Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2

by Paul Bernardi

  Thurkill nodded. She smiled to herself, pleased that she was able to provide him with the comfort he needed at times of doubt. That he relied on her wisdom and advice to keep him steady in his resolve was a source of joy for her. She’d heard of many ladies who were little more than adornments on the arms of their husbands, no more than any of the gold arm rings or brooches they wore. A thing of beauty to be admired. Not so her Killi; he respected her and trusted her judgement in all matters. Though he might not always do as she suggested, he did at least ask her opinion.

  ***

  Thurkill walked on in silence for a while, turning Hild’s words over in his mind. Just then, though, the peace was shattered by a terrifying, ear-piercing scream, the kind that only a young girl could make.

  “Elspeth!” He turned to the woods where they had last seen her.

  “By Almighty God, you told her to stay in sight. Why could she not do as she’s told?”

  His anger did little to mask his fear. Had she run into the two brigands who’d left the village earlier that day? Was it a wild boar? All manner of dark thoughts flooded his brain as he desperately searched the tree line for a glimpse of the girl.

  “There.” He followed the line of Hild’s pointing finger and saw a flash of colour flitting between the trees, the same shade of blue as Elspeth’s dress. Just then she broke free from the woods and began to run as hard as her little legs could carry her towards them, her face frozen in a rictus of fear. Thurkill ran forward to meet her, dropping to his knees to wrap her in his arms as she crashed into him, barely slowing her pace in her dread.

  “Soldiers.” She gasped, her little shoulders heaving in an effort to suck more air into her lungs. “In the woods.”

  “How many? Were they Saxon?” Thurkill’s heart began to race as if he too had been running. He fought to keep the anxiety from his voice so he did not add to Elspeth’s terror.

  “I don’t know, I saw two but they did not speak. They were moving slowly, from tree to tree, as if looking for something or trying to stay hidden.”

  “Was their hair long or short? Did they see you? Did they see which way you went?”

  Elspeth stopped to think. Thurkill marvelled at her resilience. Already her calm had returned as she thought back to what she had seen. “I think their hair was short, at least it was not long and nor did they have beards. I’m sorry but I am sure they saw me. I was so scared I didn’t know what to do, so I just screamed and ran.”

  “Don’t worry, Elspeth, you did the right thing and you have done well.” Already his mind was racing ahead. It sounded like Normans, but what were they doing here? Could there really be only two of them? It would be surprising were it to be so. He had to assume there were more of the bastards in amongst the woods. In the back of his mind, an image of Robert FitzGilbert was forming. He didn’t want to think it, but was there really any other logical explanation for the presence of Norman soldiers near his village? Had they finally found him?

  By now, Hild had caught up with him and was soothing the girl, wiping the tears from her face. “What is it?”

  “Normans in the woods. Two of them that she saw, but I don’t doubt there are more.” Yet again, he cursed himself for not having told Hild about FitzGilbert before. He’d never really been able to find the right moment, and now it might be too late; it had been forced upon him. “Listen, Hild. You remember I told you about the man I killed back at Haslow? The one who murdered my sister and aunt? Well, it turns out he has a brother. I saw him in Warengeforte with King William and then again at Beorhthanstaed. I’m told he has sworn vengeance on the man who killed his brother and I fear he may be here now to do just that.”

  “Why in God’s name have you not mentioned this before? Did you not think it was something I might want to know?”

  “At first, I didn’t want to alarm you as you were so happy here, and then I could never find the right time. I’m sorry, Hild, but nothing can change my mistake now. We have to consider what to do for the best. First, however, I want you to take Elspeth back to the village and raise the alarm.”

  “And in the meantime, what are you planning to do? Bugger that, you arrogant fool, I’m staying with you. I have my bow with me and you know more than most that I use it well.”

  Despite her anger, Thurkill grinned. He remembered how she had first tried her luck with a bow when the Norman raiding party had come to Brightling on the day Eahlmund’s father was killed. Since then she had been studiously practising with it against targets hung from trees and also by going out with the hunters to bring down deer and even rabbits at times. Old Hafdan the head huntsman had told him many a time how impressed he was with her skill. “She shoots as if she were a man, Lord.” Thurkill had laughed long and hard and told him not to let Hild hear him say that.

  “Fine, I can see that this is an argument I won’t win even if we had time to debate further. But Elspeth must go. Placing his hands on her shoulders and fixing her with his most serious expression to ensure she was in no doubt as to the gravity of the situation, he explained what she must do.

  “Run back to the village as fast as you can. Stop for nothing or no one, whatever you might see or hear. Do you understand? Can you be brave and do that, do you think?”

  The girl nodded, her face still pale with fear. Thurkill knew her to be a sensible girl, old beyond her years having had to take her mother’s place in the household long before her time. He had no doubt that she would do as she was told.

  “When you get there, find Eahlmund or any of the others in my war-band – I suggest you try the tavern or the mill first of all. Tell them that there are Normans in the woods and that they must close the gate and assemble the spearmen and archers. Tell them to man the walls and to let no one in or out, other than Hild and me. Now, repeat that back to me.”

  Elspeth needed only one attempt, confirming Thurkill’s opinion of just how bright she was. Rising to his feet he kissed her on the forehead and bade her to run as if the devil were on her heels. She needed no second bidding and was away, almost flying over the ground. Turning back to face the trees, he half expected to find hordes of Normans streaming into the meadow, but there was nothing to be seen.

  “I suggest we head back towards the village, Hild. Slowly and steadily that we might keep a close eye on things. Be ready with your bow, though. String it now for I fear we’ll have need of it before long.”

  While Hild bent the wooden stave against her instep in order to slip the twine loop over its other end, Thurkill cursed himself for having left his war-axe back at the hall, even though he’d had no reason to believe he’d have need of it that day. All he had was his seax, which in itself was no mean weapon. Its blade was as sharp as any and, though not as long as a sword, it still extended almost to the length of his forearm. But, if the Normans had swords or, worse still, spears, he would be at a serious disadvantage. It would be the devil’s own job to get close enough to use the damned thing. He would have to place his trust in Hild’s bow to even the odds a little if it came to it.

  They’d not gone more than a hundred paces towards the village when Hild grabbed his sleeve and pointed towards the woods. “There. Three of them. On horseback too.”

  Thurkill’s heart sank. That was why they’d taken so long to appear; they’d gone to retrieve their mounts. No doubt they thought it would be easier to ride down their prey rather than chase after them on foot. It made a lot of sense for they were only about two hundred paces away. It would take no time at all for a galloping horse to cover that distance. What was worse was that he could see each man carried a long spear in his right hand. They were tucked under their armpits, already levelled at the two of them. His seax would be next to useless against them.

  “You should run, Hild. The odds are against us.”

  “Why do you have trouble understanding me when I say I’m going nowhere? You don’t have the sole right to die with honour. I choose to stand here beside you and fight. Even were you to order me gone as my
lord or as my husband, I would defy you.”

  Thurkill knew that to argue further was futile, her mind was made up and she would not budge for anything or anyone. Smiling grimly, he hugged her close and kissed her fiercely. “In which case, I will see you in the afterlife, wife. I wish we could have had longer on this earth, for I would’ve dearly loved to have honoured you with the gift of children.”

  “Well, you’d best figure out a way to keep us alive then, because you have already done just that.”

  Thurkill’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean, Hild? Speak plainly.”

  “I did not bleed last month. I think I’m pregnant.”

  Thurkill did not know what to say, or even think. To be met with the news that Hild was with child should have been one of the happiest moments of his life and yet all he could think about was the fact that death was staring them in the face. It was a cruel irony to find out he was to be a father moments before being stuck by a spear like a wild boar in the hunt. He roared with frustration, sensing the familiar red mist beginning to cloud his mind. He would make these Norman whoresons pay before he died. He only hoped that one of the three that now bore down on them was FitzGilbert, so he could have the pleasure of killing the bastard and sending him to meet his brother in hell.

  He hugged Hild close to his body and then, with no further thought as to his own safety, he began to run towards the advancing horsemen. There was no sense waiting for death to come to him, he would rather meet its cold embrace on his own terms. Even at this distance he could see the look of surprise on the knights’ faces. Doubtless, they believed it would be a simple matter to ride down and kill their quarry. What was this mad man doing charging at them with nothing but a knife?

  Thurkill could hear nothing as he ran, but the sound of his feet pounding across the turf and the wind rustling in his hair. He had no thought other than to kill them all; he had to stop them from reaching Hild at any cost. She was carrying his child; she must survive to have their baby. He cared nothing for his own life now, but he prayed to God as he ran to see Hild safely home.

  Noticing something out of the corner of his eye, he crouched to scoop it up, barely slackening his pace as he did so. As he regained his stride, something whizzed past his head with a high-pitched swish. Alarmed, he looked up to see the Norman on his left clutch at this throat, an arrow shaft protruding from between his fingers. Within another two paces he had fallen from his saddle to the ground, the horse continuing its mad charge without him.

  By Christ, Hafdan was right, he grinned to himself. What an incredible shot. He made a mental note to ask her later whether she had meant it and then laughed demonically at the foolhardy notion of him still being alive to do so.

  Seizing on the initiative Hild had temporarily won for him, Thurkill let fly with the stone he had grabbed. It wasn’t the biggest, but it fit snugly in the palm of his hand and had a decent weight to it. Combined with the power he could put into his throw, it would do some damage but would be unlikely to kill or even disable. It might be enough, however, to distract. The projectile flew straight and true. From a range of only twenty yards, there was little danger that he would miss, it was just a question of where it would land and what impact it would have.

  As it was, he could not have hoped for a better outcome as he watched it strike the right-hand of the two knights just to the left of his nose guard. In shock the horseman dropped his spear as he instinctively reached up to his damaged face, whilst keeping his left hand on his mount’s bridle to avoid falling.

  Thurkill roared in triumph. Now the odds were a little more to his liking. There was still the third man to deal with, though, and he was almost on top of him now, hurling hatred and insults at him. The blade of his spear seemed to fill Thurkill’s vision to the exclusion of all else.

  With an effort of will, he slowed his pace a little to allow himself more time and space to react. He would have but one chance to get this right or else he would find himself stuck like a wild pig on the end of a sharpened spear point. He needed to judge it just right or he would be done for. An image of Hild came into his mind as it often did in times of need, but this time not only was it her but, balanced on her hip, she held a baby, gurgling and grinning as she bounced it up and down as she sang. There was no way he could allow anything to happen to her.

  As they closed within range of each other, the Norman raised himself up in his stirrups ready to stab down at Thurkill with his spear, but the Saxon was ready for it. He’d seen the same move back at Senlac and had rightly assumed that this Norman would act no differently. It was part of their training and worked well against a standing unit of foot soldiers, but against a sole, elite warrior such as he, it was a different matter.

  Just when it seemed that the point would strike home, Thurkill darted to his right, narrowly missing the horse’s pounding hooves as he passed in front of them, before reappearing on the horseman’s other, unguarded side. The look of surprise on the man’s face quickly turned into one of horror as realisation dawned.

  Howling like a wolf, Thurkill plunged his knife into the Norman’s thigh, just above the knee where it was not protected by his mailshirt. Holding on tightly, he simply allowed the horse’s momentum to carry its rider past him, ripping open a huge gash up his leg all the way to the hip. The knight screamed in agony as blood arced from the severed vessels.

  Thurkill had seen such things before and knew that the man was done for. There would be no stopping the flow as it pumped in time with his rapidly failing heart. He would be dead within minutes, literally drained of blood.

  No longer concerned about the doomed man, Thurkill spun round to take stock of the situation. The first solider, whom Hild had struck with her arrow, was lying on the ground a few yards away. He was not yet dead, but by the way his limbs jerked feebly, Thurkill could tell his end was near too. That left the third man, the one he had hit with the stone. Where was he? For one horrible moment, he feared that he had ridden on to attack Hild but, no, she was where he had left her, a second arrow notched and ready, watching events unfold. Finally, he spotted the man. He’d seen what had befallen his two comrades and decided that he did not wish to share their fate. Even now, he was galloping hard back whence he came. In moments, he reached the safety of the trees and was gone from sight.

  Thurkill grunted with satisfaction and began to trot back to where his wife stood. He was disappointed that the last man had escaped as he would carry news to the others. But when he considered he’d fully expected to die, he reasoned that the exchange was fair.

  Hild ran the last few steps to greet him. From the ferocity of the hug she gave him he could sense that she too knew how close they had come to death.

  “Never have I been more grateful for your bow, wife, and your skill in its use. Without that arrow flying true to its target, I fear we would have both been lost.”

  Hild glanced down at her feet, shame-faced. “My thanks, husband, but I cannot claim to have aimed at his throat. I was hoping to bring down the horse, but I snatched at it a little in my haste and it flew a little higher than I had intended. I actually feared it would pass over his head by some margin.”

  Thurkill laughed. “Well, I thank God then, for it must have been He who guided your hand. Now, let us return to Gudmundcestre with all haste. We must organise the defence before the rest of the bastards reveal themselves. I pray Elspeth made it safely, though I doubt any could catch her, the pace she was going.”

  TWENTY - SEVEN

  Thurkill needn’t have worried. By the time they arrived back at the village, the gates were shut and men lined the palisade on either side, weapons at the ready and alert for any movement. As the two of them approached, the gates were thrown open and closed quickly again behind them. He was pleased to see they were taking no chances. Elspeth had done her duty well.

  Once inside, the villagers flocked around him, their faces betraying the worry they all felt. They were eager to hear what he had to say, how he would defend them
from this new threat coming so soon after the brigands that had killed Egferth. Why had they come?

  They were frightened; he could see it in their eyes, in their faces. The news had spread like wildfire; the same warriors that had defeated and killed Harold not four months ago were here. This was no rag-tag bunch of outlaws at their gate.

  As he looked at them, Thurkill felt a pang of guilt. If FitzGilbert had come to claim the blood price for his brother’s death, then these peoples’ lives were now at risk for no other reason than his own actions in the past. It was nothing to do with them and none of them deserved to die on his account. He was at a loss for what to do. In his heart, he knew he should spare them the coming fight, but could he just leave and abandon them? They looked to him for justice and protection. Whatever the events of his past, he had a responsibility to the people of Gudmundcestre; that was not something he could easily renounce.

  Wulfric stepped forward, electing himself spokesperson for the rest. “Lord, why have the Normans come here? What have we done to so offend God that He sends this scourge against us?”

  What could he say? He wanted to tell them the truth but he needed to consult with his companions first, the men who had been with him since Haslow. He owed it to them to talk through their options before making a decision that could affect their future as well as his own.

  “The answers to these questions are not clear to me at this time, Wulfric. It is true that Hild and I were attacked by three Norman soldiers just now, but I know not how many more there be, nor on whose orders they act. May be they are renegades, deserters from King William’s army and little more than outlaws.

  “Until we know more, I suggest we keep our gates closed and a careful watch on the walls. Perhaps they will pass us by when they see how stoutly defended our village is. There must be easier targets elsewhere if booty is what they want, eh?”