Wræcca

by C. R. May

  Beowulf noticed that his own warriors had gone quiet at the sight of this death dealing apparition before them.

  “You see that axe man?” he called. “He is living his last moments on middle earth. Take a good look. No man will ever set eyes on him again after the next few moments.”

  It was not his best battle speech but it would have to do. He had an idea, a simple one, but if it worked as he expected it to it would smash the Jute shield wall ahead of them wide open. He twisted and called back along the ship.

  “Tiny!”

  The huge sailor pushed his way through the crowd of warriors now assembled in the prow of the Griffon.

  “Lord?”

  “This is what I want you to do.”

  The Griffon shot through the sea as the crew redoubled their efforts at the oars, a thunderbolt aimed straight between the prows of the nearest Jutish ships. Beowulf was dimly aware of the scraping crash as Botulf’s ship hit the Jutish formation to his right.

  “Ready boys, fast and hard. Keep them on the back foot and we will sweep them from the sea.”

  Beowulf glanced down at Tiny, crouched beside him.

  They were as prepared as they would ever be.

  He heft his shield in front of his body and gripped his sword tightly in his right hand. If his armour and bearing were not enough to mark him out as a lord, the quality of his shield would make it obvious to even the dimmest that here stood a leading Geat warrior, if not a member of the royal family itself.

  Ten yards.

  He raised his left leg and braced his foot against the top of the wale, ready to spring forward as the ships met. The axe man flicked a glance down from his shield to his exposed knee and made a slight adjustment as he took a mighty swing.

  Yes, that’s right you dumb bastard take my knee off!

  The axe tore the air, arrow fast, accompanied by a roar as the warrior channelled all of his strength into the first, decisive blow.

  “Now, Tiny!”

  Beowulf snatched back his knee with barely inches to spare between it and the terrible blade. Tiny lunged forward and hooked the Jute behind the neck with the billhook. Seven feet long and topped by a wickedly curved blade, the billhook bit deep into the neck of the enemy warrior. With a grunt Tiny tugged at the billhook with all of his considerable strength.

  With all of his weight already concentrated forward on his first strike the man stood no chance. Beowulf just had time to catch a glimpse of the look of shock and horror as the Jute shot, head first, past him to land with a mighty splash between the ships. He allowed himself a quick glance down but the man had already disappeared beneath the surface. Weighed down by his armour he had stood little chance.

  “Geats, with me!”

  Beowulf leapt onto the now empty prow of the enemy vessel as the Griffon ploughed between the nearest two ships and wedged itself tightly. He almost laughed as he saw the looks of bewilderment on the faces of the Jute warriors as he suddenly appeared before them. Moments ago they had been yelling their battle cries as their champion prepared to deal out death to the approaching Geats. In an instant their man had disappeared and been replaced by a snarling, triumphant, Geatish lord.

  Beowulf saw them take an involuntary step backwards as their minds scrambled to adjust to the new situation.

  He must strike now before they had time to recover.

  With a great roar he launched himself at the Jutish shield wall. His great size and strength crashed into the line of shields and spears, tearing it apart and driving deep into its ranks. Surrounded now by enemies he knew that he needed to keep the forward momentum going. If he allowed them to slow or even halt his progress he would be in serious danger of being overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers before help could arrive.

  With a great heave he drove his shield into the enemy ranks, freeing a small space between it and his body. It was enough. His right arm flashed across his body and drove the hard metal pommel of his sword into the side of the head of the Jute beside him. Beowulf heard the crack made by the warrior's breaking skull even above the clamour which surrounded him. The man dropped instantly from sight.

  Beowulf continued to sweep the sword around in a wicked slashing motion, clearing his right hand side of enemies as they fell back before his onslaught. A face appeared to his front and his sword drove forward to take it just beneath the chin. Choking, the victim fell to his knees as his hands rose to clasp the bloody wound. Beowulf kicked the crouching man viciously in the chest and advanced over his writhing body.

  I must keep moving.

  He shoved again at his shield but the enemy line was beginning to break. He could see several of them casting glances to the rear. It was always the first sign.

  Why are the others not regrouping?

  He risked a glance to his right to see why the enemy were holding back and not attacking his more vulnerable side and became aware of a man there for the first time. A shield clattered as it overlapped his and a sword flashed out at the enemy.

  “Save some for us, lord!” Gunnar called above the din.

  Beowulf was confused for a moment.

  He had been so deep in the grip of his battle fury that he had completely forgotten that he was not alone. Within moments Cola had arrived and formed up to his left, followed closely by Finn and the other warriors.

  Ahead of them the Jutes were in disorganised retreat. A few had turned their backs and were hurdling the rowing positions to get away but most were still trying to keep the semblance of a shield wall and face their enemy. Unfortunately for them a ship is not the best place to fall back and keep order. Despite their best efforts men were stumbling and falling over oars and rowing benches as they shuffled backwards, away from the scything Geat blades.

  “Keep at them!”

  With a cry he surged forward once again. This time he was not alone and this time the Jutish shield wall broke for good. Already stretched thinly across the widest part of the ship and with their numbers reduced by casualties and desertions the remaining warriors were submerged under a Geatish tide.

  A Jute lay splayed on the deck before him. Beowulf drove his sword into the man’s neck and moved forward. Another raised a sword against him as he approached. In a flash his own sword came up and took the arm off at the elbow. To his left he saw Finn behead a man with one clean upward stroke and move on.

  Nice work, you’ll do!

  Cola moved forward and hit a warrior full in the face with his shield boss. The man was sent flying backwards as if he had been kicked by a horse as a jet of blood burst forth from his shattered nose.

  And then suddenly it was over.

  Beowulf looked up as the last of the Jutes scrambled and leapt over the stern of the ship to the safety of the ship to their rear.

  “Chase them off lads, I want a look around.”

  As the others took possession of the captured ship, Beowulf swung himself up and stood on the cross trees amidships. Looking over to his left and right he could see that the Geats were winning ground everywhere as the Jutes fell back in confusion.

  Ahead he could see a forest of masts as Heardred’s ships bore down on the rear of the Jutish fighting platform. He estimated that there was just time enough to treat with the enemy leader before Heardred arrived and completed the rout.

  The enemy were in an impossible position and he was eager to be away. He hoped that he could finish the business quickly without incurring any further losses. The day was clearly theirs. He would offer generous terms which no sane leader could possibly reject to secure a speedy surrender.

  The Jute curled his lip into a snarl of contempt. “Go and play with yourself boy.”

  Beowulf held a hand out to calm Cola and Tiny. He had chosen them to accompany him to the meeting with the Jute leader in an effort to overawe him. Apart from himself, they were possibly the largest warriors in the Geat fleet and the three of them looked formidable in their blood stained battle gear. Clearly it hadn’t worked.

  “Brave wor
ds old man. It is a pity that your warriors fought like women otherwise you would be dictating the conditions of surrender to me.”

  Beowulf watched as the old warriors eyes narrowed at the insult. He watched as the muscles in his jaw pulsated as he fought to contain the reply which he obviously wanted to make. For all of his bluster it was a tell-tale sign that the man was aware that he had been defeated and lay at the mercy of the ‘boy’ who stood before him. Beowulf lowered his voice and calmly continued.

  “I suggest that you cut the shit and deal with me. We have very little time before my kinsman arrives with the rest of the fleet and begins to attack your rear. Unless I appear before them and stop their attack you will be annihilated I promise you, down to the last man and boy.”

  Beowulf recognised the moment when the spirit of defiance left the older man and was replaced by sadness and resignation.

  “Shall we try again, lord,” he said respectfully.

  “My name is Beowulf Ecgtheowson. I am a grandchild of the old King Hrethel and nephew to King Hythcyn. I am Woden born and I have the honour to command the Geatish fleet.”

  The enemy leader took a breath and regained his composure. Drawing himself up to his considerable height he replied.

  “I am Hunwald, son of Horsa and nephew to Hengest the Great and I fear that I have outlived my usefulness to my people. What terms do you offer for my surrender, Beowulf Ecgtheowson?”

  “I offer you and your men your lives. I will take your weapons, armour, ships and anything else which may catch the eye of my men. The injured men will be returned to Jute Land and the able will be taken and sold at the great slave market at Novgorod, save those of means who will be held for ransom.”

  Hunwald smiled sadly.

  “They are generous terms, better than I would have offered you. I will accept them for my men, if that is what they are, on one condition.”

  The small boat scrunched against the shingle as it grounded itself on the tiny island. Gunnar jumped into the surf and held the boat steady as the others disembarked. The essential supplies, half a dozen barrels of ale and mead, fresh cheese and bread and a whole side of boar were unloaded by Cola and Finn while Gunnar went off to collect driftwood for the fire.

  Soon the flames were roaring. Once they had died down the men would spit and roast the boar. Until that time they broke open the first cask of ale and toasted one another. Beowulf began;

  “To Hunwald. A short but happy life!”

  Hunwald joined in the laughter as Beowulf and Heardred raised their horns to him before Beowulf continued. “And to Heardred whose look of shock gave me so much enjoyment today!”

  Earlier Beowulf had made his way to the stern of the Jute ship nearest to the Raven as she prepared to lay herself alongside. As Heardred had wound his body up, ready to leap aboard and deal death to all those within reach, Beowulf had appeared and called out that the Jutes had already surrendered. The look of surprise on Heardred’s face had caused him to break into laughter every time he had thought of it ever since.

  “To Hunwald. The best of enemies!” Heardred called as they once again raised their horns.

  Hunwald emptied his horn and refilled it from the cask as he pondered his reply.

  “To Heardred and especially Beowulf for the favour they have granted to me this day. Enjoy your youth while it lasts and then join me at the bench in valhall!”

  They drained their horns and turned as Gunnar approached them.

  “We are leaving now, lord, unless you have changed your mind?”

  He stooped and piled the last of the driftwood near the fire. Cola and Finn were already in the boat waiting to return to the Geat fleet which lay offshore.

  “Thank you Gunnar, but I think that we can survive one night on a deserted island surrounded by the fleet without your added protection. I will see you in the morning. You know the signal.”

  Gunnar nodded and made his way back to the boat. Shouldering it back into the surf he leapt aboard as Cola and Finn began to row away from shore.

  The three men watched as they pulled back to the Griffon with long, lazy strokes. The sun was about to set and the sky to the West was a blaze of crimson against which the ships of the fleet stood out as indistinct, charcoal black, shapes. Gulls cried and called above as scores of puffins darted amongst the ships, inches from the waves.

  Slowly the seals which Gunnar and Cola had chased off were beginning to return to the island. One particularly large one pulled itself laboriously onto the beach, snapping petulantly at any smaller ones which were too slow to move aside.

  “My wife will miss me when I don’t come home.” Hunwald sighed as they watched the progress of the bad tempered seal.

  They all looked to one another and laughed at his obvious comparison.

  “Of course, she had some qualities. And she was a good mother to the children!” he winked.

  The night was spent eating their fill and ensuring that all the casks were empty before the returning sunlight crept onto the eastern horizon. Hunwald kept the cousins entertained throughout the night recounting the events of his long lifetime. He had been ten winters old when his father, Horsa, had died in Gaul and had some memories of his uncle, Hengest, who had died several years earlier in battle against the Britons led by their great leader Ambrosius.

  “In truth the Britons could puff and blow all they liked,” he added. “The Jutish kingdom of Cent was well established and strong, they would never be removed. In any case where would they go? Many of them had been born there and had no ties left to the old country.”

  “I have already heard tales of your uncle, Hengest. Tell me more of your father.” Beowulf asked.

  “My poor father was a great warrior who had the misfortune to be born the younger brother of the greatest of them all,” Hunwald sighed.

  “They both led one of the first expeditions made by the Jutes to the land of the Britons. Their leader at the time was a man called Vortigern and he needed help against his enemies to the North. The Roman legions had left decades previously and the old tribal nations had begun to re establish themselves. This Vortigern ruled an area south of the great River Tamesas, the dark river, and their traditional enemies lay to the north of this. He settled Jutes on the great island in the Tamesas estuary, right at the tip of Cent, the island we call Thanet. From here they protected the border as far as Londinium.”

  “I heard tales of Londinium when I was in Anglia.” Heardred put in. “Did you ever go there?”

  “Go there? We had a house there! Londinium is a wonder of the world Heardred. It has walls of stone three miles long and twenty feet high with more than a score huge, fortified, bastions spaced along its length. With the collapse in trade brought about by all the fighting it was emptying of people pretty fast the last time I was there. It’s probably abandoned by now, not that I will ever see it again."

  Hunwald leaned forward and inhaled deeply. "Is that meat ready yet?” he sighed.

  Heardred poked his knife into the carcass and smiled delightedly as the juices run clear.

  “Looks like it. Any piece in particular, Hunwald?”

  “Yes, of course,” the big Jute grinned. “The biggest!”

  Hunwald continued his tales as he set about eating and drinking his fill. He told tales of his father fighting in Gaul alongside the great Roman commander, Aetius. Of the cataclysmic battle on the Catalaunian Plains where they had turned back Attila and his Hunnic hordes. His own battles in Britannia against Arthur and raiding against the Fris and in Franc land.

  Beowulf and Heardred sat enthralled at the tales of Hunwald and his family.

  “I have noticed you admiring ‘Gut Ripper’, Beowulf.” Hunwald suddenly declared.

  He was referring to the short stabbing sword which hung at his waist. Withdrawing the weapon he handed it across to Beowulf.

  “It is my gift to you for allowing me to choose the manner of my death. I would be honoured if you would accept it.”

  Beowulf took
the proffered sword hilt and admired the beauty of the weapon. It had a short, heavy blade, roughly the distance from a man’s elbow to his outstretched finger tips in length. The razor sharp, parallel sides, tapered abruptly into a vicious tip.

  “It is a Roman sword called a gladius. It is made for close order work and punches through mail like a knife through cheese. Aetius gave it to my father Horsa after the Hun campaign and he handed it down to me. The grip is made of ivory from a giant called ‘Elephant’ I am told, maybe it was one of his teeth?”

  Beowulf smiled.

  “An elephant is the name of a huge animal which lives far to the East. I saw a picture of one on a pot once. My foster father Hygelac, Heardred’s father, bought one from a trader as part of his daughter Astrid’s dowry. It has huge tusks of ivory, a bit like a giant boar.”

  Hunwald laughed.

  “Well, I suppose that counts as a giant. I was told that it was made for a Roman Emperor long ago or are you going to tell me that was a children’s story too?”

  Beowulf turned the sword over in his hands. It really was exquisite workmanship. The ivory handle had been fashioned into a series of ridges which provided just the right purchase for the user’s hand. This was flanked by a guard and pommel of solid, undecorated gold. The whole impression given by the sword was one of solidity and power.

  “It is a noble gift Hunwald but I cannot accept it. I will see that it finds its way to your eldest son. That is where it belongs.”

  Hunwald smiled sadly.

  “The gods only allowed one of my sons to survive into adulthood. He was killed fighting you. Perhaps you saw him? He would have been in the place of honour at the prow of his ship, he always favoured the long axe.”

  Beowulf and Heardred exchanged a quick glance. Beowulf had told him of the foolish Jute with the axe at the start of the battle and of how Tiny had tipped him straight into the sea before he could land a single blow.