by C. R. May
Hereswith closed her eyes and sighed with relief. Ever since the Danes had returned to their lands, the people of Wessex had lived with the ever present fear that a war band would suddenly appear in their parish. The king had called out the fyrd earlier that summer as the enemy had swept through the lands of the Mercians to the north of the Thames, and men were still thin on the ground. Since king Alfred’s time the free men of fighting age had been divided into thirds. In times of war one-third went to the king’s army and one-third to guard the nearest fortified town, the local burh. That left barely enough able bodied men of the Hundred to manage the everyday life of the community.
Hereswith forced herself to remain calm as Aldwulf cantered down the slope towards them. Despite her daughter’s joy at seeing the young noble, the boy’s expression told her that all was not well. She patted Edith on the shoulder. ‘Go and fetch ale for Aldwulf. He looks as though he has ridden hard.’
Delighted with her task Edith scampered away, and her mother turned her attention back to the young rider as he began to slow his mount. The boy was the same age, ten winters, and she had begun to plant the idea in people’s minds that the pair were a good match. Her husband was a stalwart of the village and a fierce warrior, well regarded in all the right halls. Only that spring Cutha had been appointed cumbolwiga to Aldwulf’s father Aldhelm, the thegn’s standard-bearer in battle; it was a high honour, and Hereswith was determined that it was one which would be used to advance the fortunes of her family. She painted her face with a welcoming smile as the object of her scheming clattered into the yard.
‘There are Danes in the Hundred!’
Hereswith reached up and grasped the bridle, calming the horse with a stroke of its muzzle as she quizzed the boy. ‘Where were they last seen, Aldwulf?’
Before he could reply Edith reappeared, offering up the cup of ale with a coyness she had taught the girl for this very moment, before curling a finger to hook away a strand of hair left deliberately loose. Despite the seriousness of the boy’s errand, it was all Hereswith could do not to hug the girl as she followed up with a saucy smile.
Naturally Aldwulf gave no indication that he had noticed any of it, but Hereswith knew that the hunted were often the last to realise the fact until it was too late for them.
The boy took the drink with a nod of thanks and drained it in one. ‘Cnut’s army is still well to the north of Wallop,’ he blurted out. ‘But they have parties of horsemen foraging all over.’ He made a fist and pushed it into his stomach, belching softly as the ale repeated on him.
‘Cutha has our horse,’ she replied. ‘We will never reach Salisbury burh before we are overtaken.’ Hereswith’s gaze wandered across the hillside as her mind worked on the options available to her. ‘Carry on and warn the other farmsteads,’ she said finally, ‘my husband has built us a hiding place nearby.’ Aldwulf nodded, pulling on the reins as he guided his mount towards the far field. Hereswith called after him as he exited the yard. ‘Aldwulf, take care. If you are overtaken don’t act rashly and get yourself killed; give them what they want and let them go on their way. Your day will come.’
The boy pulled a pained expression, and Hereswith could not help but chuckle at his reply. ‘You are the fifth woman to tell me that this morning, not including my mother and sisters.’ He snorted as the horse moved into a canter. ‘Even a skull as thick as mine cannot ignore the soundness of the advice!’
They parted with a wave, and Hereswith began to collect her thoughts as Aldwulf made the lane. He had better be careful she mused as she watched him go, he was the best catch for miles around. She turned back as her daughter retrieved the cup. ‘Edith, you know what to do. We can’t take the last of the grain from the store, but they are not getting the hog if they come here. Fetch the box containing our silver from the eaves while I grab Crackling, and we will get up to the wood.’
The Danes shared a look as the sound of a horse carried to them from the clearing ahead. They had been watering their mounts at the small brook in the shade of a tree lined bank, and the experienced scouts instinctively moved to take up positions athwart the road, hefting their shields, couching their spears as they waited for the rider to appear around the bend. Within moments the horse hove into view, and the tension left their faces as the rider was revealed to be not much more than a boy.
Aldwulf gasped in horror as he entered the woodland and came face to face with a line of heavily armed raiders. For a heartbeat he considered urging his horse forward in an attempt to burst through the wall which had sprung up barring his path, but the women’s advice came back to him and he hauled at the reins and tried to remain calm.
Starkad clicked his tongue, and his horse walked forward as the others ranged to either side. ‘Nice horse.’
Aldwulf rested his hands on the saddle horn, staring straight ahead lest his eyes betray the hatred he felt for the invaders.
Starkad reached across, removing the boy’s sword from its scabbard and examined it with a smirk: ‘nice sword, too!’ He threw a look across his shoulder and spoke to the others. ‘It looks as though we have caught ourselves a jarl, lads!’ He pulled a mocking smile as Aldwulf finally met his gaze. ‘Are you a jarl, boy?’
The young West Saxon composed himself and answered with barely concealed contempt. ‘It would seem not as you still live. If I were a jarl, would not the men of my lith have cut you down by now?’
Starkad’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Your lith eh? A good Danish name. You seem to know a lot about us lad, maybe you can even read? Perhaps we should take you along with us for ransom: how much do you think your family would pay?’
Einar edged his mount forward as the others hung back. ‘Let the boy go Starkad, we don’t have the time for this. The army needs food not another mouth to feed. Empty his purse, take his horse and send him on his way. We need to keep moving.’
Starkad glowered at his countryman, before raising his spear to tap the leaf shaped blade against Aldwulf’s cheek. The boy stiffened but kept his eyes fixed on his tormentor. ‘What do you say boy? Is my tender-hearted friend right? Should I let you go?’
Aldwulf hesitated before he replied. Despite all the womanly advice he had received that morning his temper was rising at the Dane’s impudence — he was the son of a thegn, if his life was to end here he would die like one. Already annoyed by Einar’s challenge the look of defiance was all the excuse the Dane needed, and the spear blade stabbed forward to winkle the boy from the saddle. As Aldwulf hit the ground with a gasp of shock and pain, Einar started at the suddenness of the violence. ‘Why?’ he gasped as he began to recover his wits. ‘He was no danger, he could not have got very far on foot!’
Starkad rounded on him as the others averted their eyes. ‘Listen you fool. I don’t know what kind of war you have been fighting before today, but even you must have noticed that innocent people get killed. If you don’t want to plough their women that’s your loss, but what do you think this poor mite has been up to this morning?’ Starkad edged his mount across with a squeeze of his knees, spitting the following words through gritted teeth. ‘Do you think he was out for a nice ride in the sunshine? Or perhaps he was calling on a girl? What do you think? It is a lovely day.’ The big Dane pulled a face as though an idea had just occurred to him. ‘Or maybe he has been riding all over the area? Warning people that there are Danes about?’ He clicked his fingers as the others began to shift uneasily in their saddles. They had seen this mood before and it usually ended in more bloodshed than a simple shoulder wound. ‘Yes, that’s it!’ he exclaimed. ‘It all makes sense now. The fine horse: the sword; rushing about like a fool straight into a party of heathen killers.’ He encompassed the group with a sweep of his spear as Aldwulf watched nervously from the leaf litter beneath them. ‘The heathen killers bit, that’s us, remember that. Now, let’s get going before the men that our friend here will have alerted come in force against us.’
Otkel cut in as he saw Einar was about to make a reply. He co
uld see that Starkad’s anger was about to boil over and he knew from experience that it invariably ended in a death. They were still deep within enemy territory and they needed to keep their wits about them if they were not to end up as grisly entertainment for the locals. He had seen the bodies of men who had been taken before and he had no wish to join them. The women were the worst, and his hand moved instinctively to his groin; all it would take is one word out of place from the new boy and anything could happen. ‘Starkad is right, Einar,’ he said. ‘There could be armed men gathering against us even as we sit here. One more farm and I say we return to Cnut — use the boy’s mount as a pack horse and go.’ He glanced down at Aldwulf and sniffed. ‘It’s your lucky day, boy. Take yourself off home and get the wound dressed. You will have a nice scar to show the girls — when the tale has grown to how you faced down fifty savage Danes all alone, and lived to tell the tale.’
Flipping the wattle panel aside, Hereswith peered inside despite the urgency she felt. The last time they had used the shelter it had been full of creepy crawlies, and she was not about to jump blindly in and land on heaven-knows what. Old Ælfheah in the next valley had climbed into his Dane hole and found himself sharing it with a half starved fox which had fallen in and couldn’t climb back out. It was only the fact that his knife had been to hand which had saved him from the crazed animal.
Satisfied that the hole was clean and safe, she lowered herself in and held out a hand for the leash. Edith tossed the rope across, before dropping to her knees to shoulder the protesting swine to the lip of the pit as her mother gave a tug. As the hog toppled into the hole with a squeal, Hereswith held up her arms. ‘Come on then, in you come.’ As Edith backed over the edge, Hereswith guided her foot into the notch cut into the side wall which acted as a step. ‘Make a good job with the leaves, there’s a good girl.’
Edith scooped an armful of dead leaves from the forest floor and spread them thickly across the upper surface of the wattle before sliding it into place it with her fingertips. As the girl jumped down and made a fuss of the pig, Hereswith craned her neck and searched the wattle screen for a chink of light. Satisfied that it was completely covered, she lifted the edge of the panel a sliver and propped it open with a small stick.
They had reached safety with moments to spare. Four horsemen were coming into the yard, and mindful of the girl beneath her in the dark she had stifled a cry of anguish. Despite the fact that it was laden down with plunder, Hereswith had recognised the horse they led as the one which had carried young Aldwulf away only a short while before. Closing her eyes she sent a prayer to God that they had only robbed the boy and sent him on his way.
Her hideaway was well constructed and perfectly placed, overlooking the farm and its surroundings. Most outlying farms and halls had such bolt holes for use when invaders or wolf heads were in the area, but few were as good as the one which Cutha had built for them. Lined with stout oak planking, the floor had been raised above the earth on joists helping to keep the damp at bay. Positioned to give the occupants an uninterrupted view down the valley, Hereswith watched as the Danes dismounted and began to search.
‘Look at this boys, it is our lucky day!’ Skuli beamed as he slurped the soup from the big wooden spoon; ‘lovely.’
Delighted grins came to the faces of the raiders as they saw that a hot meal was in the offing. Starkad placed a palm on Einar’s chest as he went to follow Otkel into the hall. ‘Not you, someone needs to stay on guard. Broth doesn’t make itself and it could be a trap. You were keen on finding more grain before, now is your chance.’ He threw him a mocking smile. ‘We’ll save you some.’
Einar fought back the retort which came to him. It was obvious that he had been chosen because of his challenge at the burn, and he realised that the man was waiting to see how he would respond. If he rose to the bait the situation could quickly become heated, even fatal for one of the pair, and both men knew that they were far from help. If an English war band did turn up unexpectedly and they were fighting among themselves or stuffing their faces inside it would not go well for them. He forced a smile to his face and nodded as he turned away.
As the eager yapping of hungry men around a cooking pot filled the air, the Dane ran his eyes over the neat and ordered farmyard. It was so like his own back in Jutland, and he felt a pang of homesickness at the sight. He would be there still if the scrapie had not taken practically his entire flock, and he longed for the time when he had stolen enough silver from the people here to head home and replace his ravaged stock. A small enclosure caught his eye, and the Dane sauntered across to take a peek over the waist high fence. A sty nestled at the far end of the dusty enclosure and Einar slapped his thigh with delight as he squatted down to peer inside, but although he was already salivating at the thought of the meal to come he saw to his disappointment that the interior was empty.
A brace of wood pigeons clattered into the air and he swung about in alarm, spear held at the ready as his minds-eye imagined the woodland spewing forth the local thegn and his war band. Relieved when nothing more threatening emerged he lifted his chin, tracing the flight of the birds as they beat their way aloft before gliding across the clearing towards a small copse. The wooded knoll was clearly managed, and Einar felt himself drawn towards the stand of poker-straight trees. Even at a distance he could see that the open spaces between the coppiced saplings were ankle deep in leaf mould. It was the perfect place for hogs to root for mast, and Einar smiled to himself as he started up the small slope. Perhaps he would get to taste swine flesh today after all.
Despite the distance between them, Hereswith instinctively drew her head away from the opening and mewed in fear. The Dane was marching straight up the hill, his eyes turning directly towards the hiding place, and she allowed the wattle to fall back into place as she dropped to the floor. She hissed at Edith as she reached across and took the piglet from her. ‘There is a Dane coming this way. Keep quiet and still and he will pass us by.’
The girl shrank back into the corner and Hereswith seized the unfortunate piglet by the snout and yanked its head back. One quick draw of the knife across its throat was enough to open both jugular and she hugged the animal into her, smothering its dying kicks and stifling the last terrified squeals. ‘Sorry Crackling, but we can’t have you giving us away.’ Hereswith held on until the animal had stilled and dropped it to the floor. She looked across to her daughter and pulled a sad smile. Even in the darkness of the Dane hole she looked shocked at the sudden violence of the piglet’s death, and although the girl knew what the fate of every animal on the farm would be, she had been fond of him.
Cries and laughter carried up to Einar as he laboured up the slope, and he shook his head in dismay. Starkad and his cronies had a death wish and he was glad to be away from them. If they made it back to the army in one piece, he would ensure that he was far away when men were being assigned to foraging parties in the future. He leaned in to his spear as the hillside steepened. The edge of the copse was just ahead, and he began to run his eyes across the woodland floor as he searched for signs of disturbance. Swine were notorious for the mess they made and any signs should be easy to spot.
The tiniest of movements off to the left caught his eye and his head spun around as he brought his spear to bear. Einar froze as he waited for the movement to repeat itself but all remained still. Hogs were intelligent creatures and they knew full well what a spear was used for — if he was gored out here it would be the end of him. He had no doubt that Starkad and the others would abandon him to the locals, and he was under no illusions as to his fate if that did happen.
Placing his feet deliberately, he edged between the nearest spray of saplings and moved into the trees. The sun was overhead and the light was streaming down through the leafy canopy, illuminating every dip and mound of the woodland floor, and he gripped his spear tightly as the bright light picked out the distinctive weave of wattle just ahead. Einar jumped aside as he realised what he had discovered, throwing
himself behind the bole of a tree as he imagined an arrow trained on him from the hideaway. His mind raced. He dare not turn away and call to the others — even a single moment of inattention here could cost him his life. Besides, the sounds coming from the hall told him that they had discovered the ale supplies and he doubted that they would care. It was likely that the pit before him contained only women, children and men too old to fight, and he could imagine what would happen if the others did come up. Einar edged his head around the tree trunk, fixing his gaze upon the wattle screen as he spoke. ‘Push back the cover, and place your hands on the lip of the hole where I can see them. Do it quickly and no harm will come to you.’
The Dane waited expectantly, but neither movement or any sound followed his instruction. Despite the potential danger, he found that he was smiling at the absurdity of the situation. If there was nobody actually in there, he was hiding behind a tree in a foreign copse talking to an empty hole in the ground. He was about to move forward to edge the wattle aside with the tip of his spear when several fingertips spidered their way into view and inched back the panel.
Einar tensed and hefted his spear. If armed men did spring from the ground he would have to use the spear as a javelin and draw his sword quickly. He wished now that he had thought to bring his shield along but it was still tied to the flank of his horse. He cleared his throat, trying to sound as confident as possible as he gestured to imaginary companions with his spear. ‘All of you, place your hands where we can see them.’
A single pair of hands gripped the lip of the hiding place and a voice tainted by fear called out. ‘There are only two of us, and my daughter cannot reach.’