The Day of the Wolf

by C. R. May

  At the river javelins and arrows were picking off the last of the swimmers, and as the current gathered up the bodies and began to carry them downstream, the resistance of those left on the eastern shore finally collapsed. Spears, swords and axes began to clatter to the ground as the survivors of Olaf Cuaran’s garrison at York bowed to the inevitable after a night and morning spent fighting for their lives, battle-weary men opting to take their chances either in captivity or in attempting to buy their freedom from the victors rather than face a certain and bloody death.

  Thorstein sniffed as Erik’s army filled the riverside with their chants of victory. ‘That’s that then — I make it a hundred or so men in the prime of life. That should bring in a tidy sum for the lads when they are sold at the slave market in Hedeby.’

  Erik nodded. ‘Yes, let’s be away, my sons can take care of things here. The city will be in uproar, we must support the earls and let the people see that there is more to today’s happenings than a rising against the pretender, far more than a change of flag flying above the king’s garth.’ Erik ran his eyes across the field before him, totting up the number of horses available to them. ‘It looks as if we have enough mounts for the three crews here to ride directly to the city. We will add the Orkney men to our own lads and head off as soon as the manacles begin to go on.’ A look back to the south confirmed that the Erikssons and their crews were already moving in, stacking the discarded weapons out of reach of their former owners and beginning the task of parcelling up Cuaran’s men into those with a future of sorts and others whose wounds, age or disfigurement would make them harder to sell on; men who were already beginning to sense that they had witnessed their last dawn. As Sturla Godi and Thorstein moved away to spread the king’s orders, Erik and Helgrim made their way across to the horses. Erik stole a glance at his huskarl as they walked. ‘You mentioned a saying of my father’s before the attack,’ he said. ‘I sometimes wonder how Harald Fairhair would judge my efforts to live up to his name.’

  ‘King Harald would be proud lord,’ Helgrim shot back. ‘I served you both and I know that to be true.’

  Erik was still unconvinced. ‘Even though I was driven from the kingdom he fought so long and hard to bring beneath his sway?’

  ‘Lesser men valued the contents of their treasury over the weight of their oath,’ the huskarl replied. ‘Their allegiance was bought, not earned — there is no shame in betrayal.’

  The pair paused, running their eyes across the riverside as they reached the place where the horses had been picketed before the battle. Sturla and Thorstein were making their way upslope as the men they had detailed to deliver the king’s command scattered about the field. Helgrim spoke again as he raised his eyes to watch other men rushing to carry out the Erikssons’ orders. ‘Many think you the greater,’ he said with a look. ‘I have heard it said that not only was the loss of your Norwegian kingdom the will of the gods, but it was the making of you as a man.’

  Erik scoffed at the praise. ‘I doubt that!’

  ‘Look at your sons,’ Helgrim replied with a flick of his chin, ‘working together for the good of their clan. They like and trust you Erik, not many kings can say that of their offspring. How was your relationship with your own brothers?’

  Erik rolled his eyes. ‘You helped me kill a few, and the ones we missed were at each other’s throats.’

  ‘The world is changing lord, and we are changing with it. Being driven from Norway meant that the boys were recalled from foster or never sent away at all, they grew to manhood with their father and mother in the bosom of their own family. They came to see you not as a distant figure, just a name to live up to or better if they wished to survive, but witnessed the love their parents had for each other and also for them; they took strength from that.’ The big huskarl fixed his king with a look. ‘You may think that I am going soft and I was proud to serve your father in his day, but those were wolf days Erik and Harald Fairhair was the biggest, meanest wolf in the pack. He ruled by fear and division, by setting men against one another be they jarl, hersir or even his own flesh and blood. You could never rule a Christian kingdom in such a way — the church would never allow it — and we need the goodwill of the clergy if we are survive and prosper in this land. You witnessed the grip the priest at Sheptun had on his flock, the day you prayed before the battle at Ceasterford. If you can win the hearts and minds of the parish priests, you can count on them to support your rule among the freemen, the men who will rush to fill your levy when the need arises.’

  A gentle cough drew their attention away, and Helgrim flushed as he saw that Sturla and Thorstein had reached them some time before and were stood listening in. Erik’s banner man threw his fellow huskarl a wry look before turning his gaze on the king. ‘The men know what to do lord,’ he trilled, ‘and your sons are going to row the ships up to the city as soon as they have finished chaining the prisoners.’ Sturla’s eyes sparkled as they slid from king to huskarl and back again. ‘That was a lovely sermon, lord. Perhaps we should get bishop Helgrim here back to York — before he decides to spend the rest of the morning baptising heathens in the river?’

  Erik was at the paling where the horses had been racked-up before the final words were out. ‘You are right,’ he said as the knot was slipped, ‘even if the words were spoken in jest. We need to get moving — whichever gods have your devotion, our fight today is but half done.’

  2

  Return to York

  The first sounds drifted down to the returning king as Erik came clear of the woodland edge, the harsh clamour of lawlessness as inhabitants settled old scores and snatched what they could from neighbours and the weak before the return of order. A mile ahead a pall of greasy smoke hung over the city of York, and Erik savoured the smell of victory as he threw Thorstein and Helgrim a look. ‘Once we cross the Foss, split the men into groups of twenty and have them move through the town.’ Erik did a quick tally up of the men immediately available to him as they approached the bridge. The first inhabitants of the sprawl outside the walls had seen the approaching column now and men, women and children alike were vanishing into huts and alleyways like startled mice. ‘Our three ships’ crews, added to those of Arnkel and Erland will provide three hundred or so spears.’ A glimmer of mischief came into his eyes as he saw the huskarls struggle with the calculation. ‘That will give us fifteen armed groups,’ he finally added with a smirk as the guards gave up on the arithmetic and looked to him for the answer, ‘more than enough to sweep the city clear of troublemakers.’ Erik cast a look at the sky. The sun was approaching the second quarter, ideal for his needs. ‘Have them clear the streets, and pass the word that until they hear differently anyone caught out of doors after midday today will be hung on the spot.’

  The horses had carried them to the bridge as they spoke, and Erik dropped his gaze to the wharf edging the far bank as his guards clattered across to clear the way ahead. Four years had passed since he had last looked upon the weathered timbers, the day he had returned from annihilating the Kentish rearguard at the ford on the River Aire. He had made the mistake of thinking that his position of king was secure then, that the populace of the kingdom of York were as fervent as their archbishop in their desire to be free from rule by the southern English; but king Eadred’s campaign that summer had cowed them, and with his support draining away faster than ale from a leaky barrel he had had the sense to take ship and live to fight another day. That day had now arrived, and he raised his eyes to drink in the view as the horse gained the western bank and his guards returned to ride at his side. Ahead, the stone gatehouse which was the King’s Garth shone like a jewel in the morning sunlight, and rising beyond its crenellations the familiar twin towers of the cathedral reached skyward through cobwebs of smoke.

  A group of armed men had gathered at the archway which pierced the garth, and Erik watched as Helgrim stabbed back his heels to lead a strong party forward. Even at a distance Erik could make out the identities of the leaders of th
e party astride the city gate, and a smile came instinctively as he saw a man raise an arm to hail the riders thundering towards them. Helgrim had exchanged greetings with the group before Erik drew near, and the restored king of York slowed his mount to a trot as his guards moved aside and flanked the ancient roadway. ‘My favourite Englishmen!’ Erik exclaimed happily as he came within hailing distance. ‘You are a balm for my eyes.’

  Oswald Thane was the first to respond, the archbishop’s righthand man’s features an image of joy at Erik’s return after four years away. ‘And you for ours lord king,’ he replied. ‘If only the archbishop were here to witness this moment.’

  Erik alighted as the horse drew to a halt, his eyes flicking from Oswald to his companion and back again as he walked towards them. ‘Has any news reached us from the South?’

  Oswald shook his head. ‘Not as yet, but there is little cause for concern. The southern king can only make recommendations in church matters, and has no say over the people of Northumbria despite his ambitions. If he harmed my lord in any way, the pontiff in Rome would declare him excommunicate and damn his soul to Hell.’

  Erik chuckled. ‘Perhaps we could persuade the pope to do just that. It should at least keep Eadred’s armies in the South where they belong.’ His eyes moved across to the man at Oswald’s side, and he exchanged a grin with the bluff Englishman as they clasped forearms in the warrior greeting: ‘Regenwold…’

  ‘King Erik,’ the big earl replied, the emotion of the moment obvious to those within earshot as he dropped his voice to an undertone. ‘Welcome home.’

  Erik lifted his eyes to the inscription on the archway above him. ‘Six times acclaimed emperor...father of his country,’ he read aloud, before dropping his gaze to encompass those around him. ‘Well, I have ambitions to match this Caesar Nerva Trajan Augustus. He set his features into a look of determination. ‘But much remains to be done, so let us make a start.’

  Erik’s hearth men led the way, the Northumbrian spearmen pulling back inside the confines of the city as Erik and Regenwold followed on side by side. The earl’s voice echoed back from the masonry as they walked. ‘We followed your adventures keenly while you were away, lord,’ he said. Erik threw him a guilty look, and the Englishman stifled a smile. ‘The archbishop has eyes and ears working on his behalf throughout the city, particularly among the traders down in the new town.’ Erik nodded that he understood. York was a trading hub, one of the most important markets for goods throughout the North and beyond. Men were always eager for news, if only to enable them to be among the first to take advantage of a profitable situation. ‘So, Wulfstan knows all about my years away?’

  Regenwold laughed. ‘Yes, I am afraid so, but there is no need to worry. The archbishop once explained his feelings regarding the newly converted to me. He described the kingdom of York as a family of nations, and just like any clan you have to make allowances for the odd rascal they inevitably contain for the good of the whole.’ He continued with a glint in his eye. ‘Just because cousin Erik carries off God-fearing Irishmen and Franks to sell in the slave markets of Novgorod and Hedeby, does not make the fact of his kinship any less real. He believes that with time, patience and Christian forgiveness this wayward kinsman will one day come to see the error of his ways.’

  Erik returned the look as they came clear of the passageway. ‘So this act of brotherliness is just Christian charity? It has nothing to do with the fact that trading in thralls is one of the surest ways to fill my hulls with gold and silver?’ The humour in Regenwold’s expression vanished as quickly as it had arrived, and Erik laid a hand on his trusted earl’s arm as the warriors formed a cordon around the square. Profitable or not, the captives had still been fellow Christians. ‘I made the mistake before of attempting to rule here without the means,’ Erik explained patiently. ‘A lack of silver weakens a king’s authority as surely as a weak arm in battle, but I have learnt that lesson well. Every raid, every battle over the past four years, was fought to amass treasure. Now, with my ships and halls in Orkney and Jutland filled with good silver I have assembled an army — not just to reclaim the king helm of York, but to bring the lands beyond the River Tees back under Yorkish rule. You told me once you had a dream, to reestablish the ancient borders of the kingdom of Northumbria.’ The king rested a hand on the earl’s shoulder as they walked. ‘Well, I share that dream, and now I have the means to make it a reality.’

  Erik paused as the pair exited the gatehouse, running his eyes along the walls of the garth. All was as he remembered it; the old Anglian hall resplendent in its carvings of Christ and the saints abutting the Roman stonework, alongside the Óðinn tales picked out in fading reds and golds on the later extension added by the Danes in the last century. The sound of men and horses entering the gateway to their rear dragged Erik’s mind back to the matter at hand, which was, he knew, securing the city. He turned to Regenwold again. ‘Are all of Olaf Cuaran’s men dead or in captivity?’

  ‘As far as I can tell, King Erik. Practically all of the best troops accompanied him south to Wessex with the archbishop, and those remaining were only enough to guard the city walls and secure the garth here.’ Regenwold indicated a moss covered lean-to further along the city wall with a flick of his head. ‘Those we rounded up have been stripped of their weapons and armour, and are locked up in there.’

  Erik looked. ‘How many?’

  ‘Three score and two, lord.’

  ‘You seem very sure of the numbers.’

  ‘I counted them myself.’

  Erik laughed. ‘Then it must be so. But try not to look so smug next time — it doesn’t become you.’

  Erik noticed that Oswald had crossed to the garth doors and was in conversation with the archbishop’s house warriors, Morcar Thane, Oswy and Wystan — men the English called gesith. He exchanged a nod of recognition and a smile with them as he went on. ‘So how many of your men are left within the walls?’

  ‘Without counting those on the walkways and guarding places such as the garth, the prisoners and the cathedral, only about fifty or so.’ Regenwold pulled a face. ‘Earl Gunderic has men out sweeping the surrounding area for stragglers, but we couldn’t make a move until we were sure that your ships were in the Humber.’

  ‘You did well,’ Erik replied with a reassuring pat on the arm. ‘Helgrim is dividing our crews into groups of twenty. Most of them know the layout of the streets from their time here before, but four years is a long time and some of the men are new; if you can lend me a man to guide each group it would be a help. If we concentrate on the area within the city walls for now, we will bring order to the new town down by the Ouse when the Erikssons have brought the fleet upstream. I have given orders that anyone found out of doors within the perimeter of the city walls after midday will be hung without trial. Perhaps your men can help to spread the word?’

  Regenwold smiled. ‘It would be my pleasure, lord.’

  ‘Oh, and at the same time,’ Erik added as an afterthought, ‘tell them to pass the word throughout the city that there is a reward of ten pennies for any of Olaf Cuaran’s men who are still at large.’

  Regenwold let out a low whistle. ‘Ten silver coins per head? Rounding up a couple will be enough for a healthy ewe, or a full month’s wenching with the ale thrown in — that is very generous lord.’

  Erik smiled. ‘Not so generous as it seems. I shall make it back and more when I empty their purses, sell their weapons and armour, and then pack them off to the slavers down by the docks. It is a small price to pay to win back the populace, plus it should dramatically reduce the chance of my getting a knife between the ribs from one of Cuaran’s stragglers looking to make a name for himself before he pitches up in Óðinn’s hall.’

  ‘I will see to it straightaway,’ Regenwold replied with a dip of his head. Erik was about to go when the Englishman stopped and turned back, a smile lighting his face as he did so. ‘It is good to have you back, lord,’ he said. ‘Even rascals can be sure of a welcome at
the family hearthside.’

  The earl moved away as the square resounded to the sound of the king’s laughter, and as faces were turned his way Erik indicated that the remaining guards come to his side. At the archway Helgrim Smiter had begun to divide up the first crews, and as Thorstein and Kolbein came up the king hailed the archbishop’s men as the Norwegians approached the king’s garth after four long years away. ‘Earl Regenwold tells me that the majority of Olaf’s men are safely locked up. Is the garth completely empty?’

  ‘There are a half-dozen trusted men, lord,’ Morcar replied. ‘Making sure that no one is tempted to make off with the contents of Cuaran’s strongroom, plus a few thralls in the kitchens.’

  Erik’s face lit up. ‘Has anyone taken a look inside this strongroom?’

  ‘I took a peek,’ the Englishman admitted, ‘just to ensure there were none of the usurper’s men hiding inside. The room contained several large chests, but they are locked and bound by heavy chains so I could not look inside them. Whatever Cuaran had accumulated since he arrived must still be there I guess. The king’s garth was the first place we took this morning — most of the men within it died before they were fully awake.’

  Erik nodded. ‘That was good work, I was hoping I would get to add Olaf’s stockpile to my own. Once we are secure and the queen is here, I think a bit of a share out is in order.’ Erik had long since learned that the promise of a purse of silver or an arm ring lifted the spirits of even the surliest of men, and the Englishmen guarding the doorway beamed at the news. ‘I will send a half-crew to bolster your numbers until I return,’ he added. ‘It is important that I am seen throughout the city, so that no one is in any doubt who is king here.’ Erik ran his gaze across the square as he walked back to the gateway. The crews who had accompanied him from the battlefield outside Bardolfsby were inside the walls now, their leading men busy parcelling up the spearmen and sending them through the roads and alleyways which ran away in all directions. The crew of the Draki were waiting patiently for his return, and Erik called out to his banner man as he came up: ‘Sturla!’