord Byrhtnoth, I presume.”
“I am,” Byrhtnoth answered with a deep, resonating voice.
“I am Olaf Tryggvason and I lead an army of seafarers for the Danish King Sweyn. We are encamped there on Northey Island just inside the woods ready to battle tonight,” Olaf lied. “Our ships number over one hundred and we will muster over five thousand men on the field,” Olaf lied again. “Our men have fought and killed Irishmen, Scots, Welsh, and Englishmen, I am afraid. We are prepared to accept gold rings and coins in exchange for peace this day. I must tell you that I think it is much better for you to buy off our raiding army with gold than to suffer a brutal attack. After all, we are renowned for our cruelty to our foes and will cut you down in battle.” Byrhtnoth sat quietly listening to Olaf and betrayed no emotion. I was surprised to see a monk mounted on a small grey horse behind the ealdorman who actually appeared to be taking notes on a parchment with a quill in his ink-stained hands. Olaf went on, “Why should we destroy one another if you are good for a peace ransom? We’ll settle for peace in exchange for gold. If you, who are most powerful, but sadly outnumbered by hardened seafaring warriors, agree to our terms, give us gold, and demonstrate your wisdom by disbanding your men, we’ll gladly take to the sea with your tribute in hand keeping our promise of peace.”
Byrhtnoth let seconds tick by when Olaf was done. He slowly reached to his horse’s flank and produced his shield and extended his free hand to the man to his right. That man produced a spear made of ash wood, putting it into his earl’s hand. When this was done Byrhtnoth finally spoke in an icy, resentful tone, “Olaf Tryggvason, you pirate, are you able to hear what I say when I speak for my people? We will gladly pay you a tribute of whistling spears and forged swords. Our weapons will pierce you and spill your blood in battle.” I said a silent prayer to Thor. We had our answer and we would do battle against an army, an army struggling to protect their farms from the flame and their wives and daughters from the frenzied rape of soldiers. They would be a motivated foe. Byrhtnoth continued as the sun set behind him and the monk scribbled furiously, “Tell that King of Pirates you serve that you talked to a nobleman, an earl, and his troop of horse. Tell him that Byrhtnoth serves a true king, King Aethelred, and I will defend this land to the last ditch. I’ll happily sever the heads of each man in his bandit army. It would be shameful for us to let you leave without battle because you’ve invaded our country already. The answer to your offer of peace is a resolute No! You’ll not get any such treasure as gold. The point of my spear and the edges of these fine men’s swords will be all the tribute you receive.” On the last he kicked his excellent charger and, without taking the reins, steered it swiftly away from the jetty toward his gathered army. Byrhtnoth’s troop, including the monk with ink-stained hands, all reeled around and galloped after their earl.
When they were safely out of earshot Olaf swore, “Damn Odin! We’ll be battling that giant white-haired turd! Maybe even tonight! We’ve got to get our army up to the barley field yet tonight or we’ll find ourselves trapped in the swamp with only one direction to go, retreat!” He turned and began the hike across the causeway. “Halldorr and Leif, get back to Sweyn and tell him to get his Danish ass up here now! The rest of us will stay at the edge of the woods.”
By the time Leif and I slogged through the mud and made it to the beached armada the night had fallen into complete darkness. We were surprised that we walked right to the ships without encountering a single man in the reinforced picquet. Only the army of mosquitoes tried to stop us. We came across Tyrkr at the Dragon Skull who told us a peasant had been killed when he came running through the picquet. An arrow through the neck dropped him before he took another step closer to camp. So Amleth never made it to warn Sweyn to reinforce the guard and the men were still encamped on their boats eating smoked fish and drinking ale, too much ale. We agreed that Leif would go rouse the Danish king from whatever he was doing and Tyrkr and I would begin to get each captain and his crew moving to the barley field.
By torchlight I led a conference of the ship captains standing in swampy mud or in the river water that slowly idled by the bank. These were tough men, men from Olaf’s army, and I gained confidence as we talked. Even though I didn’t know the Danes, they too were experienced warriors or land-holding bondi with skill in leading men. Despite the numbers of Byrhtnoth’s army we would be the more practiced force in battle. The captains with whom we talked quickly sobered themselves and agreed to lead their crews westward to Olaf. Some of the commanders were so anxious to engage the English that they were calling orders to their men while we finished up the meeting.
I plodded to our three ships where Tyrkr had already begun preparations for our men to leave. Each man had dressed for battle in their leather or mail. The shields had been hoisted from their resting places along the gunwale and into the hands of their owners. I outfitted Fife with two javelins that he could carry for me and with a spear I expected him to use for himself. Leif was still ab
sent with King Sweyn so I appointed Randulfr in charge of two other men who would stay behind with our ships. Most captains would leave behind at least one man per ship so that in total our boats would be guarded by about one hundred men; not enough to stop an army, but enough to aggravate any potential surreptitious operations by our enemy.
We waited just a few minutes for Leif, but decided it best to get our men to Olaf, so I led seventy-two men and one boy back through the swampy woods to the barley field. The dark night made our progress slow and the blanket of mosquitoes made the march miserable, but as we eventually filed out of the forest to the barley stubble we saw the slowly building signs of our camp. Olaf had deployed the first crews to guard the causeway and their campfires were heaped with loads of firewood to create ample light. We would have to be ready in case the English army decided to try a night attack.
The rest of us deployed ourselves just behind this first group. I was disappointed to see that already much of the pea patch had been trampled. I was hoping to get some fresh peas to munch on tonight and maybe even get enough for my haversack. But the darkness worked against my hopes and the men just flattened the growing food as they brought in firewood and found places to sleep. Nonetheless, I sent Fife into the darkness to find whatever peas he could scrounge.