Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2

by Paul Bernardi

  Thurkill had not thought it possible for his face to burn any more than it already was. To hide his discomfort, he laughed along with the others as if pretending that he was not bothered by such things. Cries of “She’ll keep you warm on a cold night, son” and “I’ll wager she can handle a sword,” only served to make things worse, but he bore it in good part all the same. Sometime later, when the conversation had moved on to other matters, he had turned to Eahlmund and asked as casually as he could. “So, what’s her name then?”

  His friend smiled knowingly, but thankfully refrained from starting another round of ribald jesting. “Now that, my friend, is Hild, daughter of Nothelm, the headman of Brightling. There’s many a lad here that’s taken a shine to her but, as yet, she has never shown interest in any of them. Perhaps you might finally be the one to unlock her door, as it were.”

  Thurkill chuckled, “Is that so? It must be my handsome good looks that does it. She clearly has me marked out as a cut above you ugly, sheep-rutting bunch.”

  “That or she’s the type to be impressed by big dumb warriors with huge swords. I assume you do have a huge sword to go with the huge rest of you?” More laughter ensued following Eahlmund’s crude observation.

  “Well, it’s slain a few in its time and doubtless will serve me well now.” He chose not to mention that he had lain with only one woman before, and that just a few weeks ago.

  “Well, whatever the case, make sure you keep that weapon of yours sheathed when Nothelm is around. He’s fiercely protective of his little girl and he will break it in half for you if he catches you with her. There’s a few here that can vouch for that.”

  No more was said about Hild for a day or two. But he found himself thinking of her more and more, especially at night when her face – as radiant as the full moon above – would come unbidden into his mind when he closed his eyes to sleep. Without even having spoken to her, he realised he was already besotted with her. He knew that nothing could come of it, though – not so much because he feared what her father might say or do, but rather because he knew he could not be stay here long. As soon as he was strong enough, he knew he had to head home. He was already consumed with worry for his sister and aunt. Who knew if they were safe, or even alive? While he was wasting time working in the fields and being a love-sick puppy, anything could be happening to them. He had to put Hild from his mind and focus on getting better.

  ***

  His good intentions did not last even a day. Thurkill rose with the dawn and made his way down to the stream that ran past the hamlet on its way down to the coast. The night had been cloudless so it was a crisp morning. His feet crunched their way across the meadow as the blades of grass, made stiff by the first frost of the season, protested beneath his leather boots. He’d always loved these autumnal early mornings; the sunlight glinting off the wet ground made everything shimmer and sparkle as if imbued with a dusting of ancient magic. He loved to see the fog forming in front of his mouth as he breathed. What could be finer than being surrounded by nature on a day like this, he asked himself.

  Reaching the water’s edge, he made his way upstream to where a clump of rocks and bushes shielded him from any who might happen to be drawing water down by the hamlet. Then he removed his boots, cloak and tunic and waded out into the clear, blue water. He gasped at how cold it was; already his feet were tingling as the numbing sensation of the icy stream permeated his skin. He knew he would not be able to stand it for long, so he forced himself further out into the current until he was up to his waist. Once there, he took a deep breath, prepared himself for what was to come and fell backwards so that he was fully immersed in the water. The shock was like nothing else; an incredible sensation pain mixed with vitality as the freezing water engulfed his torso and limbs. His arm, still in the process of healing, burned as tiny spears of intense cold poked at the tender flesh. Pain soon turned to pleasure though as the cold slowly numbed the feeling in the wound, leaving him with a delightful sensation.

  He stayed under for as long as he could hold his breath, before lurching to his feet and wading as quickly as he could back towards the shore. It was slow going, though, made worse by the weight of his saturated braies which had caused them to sag down around his thighs, exposing his backside and everything else to the cold air. Just as he reached the shallows, insult was added to injury when the sodden garment became tangled around his knees. Another step found him falling head first into the water, arms flailing in all directions to break his fall.

  At least the cold is not so bad this time, he grinned as he struggled to his hands and knees, his bare arse pointing skywards. It was then that he became aware of the laughter, the pitch of which told him all he needed to know. In a panic he rushed to pull his braies back up and tie them firmly in place.

  “Who spies on me? Show yourself.”

  The laughter continued unabated. “I think there has been quite enough showing for one morning, don’t you?”

  He still couldn’t see his tormentor and by now his embarrassment was turning to anger. “It is not seemly to watch from the shadows as a man bathes. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I beg for your pardon, noble warrior. I confess I had heard tell of some great and terrible weapon in your possession and I wanted to see for myself. Yet, I find I am not so impressed when confronted with it.” More unrestrained giggling accompanied these words.

  Thurkill blushed and moved his hands protectively in front of his groin, even though he was no longer exposed. “The air is cold and the water even more so. These things don’t help.”

  At this moment, Hild chose to reveal herself, stepping out from behind the bush where she had been hiding. She walked towards him, with a face that showed what he took for genuine remorse, though a playful smile still flitted across her lips.

  “Forgive me, Thurkill. I had not come here to spy on you or mock you. It is chance that finds us here at the same time. I like to come here to watch the colourful birds catching fish as they swim upriver. I had meant to call out sooner but when you entered the water I was struck dumb, too embarrassed to speak out until you fell over. It was so funny I could not help but laugh. You must hate me.”

  In truth, his shame still made him want to chide her but he found that he could not. The way she held her head to one side was the very picture of ardent contrition; it was so effective that it made him want to reach out and hug her. He had no idea whether her apology was genuine but he was not sure it mattered at that moment. Her beauty was too mesmerising for him to care. Despite her sombre expression, though, she still retained a cheeky glint in her eye that made him weak at the knees. There was no two ways about it, he was smitten.

  “I have nothing for which to forgive you, Hild. It is your river as much as mine and you have every right to be here whenever you like whether or not you find a hulking oaf splashing about with his braies around his ankles.”

  The grin was back. “True, but some visits here are better than others, especially the ones with the hulking oafs.”

  Thurkill joined in with a grin of his own, his embarrassment forgotten as he basked in the warmth of her smile. Before he realised what he was doing, he blurted out, “I would like to see you again, Hild. Would you allow it?”

  “I would like that very much, Thurkill, but I cannot say the same for my father.”

  He hoped his face did not appear as crestfallen as he felt inside. “Would he have to know?”

  “It’s not the sort of thing you can hide easily in a place this small.” Catching sight of his expression, Hild rushed to assuage his disappointment. “But listen, tomorrow I have to go into the woods to gather mushrooms. If you happened to be there, hunting perhaps, then it would not be beyond the bounds of probability that we might accidently happen upon each other?”

  Thurkill nodded knowingly. “I was only saying to Estrith, last night, that a nice rabbit or two would help liven up her broth.”

  ***

  The next morning, Thurkill c
ould not contain his excitement. He was up and out of the house before anyone else had even stirred, determined not to waste the opportunity he had been given. He took with him some snares, a bow with a sheaf of arrows, a spear and his trusty seax, together with Eahlmund’s forage sack. Having told Estrith the night before that he was off hunting, he knew he ought to look the part and would need, he supposed, to at least try to catch something at some point during the day.

  Eahlmund had suggested accompanying him, causing him to panic for a moment as he frantically searched for a valid reason to say no. Before he could do so, however, he was rescued by Ealdric who said he had need of his son’s help in the fields. Thurkill only hoped that the relief on his face had not been too obvious. Eahlmund had seemed to give him an odd look which had seemed to morph into a sly smirk, but he could have been mistaken. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him.

  It was another cold day, and the wind was whistling through the tops of the great oak trees that grew around Brightling. Many still stubbornly held on to their last few leaves as autumn moved inexorably towards winter. It had rained overnight too. Though it had stopped now, the sky remained leaden-grey with unbroken cloud in every direction. The ground was slick and in places gave way to glutinous mud where the moisture had failed to drain away. Several times he felt his feet slip from under him in his haste, but each time he managed to save himself by grabbing the nearest branch. Nevertheless, his boots were well-worn and almost threadbare in places and his feet were soon sodden and bitterly cold. Unperturbed, he strode on at pace; the strenuous exercise generating at least some warmth that he hoped would seep down towards his toes.

  Soon enough he arrived at the appointed place, a patch of thankfully drier ground under a thick canopy of evergreen foliage where clusters of mushrooms grew by the dozen. There he was able to kick and scrape the worst of the mud from his boots against a tree trunk and stamp his feet a few times to force some feeling back into his toes.

  It wasn’t long before he heard the sound of singing. Without thinking, he straightened his tunic and brushed what dirt there was off of it as best he could. He even ran his fingers through his thick unruly mop of hair to try to untangle the worst of the knots. Guiltily, he realised that it had been a few days since he had last fought it to a standstill with an actual comb. He was still struggling with it when Hild came into view about twenty paces or so away. He dropped his arms to his side, grinning sheepishly as he did so.

  She was wrapped up warm against the cold: a green woollen cloak, the colour of which, he noticed, matched her eyes, was pinned at her shoulder with an ornate silver brooch inset with a piece of amber. She had pulled its hood over her head for warmth, the folds perfectly framing her face with ringlets of blonde hair escaping on either side. To Thurkill she looked more beautiful than ever and he was at a loss for words. Hild seemed to be aware of his awkward gaze and delighted in it. She stopped a few paces away from him, and stood expectantly with her hand on her hip and her head tilted coquettishly to one side.

  “Good morning, Hild, I trust you are well?” Thurkill stammered. He knew his words were clumsy at best and he cursed himself inwardly for it. How can I stand and face a screaming enemy horde intent on killing me and yet be struck dumb in front of a solitary woman, however damned pretty she might be?

  She laughed, but with no trace of malice. To ease his discomfort, she crossed the gap between them before lifting her face to place a delicate kiss on his cheek. She was by no means a short woman but she still had to stand on the tips of her toes to reach. Then she deftly linked her arm through his and turned him back towards the direction whence she had come.

  “Walk with me while I collect some mushrooms.”

  Thurkill nodded dumbly, holding out his hand to take her basket. For a few minutes, they walked in companionable silence as Hild moved among the trees, stooping every now and then to select the best-looking specimens which she then placed carefully, so as not to bruise, in the basket that Thurkill held out for her. It reminded him of his childhood as he had often accompanied his aunt or sister for the very same purpose. The thought brought the same feelings of guilt flooding back; here he was idling his time away picking mushrooms with this beautiful woman when he needed to be at home to care for his family. He felt much stronger now; surely, he was ready to go? But then what about Hild? Though he had only just met her, he didn’t want to leave her so soon. Perhaps he could persuade her to come with him? As soon as the thought entered his mind, however, he realised how futile it was. Why should she leave her home to go with someone she hardly knew? And besides, her father would never allow it.

  Suddenly, he was conscious that Hild had stopped and was looking at him expectantly. Oh God! She’s asked me a question and I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to hear it. She must think me a complete fool.

  He resolved to be truthful. “Your pardon, Hild. I was thinking of home. What did you say?”

  She tutted admonishingly but without rancour. “I am sorry for I had not realised my presence to be so uninteresting.” The glint in her eyes told him she was joking but nonetheless he resolved to hang off her every word from that point on. It didn’t pay to make the same mistake twice, his father had always told him – especially where a lady was concerned.

  “I was asking how it felt to be in a battle,” she continued. “Such things have not, until now, affected us in our little village, and I am curious to know how a man can summon the courage to kill another.”

  Thurkill sighed before replying, as if unwilling to bring back to mind the horrors he had experienced. “You don’t have time to think, Hild. The man in front of you is swinging a sword at your head. You either kill him or he kills you. It really is as simple as that.”

  Hild shuddered. “I still can’t imagine what it must be like, actually killing someone.”

  “The first time was horrible – I could not believe what I had done – but you become accustomed to it. You have to. The shieldwall is so tightly packed that as soon as you kill one, there is another there to take their place straightaway.”

  “How does it ever end? How in God’s name does anyone survive?”

  Thurkill was determined to spare her the worst of the detail. “To be honest, with everyone packed so tight together, there’s not a lot of room for much actual killing for most of the time. It’s mainly a lot of pushing and shoving in truth. That said, it was different with the Normans; many of them were on horseback with long spears. They could reach over the top of our shields with ease. It was that, and their archers, which did for us – especially once they broke our right wing.”

  He stopped for a moment, reliving the final moments of the battle in his mind, remembering his father being cut down and being unable to stop it. He had not really stopped to mourn his father’s passing since that day. As he stood there, memories flooding through his mind, the tears finally came, welling up in his eyes before streaming down his cheeks in what felt like a torrent.

  Hild said nothing, knowing no words were needed. Instead, she simply reached out to him and enveloped him in her arms as far as her slight frame would allow. The strength of his emotions astonished him and it was a while before the feeling passed. The loss of his father, the death of his king, his own inability to prevent either of those two events and, on top of everything, the destruction of the army had been weighing on his mind, searching for an outlet. As she released him from her embrace, Hild voiced the same thought that was coursing through his mind.

  “So, what now with Harold gone and his army beaten?”

  “I don’t know, Hild. Truly I don’t. His brothers were also slain at Senlac. I don’t know who else could take up his mantle.”

  “Who then will take the throne? Who will lead us now? Is there no other?”

  Thurkill wished his father were there. He would surely know. He vaguely remembered stories Scalpi had told him around the hearth some months back; it was shortly before the old King Edward had died. He had asked his father who
would be king after Edward once it became clear that the old man’s days were numbered. The answer had been so long and detailed that he had fallen asleep before the end, earning himself a cuff round the back of the head and a boot up the arse as he retreated to his bed. He smiled to himself at the memory, as he tried to pull the key threads together to answer Hild.

  “I remember my father saying that Edward had a half-brother; Edmund, I think his name was. He died fighting the Danes in the same year as their father, King Aethelraed Unraed. Anyway, this Edmund had a son – but I can’t remember his name. It might also have been Edward. I do know, though, that he was sent into exile when Knut took the throne.”

  He could see that Hild was beginning to lose interest and hurried to end the story. “So when King Edward was getting old and had no children of his own to follow him, men were sent east to bring back this son of Edmund. This was about ten years ago, I think.”

  “So where is he now then and why did he not become king after Edward?”

  “Well… if I remember right, he died soon after returning to these shores. Murdered, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Oh. So what was the point of telling me about him, then?” She was trying to follow but was growing impatient.

  “Ah… but he had a son.”

  “But you don’t know his name either?”

  “No, I do!” Thurkill asserted. “His name is Edgar. That much I do know. He’s younger than me, I think, though I don’t know by how much. But, nevertheless, he should be the rightful king as the last male heir of King Edward’s line.”

  “A king who is not much more than a boy? That does not sound like a great idea. If Harold – a grown man and seasoned warrior - could not beat the Normans, what hope does this Edgar have?”

  “There is no one else, though. Unless we look to the northern earls, Morcar or Eadwine. But who would follow them after they were beaten so easily by the Vikings at Eoforwic?”