Wolves of War

by Martin Lake

  Leif knew that to argue was foolish but, nevertheless, he found his head shaking in disagreement.

  ‘You say no?’ Ivar said, with a dangerous edge to his voice.

  ‘I said nothing,’ Leif mumbled. ‘But I would like to know why you want to put me into the hands of our foes.’

  ‘I want you to discuss terms with Burgred.’

  ‘Terms?’

  These were not the words of a great Viking leader, Leif thought. Perhaps Kolga had persuaded him.

  Ivar nodded and then put a finger to Leif’s lips.

  Leif looked at him doubtfully. ‘But what will your brothers say? And the jarls who are desperate for a fight?’

  ‘Our enemies outnumber us more than two to one,’ he answered in a low voice. ‘And Halfdan is wrong when he thinks their armies are made up of peasants. Especially not the Saxons. If we fight them we will be badly beaten, perhaps destroyed. I came to England to win victories not to eat earth.’

  ‘So what will you offer them? Treasure? Women?’

  Ivar looked at him in astonishment. ‘I won’t offer them anything, you idiot. I will demand treasure from them and in return I’ll promise not to attack their rich fat kingdom.’

  ‘But why would Burgred agree to that?’ Leif was puzzled completely now.

  ‘Because I’ve heard that he’s not had much success in war and doubts he ever will. If you can persuade him of the wisdom of it, he’ll buy peace.’

  Leif was unconvinced and when he spoke it was in a faltering voice. ‘When do you want me to go?’

  ‘Now, of course,’ he said. ‘Go to the north gate. You’re expected.’ He gestured towards the shadows where Deor was waiting silently.

  Leif cursed while a guard inched open the gate at the north of the town. He gestured swiftly and Leif and Deor slipped through.

  ‘This is madness,’ Leif whispered. ‘We’ll be slain by the Mercians.’

  ‘You’re a Viking, so you might be,’ Deor said. ‘But I’ll be fine because I’m an Angle.’

  ‘But a traitor. Or that’s what they’ll think.’

  ‘I’ll rely on you to tell them different. And I’ll do my best to keep you alive in return.’

  Leif glared at him although Deor could not see it in the darkness.

  They made a stealthy progress to some woods west of the town and then edged their way towards the river and the Mercian camp. Creeping in like this seemed utter folly. Leif couldn’t understand why Ivar hadn’t just asked Burgred for a meeting. He had sent them to their doom for no good reason.

  After what seemed an endless time they reached the Mercian tents. Pale torches flickered from poles dotted haphazardly across the camp. The greatest number were near the centre, close to a tent which dwarfed the others.

  Leif pointed to it. ‘I think that’s where we’ll find Burgred.’

  Deor nodded and took a deep breath. He reached inside his jerkin and pulled out two objects, thrusting one into Leif’s hand.

  ‘What’s this?’ Leif hissed. ‘A dagger?’

  ‘A crucifix,’ Deor said. ‘Hold it up before you and it should give us safe passage. Say that we’re monks who’ve been captured by Ivar and made our escape. And we don’t slink but walk upright as if we’ve nothing to fear.’

  Leif groaned in disbelief at Deor’s plan but there was nothing else to do but follow him. They got to their feet and strode towards the camp.

  They’d only just reached it when they were surrounded by armed guards. Leif brandished his crucifix in front of him like a talisman, praying that it had the potency of a Thor amulet. To his astonishment, it did. The guards swallowed Deor’s story without suspicion and escorted them to Burgred’s tent.

  Raised voices came from within, a curse or two and then, after a little longer, they were ushered in.

  It was a large tent dominated by a camp table, a large bed and a brazier glowing with coals. They could hear the sound of someone pissing in a bowl. Then Burgred stepped from behind a screen, trying a cloak around him.

  ‘What do you want?’ he demanded. His eyes were heavy with sleep.

  ‘We have come from Ivar the Boneless,’ Leif said. ‘We are Christian monks who were captured by the heathen in East Anglia. He has sent us here to discuss terms.’

  ‘Terms?’ Burgred repeated. He was fully awake now and curious.

  ‘Ivar does not want a battle in which many men will die —’ Leif continued.

  ‘Why doesn’t he?’ Burgred snapped. ‘I thought death and destruction is all the monster craves.’

  Leif was lost for an answer for a moment and gazed at Deor who carefully avoided his gaze.

  ‘For others, lord king,’ Leif stammered at last. ‘Ivar desires death and slaughter for others but not for him or his warriors.’

  Burgred ordered a servant to pour some mead and savoured it thoughtfully before replying. ‘So, he fears us, does he?’

  ‘He is concerned by the size of the combined Mercian and Saxon war-hosts.’

  ‘As well he should be. My wife is sister to Æthelred and Alfred. We are kin.’ He beat his fist upon the chest. ‘And we are stalwart in defence of each other.’

  Burgred said this with greater vigour than was necessary, as if he were desperate to convince them of the truth of it. And perhaps to convince himself.

  ‘So it is said,’ Leif replied, in a doubtful tone. He waited just long enough for this to raise Burgred’s interest before continuing.

  ‘It is fortunate that you are kin,’ he said. ‘for the Saxons have a reputation for deceit and false-dealing.’

  Burgred’s eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Eadbald is from Kent,’ Deor answered. ‘Wessex has been a cruel master there.’

  Burgred gestured for a second cup of mead.

  ‘I expect you would have preferred the heirs of Offa to still rule your kingdom?’ he said.

  Leif nodded in full agreement although he had no idea what Burgred meant by it. He dreaded that he’d be asked more difficult questions and he’d be unable to answer.

  Burgred downed the mead in a hasty gulp. ‘So how have the Saxons played false in Kent?’ he asked, quietly.

  ‘They make many promises,’ Deor said, ‘and neglect to keep them.’

  ‘As Æthelred’s grandfather, Egbert did with Archbishop Ceolnoth,’ Burgred said. ‘Egbert persuaded him to abandon allegiance to the Kings of Mercia, promising him lands and honour for the church. But Ceolnoth got neither, poor fool.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Leif said. ‘It seems that young King Æthelred is like his grandfather.’

  ‘Untrustworthy?’

  Leif nodded.

  ‘And his brother even more so?’

  Again, Leif nodded.

  Burgred did not say more for a long while. Then he dismissed his guards and beckoned them closer.

  ‘Does Ivar the Boneless suspect my kinsmen of treachery towards me?’ he whispered.

  ‘Not suspect,’ Leif answered. ‘Us of the word suggests there is doubt concerning the issue.’

  ‘And there is no doubt?’

  ‘I have seen Saxons within the city,’ Leif said.

  Burgred smashed his fist upon the table. ‘Damn them. I asked the Saxons for support and what do they give me? Treachery.’

  His face became flushed and taut. ‘And I did not request that they come with such a large army. Both brothers. Why would they do this? Why would both men leave their own kingdom and come to mine? Does Æthelred seek to supplant me with his brother?’

  He poured yet another cup of mead and stared into it, until he began to calm.

  ‘Yet, perhaps I have misjudged them,’ he continued softly, almost to himself. ‘They have gathered together a great army to come to my aid, risked their own lives as well. This is not the actions of traitors. They have left their own kingdom open to attack from the heathens. How could I doubt them?’

  ‘How could you imagine that they would leave Wessex undefended?’ Leif said quickly. ‘They would o
nly leave it if they were certain it was safe from attack.’

  Burgred’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Because they have struck a bargain with Ivar?’

  ‘I don’t know, my lord,’ Leif said, thinking it time to let Burgred fan the flames of suspicion for himself. ‘Does it seem likely? Perhaps it’s little more than a rumour.’

  ‘Rumour flies on wings of truth,’ Burgred cried. He was panting now, his hand gripped tight upon his cup.

  Finally, he mastered himself. ‘You said you have terms from Boneless?’ he said.

  Leif nodded. ‘Do not attack the city and Ivar will leave your kingdom in peace. He will, of course, need food for his warriors and some small tokens of your regard: precious jewels, gold, coins, slaves. But withdraw your army and he will not attack Mercia.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. But how can I do this? How can I conclude peace when the Saxons have marched to Mercia’s aid?’

  ‘You’ll think of a way,’ Leif said.

  Burgred nodded, his mind already turning on various ideas.

  ‘Do you have an answer for my master?’ Leif asked after a long period of silence. Deor looked at him in surprise. He had used the term master, forgetting he was pretending to be English. But thankfully, Burgred did not notice.

  ‘You have an answer,’ Burgred whispered. ‘I will pay him all he desires if he leaves my kingdom in peace.’

  ‘He will,’ Leif said in a decisive tone. ‘Ivar is a man of honour, even though a heathen.’

  ‘So I have heard,’ Burgred said, though Leif guessed he had heard no such implausible a thing.

  BATTLE FOR NOTTINGHAM

  Two days later Leif stood on the battlements and groaned with frustration. All the negotiations he had undertaken with Burgred had come to nought. The Saxon and Mercian armies were marching towards the walls with grim determination.

  Ivar gave him a withering glance but then turned his attention to the more pressing matter to hand.

  ‘Stand ready,’ he cried, drawing his sword and holding it high. ‘We will repulse them.’

  The enemy armies were only fifty yards from the wall now. Then a horn blew, they gave a huge shout and raced forwards.

  The Viking archers sent a cloud of arrows amongst them while others launched a volley of throwing axes. This did some damage but not enough to trouble such a flood of men. Within moments they had reached the wall and were throwing ladders against it.

  ‘Push them back, push them back,’ Leif cried feverishly, grappling the top of one and throwing all his weight against it. He was unable to move it but then Sigurd joined him and put his shoulder to it. The ladder began to teeter but the weight of the men clambering up it proved too much for the brothers.

  But then Guthrum raced over, pushed Leif aside and began to heave. He was stronger than even Sigurd and together their efforts proved enough. The ladder swayed, the men climbing it cried with terror and then, with one last mighty thrust, Sigurd and Guthrum hurled the ladder from the battlements.

  Leif glanced along the wall. Other ladders were suffering similar treatment but dozens more remained in place and the English warriors climbing these were now almost at the top. He ran to a second ladder and joined his friends in lobbing rocks down upon the climbing men. Many fell wounded but there were still more to take their place. Within moments strong warriors had clambered over the battlements, ready to do battle.

  Leif drew his sword and parried at a large Englishman who watched his every move like a snake. He bore no shield, none of the attackers did, for fear it would have encumbered them upon the ladders. It gave the defenders their one slight advantage. They smashed into the Englishmen with sword, spear and shield, killing and maiming. Yet still they came, heedless of their deaths.

  Leif wondered at this, for surely, they would never be able to get enough men on the walls to take the city. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw their plan.

  The attack on the walls was just a diversion. Down below a body of men charged towards the gate bearing a heavy tree with which to batter it. They swung it once, the timbers rocked. It would take little time for it to shatter and leave the way to the city open.

  ‘The gate, the gate,’ Leif cried. He ran along the wall until he was directly above it and began to hurl rocks on the men wielding the ram. His first shots were lucky and a couple of men fell senseless. Then enemy archers came racing up and sent arrows over the walls.

  Their aim was wild but it made Leif more cautious. ‘Keep on throwing,’ he said to the men as he ducked below the parapet.

  There’s no sense in us all getting killed, he thought. He realised that throwing rocks would not kill all the men smashing at the gate and they’d need another plan.

  His eyes swept the walls, searching for Ivar or one of his brothers but they were too far away. The closest jarl was Guthrum and he bellowed out his name, gesturing him to come over to him.

  ‘The gate will break at any moment,’ he told him. ‘We must have men below to secure it.’

  Guthrum glanced at the gate and took in the danger in an instant. He summoned his followers, leaping down the steps with Leif following more slowly.

  But the tardiness of his steps was more than compensated for by the swiftness of his thoughts. ‘The battering-ram’s the danger,’ he cried. ‘We should open the gate and let it enter.’

  ‘Open the gate?’ Guthrum cried. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Once the men on the ram are inside we’ll slam it shut again. Then the gate will be safe.’

  He had seen no sight of a second ram and prayed to Thor that the enemy did not have one to hand.

  Guthrum considered his words for the briefest moment, clapped him on the shoulder and organised his men. Two placed their hands on either end of the bars holding the gate fast, a dozen stood in front of the gate to receive the enemy while a score stood on each side, ready to force it shut once the ram was inside.

  At Guthrum’s signal the bars were pulled back. The next blow of the ram opened the gates wide and the force of their momentum carried the English through at a trot. They looked astonished at their success but this turned to horror as Guthrum’s men surged towards them. They dropped the ram and fumbled for their weapons but it was too late. They fell to the ground like barley before scythes.

  In the meanwhile, the rest of the warriors were pushing the gates shut. A dozen Englishmen battled through the gate but that was all. With a final push the gate was slammed shut and the Englishmen inside slain.

  ‘You did well to think of this,’ Guthrum said, punching Leif on the shoulder. Then he turned and raced back up to the walls to continue the battle.

  He was sorely needed. In the time he had been at the gate the situation on the walls had turned rapidly against the defenders. There were now hundreds of Englishmen upon the battlements and the Vikings were sore pressed to cut them down.

  ‘Come on, Leif,’ Thorvald cried.

  Reluctantly, Leif followed him up to the walls. He doubted he would survive long there. He cursed Burgred for reneging on his promise and cursed himself for failing to make sure he kept it.

  He reached the top of the steps and glanced over the walls. It was horrifying. The English armies swarmed against the walls like ants on a hot summer day. More and more ladders were being flung against the walls and men climbed swiftly up them, hindered less and less by the struggling defenders.

  Leif looked to his left and saw that two dozen Englishmen had secured a section of the wall and were holding back all attempts to dislodge them. Then there came a mighty bellow and Halfdan led his warriors charging into them. It was a brief and bloody conflict. The Vikings were more experienced, more ferocious and more desperate. The English fell to a man and then Halfdan continued his rampage, slaughtering all who stood in his way.

  He’s done it, Leif thought. He’s thrown them back. But then he looked more carefully. Halfdan had cleared this part of the wall but, nonetheless, their plight was hopeless. Some sections were completely in English hands and the
ir warriors were already fighting their way down the steps. Leif realised that it would take little time for them to reach the gates and fling them open to the hordes beyond.

  I’m a dead man, he thought. We all are.

  And then a horn brayed in the distance.

  Leif blinked in amazement as part of the attacking army seemed to shudder. Then, it broke off the attack and retreated from the wall with steady steps.

  ‘The Mercians are fleeing,’ Guthrum cried.

  The Englishmen on the walls turned and looked in horror then, as a man, raced towards the ladders, trying to force their way back onto them. Few made it and those that did fell fighting with their fellows to make the speediest descent.

  Most of their foes still raged against the wall, however, the dragon standard of Wessex flying high above their army. But their impetus had been broken.

  Once more masters of the walls, the Vikings hurled rocks and axes onto the Saxons and followed this by the corpses of their friends. It was this last which had the greatest effect. A little while after this dreadful barrage a second horn called and the Saxon army made a slow, ordered retreat in the wake of the Mercians.

  ‘We’ve won,’ Halfdan cried in delight. ‘They crumble against our courage.’

  ‘Or maybe against your negotiations,’ whispered a voice in Leif’s ear.

  Ivar was grinning quietly to himself. ‘You did it, Leif,’ he said. ‘When he attacked I thought he had played us false but Burgred held to his promise after all. And tomorrow I expect him to fulfil the second part of our bargain and deliver us great gifts.’

  TAKEN

  The Vikings had suffered grievously in the English attack, with many dead and even more wounded. Their chief consolation was the thought that the enemy had suffered even more.

  Some of the jarls wanted to pursue the advantage and attack the English camp but wiser heads prevailed.

  ‘We will get all we desire and more, without battle,’ Ivar said enigmatically. A few pressed him to say more but he maintained his silence.

  He was not so silent with Leif who was summoned to his hall early the next morning.