by C. R. May
“I had a duty of care to your father and Alfhelm and I have failed in that duty. Please accept my apologies Beowulf. I should never have left them so close to their enemies, the fault is all mine. Let me try to atone for my failing.”
A commotion from the southern corner of the clearing told them that the remaining thegn from the South had returned with his men.
Ongentheow nodded grimly.
“That is it then. Tell them to quickly refresh themselves and their horses, we leave immediately. We will pick up the remaining men on the road north as you anticipated. Make sure that the men carry throwing spears and Francisca throwing axes. Mount up, let’s go!”
Beowulf and Kormak hurried across to their men and leapt onto their horses, grinning widely. Ongentheow’s confidence and enthusiasm were inspiring and Beowulf felt humbled by the instinctive reactions of the man. It was clear that the cwen was in little danger but still the king was willing to risk his life against a superior force, attempting to save his father as a matter of honour.
“What’s up, lord?”
Gunnar was looking quizzically at Beowulf as they began to fall into line behind him.
Of course they still don’t know!
“Hythcyn has attacked the lodge at Ravenswood with five hundred men, after my father and Alfhelm. He doesn’t know that there are any Swedish forces in the area and we are going to attack him!”
Gunnar looked around at the few warriors hurriedly throwing themselves upon the horses scattered about the clearing.
“Just the five hundred, lord,” he sniffed. “No problem.”
14
A short while after they had left Lionga a lone rider hove into view on the road ahead. They watched apprehensively as he reined in his mount at the edge of the forest and studied their column.
Shit. If that is one of Hythcyn’s scouts we are dead men!
They watched as he shielded his eyes against the late afternoon sun and studied them closely. If it was a scout for Hythcyn’s force he would wheel about any moment now and disappear back into the shadows of the forest taking the news of their presence with him. Beowulf bit his lower lip as he waited for the man to make his move. Their lives very likely hung by a thread.
Amund guided his horse to one side of the column and waved energetically at the lone horseman. To their intense relief they watched as the rider dug in his heels and galloped down the road towards them in a cloud of dust. Beowulf and Kormak left their men and rode together to the head of the column and reined in alongside the king and Amund.
The rider slew to a halt in front of them, the foam flecked flanks of his horse testifying to his mad dash south. King Ongentheow immediately questioned the surprised warrior, tossing him a skin of water to help clear his throat.
“Make your report!”
The man cheekily held up one finger as he swilled the water around his mouth and spat it out onto the roadway. Ongentheow gasped in surprise at the young warrior’s impudence before sarcastically instructing the youthful warrior.
“When you are ready of course!”
The warrior before them could not have been more than sixteen winters old Beowulf decided as he assessed the man. His long red hair was plaited to the rear revealing a delicate face which must have, allied to his cocksure nature, sent many a girl’s heart fluttering in the halls of Lionga and beyond.
“There are five hundred and twenty Geats and Brondings in and around the hall at Ravenswood, lord!” he finally announced confidently.
“Be more exact. How are they disposed!” Ongentheow snapped.
Beowulf smiled to himself as he watched some of the young warriors self confidence start to evaporate.
“There are one hundred men in and around the lodge buildings, and a further four hundred spread all over the field and roadway which leads south. This roadway, lord.”
“And the remaining twenty?”
“Lord?”
“You reported that there were five hundred and twenty enemy warriors. You have described the location of only five hundred. Which figure is correct?” Ongentheow demanded.
The young man was now completely flustered and Beowulf and Kormak were struggling to keep a straight face as his self assurance, seemingly so unshakable only moments before, crumbled under the questioning of his king. Suddenly he seemed to remember the answer.
“There are twenty men guarding the horses to the rear of the lodge, lord!”
Ongentheow nodded, satisfied at last.
“You were not seen?”
“No, lord. I kept to the old deer track, in the trees to the east of the buildings. They would not have seen me in the gloom, I am certain.”
“Thank You. Well done, you can rejoin your brothers now.”
Amund glowered at the young warrior as he trotted past his lord and fell in amongst his hearth warriors. From the looks of the smiles and comments as he approached he was clearly a popular member of the jarl’s war band.
Ongentheow turned to Amund and smiled. He had clearly enjoyed the exchange with the brash youngster.
“Where did you find that cocky little sod?”
Amund smiled sheepishly.
“He was in our crib one morning, lord. Blame his mother, not me!” They all laughed at the jarl’s discomfort.
“Well, let us hope that he is still as cheery tonight. Amund call your thegns together I wish to outline our plan of attack.”
The warriors immediately snapped back to attention and Amund called his thegns to him.
Once again Beowulf was struck by the ability of warriors to switch their mood instantly from one of apparent carefree jollity to that of cold blooded killers. They waited, stern faced, for Amund’s leading men to join them at the head of the column. As the last of them arrived Ongentheow began his address.
“I am sorry that I have not had time to get to know you all. What I do know is that only the best men get to be thegns of Jarl Amund and that only the best warriors serve under those thegns. We will be outnumbered today but we have surprise and quality on our side. If we can get close enough to these ‘warriors’ without being seen we can hit them so hard that numbers will count for nothing. Pay close attention, this is my plan of attack.”
The Swedish warriors had dismounted some way to the rear and slowly led their horses forward to the start line. The thegns had taken up their positions earlier and their men moved forward to form the main line of the attack to either side of them. The roadway was about fifty paces wide here but it would open out as they approached the hunting lodge of Ravenswood which stood approximately half a mile ahead.
Beowulf stood with King Ongentheow, Jarl Amund, and Kormak ahead of the main forces waiting for the final scout to return and report on the enemy dispositions. They watched in silence as the man shuffled backwards on his belly from the low ridge before rising and running, bent double, back to their position. He was smiling, all was well.
“They’re still there, lord. I was a bit low down to count properly but the majority are clearly still milling around in the valley to our front. They have no idea that we are here!”
The group grinned as one as Ongentheow made a fist and slammed it into his palm.
“We have them!”
He looked at his leading warriors and gave the command.
“To your positions and mount up. Let’s show these people what we think of uninvited visitors.”
Beowulf took station behind King Ongentheow at the centre of the Swedish line and watched as Amund and Kormak loped across to take position on the wings.
They were to attack in a formation which was unfamiliar to him. The Swedes called it the ‘Bison’ and it was a method of attack which had proven devastating when used by mounted warriors against groups of disorganised men.
Kormak had explained it to Beowulf as they had moved north after the meeting with the thegns. They had kept to the sides of the road and walked their mounts to minimise the amount of dust they had created, arming themselves as they went. The
element of surprise was far more important than speed for the success of the king’s plan.
“As the Bison approaches the enemy it will appear to them as a simple charge. The king will lead the charge at the centre, surrounded by his hearth warriors, that’s you and your lads. As the head of the Bison hits the enemy the horns, that’s myself and Amund, will push forward on each flank and envelop them. Before they know what is happening they will be surrounded by mounted warriors hacking and slashing at them from all sides. The second and third ranks of the main force, the loins, power through and prevent the enemy from forming a defensive circle.”
He had flashed Beowulf a wicked grin.
“Goodnight!”
Beowulf had agreed with him, it sounded simple and deadly. He had tried to put out of his mind the fact that it would be some of his countrymen who were to be sent to their final rest that evening.
Beowulf mounted and took up his position immediately behind the king as his men nudged their mounts into their familiar fighting positions, Gunnar to the right, Cola to the left and Finn tucked in behind him should he fall.
King Ongentheow twisted in his saddle as he looked to the left and right one last time. All were in position, their eyes fixed on him. An enormous splash from behind him cut the tension momentarily as a horse emptied its bladder onto the roadway. It seemed to go for a very long time. Eventually the king called softly back to the squirming warrior.
“When your horse is ready I shall begin the attack.”
The owner of the offending animal smiled back at his king.
“He’s very sorry, lord. He says you know how it is. Once you start it’s very difficult to stop!”
A murmur came from the warriors in the Swedish line as they struggled to stifle a nervous laugh. Beowulf could sense that Ongentheow was suffering similarly beneath his grim helm. He could wait no longer.
King Ongentheow drew his sword and, kicking his mount on, yelled the battle cry of the Swedes.
For Frey, King and Folk!
With a roar the cry resounded along the line and rebounded from the tree line as the Bison surged forward.
The following moments were lost in a cacophony of sound as the Swedish mounts tore up the ground which separated them from their fiend. Cresting the small rise in the road which had concealed them from their foes until now they crashed along the valley with the force of a mountain beck in full flood.
The view from the other side was of course entirely different. A Geat prisoner later told Beowulf that they had seemed to rise suddenly from the very ground as if Hel herself had released her army of dead souls against them.
The ground shook as the Swedes thundered towards the horrified warriors spread haphazardly across the length and width of the valley before them. Beowulf edged his mount to one side slightly to improve his view ahead which had been obscured by the king and his horse.
Ahead of them the allied warriors were desperately snatching up their shields and weapons and running to form a makeshift shield wall. Beowulf felt a pang of regret. He could see that they stood little chance of organising an effective defence before the stampeding Swedish Bison was upon them. He hoped that none of his friends were scattered about the field before him.
He watched as the enemy warriors naturally ran to the centre of the line, where it was thickest.
What man would attempt to hold the flanks alone?
Any leaders on the field ahead had clearly not had time to impose discipline on the rabble which the allied army had become. It was now every man for himself.
Beowulf flicked a glance across to his right. Kormak had spotted the weakness in the enemy flanks and had already kicked his horse ahead of the Swedish line, deploying the Bison’s horn. He was sure that Amund would have reacted the same way to his left.
Beowulf looked back to his front. A few enemy shields were beginning to overlap and form a cohesive defence but it was far too late. At the last moment he saw a white face appear over the top of a shield, its mouth open in terror. A final cry from the king was the signal for the Swedish riders to unleash a deadly hail of francisca and angons at the disorganised enemy before them.
'Frey, King and Folk!'
With a crash which reverberated around the valley the Bison smashed into the allied line.
The snout formed by the king and Beowulf drove deep into the lines as they hacked and slashed at any body part which presented itself below them. Beowulf saw to his horror that king Ongentheow was in danger of becoming cut off from the rest of the Swedish troops. His charge had driven him deep inside the enemy ranks but the sheer crush of bodies surrounding him had caused him to lose momentum. If he was brought to a standstill he would be in grave danger.
“Gunnar, Cola, Finn with me!”
Cola forced his horse to his lord’s side and together they kicked and fought their way to guard the king’s left flank. He smiled at Ongentheow as he came alongside him and shouted above the din.
“One more push, lord and we are through!”
Beowulf was pleased to see that Finn had instinctively pushed up alongside Gunnar as the pair successfully warded off the spears and swords of the enemy on the far side. Bringing their shields around to their sides they formed a wedge and, kicking on desperately, they drove the king through the enemy position to safety.
Beowulf yelled in triumph as they broke through the enemy into the clear field beyond. Up ahead they could see scores of enemy warriors streaming back towards the safety of the palisade which encircled the smoking remains of the hunting lodge.
Turning back, his cry of victory caught in his throat, stillborn. An enemy warrior detached himself from the skirmish and levelled his heavy spear, his framea. Beowulf’s mouth opened to scream a warning but deep within him he knew that it was too late. Horrified, he watched helplessly as the point of the framea entered Finn’s back and, moments later, burst forth from his friend's chest.
Finn’s expression turned from elation to disbelief as he slowly looked down at the bloody tip which had appeared before him. He looked to Beowulf and his mouth opened and closed as if he was trying to speak to his lord but all that came were rivulets of blood which gushed down his chin. Beowulf watched in horror as his hearth warrior, the man who had saved his life during the swimming race with Breca, slid slowly from the saddle and slumped to the ground.
Cola let out a primordial scream of rage at the sight of his friend’s bloodied body. Leaping from his horse he picked up a large two handed battle axe from the ground and ran at the enemy. A circle of death appeared before the Englishman as he swung the axe before him, scything down any who stood in his way. The enemy warriors soon realised that Cola was aiming for the warrior who had slain Finn and they scrambled away from the man as if he carried a deadly plague.
Deathly pale, the warrior watched as his death approached. The man snatched up another framea from the ground and feebly tried to defend himself from the onrushing monster that Cola had become. Knocking the weapon contemptuously aside Cola screamed once more as he brought the axe down with all his strength onto the man's head.
The affect was terrifying. The axe blade crashed into the man’s skull and kept going until it left his body between his legs, burying itself in the ground. To the horror of all those watching the man was not yet dead. His eyes moved as he attempted to speak and it was some moments before gravity took effect and the parts of his body slid slowly apart and fell to the ground in a gory heap.
Cola began to tug the axe free from the ground, yelling his frustration as it refused to budge. If Cola’s attack had not satiated his desire to kill it seemed as though it had been enough to persuade the dead man’s horrified companions that the fight was over. Almost to a man they threw their weapons to the ground, sat down and raised their hands in the accepted form of surrender.
Beowulf watched, still in a state of shock at the events of the last few moments, as several of the enemy retched into the ground before them.
Beowulf dismounted and rus
hed over to Finn as Kormak and Amund arrived from either side with their forces to complete the encirclement. Beowulf called to Cola who was still staring madly at the terrified Geats.
“Cola!”
“Cola!”
Slowly Cola became aware of Beowulf’s voice. Turning, he stared, blankly, at his lord.
Beowulf indicated that he come quickly. Cola’s mind seemed to suddenly return to him as the vacant expression cleared. Hurrying over he knelt beside them. Beowulf cradled Finn’s head in his lap as Gunnar and Cola took their friend's hands. Gunnar looked up at Beowulf and they both read each other’s thoughts. Finn would soon be leaving their war band.
Beowulf closed Finn’s hand around the pommel of his sword and hoped that Woden would send his maidens, his wælcyrge, to escort his spirit to the hall of the slain. He had not been born to be a warrior he was the son of a humble fisherman. But when the chance had presented itself he had seized it with both hands and proven that ability and honour were not the exclusive preserve of those born to wealth and privilege.
Finn’s eyes flickered as he turned his head to Cola. Cola leaned forward to catch the words which his friend was whispering to him. He smiled tearfully and reached behind him to snatch up a discarded broken shield. Placing it before him he slowly peered above it pulling the ‘Hythcyn face’. Finn’s laughter caused him to choke and cough up more blood. He feebly beckoned Cola over with his blood stained finger. Cola lowered his head until his ear was almost touching Finn’s mouth. Finn spoke a few words, squeezed Beowulf’s hand and died.
Sadly they collected the body of their friend and slung him across his horse. King Ongentheow and Kormak had led the Swedish forces which had pursued the remnants of the enemy force back inside the palisade. Amund and his men had remained to help guard the prisoners and they moved respectfully away from the grieving friends.
They led the horse and its grim cargo to one side of the field and hobbled it. They would return when the fighting was over and cremate their friend, ready to return the ashes to Finn’s mother when the day came when they could return home.