Ambrose, Prince of Wessex; Trader of Kiev.

by Bruce Corbett

  The prince spoke. "Then spread your cloak, big-mouth. It seems I will get a chance to teach you some manners after all."

  "Ho!' cried Bjourn, 'someone find this rooster two more shields and a real sword, instead of that tiny thing he carries. Plant the twigs and stand aside! I'll carve this boy into little pieces with my left hand!"

  The crowd, sensing excitement and entertainment, grew quickly. Two of the man's companions stripped his cloak off his back and spread it on the ground while several others gathered branches and shoved them in the ground all around the cloak.

  Bjourn grinned. "You have three shields and one sword, boy. Now all you need are some balls. We fight until one of us is forced to stop. Are we agreed, boy?"

  Ambrose looked grim. "Save your breath, blowhard. You are going to need it!"

  With his peripheral vision, Ambrose saw Polonius holding Phillip back. He knew the old warrior wanted to rescue him, but he knew that only his sword would earn him the respect he needed.

  Bjourn hefted a long sword and a heavy round shield. Ambrose, across the circle, held his prized foreign sword and a smaller buckler.

  "Boy!', shouted Bjourn. 'I don't butcher unarmed geldings. Get yourself a weapon!"

  "Come, blowhard!', responded Ambrose, 'And taste my steel!"

  "Then may Ull guide my blade. Today is the day I carve you like a roast!" At last, surrounded by armed and neutral men who would ensure fair-play, and with reflected firelight lighting their respective enemies, the two closed for combat. Bjourn attacked first, swinging his sword in an all but irresistible arc at Ambrose's head.

  Stepping nimbly back, and taking only a little of the force obliquely on his shield, Ambrose calmly awaited the next attack. He knew that it was Viking style to swing a sword so. Since the soft metal would not hold an edge long, it was the custom to parry blows with the shield rather than the sword. Bjourn, in turn, realized that the stripling was not a complete novice, and he became a little more cautious.

  Thus it was Ambrose who attacked next. Keeping his shield ever-ready for a savage swing of the long sword, he moved in warily, feinting and swinging in the Viking manner. Bjourn, with considerable alcohol in him, and a much heavier shield and sword, rapidly tired. The firelight was soon reflecting off the beads of perspiration that crept down his face. He attempted to use the advantage of his long sword by keeping Ambrose at a distance, where the shorter foreign blade was at a disadvantage.

  Though his sword's attack-range was shorter, Ambrose, to the surprise of all, began a series of chopping sweeps. Again and again he put his light sword directly against his opponent's more massive blade. To everyone's amazement, the great iron sword of Bjourn's showed large nicks, while Ambrose's looked as sharp as before he started.

  Disconcerted by Ambrose's approach and rapidly reaching exhaustion, Bjourn charged in, meaning to use his superior strength to quickly end the contest. In spite of all he could do, however, Ambrose's sword; equally effective in slicing and jabbing, was able time after time to slip past his shield. Though the force of the blows were almost completely spent, they managed to slice Bjourn's leather to pieces, and only Bjourn's chain-mail shirt prevented serious damage. Try as he would, Bjourn's much longer sword simply could not sneak past the small shield and flashing sword. While Bjourn was rapidly being drained of blood from the numerous small cuts, Ambrose was untouched, and was scarcely breathing heavily.

  Ambrose watched Bjourn closely. He could see the fatigue building and he knew that Bjourn must soon make a last desperate attempt or collapse. The big Viking suddenly threw aside his shield and grasped his sword two-handed. While Ambrose stood still, Bjourn raised his sword high and brought it down in a great irresistible sweep. If he missed, he would be helpless, but he obviously hoped even this dancing fairy would not be able to get away from or parry such a blow. Ambrose, calculating the reach of the opposing blade, realized the futility of attempting to dance back. He could do little more than throw up his own blade for defence. With a great clang and a shower of sparks, the two blades met in the air. Incredibly, Bjourn's blade, in spite of its size and weight, bent Ambrose, although forced to his knees by the terrific force, was quite unharmed. Bjourn suddenly held a useless weapon.

  By the rules of the combat, Ambrose was now free to finish it, but instead he got back to his feet. Bjourn, covered in blood, exhausted, and with only a severely bent sword for defence, slid suddenly to his knees, and then fell unconscious to the ground.

  Ambrose saluted his fallen foe with his sword. "Warriors, I salute a brave and noble warrior. Is there any other here who feels he has just cause to challenge me? If so, speak now!"

  A roar went up from the gathered men, who respected and appreciated a good fighter. "Nay! Nay!", roared the warriors who made up the crowd. After many back poundings and cheers, Ambrose, Polonius, and Phillip were invited to drink mead and celebrate the victory. Even Bjourn, when he recovered, drank to Ambrose's health. It was only after a few hours that Ambrose and his two comrades were able to extricate themselves from the hard-drinking Rus fighting men, and when they left, they left behind new friends.

  As he left, Ambrose realized that he had truly fought for the first time in his life, and he knew he could easily have killed his first warrior foe.

  CHAPTER 16.

  They Arrive at Novgorod.

  It was the time of the third full moon past the spring equinox when all was ready. Several more large ships arrived and deposited supplies at the village, after which they turned around to return to the Viking Sea and home. Most of the vessels, however, were to make the voyage south, and the vessel of Rurik, who was the leader of the expedition, led the brave flotilla down river.

  Ambrose and his two companions watched the endless forest slide by on either bank of the river. At last Ambrose approached Hammar, who had traded on the river before.

  "Captain, where are the great treeless steppes you spoke of?"

  Hammar chuckled slightly. "I am afraid, Canuteson, that we will have to travel down several rivers and spend another week or two sliding past forests before ever you will see the mighty steppes. In fact, our immediate destination, Holmgard, is still in the forest, except, of course, where the peasants have made clearings to make room for crops.

  But fear not! If you go far enough, you will find the steppes right enough. And once on them, if you keep the North Star on your left, you can travel for hundreds of days without ever seeing a forest again. There are more grasslands and deserts than you can imagine. For myself, I prefer the forest. It keeps the terrible nomad hordes at bay, and, besides, it is more like our homeland."

  After several more days' journey, when all the crewmen, spelled occasionally by the passengers, pulled at an oar until their hands were raw, the flotilla arrived at its destination. On the bank was a considerable town, with fields stretching away from the river.

  Rurik directed the entire fleet to a large, wooded island in the middle of the river. Within minutes the efficient crewmen had beached or tied up all the ships. Rurik himself, along with several leaders, was rowed over to meet the village officials.

  Ambrose, as a representative of Gunnar's powerful trading house, was invited to join them. Phillip and Polonius had to remain behind, and they headed ashore to cut branches for lean-to's and to set up leather tents that had been brought as temporary dwellings.

  Before the sun set, Ambrose returned to the island and sought out his companions.

  Polonius looked up and smiled in greeting. "Welcome to our little camp, Prince. Tell us what transpired when you met the Slavic leaders!"

  "We met a delegation of Slav leaders, and after the customary greetings, Rurik got down to the business at hand. He is a shrewd man and drove a hard bargain."

  Polonius looked impatient. "What arrangements did he make, Master?"

  "He demanded an equal voice on the ruling council in exchange for Rus protection."

  "And the Slav rulers accepted this?"

  Ambrose nodded. "Rurik remin
ded them that they had invited the Rus because one of the nomad tribes had threatened the town just the year before and the town needed allies urgently."

  Polonius looked puzzled. "But why would the Slavs choose the Rus as allies?"

  "I wondered that, too, but I soon learned that two years previously a force of Pechenegs had indeed been beaten back by a group of Rus trader-warriors. Their defensive shield-wall managed to hold a wild cavalry charge - something the Slav traders had never seen before.

  A naked berserker had apparently, in a fit of frenzy, singlehandedly killed six horsemen with bow, spear, and axe, before he was cut down. Shocked by the ferocity of a single Viking, the nomads had then moved off in pursuit of easier game. Thus, the area rulers, who were also tired of the incessant raids from their neighbours, listened to good sense and decided to ask the Rus to settle as partners. In return, they asked only that the Vikings would train levies of villagers in military tactics, provide help in constructing forts, and be themselves willing to form a nucleus of a defensive force.

  Each captain, or Rus leader, is to take an area, and, with his men, provide security there. I was amused to discover that most of the areas the Slavs intend to assign to the Rus are not yet under local control, but belonged to rival settlements. The present leaders, of course, insisted on retaining the areas they already controlled.

  Rurik had laughed when his lieutenant pointed this fact out to him. I will try to remember his exact word. I believe he said. 'Of course they will give us the domains they don't control! But the secret to success is the rivers. We have mobility with a fleet of wooden steeds. We have over a thousand battle-hardened warriors, and our friends here will no doubt be happy to loan us a few hundred good Slav men.'

  Ambrose continued. 'On balance, the arrangement does not seem completely uneven. The townspeople have the responsibility to feed and house some two thousand dependents while the thousand-odd well-armed warriors march out to conquer their new domains. The Vikings have a secure base-of-operations to work from. The Slavs have fierce protectors, and their young men are expected to fight alongside the Rus warriors and learn their fighting methods. Further, there are great prospects for loot, slaves, and glory."

  Within days the process of colonization began in earnest. While Rurik and his followers remained and settled on the island opposite the town, many Rus tribesmen abandoned their ships, requisitioned horses, and rode out to scout out or conquer their new domains. On other days small fleets of karves heavily loaded with armed warriors sailed up and down-river to harry those who were slow in swearing allegiance to the new power centred in Novgorod.

  All who remained on the island were put to work, for the simultaneous tasks of building for trade, colonization, and defence were a priority. A stockade, adequate both for storage of goods, as well as defence, was built within a week.

  Ambrose and Phillip both spent many long hours with axe in hand, and their muscles, softened by their stay in Gunnar's home, hardened and became like strong ropes. Polonius, to his delight, became an advisor on military defence.

  With his not inconsiderable knowledge gleaned from his early studies, and life spent in countries from Asia to Scandinavia, Polonius knew more than any of the Varangians about the science of combat, although he was the first to admit that he was no fan of war, nor even very personally proficient in its practise. Amongst many other things, he was able to describe a marching camp as built by the ancient Romans; one which, with a minimum of time, was all but impervious even to siege weapons.

  "Jarl Rurik, in the days of the Caesars of Rome, it was the practise for each soldier to carry a stake and shovel. When the site was chosen at the end of each day's march, each legionary would go to his assigned position, and, before nightfall, they would throw up an earthen palisade, surrounded, of course, by the dry moat which is where they got the dirt. Logs would be collected to help support the structure, but each soldier was responsible for transporting and placing a sharpened stake at the summit of the palisade. Within this square, tents, or, if longer term, cabins, would be set up. When well constructed, the walls were proof against battering rams, fire darts, and catapults. The fort itself was cheap, effective, and absolutely proof against cavalry attacks. For your purposes, my jarl, can there be a more effective fortification?"

  Polonius spent many more hours discussing the merits of various military tactics against mounted horsemen. The Rus relied on their impenetrable skjaldborg to break any charge or defend against archers. How to train the rapidly growing bodies of native Slav levies was the big problem, though each Rus overlord applied his favourite idea. As massed spearmen or swordsmen the Slavs were a disaster, for the Vikings were trained from childhood for the skjaldborg. At the sight of a massed cavalry charge, the native levies would never stand true, not because of a lack of bravery, but, it simply seemed to them inconceivable that they could stand against the thundering tons of horseflesh. Also, they had a deep-seated fear of the savage horsemen that the Vikings lacked.

  Polonius explained the use of the ancient military phalanx, where even relatively raw recruits could, with their twenty-foot lances, hold fast against anything that moved. He explained how Alexander the Great's phalanxes had conquered most of the known world, and he also explained their fatal flaw; the discovery of which had caused the Roman star to rise and the Macedonian one to wane.

  Of more promise appeared to be the bow, sling and pike; the last a weapon which was unfamiliar to the Rus, but one which Polonius had seen put to effective use on his travels.

  The sling was rapidly discarded, as it was obvious when they tried some that the fantastic skill Polonius had seen demonstrated by Byzantine auxiliaries was due to many years of constant practise. The hunting bow, however, was something the native tribes knew, and they were reasonably adept at using it.

  After Polonius had a blacksmith make up some pikes, and demonstrated their use on cavalry. Rurik waxed enthusiastic. He ordered many more to be made. Their hooks allowed warriors to reach out from the safety of their ranks and pull a mounted rider off his horse. They made the match between infantry and cavalry a little bit more even.

  CHAPTER 17.

  They Establish a Trading factory.

  While the three companions were anxious to press on further into such a vast and mysterious land, they realized that the first priority now was a solid base. A strong Rus colony on the river would provide both a refuge and a base for operations. It would go a long way to help ensure control of the river trade. Polonius swallowed his eagerness to see his homeland again, and contented himself with regaling Phillip and Ambrose with the glories of the Byzantine civilization.

  They laboured hard on setting up first joint defences for the entire town, and then a trading factory for the House of Gunnar. Although the Deerhound and several smaller vessels belonging to Gunnar travelled both up and downriver, scouting out trading prospects and buying and selling goods, the three companions remained at Novgorod.

  Almost before the colonists were aware of it, brilliant foliage heralded a change in seasons. The short, hot summer ended suddenly, and frost could be found on the ground at dawn. Secure in their new log home, with a massive stone fireplace and a copious supply of wood, Ambrose, Phillip, and Polonius yet appeared to be trapped for the winter. Forced idleness, now that the post and warehouse was established and a factor appointed, encouraged the three of them to leave the isolated island settlement and ride forth into the valley-lands that had so recently become Varangian fiefs.

  Near the time of the autumn equinox, the three of them left Novgorod on a journey to the domain of Bothi; distant relative of Gunnar, whom Ambrose had had dealings with and found most friendly. Son of a petty jarl, he had been elected as one of the ship captains at the start of the expedition. He and his crew were now ensconced on river-side territory about a day's journey south of Novgorod, in an agricultural settlement which had formerly belonged to Slav tribesmen hostile to Novgorod.

  The land was largely forest, with a f
air number of small hamlets and fields carved out of the wilderness. The primitive settlements provided subsistence living for the Slav inhabitants. The peasants had grudgingly surrendered to the giant blond warriors who had so suddenly arrived simultaneously by both land and water. Those who had refused to swear allegiance were savagely cut down while their families were captured for export to the Byzantine slave market.

  The trio followed the river as best they could, as they knew that Bothi's holdings were near the great river. For all three of them, it was a pleasant treat to ride horses again, for they were landsmen, and preferred the horse to the wooden steeds of the Vikings.

  As Phillip turned a bend in the narrow forest trail, an arrow struck him, hitting him obliquely in his chest. Although his chain-mail jerkin broke the main thrust of the shaft, the long narrow point was able to force itself part-way into his chest.

  Almost simultaneously, Ambrose and Polonius ducked low, lifted their shields, and spurred their horses forward at a gallop. Passing Phillip on either side and stampeding through the undergrowth, they suddenly realized that no foe stood on the trail to challenge them. While the two hesitated, a second shaft struck against Polonius' shield, embedding itself firmly.

  This time Polonius' eye caught a flash of movement. In a single smooth motion, his hand slid to his belt and launched one of his throwing knives into the leaves overhead. With a cry of pain, a dark-visaged Slav, clad in ragged animal hide, fell to the ground. The knife was embedded in his leg. Even so, and battered from the fall, he scrabbled for his belt, where hung a woodsman's axe. He attempted to draw it as he staggered to his feet. Polonius called out in Slavic, even as the steel point of Ambrose's boar spear pinned the man against a tree.