by Mark Coakley
Two of them were dead. The other, Fisk, was lying on his side, his body punctured by spear-stabs, but still alive. When he saw Halfdan approaching, Fisk twisted his bleeding body around and grabbed the foot of the distracted guard standing over him. Fisk yanked the man's foot towards his own face and bit onto the pant-cloth over the guard's ankle. Shouting in pain, the guard looked away from Halfdan and lifted his spear, its tip pointing down at Halfdan's cousin. The guard plunged the spear down into Fisk's neck. Even in death, Fisk's jaws stayed clamped tight on the ankle, and the guard had to spend a few moments kicking his leg free.
The other guard standing by the three dead Os-men lunged at Halfdan. Halfdan's sword blocked the spear. The guard pulled it back to stab at Halfdan again.
Halfdan turned and ran.
Ran towards the beacon and the unarmed guard standing there with flint and iron, his back to Halfdan, spraying sparks and blowing air onto it. Some of the birch-bark smouldered; orange lines of burning formed and grew on the dry, white bark. Faint grey smoke rose. The fire-starting guard was so intent on his work that he did not notice Halfdan running at him, until Halfdan's sword chopped into the side of his neck. The guard's head, still in a helmet, spun into the air, blood splashing underneath; the body crumpled to the ground, pumping blood onto Halfdan's boots.
Halfdan jumped over the head and the body and swung his sword at the barely-lit pile of tinder. The blade knocked the beacon apart; bits of wood and birch-bark flew in the air. The new-born fire was gone. Looking up, Halfdan saw a few wisps of grey smoke swirling up in the clear morning sky.
Would anyone in Eid notice that?
As he paused, distracted, the foe Halfdan had fled now moved to him — grunting as he shoved the spear into Halfdan's back.
The iron tip poked through Halfdan's shirt and skin and muscles, pushing Halfdan sprawling forward. Halfdan tripped and fell to the rocky, bark-strewn ground, scraping his face on some gravel, terrible pain biting into his back.
The guard jerked his spear-tip out of Halfdan's flesh, raising the weapon over his head to stab down.
Move!
Halfdan rolled fast to his right — so the iron missed his torso. But it hit his left hand, chopping off most of the smallest finger.
Halfdan rolled onto his feet. Sword in his right hand — blood pouring down from his four-fingered left hand — he charged at the man who had hurt him. His first sword-swipe was blocked by the guard's shield-edge, with a clash of iron hitting iron.
Halfdan saw this foe-man look to Halfdan's right.
Without thinking, Halfdan jumped to his left.
The killer of Fisk had moved up behind Halfdan, and almost succeeded in stabbing Halfdan's back with another spear-tip. But he missed and, unable to stop his lunge, ended up sticking his spear into the other guard's shield.
Halfdan tried to attack both of them then, while they were tangled together, but he slipped on some blood and stumbled past them both, his sword-swipe not hitting either of them.
The guards yanked the shield and the spear apart. They turned together on Halfdan. Behind raised shields and spears, the two Førde-fighters moved on Halfdan with hard, scowling faces.
Halfdan waited, feeling suddenly weak from blood-loss.
Intense, dizzying pain blazed from his back and left hand.
Confusion. Fear.
He saw shadowy shapes, fluttering everywhere he looked.
Birds?
No: hallucinations.
Weak from bleeding, his legs went soft and crumpled under him. He dropped his sword as he fell back to sit hard on the ground, the impact jarring his spine and making his vision turn all-black for a moment.
The end?
But his sight cleared in a moment.
To show the two foes moving together at him.
Halfdan grabbed his sword-grip, lifted it from the ground. But it fell from his trembling hand. Its blade landed on a rock and the bang! echoed in the rock walls.
There were other noises, Halfdan noticed, coming from outside the fort.
What was going on out there?
The two foes now stood directly over Halfdan, who was dazed and unarmed. The one who had stabbed Halfdan's back and the one who had killed Fisk lifted their dripping weapons, about to stab down together at him.
The end.
Time to die.
Fine.
Halfdan had no hope — until one of the guards dropped his shield and dropped his spear — clutching his hands onto an arrow in his chest.
The guard's eyes widened, then emptied of life; he fell.
How?
A second mysterious arrow popped with a wet sound into the beard-covered throat of the last guard. He dropped his shield and his spear to grab the arrow-shaft. Blood-bubbles burst between his silver-ringed, gore-dripping fingers as he tugged uselessly at the slippery oak-wood stick impaling his neck. He stumbled forward, silently opening his mouth, and collapsed down heavily onto Halfdan's legs.
Halfdan tried to look around, but was too weak to move.
So much pain. Back. Hand. All. Shadowy shapes filled his sight. Familiar shapes of flapping black wings, everywhere.
Now we must tell of the rest of the battle.
Hiding in a clump of trees downhill from the half-built fort, holding a bow with a stringed arrow, Atli had waited for Halfdan and his advance group to jump out of their hiding-places to signal the start of the attack.
Crouched beside him, Haki said, "There they go — finally."
Haki laughed when he saw Halfdan slip on horse-shit and briefly fall down.
Atli shouted, "Go!"
His group attacked uphill.
The slaves and guards around the construction-site were startled to hear the clash of the advance group vaulting into the fort and meeting the four guards inside — followed soon by the sounds and sight of nineteen fighters bursting together from the trees downhill, some of them yelling and whooping as they ran with raised weapons. Unlike the advance group, these Os-men were fully-armed, with helmets and shields. Some carried spears, some swords. Haki and his cousin Sten were the only ones without shields, both carrying two-handed war-axes.
Only Atli had a bow. His task was to make sure that the guard on the horse did not ride away, to carry news of the attack to Eid. But Atli's arrows missed (he had never shot at a man before) and the horseman rode fast away.
"Odin's prick!" Atli said.
When the fleeing horseman was out of arrow-range, Atli ran uphill after Haki and the others.
The slaves dropped their tools and pieces of rock, scrambling to get out of the way.
When the nineteen Os-men — led by Haki and Sten, both roaring — reached the twelve Førde-fighters, a fierce battle began.
Haki killed his first man with an ax-swing under the guard's shield, chopping one leg right off and slicing deep into the other. Haki yanked his ax back and raised his brown-bearded face to roar at the sky.
No smoke was rising from the beacon yet. Atli had to get to the beacon-fort fast, to help Halfdan's advance group if they were in trouble. Stopping to shoot an arrow now and then, Atli hurried uphill.
Despite the advantage of fighting from higher ground, the outnumbered, surprised guards soon lost courage. Some started to run away to either side of the fighting and were chased and killed, or hit in the back by one of Atli's arrows. Those who did not try to run either died fighting or surrendered.
Haki — grinning savagely, his eyes wide and glazed with the madness of a berserker — killed those who surrendered. He also smashed his ax onto the heads of hurt foes lying on the rocks.
As battle turned to massacre, Atli hurried uphill towards the fort, arrow held to bow-string. He could not see inside, and no sounds came from inside the low walls.
Did Halfdan's group need help?
Was Atli too late?
He ran to the narrow door of the half-built, roofless building and stepped inside, arrow ready to shoot.
Then he stopped, very surprise
d.
Atli blurted to a young woman crouched by a body on the blood-puddled, body-strewn floor, "What in the name of Odin is going on? How did —"
Interrupting him, Yngvild said, "Halfdan is badly hurt. Where are the bandages?"
Halfdan lay on his side, eyes closed, not moving. A red stain had spread across most of his back, and Yngvild was tying a string around Halfdan's finger-stump to stop the bleeding.
Nobody else in the fort was alive.
Atli saw a quiver of arrows on Yngvild's shoulder and a bow on the ground beside her. Two of the dead guards each had an arrow sticking from chest or throat.
"Who shot those two?"
Yngvild said, "Me. Where are the bandages?"
"I don't know. I don't think we have any. But you're that woman we left behind in Os. How did you get here?"
"No bandages at a battle? Fools!"
Yngvild took out the little knife on her belt and poked its tip through the cloth of her shirt-sleeve. She started cutting off a wide strip of linen.
Atli said, "But how did you get here?"
"I followed you, obviously," she said. "Now are you going to help me heal your war-chief, or are you going to just stand there asking questions as he bleeds to death?"
Atli put down his bow and his arrows and tried to help.
When Halfdan regained consciousness, he saw Yngvild. She crouched in front of him, looking closely down at him. She said, "How do you feel"
He weakly whispered, "Why are you here?"
"I followed you, thinking you might need help. And I was right."
"Too dangerous."
"Dangerous for who?" She held up a small, curled, brown-and-red thing for him to see. "Remember this?"
Halfdan couldn't focus his eyes enough to see it well.
"What is it?"
"Your finger."
Halfdan looked at the finger-piece, then at his left hand, which was covered with tightly-wrapped cloth. He noticed that the cloth was the same kind as Yngvild's now-sleeveless shirt.
Yngvild said, "But I'm more worried about your back. The spear almost made it into your lungs. Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
"You are going to need a lot of rest."
"No," he said.
He saw Atli standing behind Yngvild. Halfdan said, "Atli. What happened?"
Atli said, "The good news is that we won the battle."
"And the bad?"
"The horseman got away. As soon as he gets to Eid, Njal will know we're here."
Halfdan scowled.
Atli said, "There is more bad news. A lot of our men are hurt, and Vannu is hurt badly. Stabbed in the belly. Looks like he will die."
Halfdan looked at Yngvild.
She said, "While you were passed out, I went out and did what I could to heal the others. Vannu is probably not going to live. We'll know in a while."
"Fisk is dead," Halfdan said, looking over at his cousin's body.
"I'm sorry," Yngvild said.
Halfdan said to Atli, "Did you question the prisoners?"
"There are none. Haki went berserk and I couldn't control him. His cousin went berserk too. They killed everyone who surrendered. And they killed all of the hurt ones too."
"Why?"
"Because that's the kind of thing berserkers do. Haki and Sten fought bravely and skilfully, but out of control."
"So King Njal will soon know we're coming, and we have no prisoners to ask about the situation in Eid."
"No."
Halfdan said, "Tor's flea-bitten balls! What about the slaves? They might know something. Don't tell me that Haki killed all of the slaves too."
"No. He didn't kill any of them. But they all ran away."
"All?"
"All."
Yngvild said to Halfdan, "Be calm! If you move around too much, the bleeding will start again."
Halfdan said to Atli, "Get the men ready to leave."
Atli nodded and went back outside.
"You're too hurt to be moved," Yngvild said. "The healing is going to take time."
"We don't have time," Halfdan said. "Help me to stand up."
"Rest!"
"I'll rest when we've taken Eid."
"If you live that long."
"Help me stand up."
Scowling, Yngvild put one of his arms around her shoulders and helped him to stand up. He swayed at first, unsteady on his feet, until Yngvild handed him a spear to use as a crutch.
Terrible pain.
He asked, "Why did you follow us?"
"To help you. If you get killed, there's less chance of the men who killed my friends meeting justice." She paused, then said, "And if you were killed, I'd be a little bit sad, for a while."
"Thanks."
Leaning on the spear-shaft, Halfdan started shuffling towards the doorway to outside.
She said, "I hope you aren't going to ask me to stay behind again. I won't."
"I want you to be safe. Stay up here. I'll send someone to get you after the fighting in Eid is done."
"If you leave without me, I'll just follow you down."
"Fine, come. But stay out of fighting. Your only job is healing. Someone else can rescue me next time."
She helped him stagger outside. Weak sunlight and cool wind. The mountainside was strewn with red-soaked bodies. A dozen or so white-shouldered crows and a pair of big, all-black ravens were busy. The birds — beloved by poets, symbols of Odin — hopped among the rocks, screeching, flapping, ripping with sharp mouths at the food.
Chapter 14
ALCUIN WRITES TO TETTA *
December 7, Year of Our Lord 792
To my reverend handmaid of Christ, the Abbess Tetta, in the bond of spiritual love, and with a holy and chaste kiss of affection:
Alcuin, the least of the servants of servants of God, prays that Our Lord shall in this life guard and prosper you in health and every holy virtue, and shall after death glorify and reward you in future Blessedness among shining cohorts of angels.
I apologize for taking so long to write back to you. Let me assure you, my precious friend, that when I saw the copy of Ecclesiastical History you sent me, I gave voluble thanks to God for having such a friend in my journeys in these distant parts; one who helps me so generously with material things, and supports me spiritually with her prayers and the divine consolation of her gentle affection. With my hands upraised to Heaven, I beg the Supreme Majesty to repay you with eternal life on high. I pray to Almighty God, the Rewarder of all good works, that He will repay you in the heavenly mansions and eternal tabernacles and in the choir of the Blessed angels and archangels for all the kindnesses you have shown me, for the solace of books with which you have relieved my distress, and, above all, for your friendship.
The book is truly beautiful to look at and to touch. You have not exaggerated Leoba's technical skill, if this example is typical of her other work. Yet, regardless of her talent, my admonitions regarding discipline fully apply. She must not be simply expelled from Lindisfarne, as she so clearly desires; to set an example for the rest of your flock, and for her sake, Leoba must suffer harsh discipline — for disobedience is the blackest of all monastic crime.
I agree that the traditional tools in these situations would likely not be effective with such a strange personality. But I have an intuition that another type of punishment might work well. Keep her locked in a small, lightless room, and let nobody talk to her, for any reason, or even show a face to her. Her meals and water are to be put into the room when she is asleep, through a door that admits no light. No-one is to speak close enough to the room for Leoba to hear. Let her feel forgotten. Keep Leoba in silence and loneliness and darkness, until she submits fully to your sacred authority; so I advise.
My friend, I think of your love with such sweet memories, tender Abbess, that I long for the time — even if it should be as I breathe my last — when I may be able to caress your innocence with my affection. If only it were granted to me, as it was to Habakkuk, to be tran
sported to you across such a vast distance at the speed of a wish, how I would sink into your purest embrace — O, my Tetta, how much would I chastely cover, with tightly pressed lips, not only your face, but your every soft finger and pale toe; not once but many a time, in respect and friendship!
Our wish is that it may be well with you till the end of your days in Christ.
Alcuin
Chapter 15
AFTER THE BATTLE
The night after the battle of the beacon, Halfdan's army reached the bottom of the mountains, to find an orange glow filling the sky ahead.
Flames.
Eid was on fire.
Flames roared and swirled everywhere in the wood-built town — along the two main north-south streets and each of the smaller, east-west streets; from the wooden docks on the shore of the fjord, to the wooden wall that surrounded the town; flames danced on traders'-stalls in the market, on the big, fancy, expensive homes of nobles in the center of town, and on the smaller homes on the outskirts; flames roared almost everywhere, except on the empty space where the hall had stood — sending a thick, grey column of smoke twisting up to the night-clouds.
When Halfdan's army arrived, there were no foes around. Nobody wearing a helmet, nobody carrying a shield — just a crowd of civilians, their stunned faces red from the heat.
The blazing town was surrounded at a safe distance by most of the folk of Eid, watching flames eat their homes.
One of them told Halfdan what had happened.
King Njal had killed King Gunvald, to end the sharing of political power. King Njal's men had battled in the streets of Eid against the Førde-men. King Njal's fighters had won. Most of the defeated, kingless, loot-less fighters had sailed back to Førde. But some of them had sold their loyalty to King Njal for silver, and these side-switchers had been sent to build and guard the mountain beacon-forts.
It was true that King Njal had found the skull of King Lambi buried in the ashes of his hall. King Njal had tied a piece of string through the skull's eye-holes, to dangle it from his horse's saddle as a foul trophy. As he was riding around the town, the head bouncing at his side, "a miracle happened."