Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2

by Paul Bernardi

  Ealdred offered a more conciliatory tone, perhaps eager to steer the conversation away from the threat of committing atrocities on the head of the English church. “I wonder what inducements Duke William laid before him? It is no secret Stigand is a lover of coin, so I can only assume he has been promised great wealth for his allegiance. William will be thinking ahead - he knows he needs at least one of us to preside over his coronation were it to come to that. William must have been planning this for some time.”

  Thurkill was growing impatient. A question had been gnawing away at him since he had entered the hall. In the end, it got the better of him; he cared not what punishment might be forthcoming.

  “But will we do now, Lord? Duke William could be here within a few days. Give the order to send the army out to face him. Every moment we delay strengthens his hand and weakens ours.”

  Edgar’s expression showed how rash he’d been. “Don’t you think I know that? I may be young but I do not need lessons from a jumped-up country boy such as you. It is only respect for your father’s name that stops me from sending you packing with my boot up your arse.”

  Suitably cowed, Thurkill bowed his head, before Aelfric spoke up to spare his blushes. “Lord, I pray you pardon young Thurkill’s intemperance. He merely wishes to help you rid the country of the Norman invader. Youthful enthusiasm gets the better of him, is all.”

  Edgar grunted, though Thurkill could not tell whether his apology had been accepted or not.

  “But the boy’s point still stands, Lord. Whither now for us, especially now we are shorn of the support of the Lords Eadwine and Morcar?”

  Edgar visibly flinched as if Aelfric had landed a punch on him. “I’ll thank you not to mention those bastards in my presence again, Aelfric.”

  “Your pardon, Lord, but the fact remains; their loss has hit our cause hard.”

  “Lord King, I think it is time we face facts. The race is run and I fear we must accept we have been found wanting. I urge you to seek terms for the sake of your people.”

  Thurkill did not recognise the new speaker. He was the only man in the hall, other than the king, who was seated; the result of wounds that had presumably been sustained at Senlac. He wore no tunic, but instead his torso was tightly wrapped in thick linen bandages which were, nevertheless, stained red where the blood still oozed. To keep the cold at bay, he wore a heavy cloak around his shoulders, over which several animal pelts were also draped. His face was pale and he grimaced as he spoke, as though every word caused him physical pain. Thurkill was amazed that the man yet clung to life; a testament to an iron will that few men possessed.

  Edgar went to his side. “Noble Aesgar, do not exert yourself. You have already given much in the service of your country. You must rest so that you may recover to serve me once more.”

  “You are gracious, Lord, but my time has gone. And though it pains me to say, I fear yours may also have passed before it could begin. With the northern earls, we had a chance to defeat William but now what would we have? Half their numbers? Two thirds at best? Even on ground of our choosing, we would be overwhelmed by their horse and archers. I saw it at Senlac to my cost, and there we were more evenly matched. I beg you to think of your soldiers and their folk at home. Do not commit them to a fight they cannot win.”

  So this, Thurkill realised, must be Aesgar the Staller, the man to whom Edgar had entrusted the defence of Lundenburh. It was said he had taken a spear to the belly during the final moments of the battle around Harold’s Wyvern battle standard.

  Thurkill burned with indignation at Aesgar’ words. He would never dare call Aesgar a coward - the man had proved himself beyond doubt, that much was apparent to all - but that did not stop his feelings of rage and frustration. Surely things were not as dire as the great man painted? If it were, though, it would be no one’s fault but Eadwine and Morcar. He cursed their names under his breath, hoping that he might one day have the chance to confront them for their perfidy.

  Edgar was speaking once more. “I thank you for your words, Lord Aesgar, and do consider them most closely, for they are freely given and honestly intentioned. But what sort of king would I be were I to surrender so meekly? Do the people not depend on me to defend them to the death?”

  “They do, Lord, but I fear we face a foe whose means and resources outweigh ours. Your people also depend on your for their safety. To endure another defeat more damaging than Senlac could not be countenanced before God, if we have no hope of victory”

  As always, Archbishop Ealdred’s honeyed words sought to soothe the king’s mood. “Continued resistance would only lead to more bloodshed and much loss of life; lives which could be spared if a peace could be agreed now. We have all heard the reports of wanton destruction that have accompanied William’s march across the land, and it is plain to me that he will not cease in his efforts until he is victorious.”

  Thurkill could see the indecision that tore at the king’s soul. The weight of history told him that he must emulate his ancestors and fight. Had not his grandfather, the mighty Edmund of the iron sides, fought back against the Dane, Cnut, giving his life in that cause? How would he stand before his ancestor in the afterlife if he did not fight for his country?

  But then, were he to do so, the odds were better than even that they would be slaughtered to a man. Could he knowingly commit his men - the farmers, blacksmiths, farriers, coopers and all manner of other tradesmen - to what amounted to almost certain death? Thurkill gave thanks it was not his decision to make. His gut told him that if it were, he would choose to fight. He couldn’t bear the thought of kneeling before a foreign oppressor.

  He also knew that Edgar had not grown up expecting one day to be king. He had been born hundreds of miles away in a land where few outside the ruling families would have even heard of England. He had been brought back - along with his father, Edward – to play their part in the game of chance that was the English throne. His father’s sudden death and Harold’s defeat had conspired to lead him to this day where he, a boy of fourteen - or was he now fifteen? - was being asked to make a decision on which hung the fate of hundreds if not thousands of his people.

  For what seemed an age, Edgar paced up and down the dais under the watchful eye of his champion - the almost-mute Ladislav. Finally, he came to a halt. Decision made, the look on his face was grim but resolute.

  “Ealdred, summon the emissaries. I would send word to Duke William that I would have peace between us.”

  “Lord, for clarity…”

  “Yes, yes,” he was almost impatient now, perhaps eager to be done with it all. “I mean that I will place myself and my people in his care.”

  THIRTEEN

  On his way back to their lodgings, Thurkill purchased bread, meat and several wine skins to share with Hild and the others as a way of commemorating Eopric’s passing. It was while they were drinking to the boy’s memory that Thurkill also shared the news that Edgar had decided to submit to William. It was all over, he said; their struggle, Eopric’s death, it had all been in vain.

  “But we held them off at Suthweca, surely we can do so again?”

  “Would only that it were so, Leofric. Now their whole strength is north of the river and approaching the city across the flat lands of Berkshire, that makes for a different game altogether. What’s more they are reinforced with fresh men from their homeland while our numbers fall through betrayal and cowardice. I fear we have no choice as much as it riles me.

  “What’s more, many have already followed Stigand’s lead. Seeing such an important man submit to William has given others the courage to do likewise - as if the actions of that coin-obsessed worm are any sort of model to follow. Good Saxon men are going over to William like flies to a dead pig. And it can only get worse. Without the northern earls…”

  “Bastards…” Eahlmund hissed angrily into his cup.

  “Without the northern earls, we no longer have the strength to stop the Normans. There is no option but to respect our king
’s decision.”

  Sometime later, when the two of them were snuggled under their woollen covers, Hild asked the question that had long been nagging at the back of his mind. “But what next for us all? What sort of treatment can we expect from this Duke William?”

  Thurkill shrugged, yawning sleepily. “I cannot say, my love. But I do believe that it can suit no one if he were to be hell bent on destruction and chaos. My father always used to tell me that England is the richest kingdom in all Christendom. He will want that wealth for himself and will not want to ruin her by excessive deprivations.”

  “Yes, but what does that mean for us?”

  “I don’t know, Hild, but I think it would be wise for us to leave the city for a while, if not for good.”

  Though he did not wish to alarm her unnecessarily, he could not shake off the image of FitzGilbert’s snarling face and the knowledge that he was now one step closer to his goal.

  Once William was crowned king, what would stop him from avenging his brother? As long as FitzGilbert lived, he would have to keep one eye open the whole time. Could he really subject Hild to a life such as this? It hardly seemed fair. At the same time, he feared to discuss it with her in case she chose to abandon him for the risk he posed to her safety. What sensible woman would want to live in fear the whole time? He knew he was no coward, but why run towards danger if there was no need? Where could they go that was beyond his reach?

  “Perhaps we should take Aelfric’s offer and go north to his lands?”

  “You would do that?” The look of hope in Hild’s eyes settled things in his mind.

  “Why not? It’s a few days’ journey north of here so hopefully would be far enough away from trouble for the time being. I’d have to discuss it with Eahlmund and the others; give them the choice whether to continue to follow me or not, but I think they would agree.”

  Hild pressed her body against his, burying her head in his shoulder. “I was so worried while you were away, afraid I might never see you again. But this way, we can put such things behind us and have a life together once more. We can ask Aelfric for a small plot of land, enough for us and the rest of your boys. Together we can build our homes and farm the land. We can find a blacksmith and other tradesmen we might need and before long we’ll have our own little village; the perfect place for our children to grow up.”

  She drew back so that she could look at him the way she did with her head tilted to one side, a smile that turned up just the one corner of her mouth and eyes that twinkled with humour and mischief in equal measure. It was one of the first things Thurkill had loved about her and it melted his heart every time. Eagerly he hugged her back just as fiercely until she squealed in mock agony to be released. Laughing with her, he was glad to put thoughts of FitzGilbert and the Normans to the back of his mind, if only for a short while.

  ***

  Thurkill awoke the next day with a foul head and a mood that was little better, neither of which were helped by the sharp sunlight that streamed through the window and directly into his eyes. He hadn’t realised how drunk he was, fooled perhaps by the happiness he had felt with Hild by his side. Her idyllic view of the world with their little village and innumerable brats running around his ankles, was something he dearly wanted - for her as much as for himself - but, in the cold light of day, he knew there were many hurdles to cross before it could become a reality.

  The first of which, he knew, was the reason for his foul mood; the thought of bending the knee to William. Emissaries had been sent to carry Edgar’s offer to the Duke’s camp and they were expected back with a day or two. At that point, Edgar – together with those great lords who still stood with him – would have to present himself at the appointed place to swear fealty.

  This would be humiliating enough but was made immeasurably worse because Aelfric had ordered him to accompany the royal escort. He could not refuse as Aelfric was, to all intents and purposes, his lord now and - besides which - his respect and love for the old warrior was such that he would not willingly do anything to anger him.

  To clear his mind, Thurkill dunked his head in the bowl of water that stood on the sideboard on the far side of the room. It was freezing, causing his whole body to shiver as the drips cascaded from this face and hair down his chest and back. It did the job, though, as he felt marginally more awake afterwards. He was just pulling on his boots when he heard shouting from the street below, followed by screams and the sound of running feet. Sticking his still damp and dishevelled head out of the window, Thurkill tried to find news, though his worst fears and suspicions were already aroused.

  “Hie! What’s happening? Is it the Normans?” It took three attempts before he managed to stop any of the panicked townspeople long enough to answer him.

  “Run, you fool! The Normans are at the north gate.” The wretch could not be made to wait any longer, no matter what curses Thurkill rained down on his fleeing back. His hangover forgotten, Thurkill lurched back into the room, gathering up his axe and shield as he did so.

  “Hild, wait for me here. Bar the door and do not move from this place - promise me.” Reassured by her nodded acceptance, he turned to the others. “Grab your things and follow me. I don’t care if Edgar does plan to submit, he has not done so yet and so we will defend our city - with our lives if necessary. Come on!”

  Outside, the narrow street was filled with people milling about in all directions, unsure where the threat came from. Knowing no more than what the fellow had told him, Thurkill headed off north and west as much as he could. He hoped the others would stay with him as he pushed and jostled his way through panicked throng coming in the opposite direction. He set a punishing pace, barging past any that failed to get out of his way in time, until they emerged onto a wider thoroughfare; the main route that led to the great gate to the north of the king’s Westminster hall. At last he began to feel he was heading in the right direction as the numbers of townspeople were now outweighed by warriors, all hurtling as fast as they could towards the perceived danger.

  As he ran, Thurkill prayed that the whole Norman army was not waiting for them as there seemed to be pitifully few warriors running to meet them. Unless there were thousands already there, it promised to be a slaughter from which few would escape. The shouting and sound of metal clashing against metal and wood was growing louder with each pace. This was no false alarm at least.

  Breaking through the final group of fleeing citizens, Thurkill skidded to a halt. His five warriors were still at his side, even young Copsig who had flat out refused to stay behind this time. With Eopric gone, Thurkill was grateful for the extra shield so he had not argued the point for long.

  He took in the scene before him; it did not look good. Several Normans had managed to breach the gate and more were pouring into the streets with every passing moment. He could not reckon the total number, but this was clearly no mere raiding party. They surely would not have risked pressing home their attack so deeply otherwise.

  As for the Saxons, they were disorganised and under pressure. Step by step they were being pushed back by the ever-increasing numbers coming through the gate. If something were not done soon, they could be overrun, leaving the rest of the city at the mercy of the marauding knights. All around him, small groups of warriors stared in confusion, unsure where to go for the best. It was not until Eahlmund spoke, that Thurkill realised what he must do.

  “Lord, what would you have us do? It’s a massacre up there.”

  Thurkill realised there was no one else there ready to lead. Only him. He prayed that his youthfulness did not hinder his ability to sway others to his command.

  “Form the shieldwall, Eahlmund. We’ll round up others as we go. We have to push them back through the gate and have it closed; else all is lost.”

  Decision made, they began to put the plan into action. He had not really considered what it was to lead a large group of men before, thinking it was something that only older, more experienced men did and not something that shoul
d concern him. But whether it was five men or fifty, he supposed it made little difference. As long as they were close enough to hear his orders, it should be within his grasp.

  Steadily and purposefully, the six of them trotted forward, shields overlapping and weapons held at the ready. As they went, Thurkill yelled at all those within earshot to join. At first, many just stood there, non-plussed, as if paralysed without a lord they recognised to follow, but soon enough the message began to sink home. Warriors began to attach themselves to either end of the line while still more began to form a second rank. In twos and threes at first, and then in greater and greater numbers. After thirty or so paces there were well over fifty of them in two even lines.

  To help maintain their tight formation, Thurkill had them shouting “Ut” on every other step, combined with banging their spear hafts or sword hilts against their shields in unison.

  It looked and sounded impressive enough to Thurkill, but would it be enough to hold back the Normans? They were barely twenty paces away now, hammering away at the steadily crumbling line of defenders. Dead Saxons lay all around; many more wounded men were trying to crawl or drag themselves away from the killing ground. So far, the defenders had managed to contain the enemy within a short radius of the gate, but it was plain they could not hold out much longer. It was going to be close as to whether they reached them before they broke.

  As if to confirm his fears, the two men holding the centre of the line fell, simultaneously cut down by vicious sword cuts from above. Immediately, the Normans began to surge forward into the gap. It was now or never; the city’s survival hung by a thread. They had to throw caution to the wind.

  “Charge!” Trusting to fate and hoping that his companions would follow his lead, Thurkill broke into a run, closing the gap to the enemy as quickly as he could. Moments before impact, he lifted his shield and bent his shoulder against it to add extra weight. All along his little shieldwall, men followed his example. It was a tried and trusted technique that had worked countless times over the ages and it did not let them down now. The impact of sixty or so men all hitting the line at the same time was as sudden as it was immediate. Everywhere, horses reared up, unable to withstand the pressure coming from below. Man after man tumbled to the hard ground, as their mounts reared in fright.