Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2

by Paul Bernardi

  In shock, Brithnoth let go of the spear, staring dumbly at the dying man, as if unable to comprehend what he had done. “I’ve never killed anyone before,” he mumbled, before turning his head to one side and puking profusely.

  Thurkill strode over to him and placed a protective arm round his still heaving shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Brithnoth. I didn’t think you had it in you but you have shown great courage and strength to defend your friend.”

  Hild, meanwhile, had rushed over to her father and removed the bindings from his wrists and the rope from around his neck. Now Nothelm stood there, rubbing his forearms to get the blood flowing again, while shaking his head at the carnage around him. By now, half the village was in flames but with the wind blowing as it was, the rest of the houses should escape the conflagration.

  Before Thurkill could speak, however, a low groan sounded just behind him. Eahlmund! Spinning round, he saw his friend lying on his side, vainly trying to pull himself over to where his father’s body lay. His face was a mask of blood and dirt through which tears had worn a streaky path.

  He rushed over to help him. “Rest easy, my friend. There’s nothing you can do for him now.”

  The poor lad was in a sorry state. Both eyes were swollen, half closed and rapidly blackening. The angle of his nose was crooked, clearly broken, and there was blood caked around his mouth. Thurkill wasn’t sure how many teeth had been missing before, but there certainly seemed to be more gaps there now than he remembered.

  “They have made a bit of a mess of your face, I’m afraid, but perhaps that’s no bad thing. It could not be any worse than it was before.”

  Despite his anguish, the young man managed a brief smile, before wincing in pain. “I know you mean well, Thurkill, but please don’t try to make me laugh, it hurts too much. I think I most of my ribs are broken as well.”

  Hild emerged from her father’s house carrying a bowl of water with a rag in it. As gently as she could, she knelt beside Eahlmund to begin wiping the worst of the dirt and blood from his ravaged features, working her way deftly round the worst of the bruises. Once she had finished, she leaned forward to plant a delicate kiss on Eahlmund’s forehead, carefully selecting one of the few spots on his face that had not been damaged.

  Thurkill then helped his friend to his feet and, supported between him and Hild, they made their way over slowly to where Nothelm knelt next to the body of Ealdric. He had his arm round Estrith, who had now emerged from her hiding place, comforting her as best he could. The intensity of her sobs made it hard for them to hear the headman as he spoke.

  “You should be proud of him, Eahlmund, and you too Estrith. He was a brave man who did more than most to stand up for his people. He shall not be forgotten in this village, I promise you that. He will be buried with honour by the altar, in pride of place.”

  His mother was still too distraught to speak, so Eahlmund took it upon himself to speak. Thurkill noted how quickly his friend appeared to have dealt with the horror of seeing his father killed before his own eyes. In the heat of the moment there simply wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Eahlmund shrugged but otherwise showed no emotion. “I am proud to call him ‘father’, Nothelm. He died trying to protect me and his home. If I am ever half as good a man as he, I will have done enough to earn his respect. But not before then.”

  Thurkill coughed to break the awkward silence that followed. “What now, Nothelm?”

  “We rebuild, that’s what. This village has stood here as long as anyone can remember; perhaps back even to the time of the first of our people to come to this land. We will not let a few Norman thugs stop us.”

  Thurkill frowned. “I applaud your spirit, but what if others come looking for these fellows?”

  “We’ll bury them deep in the woods where they won’t be found and claim that they passed through once they had burned the place. What’s more important is that the people come back to the village to help us begin again. Will you help us? A man of your strength and leadership would be a great asset to us in our time of need, not to mention that some people,” here he glanced sideways at his daughter, “would not want to see you go.”

  Thurkill blushed and stared at his feet, unable to meet the eyes of either Hild or her father. “I would like that more than anything but I fear I must leave. Almost ten days have passed since the battle and I have tarried here longer than I would have liked, as grateful as I am for your hospitality. I have kin who need me to the east among the people of Kent and, having seen what has happened here today, I fear for their safety.”

  As soon as he had finished speaking, Hild turned on her heel and ran into her home, but not before an involuntary gasp had escaped her lips. Thurkill made to follow her but Nothelm placed his hand gently on his shoulder to hold him back.

  “If I know my daughter, she will want to be on her own for a while. She’ll come around soon enough. It was the same when her mother died. Give her space or you’ll risk a punch to the face. Trust me, I still have the bruises for my pains. For my part”, he continued, “I respect your decision, as disappointing as it may be. I would do the same in your position.”

  ***

  She came to him in the dead of night. He had moved his bed to the barn so as not to intrude on Estrith and Eahlmund’s grief after they had buried Ealdric that evening in a solemn service at the church. Unable to sleep, he lay there staring at the roof beams, listening to the gentle cooing and occasional fluttering of the doves that made their home there. Hild was never far from his thoughts. He didn’t want to leave her but he had no choice. He had sworn an oath to protect his sister and he had left it too long already. What if she were already dead? Ravaged and defiled. Foul images flooded his mind, pushing his thoughts of Hild to the far recesses of his brain. If Edith had been hurt in any way, he would never be able to forgive himself. Nor, he thought grimly, would he ever forgive those that committed such foul deeds. They would regret the day they ever crossed his path.

  His mind was in such turmoil that he almost didn’t hear the door of the barn being gently pushed open, its base scraping almost imperceptibly across the earthen floor. He tracked the gentle padding of her footsteps as she crossed to where he lay and shivered as she lifted the edge of his cloak that he was using as a blanket, to slide in beside him. His heart began to race as he realised she was naked. Ignoring the blocks of ice that were her arms and legs he wrapped himself around her, driving his warmth into her. Deep waves of pleasure flowed through him, everything about her was perfect; her scent, her soft hair against his face, the smooth skin of her body…everything.

  “Hild, I ….”

  Before he could say another word, however, Hild lifted herself on one elbow and pressed her index finger against his lips. Then she buried her head into his shoulder and held him tight. He lay there once more, staring at the roof, his mind awash with a thousand different emotions. Hild’s breathing was smooth and even, showing that she had already fallen asleep, though his shoulder was still damp where her tears had flowed unchecked.

  TWENTY-THREE

  24 October, Brightling

  The villagers paused in their work to watch him leave. He wore his mailshirt, burnished to a fine hue by Estrith, and hiked up at the waist by a new leather belt - gifted by Nothelm – into which he’d slotted his axe. Over the top, helping to keep his armour and weapon hidden from the casual observer, he wore a new woollen cloak, a deep green in colour and wonderfully warm. It had been Hild’s leaving present to him, left for him by the hay bales where they had lain together the previous night.

  For now, though, she was nowhere to be seen. She had left before the dawn’s first light, saying that she would not watch him go. She understood why he had to leave, but that did not mean she could be happy about it. For his part, Thurkill had held her tight one last time, pressing her against his chest. He had promised to come back for her as soon as he could. It was a promise he had meant and one that he hoped he could keep. Leaving her now was more painful than any phy
sical wound he had ever received, but he had no choice. His first duty was to his kin. With his father gone, there was no one else to care for them. In his mind, he foresaw a time when he might bring his family back to Brightling, or else have Hild join him at his hall. First, however, he had to make sure that the village still stood and that Aga and Edith were alive. He could not silence the nagging fear that all might not be well.

  Feeling lonelier than he had for a while, he cast around for one last time, seeing only blank expressions on those who had gathered in the village square. Even Eahlmund was not there. He had seen him earlier that morning as he had paid his final respects by the side of Ealdric’s grave. His friend had said little as he’d stood, head bowed, deep in thought. He feared more than anything that Eahlmund in some way might hold him responsible for his father’s death. Perhaps if I hadn’t been messing about with Hild in the woods, he might not have died?

  He pushed the thought from his mind. If he had been there, there was a good chance he would have been captured or killed by the Normans as well.

  Other than the few buildings that still smoked from where they had been fired, there was little sign of the previous day’s fight. The bodies had been removed and buried in the darkest recesses of the forest. Blood-stained earth had been turned over to remove all traces. Even the ruined buildings would soon be replaced; men had already started to bring back newly felled trunks from which they would fashion new planks. In a few days there would be little or no sign of anything untoward having happened. Thurkill just hoped they managed to finish the work before any more Normans came snooping.

  He took one last look around the village, hoping more than expecting to see Hild appear. Then he turned and headed along the east road. He had only gone a few paces, however, when a voice called out.

  “Wait.”

  He turned, his heart quickening, hoping Hild had changed her mind after all, but it was not to be. Instead he saw his friend, Eahlmund, lumbering up the path towards him, weighed down with spear in one hand, a shield slung on his back and a bulging sack on his right shoulder. He kept running until he had pulled level with Thurkill whereupon he stopped, hands on knees, panting as if his lungs would burst.

  “What are you doing, friend?”

  He was still trying to catch his breath, the words flung out in between gasps for air. “I… couldn’t… let you go… on your own. You might… get yourself killed.”

  Thurkill laughed but not unkindly. “Well, I am grateful for your protection, Eahlmund, but what about your mother? Surely her need is greater than mine now that your father is gone?”

  “Don’t you believe it; she is quite happy to have me out from under her feet. She has moved in with her sister so that Brithnoth and his family can have our home as theirs has been burned down. With her in there too, there’s not a lot of room and especially not if you add me into the mix too.”

  “Nevertheless, is this what you really want? Who knows what lies ahead? We will doubtless find ourselves in more fights before too long.”

  “It will be as God wills it. You saved my life yesterday so there is a debt to be paid, that’s how I see it.”

  “But not one that I expect you to pay, friend. You are not bound to me in any way.”

  “Look, the fact of the matter is that you are stuck with me and that’s that. Now, which way are we going?” With that, Eahlmund strode off purposefully in the direction Thurkill had been walking, leaving him smiling and shaking his head in his wake.

  “And anyway,” Eahlmund called back over his shoulder. “I’m hoping you’ll put in a good word for me with your sister. Though if she’s as ugly as you I may not hold you to that.”

  “Why, you cheeky bastard! She’s way too good for you and…” Thurkill caught himself as he realised it was a joke. Eahlmund had doubled over again, this time made insensible by uncontrollable peals of laughter.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  26 October, Haslow

  It was late afternoon on the third day after leaving Brightling when Thurkill and Eahlmund arrived at the outskirts of Haslow. It had been an uneventful journey, deliberately so on Thurkill’s part as he had stayed away from the major roads and paths to avoid any chance meeting with marauding soldiers. If truth be told, though, he had no idea where the Normans were. Surely they would have advanced on Lundenburh or Wintanceastre by now? Nonetheless, it could do no harm to be cautious.

  They approached from the south, careful to remain out of sight until they knew what awaited them. The land on this side of the village was thickly wooded and given over to foraging for upwards of fifty pigs. If Thurkill’s memory served him right, they were cared for by a father and son who went by the names of Osfric and Osfrith. Their family had been swineherds for as long as anyone cared to remember and it was often said that old Osfric loved his pigs more than he did other people. Thurkill smiled at the memory, hoping that the old man was still thrived.

  “Is it far now?” Eahlmund asked for the umpteenth time that day, his cheeky grin showing he was deliberately trying to irk Thurkill.

  The young warrior decided not to rise to the bait. “Just on the other side of these woods, then across the meadow and we’ll be there.”

  “Good, because I’m starving. One of these pigs,” he pointed to large sow that was snuffling its way from tree to tree searching for mushrooms and truffles amongst the mast, “would be nice. Can we take one with us?”

  “You’ll have me to answer to if you do, you young scamp.”

  “Osfric!” Thurkill was genuinely pleased to see him.

  The old man came over to them, leaning heavily on his staff, keeping the weight off his left leg as much as possible. “It’s good to see you, young master Thurkill. There’s many here who thought you were lost along with your father in battle, but I knew differently.”

  “You’ve had news about Scalpi?”

  “I’m sorry to say we have. One of the lads who went with you to the battle made it back here a few days ago. Just the one mind; I don’t suppose the other three will ever come back. Anyway, he – Aethelnoth it was, the smith’s son – he told us that he had seen your father killed, dying with honour while defending the king. He also said he saw you lying nearby but had lost sight of you when he was swept up in the rout.”

  “I was as good as dead, knocked unconscious and separated from one my ears.” He pushed his straggly hair back to reveal the ugly, red scar where his ear had once been.

  Osfric eased himself down onto a fallen log, grunting as he stretched his left leg out in front of him. “Hmmm, better an ear than the whole head, I suppose. You must have left before Aga arrived then.”

  The news shocked Thurkill, causing his legs to almost give way beneath him. “My aunt was at the battlefield? When? Why?”

  “She made Aethelnoth take her back to the battlefield. He didn’t want to go, I can tell you, but she made him all the same. She wanted to find her brother’s body and bring it back. Yours too, I shouldn’t wonder. In hindsight, though, it proved to be a bad idea.”

  Thurkill felt his heartbeat racing faster with each moment. “Why do you say that? Is she alright?”

  “Yes, yes, she’s fine,” Osfric said impatiently, irritated at the interruption. “She found Scalpi alright, but she also found some Normans.”

  “Tell me what happened, for God’s sake.” He realised he had raised his voice in his eagerness to find out. “Quickly,” he hissed, more quietly.

  Osfric grinned knowingly. “You always were the impatient one, young Thurkill. I see this has not changed.”

  The old man hawked and spat into the pile of leaves to his side, clearing his throat to begin his tale. “Well, as I had it from Aethelnoth, the Normans were still camped by the battlefield when they arrived and it was not long before their presence attracted the wrong sort of attention. She was taken before their Duke William so he could ask her what her business was there.

  “Well, she’s a proud woman as you know, so she held her head high and calmly
stated that she had come to claim the body of Scalpi, loyal thegn of King Harold so he could be buried with honour back at his hall. This amused the Duke but, apparently, he was impressed with her courage and fortitude so he allowed her to proceed and even provided an escort. A dozen of his knights were assigned to help her find the body and to bring it back here.”

  “She was treated with honour and respect?” Despite himself, his hand strayed to his seax as if he would be able to strike down anyone who had harmed Aga right there and then.

  “No one says any different, Lord.”

  It was the first time that Osfric, or anyone for that matter, had used that title when addressing him and it shocked him. Of course, with his father dead, he was – in name at least – the Lord of Haslow; though it would not be true in law until confirmed by a king. Either way, he felt a sense of responsibility that had not occurred to him before. The people of Haslow were now under his protection. They looked to him for security and justice.

  “They returned here not three days since; Aga and Aethelnoth riding on a wagon pulled by two oxen on which lay Scalpi’s body, dressed in his armour and wrapped in a fresh cloak. The escort came with them, riding six in front and six behind. Now I don’t mind telling you that they were the finest but also the foulest looking fellows I ever saw. Covered head to foot in armour and with faces as grim and as hard as any you might hope to encounter. The leader in particular was an especially ugly brute. All glowering looks, scowling and an ugly red scar running across his face. It wouldn’t pay to cross that one, I daresay.”

  Thurkill caught his breath. It couldn’t be, could it? Surely many men bore the scars of battle on their faces, especially after the events of recent days. He put the thought from his mind; it was coincidence, nothing more or less. Nonetheless, it might pay to tread carefully just in case. “Where are they now, these knights?”