Wræcca

by C. R. May

  Heardred grinned, his teeth shining as they reflected the lights from the shore.

  “Die a hero’s death or spend the rest of my life like those poor Jute bastards we sold. It’s not much of a choice is it? I choose death.”

  Beowulf smiled and turned to the men.

  “It seems that we are expected. This was always a possibility and we discussed what we would do if it came to pass. Anyone who has had second thoughts can leave the ship now and swim ashore. To those who choose to remain with myself and Heardred, I will pour your ale in Valhall tonight.”

  To their surprise the Swedes drew back from the water’s edge as the Raven approached and reformed their shield wall fifty paces back. Hefting his shield Beowulf leapt from the prow of the ship and advanced, his experienced eyes automatically searching for a good defensive position. Ahead of him two ships had been drawn up fifteen paces apart. It was ideal.

  A shield wall, two men deep with five men in each ship to cover our flanks

  He paced forward to the centre of his chosen position. To his rear he could hear the rest of his men pouring from the Raven. None had chosen captivity over death. He would have been surprised if they had. Gunner appeared at his right shoulder, his shield overlapping with a clatter. Cola and Finn took up positions to his left. He stole a glance over to his right. Heardred and his men were several paces along with Tatwine just attaching himself to the vulnerable position at the end of the line. A quick look to his left confirmed that Sighere had reached the matching position on the left. These were amongst the most important positions in any shield wall. Once a line began to give way and fold back on itself gaps opened and the end usually followed quickly. It always paid to position two of your best warriors there. Others were following his orders and scrambling onto the ships. Although fewer in number they would have the advantage of height over any attackers and the solid oak wall of the hulls as protection. It would be a tough position to storm.

  A horse snickered, drawing his attention back to his front. The Swedish ranks moved apart as several horsemen made their way slowly to the front.

  Beowulf smiled despite his desperate situation as he recognised them. Leaving the relative safety of the shield wall he walked forward and addressed the leading rider.

  “I have to apologise to you Lord Ohthere. It seems that I will not be able to fulfil the promise I made to you at Sorrow Hill.”

  The Swedish ætheling returned the smile.

  “I confess that would disappoint me. Yet you still live and breathe. Maybe the gods have further use for you?”

  “That seems unlikely. We will leave here together as free men or we will die here as warriors. My own fate and that of my men are inseparable.”

  He nodded at the armoured warrior to Ohthere’s left.

  “It seems that you may get your wish after all, Troll. I shall be the one in the centre of the line. Make sure that you find me, I have a new sword I wish to use, a Roman gladius. I want to see if it can penetrate that roll of fat around your belly!”

  The large warrior smiled and inclined his head. They had last spoken before the battle at the river earlier in the summer. Beowulf had insultingly called him the Troll Lord then and when he had been asked his name he had replied, ‘Beowulf’s Killer’.

  With a last nod to Ohthere Beowulf turned and regained his position at the centre of the Geat wall.

  Still the Swedes made no move against them.

  “Keep an eye out behind us in case those on the ships have more stomach for a fight than those to our front!”

  An unseen warrior to his right began to rhythmically beat the pommel of his sword against the rear of his shield. Within moments the whole of the Geat shield wall had joined him chanting.

  Geats...Geats...Geats...Geats

  The battle fury was upon them. If the Swedes did not attack very soon he would lead his men in a swine head attack on them. He took three paces forward and prepared to charge. If they were this timid there was a small chance that they would be able to break their line and reach the stables beyond. He intended to die here but some of his men may have a chance to escape and rejoin the army in the west.

  Now what?

  Three further riders slowly rode into the open ground between the Geats and their fiend from the right. The leading rider, the tallest of the three, slowly dismounted and handed his reins to his companion. Bravely turning his back on the electrified Geat shield wall the warrior removed his grim helm and tossed it to one of his men.

  He turned and smiled at them. The Geats looked stunned as their war cry petered out and their sword arms dropped to their sides.

  They watched in disbelief as the warrior walked to Beowulf and embraced him.

  The Swedes were smiling and laughing.

  Beowulf’s thoughts swam as his mind scrabbled to form a coherent sentence. Finally he had to admit that it was beyond him. He gasped the only word which would come to him;

  “Father?”

  5

  “Were you really about to lead a charge against them, lord?” Beowulf smiled thinly and nodded to his companion. He had known Bjalki, his father’s leading hearth warrior his whole life as he had the man who rode beside him, Orme. His father had already ridden ahead of them with Ohthere, the Swedish ætheling, sometime previously. They would speak later at the hall.

  “What else could I do? You saw how the battle fury had gripped the men. I thought that we stood every chance of breaking the Swedish shield wall and either punching through to their horses at the rear or making the stables. At least some of us would have been able to escape back to our army in the west.”

  Beowulf noticed an uncomfortable look pass between Bjalki and Orme as he had explained his plan. The world was clearly not as he had expected to find it, even allowing for the presence of his father and his leading warriors. He had the same uncomfortable feeling which Hudda had described to him on the Griffon before the battle with the Jutes. Clearly many things had happened which he was unaware of. He would find out later. His father had told them he would address them all after they had eaten at the hall which the Swedes had provided for him.

  They had left Sigtun shortly after their confrontation at the waterfront. Horses had been provided for them and Ohthere had, in a conspicuous act of trust, taken his forces and along with Beowulf's father Ecgtheow, returned to Uppsala. It had been a master stroke of tact on his part. It had clearly illustrated to Beowulf, Heardred and their men that they were now regarded as trusted allies and in no way prisoners.

  They had followed the road which led northwards from the Sigtun peninsula as the first light of dawn broke on the eastern horizon. Almost immediately they had been plunged back into the gloom as they entered a large forest. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of the dark waters of the river which had borne them there to their left.

  An owl, huge and white, ghosted across their path before alighting on the stump of a large dead oak. It was clearly a sign and he wished that he knew how to interpret it. Kaija would know. She would laugh and call him an oafish warrior before enlightening him as to its meaning. The seeress was safely in the temple on the Hill of Goats in Miklaborg and he was apparently an honoured guest of their greatest enemy. His world had suddenly become a confusing place.

  Soon they left the forest and emerged onto a wide, sunlit plain. The road ahead of them ran as straight as any spear shaft, directly to the distant town of Uppsala. In the distance Beowulf could just make out the column of Swedes led by Ohthere and Ecgtheow as the strong morning sunlight danced and flashed on their arms and armour. It was a good road, wide and well maintained. White boulders marched alongside it, marking out the boundary between the king’s highway and the marshy ground which lay to either side.

  They would have been helpful in the dark!

  Although it had been some time now since the appearance of his father before them at Sigtun he still felt bemused at the turn of events. He had thought of little else for the previous month other than the journey to,
and attack upon, the town which now lay before him. He should have already returned along this road after the attack on Uppsala and been rowing frantically away from the burning remains of Sigtun. Instead he found himself about to be entertained as an ally in the very town whose destruction he had until, that morning, so eagerly anticipated.

  The traffic on the road grew heavier as they approached the town. Carts laden with fresh produce for the markets moved respectfully aside as the group of warriors approached. Still in their battle gear from the aborted raid, the Geats looked an imposing sight.

  A group of warriors ushered aside the farmers and merchants assembling at the entrance to the town, holding them back with the shafts of their spears as the Geats swept on into the town itself.

  The main town of the Swedes was much like any other town he had been in. Dark, dirty and crowded. Uppsala also had the smell of any other town he had visited, unwashed humanity mixed with animals and their shit. The thing which set Uppsala apart from other towns he had visited, apart from its sheer size, lay ahead of them at the far end of the road.

  As they slowly approached the northern part of the town their eyes were drawn upwards to the great temple which dominated the skyline. Set on a shallow sided plateau, from the centre of the temple complex a wooden tower climbed through a series of steep sided roofs until it soared, majestically, above the treetops of the surrounding grove. From each gable a magnificently carved beast head craned its neck skyward. As Beowulf’s eyes were drawn upward towards the top of the tower he gasped as the morning sun reflected from a heavy chain which enclosed the building.

  “Is that solid gold?”

  “It is,” Bjalki replied, “isn’t it magnificent! You wait until you see inside the temple. It is a wonder of the northern lands.”

  They picked their way closer to the royal heart of Uppsala. Emerging from the confines of the old town Beowulf found himself on a wide plain. Ahead lay the temple, framed by the large grove and an enormous tree, the likes of which he had never seen before.

  “What type of tree is that Bjalki? We don’t seem to have those in Geatland.”

  “Nobody knows lord, not even the Swedes. It looks a bit like a cross between an oak and a willow but it never loses its leaves, not even during the hardest winter. It is the sacred tree of the Swedes. At its base lies a spring which they say leads down to the hall of Hel herself!”

  Beyond the tree he could see their obvious destination, a group of high status halls and buildings, and to the left of these a low ridge swept a welcoming arm towards them, along which the outlines of several large burial mounds dominated the skyline.

  Heardred moved beside them.

  “It’s an impressive place. Is that gold?”

  Assured that it was, he continued.

  “We should have rushed them when we had the chance. That could have been on the Raven by now and we could have been half way to the sea.”

  The column of horses made their way slowly past the temple grounds. The closer they had ridden to the tower at its centre the more overawed the Geats had become. The mere idea of a free standing building which rose higher than the surrounding forest was a fantastic one to each and every one of them.

  “They insist that it was made by men but it must be the work of giants, lord.” Orme breathed reverently as they entered the shadow of the building. Beowulf looked back along the column. To a man they were craning their necks in wonder at the magnificent temple.

  Unlike their own small temple on the Hill of Goats, the temple at Uppsala was far more accessible to the people of the town. A simple low fence marked the boundary of the temple complex made from small living trees which had been scored, bent down and woven together. It was a common way to make fences in the countryside at home and all of the men were familiar with it. It lent the temple a welcoming air which had been entirely absent from the Geat temple.

  The whole building had been made of oak which had aged and weathered to a pale silvery-grey. A gentle mist curled up from the many roofs as the warmth of the morning sun dried the dew from the old timbers. At ground level the tower was skirted by a large building which obviously contained the altar and living quarters for the godi, the Swedish holy men.

  Unlike the Geats the Swedes had large numbers of male priests which were known as godi when attached to a temple and wizards if they were free roaming.

  “Do they have any holy women in Swede Land, Bjalki?”

  “Not that I have seen so far, lord. Mind you we have only been here a short time. I agree with your father. The gods are best left alone if you can help it, although I understand that you might think otherwise!”

  He was referring to the volva, Kaija, who Beowulf had grown attached to at Miklaborg. He had escorted her on a trip to Skovde, the capital of the Bronding kingdom, and they had been the first to discover the Swedish raid which had led to the fighting at Sorrow Hill.

  Beyond the temple the road continued on to the group of buildings which obviously housed the Swedish Royals and their guests and retainers. Directly ahead lay the hall of King Ongentheow. Constructed atop a small rise in the land similar to the nearby temple, the hall of the king of the Swedes was a match for it in splendour.

  Whereas the temple had been built to honour the gods and therefore climbed loftily towards their home beyond the rainbow bridge in Asgard, the seat of the Shylfings, the Swedish royal house, was concerned with more practical matters of power.

  Although carved and mounted with writhing worms and beasts in the manner familiar to all royal halls, the hall of the Shylfings was constructed of massive oak posts, the largest Beowulf had ever seen. The Geats reined in their mounts. They were impressed by the power of the Swedes just as the makers of the hall had intended visitors to be.

  “They brought the posts all the way from the land of the Wends in the south. They say that the oak forests there stretch for hundreds of miles. Some of the trees are as old as middle earth itself!”

  Beowulf nodded and spurred on his horse. He knew that, although they were unescorted, their every movement must be being watched by unseen eyes. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how impressed they all were by the sights of Uppsala.

  “That is the hall which we have been provided with by the king.”

  Bjalki indicated a building off to their right just as Ecgtheow emerged from the building to welcome his son and countrymen.

  As they entered the courtyard which stood before the building, dozens of thralls appeared to return their mounts to the stables.

  Dismounting, the Geats approached the hall. Beowulf began to remove his swords and looked for the steward to hand them to. It was the custom everywhere that only a small knife for eating was allowed into a hall. Ale and boastful warriors were sometimes a dangerous mixture and it was a wise precaution that any serious weapons were kept elsewhere.

  “No, keep your weapons,” Ecgtheow called from the entrance to the hall. “I want you all to feel safe. A lot has happened to you all today and I want you to feel as comfortable as possible when I explain what has happened to us all over the last few weeks.”

  Beowulf sheathed his sword and followed his father into the hall. The carcass of a boar glistened as it was turned slowly over the central hearth. The smell of the roasting meat reminded them that most of them had not eaten a warm meal since they had left the bay where they had killed the fishermen two days previously. Ecgtheow indicated that Beowulf and his cousin Heardred seat themselves at the top table as the rest of the men filed in and took their places at the side benches which lined the hall.

  The doors were closed behind them by Bjalki and Orme and Beowulf’s father paced the centre of the hall as they settled at their places. When they were finally still he smiled and began.

  “Before I explain to you all about the events of the past few weeks and your part in them I want to say that I have never been as proud of my folk as I was this morning at the river front. We have all heard of the tales of the great warri
ors of the past and of how they scorned death. Your stand, against impossible odds and facing certain death this morning was worthy of a saga to stand alongside Sigurd!”

  Sigurd the Volsung was the legendary hero of which they had all heard since their childhoods. To be compared with him was the highest praise.

  “If all of our people were of the same quality as those which I see before me now I would not have to share with you all the news that you have all been betrayed.”

  Ecgtheow waited until the murmurs from the warriors faded before continuing.

  “You were all sent here by the man who calls himself king, my kinsman I am ashamed to say, Hythcyn, to die at the hands of the Swedes.”

  Ecgtheow waited until the ensuing uproar abated enough for him to continue.

  “There has been no Geat invasion of the Swedish lands in the West it has all been a ruse to eliminate the members of his family who might oppose his rule, principally Hygelac and his son Heardred,” he indicated the outraged Heardred who sat to one side of Beowulf, “but also myself and my son, Beowulf.”

  The warriors exploded with indignant rage. Beowulf and Heardred made to move from their places to Ecgtheow’s side as some of the Geat warriors began to rise and draw their swords at the statement. Ecgtheow motioned them to stay in their places.

  “It is right that you should be outraged, as I was when I found out what plans Hythcyn had made for myself and my family. I would expect no other reaction from a group of men with a code of honour such as I see before me. I understand that, being a Waegmunding, some of you know little of me. Perhaps if the words came from a lord you are more familiar with they would be easier to accept?”

  The warriors quietened as they waited to see what other surprises the day held in store for them. They had yet to eat breakfast and it seemed to some that they had experienced more so far that day than most men experienced in a year.

  Facing down the centre of the hall Beowulf and Heardred were the first of the assembled warriors to see the man who had entered through the main door. Truly this was the beginning of a day which they would remember for the rest of their lives.