Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2

by Paul Bernardi

  THREE

  Back within the walls of Lundenburh, Thurkill sent Eahlmund and the others to find lodgings for them all. “Watch the price too. Don’t let them rob you blind.” He yelled at his disappearing back. “I’m not made of money.”

  Wishing he was going with his men, Thurkill trudged off instead with Aelfric towards Edgar’s hall by the abbey of Westminster. The Lord of Huntendune has been ordered to provide a report of the attack to the young king and asked Thurkill to accompany him, though what he would be able to add he did not know.

  They were ushered in to Edgar’s presence by one of the door wardens. With no time to clear the muck and sweat of battle from their faces, they must have presented an odious sight and smell, especially to the high-born ladies of the court, not least of whom was Ealdgyth, wife of King Harold. Tall, regal-looking and slender, she was standing to the right of Edgar’s throne by her kin, Eadwine and Morcar, the Earls of Mercia and Northumbria. Staring at her, idly, Thurkill found himself wondering why her two brothers had not come with them to Suthweca. The two most senior lords in England and yet they were nowhere to be found when it came to the dirty work of slaughter.

  To the rear of the king’s throne stood a dark-haired brute of a man who, it was said, hailed from the far-off kingdom where Edgar had been brought up in exile. Aelfric had told him that his name was Ladislav, but much more than that was a mystery.

  “He’s a man of few words, Thurkill, though perhaps this is no surprise for he’ll have no mastery of our tongue. He does his talking with his sword instead. When he does speak, mind, his voice is so harsh that, every word sounds like an invitation to fight.”

  “Well met, Aelfric. A famous victory, I hear?” Looking every inch the boy he was, Edgar was bouncing with excitement, making mock slashing and thrusting moves as if he had been in the thick of the fighting himself. “Come, tell me all. I want to know every detail.”

  Aelfric bowed stiffly, “There’s not much to tell, Lord.”

  “What? I heard we gave the Norman scum a bloody nose and more.”

  “That we did, Lord. It cannot be denied. But they only sent a small cavalry force to scout our defences; to test our strength and determination, if you will.”

  “What makes you say that, Aelfric? The Normans have been sent packing have they not?” Morcar could barely contain his agitation.

  “They have, Lord. But I swear to you they numbered fewer than three hundred. No foot soldiers and, thankfully, no archers. It was a hard fight, for sure, but one that was well within our means to win.”

  “But how many did you kill? Have we not significantly reduced their numbers?”

  “The fight was brief, they did not stand for long. They had no need to. We killed no more than twenty, with the same number wounded – all of whom have since been dispatched.”

  “What about our losses?” Thurkill noted Edgar’s face displayed genuine concern, a quality that was becoming of a man who would be king.

  “A handful at most, Lord. Fewer than half a dozen if I am not mistaken. We were well positioned and our shields spared us from the worst of their threat. They’re stout Saxon lads who fight for you, all good men and true.”

  “Well, let God be praised. Whilst it may not have been the blow we had hoped to strike; we have nonetheless prevailed with little loss of life. See that the brave men who gave their lives are buried with honour that their kin are cared for from my purse.”

  “It will be done, Lord.” Aelfric bowed once more.

  “’Tis all well and good, Lord, but what of our plan now?”

  “Speak plainly, Lord Eadwine, I would know what is on your mind.”

  The earl sighed as if it were obvious to all but a child and Edgar’s expression showed that it had not gone unnoticed. “If this was but a small force, there must be many thousands more of them somewhere between here and Dover.”

  “With more crossing from Normandy as we speak, I daresay,” his brother chimed in.

  “We also have many thousands of men, especially now that your fyrds have finally arrived.” A silence descended over the room as the thinly veiled message of Edgar’s words sunk in.

  “Your meaning, Lord?” The tone was cold, threatening even. Thurkill glanced at Ladislav. Though his expression was immutable, the Hungarian’s eyes were fixed on Eadwine, scanning his face for the slightest threat to his master.

  “It is of no matter. I simply meant that things may have gone differently for Harold had he had the benefit of your brave warriors at Senlac.”

  Despite Edgar’s placatory words, it was still more than the earl was prepared to stomach. “Perhaps he should have waited for us then, as I requested. You know how sorely tested our men were against the Hardrada at both Fulford and Stamford. I will not have a young pup like you, with no hair on his chin, impugn their honour. Every one of them has seen more conflict than you.”

  Edgar’s ire was rising now. “I have nothing but respect for your men, Eadwine.”

  “How dare you,” the earl stepped forward, the insult clear for all to hear.

  Ladislav growled, his hand falling ominously to his sword hilt. Though the words had no meaning to him, the danger was all too plain.

  “Gentlemen, I urge you to calm yourselves. Such intemperance does nothing to help our cause.” The latest speaker emerged from the shadows, where he had escaped Thurkill’s notice up until now. He was an old man, his tonsured hair the colour of snow. Despite his years, he still walked tall and proud, as a man of some bearing and status. His attire marked him as a member of the church, perhaps even a bishop by the richness of his vestments. But underneath the finery, Thurkill could see that he was stick thin; the hands that appeared from his voluminous sleeves were almost skeletal, while the skin on his face and head appeared almost grey, marked with dark spots that were the sign of great age.

  “I did not risk life and limb to bring your father back from the wilds of Hungary to have to listen to his son and his lords squabble like children. Earl Eadwine, you should show your king more respect. It is he who rules here not you, or had you forgotten your oath already?”

  The tension broke, like water released from a dam. Ladislav melted once more into the background, his face once again an inscrutable mask. For his part, Edgar hung his head, looking every inch the shame-faced youth that had just been reprimanded by his tutor for failing at his letters. “Your pardon, Bishop Ealdred. Would that my father, Edward, were here instead of me. He would have made a far better choice as king than me.”

  Though chastened by his rebuke, Eadwine could not, nevertheless, stifle a grunt of derision. Ealdred glared at him, but chose to say nothing further, perhaps fearful of reigniting a still volatile situation.

  “Whatever you may wish or think, Edgar, is irrelevant. You are king and a crisis is upon us. At any moment, Norman horsemen could come charging over the bridge to put the city to the sword. Lord Aelfric, pray tell us what is to stop them from doing just that?”

  Aelfric smiled. “I think it unlikely, Lord Bishop. Though it was but an advance party, they have learned something of our strength and determination today. I doubt they will try their luck with a frontal assault again. The bridge is the only way to reach the city and we can defend it easily enough. It would be a massacre.”

  The bishop nodded approvingly. “So, in your opinion, what will the Normans do now? Although I pray for it hourly, I fear they will not simply pack up and go home. Duke William has made no secret of his desire to sit on the throne that young Edgar now occupies. What would you do if you were in William’s shoes?”

  As Aelfric paused to consider his response, Thurkill began to speak, realising only too late that he had overstepped his mark. “I would move west, find another place to cross the river.”

  “Silence, boy! By what right do you speak here in front of your betters?”

  “He is here, Lord Eadwine, because I asked him,” Aelfric’s voice was calm but his tone conveyed an iron resolve. “This boy - as you call him
- is Thurkill, son of Scalpi, whom you will recall as one of King Harold’s most honoured captains. He has earned the right to speak in this company because he stood by his king to the last, while you were yet making your way south down Ermine Street. What’s more, this boy brought down the Viking champion on the bridge at Stamford; for which feat of arms Harold rewarded him with the Viking’s great war axe.”

  Thurkill’s face reddened. He was not used to praise, especially not in front of such exalted company. Thurkill felt the heat radiating from his face as all eyes turned towards him. He wished for the ground to open beneath his feet.

  “In which case, I say he deserves to be heard. Speak, brave Thurkill. Give us the benefit of your wisdom in matters of war.”

  Although the bishop hid it well, Thurkill could not help but wonder if his words were intended to mock him. It was too late now in any event; his rash outburst meant there was no retreat without dishonour. Praying for courage, he launched into a hurried explanation.

  “As Lord Aelfric says, the bridge here is too stoutly defended to be taken. So, if he can’t take the city from the south, William must find another crossing place. He does not have time to build enough boats to ferry his men and horses across, as we grow stronger every day. So he must go west until he finds a bridge or a place where the water is shallow enough to ford.”

  “Makes sense to me, lad.”

  Thurkill nodded his thanks at Aelfric. “But it will still take time to journey that far west and then return. I urge that we use that time to summon all the men we can. Then we can meet him in a place of our choosing.”

  Edgar looked doubtful. “What you say carries merit, Thurkill, but I worry what privations he will inflict upon my people in the meantime. Can we really stand back and allow him free rein across my lands? Should we not sally forth across the bridge and attack now? He would not expect that, I’ll wager.”

  Ealdred smiled, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “It is just such noble sentiments that saw your predecessor meet his doom, Lord Edgar. Had Harold waited for Eadwine and Morcar’s fyrd to arrive, he might yet still be sat where you are. But he found he could no longer stand by while William ravaged his lands and so he marched before his army was ready. Do not repeat that same mistake. We must focus on the greater goal. As Thurkill says, use the time to marshal your forces and then let us beat the Norman devils once and for all. With the Lords Eadwine and Morcar in command, I have every confidence that we will be victorious.”

  “Would we not be better to move our armies further north?”

  The bishop stared open-mouthed. “Why ever would we do that, Lord Morcar? The enemy is here.”

  “But if we retreat to the hills in my earldom of Northumbria, we will win ourselves more time to gather our strength. The land there would also be in our favour; we can use the terrain to our advantage. Hide among those hills and attack the enemy when least expected.”

  “Yes,” his brother added, “we could burn the land as we march, so that the enemy would have nothing on which to live as they follow us north. By the time we attack them, they and their horses would be weak from hunger. Then we’ll kill every last one of them.”

  Edgar rose to his feet once more, his face reddening as his anger rose. “You’d have me abandon my people to the mercy of the Norman scum? You’d have me run away from danger? I will not commit such a craven act, no matter how much you would like me to. As king of all this land, I cannot leave my people in the path of such danger.”

  “You dare call me craven?” Lord Eadwine started towards Edgar, his hand falling menacingly to his hip where he might have expected to find his sword hilt had he not left it at the door, as custom demanded. With surprising agility for one so big, Ladislav was in front of Edgar, sword in hand, before the earl could take another step. No one spoke as the two men faced each other. Eventually, the impasse was broken by the bishop’s infuriated voice.

  “Enough!” Ealdred’s eyes blazed with anger as he rounded on the two men. “For every moment you bicker, our enemy moves closer to his prize. We must unite if we are to survive. Carry on like this and I promise you William will be lord of us all before the turn of the year.”

  Having said his piece, the bishop then sought to ease the smouldering tension. “Is that agreed then?” He turned to face the two earls. “Do you, Eadwine Lord of Mercia, and you, Morcar Lord of Northumbria, swear by Almighty God that you will fight for your king and do his bidding until death alone releases you from that vow?”

  “Yes.” Eadwine hissed as he stepped back, his hands dropping back down by his sides, allowing Ladislav to resume his position behind Edgar.

  “I asked you to swear by Almighty God. Both of you.”

  “Alright, Bishop, we swear by Almighty God. Though we will send Ealdgyth north to Chester so that she is out of harm’s way. Assuming that is,” he bowed in a show of mock respect, “that it pleases you, Edgar?”

  Displaying greater maturity than the man who was twice his age, Edgar chose to ignore the insult. “You have my leave, Lord Eadwine, though be sure not to send all your best warriors as her escort. They will be needed here before too long, I assure you”.

  “Now that is settled,” Ealdred continued, his voice soothing and mellifluous once more, “what is to be done about these damned foreigners in our midst, assuming young Thurkill has the rights of it, that is?”

  FOUR

  Thurkill dragged himself up the narrow wooden stairs to the door of their lodgings, his muscles aching with every step. It had been a long day, what with the skirmish in Suthweca followed by the long and testy deliberations in the king’s hall. He longed for his bed and Hild’s welcoming embrace.

  The shock of their reuniting was still fresh in his mind, though - in truth - she had never been far from his thoughts since he had parted from her in Brightling to go to his father’s hall at Haslow. Although but a few days ago, it already felt like a lifetime. Suddenly afraid, he paused outside the doorway. Would she blame him for her father’s death? Had he stayed in Brightling, could he have prevented it or would he also be lying dead with the other men of her village? All he knew for sure was he could not stand here forever; he was ready to drop from exhaustion. Steeling himself for what lay within, he pushed open the door, wincing at the loud scraping noise it made as it forced its way over the uneven floorboards. He hoped they had not all been asleep.

  “Well, it’s about time you showed up.” Eahlmund stood in the centre of the compact little room, his hands on his hips in mock anger, playing the role of an irate mother.

  Thurkill laughed, joining in the ruse. “But you said I could play out until it went dark.”

  “Don’t cheek me, boy, or you’ll feel the back of my hand. I’ve a good mind to send you straight to bed with no dinner.”

  The mention of food made him forget his tiredness. He had not eaten since he broke his fast at dawn. He was famished. “Dinner, you say?” His voice was hopeful, verging on pleading.

  Eahlmund shrugged. “Don’t get your hopes up too much, Lord. It’s just some dry bread and a bit of cheese that’s seen better days. And there’s some apples too. Still, the ale in the jug there is quite passable, and helps to wash it all down. It was the best that young Copsig could lay his hands on at this late hour, given how overrun the place is at the moment.”

  Thurkill did not care. To his ears, it sounded like a feast to rival anything a king might enjoy. He made his way to the table where the remains of the food lay, looking around him as he did so. His whole warband was there; the two brothers, dozing on a single cot in the corner, lying head to toe to make best use of space in the cramped conditions. Against the other wall, Copsig, Eopric and Eardwulf were bickering about who was going to sleep where; Eardwulf claiming the right of first choice as the eldest. Across the far end of the room, a couple of blankets had been hung to create a screen. Peeking out from one side, he saw Hild’s face smiling tentatively at him as if unsure of her welcome.

  Eahlmund shrugged. �
��It was the best we could do, Lord. We thought it best not to waste coin on two rooms, not that we would have found another one nearby. Still, it should be nice and cosy with eight of us in here, eh? Oh, and I’ve told the lads to keep the farting to a minimum, what with the presence of a lady and all.”

  Thurkill smiled. “It’ll do just fine, my friend. I’m too tired to care about our sleeping arrangements anyway.” Holding out his arms, he beckoned Hild over to sit with him as he ate. “I am pleased to see you safe, Hild. I had begun to doubt whether it was really you on the bridge all those hours ago.”

  Her sibilant laugh awakened memories of happier times together back at her village. He felt its warmth spreading through him, caressing his exhausted body. Seeing his eyelids drooping, Hild took his hand and guided it towards the platter in front of him. “Eat, Killi. You’ll need your strength again tomorrow should the Normans return.”

  No sooner had he demolished what remained of the food and ale, than he collapsed on the straw mattress that he shared with Hild. It was lumpy with age and a little damp in places, but he cared not. Lying there on his back with Hild curled up in the crook of his arm, he felt more at peace than he could have imagined. It felt as if they’d never been apart. Listening to her shallow breathing, feeling the soft caress of her golden hair on his cheek as she stroked his face with her long slender fingers, was all that he could have wished for. In a few short moments, he fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

  ***

  He awoke to the sound of singing. For a moment he thought he was a child back home in Haslow with his aunt, Aga, going about her morning chores. He half expected his sister, Edith, to jump on his bed in a state of excitement at some new insect or bird she had caught, but it was Hild’s face that appeared round the edge of the screen. Though it was a vision no less wonderful, it was also a sharp reminder of what he’d lost.