The Day of the Wolf

by C. R. May

  A latticework of blackened beams lay at crazy angles, the floor knee deep in ash; at the centre a withered arm rose into the air, the hand which topped it pointing claw-like towards the heavens. Erik crossed a ridge of scorched clay, all that remained from the exterior daub of the hall crunching beneath the soles of his boots as he went. He took another pace forward to overturn a heavily charred beam with the sole of his boot; immediately small flames flickered into life as they hungrily fed on the cool morning air.

  Every man knew what that meant, and Ragnfrod shaped their thoughts into words. ‘This happened last night.’

  Erik stood tight lipped, eyes blazing as his son’s conclusion caused any further comments to be stillborn. It was obvious to each man there that the casual ride from York and stop-off at Hrypum had very likely cost the life of one of the king’s most ardent supporters, and men lowered their eyes as they awaited his reaction to the sobering realisation. To their surprise the king remained calm as he looked back from the ash field. ‘This is an act of war,’ he said, his speech monotone. ‘And war is a bloodthirsty thing. Men die, but it is up to those who remain to take the blood price for those who are no longer able to do so.’

  Erik lifted his chin to scan the clearing. A beck bordered the steading to the north, the southern bank a wide boggy pool where the floodwaters from the great storm were making their way from the high hills to the distant sea. Westward the woodland edge lay a short bowshot off, while to the south strips of ploughed earth on the gently sloping hillside showed where in happier times the earl’s thralls and farmhands had harvested barley and spelt for his table. Erik was about to move further into the building, to sift through the ash for the body of his friend, when Kolbein called out from the southern boundary. ‘There was a fight here, lord.’

  Erik looked across. ‘Blood?’

  Kolbein nodded: ‘bucketfuls.’

  The king walked across, his huskarls and leading men following on as they went to inspect the scene. It was as his styrisman had said. Midway along the south facing wall the bare ground around the doorway to the hall was a crimson soup, and Erik ran experienced eyes across the scene as his mind worked through the details of the fight. There was no sign that Regenwold had led his men out to form an orderly defence of the doorway in the time-honoured way, the scrap had been a disorderly brawl. It could only mean one thing, and Helgrim confirmed the king’s conclusion before Erik could give voice to it. ‘No messing about — straight out through the doorway and into them,’ he said. ‘That means that the hall was already in flames — there was nothing to defend.’

  Erik nodded. ‘That is the death path any of us would have taken given the choice.’ Runnels in the courtyard showed where bodies had been dragged by the scruff of the neck through the muck, and as Erik lifted his eyes to follow the tracks he found that Arnkel was already there. ‘If you are wondering where they are King Erik,’ the Orkneyman said. ‘We have found the earl and his men.’ He turned to point. ‘Over there, at the woodland edge.’

  Erik looked and wondered that he not noticed before, now that it was clear it had been an easy meal which had drawn crows to the place of death as it always did. A path cut the tree line to the west, and littering the sturdier branches a dozen naked cadavers swung gently in the light morning airs. Erik walked across, fixing his gaze on the dead as he went. The birds had already made a mess of the faces. As he had expected all were eyeless as the jelly they contained was a well-known crow titbit, but it was the heaped up offal in the underbrush and the vivid red gash in each belly which really drew his attention. ‘We are being sent a message,’ Erik said as they walked. He threw Arnkel a look. ‘Can you hear it?’

  The Orcadian was quick to reply. ‘They are goading us, and coming this late in the year they think it unlikely we will retaliate immediately. It is no way to treat brave men Erik. I had a quick look while you came across — any wounds from the fight are to the fore, none behind.’

  Erik nodded. ‘I knew the earl and his men, I would expect nothing less. But if they think I will sup the Jule ale and feast house guests while my greatest earl goes unavenged they are in for a shock.’

  Arnkel glanced across in surprise. ‘A winter campaign? Coming so soon after the fight at Corebricg and the Scottish war, you may struggle to raise another army, lord.’

  ‘Not an invasion, a quick strike with handpicked men.’ Erik nodded towards the woodland path. Hauk was there, the scout crouching low as he brushed the earth with a hand. ‘Let us see if we can catch them first. If they are only a few hours ahead we may not need a winter raid at all.’ Erik came to halt before the body of his earl, biting down on his anger. Regenwold was unmistakable, despite the absence of his eyes, ears and nose, if not for the great size of his body then the distinctive cut of his hair. Practically alone among his English subjects Regenwold had always styled it in what church and laymen alike described as the Viking way, cropped at the nape with a shaggy fringe, and although his devotion to the Christian God was never in question, Erik knew that the earl had enjoyed the disapproval it had brought about and liked him all the more for it.

  A brief look was enough and Erik moved on. He was no stranger to the dead, whether he had counted them among his friends or not; but he let out a sigh of regret, raising a hand to touch Olvir’s blackened foot as he passed. The scout had been a loyal member of his hird from way back, and for a moment Erik’s mind was back on a sun blushed field outside Tunsberg. He saw again Olvir in his youth, riding through a field of rye to bring him the news that Erik’s brother Bjorn was raising an army against him, and he was sure to guard against a tremor in his voice as he walked on and spoke again. ‘Cut these boys down,’ he yelled. ‘Bury the Christians for now and make a pyre for Olvir, but be quick about it — we are not finished today.’ Erik crossed to the track as men hurried to do his bidding. Hauk was still squatting on the path, and the king hailed him as he came. ‘What can you tell me?’

  Deep in thought, Hauk looked up for the first time as he recognised the king’s voice. Rising to his feet he let out a sigh, clucking his tongue as he thought. Finally he pointed to the hoof prints which had churned up the mud all about. ‘They came in here and left the same way, but there is something I can’t quite get.’ A moment later he clicked his fingers as the answer came to him, and he turned his face to the king as he explained. ‘More horses left than arrived — I thought at first that they had met others here.’ He pointed across to the main path which led down to Dere Street. ‘It could have happened like that, we would have trampled the evidence after all when we arrived, but I don’t think it is.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Hauk bent down, tracing the outline of a horse shoe with a forefinger. ‘I was puzzled at first because the prints leading into the clearing are shallower than those leaving. That is usually the sign that the horses are riderless and can point to a ruse, but that was obviously ridiculous,’ he replied. ‘Horses as a rule don’t burn folk in. Then I remembered last night’s frost.’

  Erik nodded that he understood. ‘The earth was frozen hard when they arrived, so the prints were shallower. What about the numbers?’

  ‘It looks like they carried Regenwold’s horses away as plunder, lord’ he explained. ‘I would say that fifty or so arrived and a few more left, but there is another thing.’ He bent again to dip a finger in the mud before holding it up for the king to see. Erik smiled for the first time since Hauk had told him of the attack, back on Dere Street an hour before. ‘Blood — so they carried the dead away with them. That answers two questions,’ Hauk said. ‘What happened to the bodies of the men Regenwold and his lads killed and injured, and whether it was an attack by Olaf Cuaran or any other Viking or Dubliner — they are not going to carry their dead away if they are returning to a ship, so the attackers must have come from this side of the sea.’

  Erik’s guards and closest men were gathered nearby, and Ragnfrod Eriksson asked questions of his own. ‘You are sure that they all left this way?
As you say, we could have trampled the evidence of them leaving to head north along Dere Street on our way in. And where is your friend Mord? It would be good to get another opinion if we are to have any chance of catching them.’

  Hauk raised a finger, walking across to brush the undergrowth with a booted foot. Within moments he was stooping to pluck something from the grass; turning back he tossed what looked to be a pebble into the air and snatched it back. ‘This may look like any other,’ he said as his hand went to his sark, ‘and that is the idea.’ Hauk pulled a white stone from a pocket and held it against the first. The pair formed a perfect whole, and the scout held it up for all to see. ‘We carry half each me and Mord, so we can leave them for the other to find if we are split up. After all,’ he said, ‘who would suspect a stone as a messenger? This tells me that Mord has read the same story into the hoof prints here, and that he has not only gone on to track them, but he has done so freely and not been taken captive.’ He threw them a smile as he explained further. ‘Because if he had he wouldn’t drop the stone, and even if they searched his pockets it would just be taken for a lucky charm. This track,’ he said with a glance westwards, ‘crosses the beck a little further up and takes you to a place called Hindrelag on the far bank of the River Swale. There it joins a wider road which cuts the corner between Dere Street and the road across Stainmore to Cumbraland.’

  Erik thought he knew it. ‘The road with the Roman marching camp at the summit? The one we stayed in before the attack on the Cumbrians the year before last?’

  ‘That is right, lord — Hreyrr Camp. It is important that scouts learn all there is to know about the layout of the surrounding land, so we spend most of our spare time riding the roads and byways of the kingdom.’

  ‘There is something equally important here,’ Erik countered as he scuffed the ground with his boot. ‘If the path had softened enough for the hoof prints to deepen, that means that the sun had risen high enough to burn off last night’s frost before they left. You had a lucky break, they cannot have left much before you two arrived.’ The realisation was all that Erik needed to decide what to do next, and his voice became a bellow as he began to retrace his steps to the place where the horses were bunching together as far away from the scene of death as possible. ‘All of you,’ he cried to the men there, ‘mount up! The killers are not far ahead of us, and we still have the chance to avenge our friends.’

  Kolbein fell in at the king’s side as he crossed the clearing, and as men flew to their horses he spoke to the king in an undertone. ‘Is this wise Erik?’

  Erik was taken aback by his styrisman’s words, and he stopped dead midway to the horse line. Turning to Kolbein, he spoke of his surprise. ‘Is what wise? Taking the opportunity to avenge our men while we have the chance?’

  Kolbein fingered the hammer of Þórr at his neck as he spoke again. ‘The gods are against us lord,’ he said with a nervous glance towards the cadavers. ‘They have handed us great victories since we returned, but maybe they think they have done enough?’

  ‘The gods are with us old friend,’ he scoffed. ‘If Mord and Hauk had not gone into Hrypum and purchased fresh bread this morning they would as likely as not reached Regenwold’s hall before the killers left. If that had happened they would have died here with the others, and we would have journeyed here at a leisurely pace being none the wiser.’

  Kolbein was not to be so easily dissuaded. ‘Think about it Erik. After harrying your foe for the best part of a year and barely losing a man, three of your closest companions have died within days of one another — Oswald Thane and now Regenwold and Olvir. I gave Harald Fairhair an oath more years ago than I care to admit, back on the strand at Nausdal, that I would always protect you in word and deed and this is my rede.’

  Erik threw a quick look around the clearing as the man spoke; men were in the saddle, casting expectant looks his way as he stood chatting after the call to action which had gone before. He could see their confusion and ached to leap into the saddle but Kolbein was right, his old companion had fulfilled every oath to both himself and his father for longer than many men lived and he deserved a hearing. ‘Sturla Godi owns rune sticks,’ Kolbein was saying. ‘Why not let him read them? What harm can it do?’ His hand went back to the pendant at his neck as he cast a nervous glance about the clearing. ‘Old Hangi is here Erik,’ he whispered, ‘I can feel his presence. Óðinn is the god of the hanged, and he has come to claim his own.’

  Erik shook his head. ‘We have wasted enough time already, whether Hangi, Óðinn or whatever name the Allfather chooses to go by today is here or not — if we don’t leave soon we will never catch the killers; Hauk says we outnumber them three to one, we must grab the chance to overtake them while it is there. How can I yell at everyone to mount up and then stop to read the runes? What impression would that give?’ He placed a hand on his huskarl’s arm as he guided him towards the horses. ‘I want to leave a couple of men to keep the crows and animals away from the dead until we return,’ he said. ‘Pick a few men to do that for me and remain here with them — if things are as you say and the gods have deserted me, I can think of no one better to carry the news back to Gunnhild and my sons in York.’

  Faced with the possibility of being left behind, Kolbein finally relented. ‘And break my vows Erik? I have given you my advice, and that is all I was obliged to do. Come,’ he said with a smile as he accepted his fate, ‘let us see what the Norns have in store for us. I will detail two men to finish up here and you give the lads a speech.’ Erik mounted as Kolbein picked out two of the youngest from the mounted men nearby. ‘You and you — down you get; the king has a job for you.’

  As the chosen pair exchanged mortified looks Erik took up the reins, walking the horse forward before turning about to face the warriors. A grim faced host stared back; Erik hawked and spat to clear his throat:

  ‘Look behind me at what remains of our friends, strung up and butchered like swine.’ Erik paused as their eyes swept the woodland edge. ‘Hauk tells me that they cannot be far away so I will keep this brief. We outnumber them by a margin of three to one, and we know they have had a hard fight here and suffered death and injury. What is more,’ he said with a look, ‘both they and their mounts have been awake throughout the night; they are carrying wounded and will be tired from the journey and lack of sleep. The pathway behind me leads away to join up with the old Roman road up onto Stainmore and the West, so we don’t know yet whether we will be facing Norsemen, Cumbrians or Scots.’ He threw them a hellish look. ‘But whoever it is, I could not have hoped to meet them with better men at my side.’

  Erik wheeled his horse as the men bayed their support, pointing the beast towards the place where the track arced away. With a last look at the bodies of his friends swaying from the boughs nearby he plunged into the shade, and as the trees closed in and the still of the woodland was shattered by the hoof falls of an avenging army he followed the path towards the beck. With the waters in flood the bed this close to its source would be strewn with rocks and other debris carried downstream by the force of the flow, and Erik slowed his mount to a walk as he forded the swollen burn with care. But if the waters were deeper than usual the banks here contained them, and he was soon across, scrambling up the far side as he spurred his horse clear. Away from the riverside the trees drew back, and with the pathway opening up before them Helgrim and Thorstein urged their mounts forward to ride at his side. Scattered woodland become pasture as they moved further from the waterway and Erik rode on, urging the horse into a canter as the land began to trend upwards.

  Within a short while they were approaching the brow of the hill, and Erik slowed the horse again to a trot as he prepared to spy out the way ahead. With the momentum bleeding away the rest of Erik’s huskarls came up, and as the king’s group crested the rise together they saw the first signs that the invaders had not had things all their own way that morning. Half a mile distant, beyond the ford on the River Swale, bloodied torsos lay scattered lik
e poppies in a wheat field.

  23

  Cenwulf Thane

  The water fell in sheets as Erik rode from the ford, and as the land began to trend upwards he caught the first glimpse of movement ahead. Men were there, shield and spear carrying men ready to fight again in defence of their kin, but the leaders had already recognised one another and Erik hailed the man as he approached. ‘Cenwulf Thane,’ he said. ‘We have had a grim morning, you and I.’

  The man walked forward, and Erik noted the blood tainting his sark as he did so. ‘You carry a wound?’

  Cenwulf shrugged. ‘It is nothing compared to the feeling of dread in my heart King Erik.’

  Erik grimaced as he confirmed the thane’s forebodings. ‘Your earl was slain fighting to defend his hall like a hero of old, but I promise you that his killers will not outlive the day. What can you tell me of them? Do you know who they are?’

  The Englishman’s shoulders slumped as his worst fears were realised, and he crossed himself as he replied. ‘Men of Strathclyde lord, led by king Dyfnwal in person.’ Cenwulf indicated the town with a jerk of his head. ‘They tried to ride through Hindrelag on their way back home, but a shepherd boy had seen the glow of flames in the southern sky and rushed to warn us. Lucky for us that he did,’ the thane added, ‘for it meant we were out of our beds and ready to repel the bastards when they arrived. Earl Regenwold’s hall is the only building in that direction, and we were saddling horses to come to his aid when they appeared.’ He sighed. ‘At first I had hoped that we would arrive to help the earl fight a fire, but when Dyfnwal and his raiders crested the hill opposite I feared that it was a hall burning and my lord was already dead.’