by Griff Hosker
Mauger shook his head, “That was foolish, lord! Next time one of us leads!”
“We are all warriors, Mauger!”
“No, lord, you are our leader and without you, we lose our heart!”
My battle was over. I watched as my men tore through the Saxons. They had gambled upon stopping us at a barricade and they had failed. The only way left for the Saxons was south and they fled. They would keep running until they could see no more Vikings. Then they would crawl home grateful that their God had saved their lives. They would talk of us as though we had many more men than we had. It would justify their flight. King Edward would hear of the skirmish and it would become a battle. He would fear an invasion and he would strengthen his burghs. He would not know this was a raid to give us funds and to blood young men. While my men took all that there was to be taken from the field my son and my hearth weru insisted that I get to Hamafunta. I reluctantly agreed. The fall had hurt me. I had landed badly. I was sure I had broken a rib or two. We walked with the wagon and the captives.
Bergil Fast Blade and Gandálfr had already loaded the ships. The monks had their hands bound and were kneeling with the villagers from Hamafunta, on the beach. “The rest of the men will be here shortly.” I pointed at the wagon. “First, we load our dead and then, when they arrive, our men. Are the houses of the villagers empty?”
“Aye, lord. They have been stripped of all that is valuable.”
“Then fire them!”
Even as my men lit fires to make torches, my men began to arrive. The dead and the wounded were loaded first and then I saw black smoke begin to rise from the houses. It was at that moment that the rest of the Saxons, sent no doubt from the land around Wintan-Caestre, arrived. There were over two hundred of them and some were mounted. Sámr said, “We should leave now!”
I shook my head, “Have men stand behind the priests. Put a sword at their throats. Let the villagers go!”
“They will try to put out the fires.”
I smiled, “I know and the Saxons will see their priests more clearly.”
As the villagers raced to their homes, thirty riders detached themselves and galloped towards us. The rest of the Saxons formed three lines. I took out Long Sword. “Come, William, let us go and speak with these Saxons and test their resolve.”
We walked towards the galloping horsemen. Saxons did not use stiraps. They had spears but they could not thrust. They rode ponies. They were not a threat. I held up my left hand when they were thirty paces from us. I knew that Sámr had archers ready to unleash arrows if we were in danger. The three lines of Saxons moved steadily across the sands towards us. They began to spread out.
“Halt or your priests die!”
Their leader, who had a shield with a white horse painted upon it, pointed his spear at me, “You will all die! I am Eorledman Edgar and I swear, Viking, that I will have your head.”
“The first to die will be your priests. When I drop my hand then arrows will fly and you will die. Are you so keen to meet your god?” He looked beyond me at the fifty archers with arrows nocked. “Tell your men to halt. Pull back to the ridge and we will let the priests go!”
“I thought you were a Christian, Robert of Rouen!”
“And do not Christians make war on Christians? I do not bandy words with Saxons. I have spoken enough. Give the command for my arm tires.”
He turned in his saddle, “Halt!” His men stopped. He turned to his men, “Ride back and tell my thegns to pull back to the ridge.” As his men rode off, he said, “This is not over. I swear that I will have vengeance on you Norman scum!”
I sheathed my sword. If words and oaths could kill me then I would have died many times over. “Let the priests go. Board the ships! We return home!” I turned my back deliberately and walked towards my drekar. I was confident that I was safe. If nothing else the shield across my back protected me.
Chapter 4
It took three days to reach home. Our river had too many twists and turns to manage the voyage upstream any quicker. It became obvious that I had broken ribs. We strapped them up but they still hurt when I moved. They made me bad-tempered. I knew there was little I could do to make them heal faster and they were a reminder that I was getting no younger. A warrior endured such things. The lack of sleep helped me to focus my mind on the war I would begin at Tvímánuður. The Bretons would know we were going to attack. I could not rely on all of my lord’s discretion. The hard core of men who had followed me for a long time I could trust. But there were sons who now led warbands. They were often an unknown quantity. Some would enjoy boasting of what we were going to do while others might have more sinister motives. I was not naïve. I was getting old and some of my lords were half Breton or half Frank. They had uncles who were our enemies. It did not matter as the plans for the attack were still in my head. I had months to plan. Brittany had a coastline and a long land border. There were no standing armies. My men were farmers or fishermen until I called them to arms. It was the same with the Bretons. They would be stiffer opposition than the men of Wessex but they would not be professional warriors. Only the warriors of my hearth weru were that. The bare bones of my plan were formulated as we headed across the sea to my river. They gained flesh as we wound around the loops in the river that was now the Norman River, the Seine. By the time I stepped ashore I knew what we would do. I just needed to speak with Sámr, Bergil and my son. All would be visiting with me as I had the treasure on my ship. It would need to be divided. My men carried it to my Great Hall. My three priests would divide it for me. They would roll their eyes and tut at the religious artefacts but they would be fair. They would remind me that what I had done was not a Christian act. I would smile. Words could not hurt. They would warn me that my soul was in danger and I would nod. Half of the treasure would go to my coffers. Once I would have had half of the weapons and mail but I no longer needed them. I had a room which was an armoury. I could fully equip another twenty hearth weru if they were needed. The other half of the treasure would be divided equally between my lords. Any family who had lost their provider would be given extra. I did not think that would be many. The ones who had died had been the younger warriors who wore little mail. Half of them had been warriors who had come to my land seeking adventure. They had been buried at sea. Their oar brothers would remember them.
My injuries meant I could not travel my land for a while and so I made sure that the lords who visited with me stayed long enough for me to pick through their ideas for the coming war. The simple logistics of horses, arrows, spears and food, could be left to my priests. Erik Gillesson would advise them on the feed for the horses. We had more horses and horsemen now than we once had. All were trained by Erik, his sons and his men. Every lord knew how to ride. Some were better than others. William had inherited his great grandfather’s skill. Bergil and Sámr were not as good as the younger lords. They had been men grown when they were introduced to horses. Our riders used smaller shields. They used a couched lance and Erik had taught them all how to attack in tight lines. Every lord had at least four or five horsemen. Not all were mailed and most wore just a simple leather burnie studded with metal. They were used as scouts and bodyguards. The Franks liked their horses. We were becoming as proficient as they were.
Our better warriors still fought on foot. Protected by long mail byrnies, they were made of mail, scale or leather. Some were a combination of two. Warriors had their own preferences. I did not like the scale ones but they were cheaper and easier to make. The wisdom of mail had been shown when we had attacked the barricade. My helmet had suffered dents but not a ring had been broken. Our archers were becoming almost as valuable as our shield wall. They, along with our slingers, were more than a match for Franks although the Bretons used crossbows and they could hurt us. My archers could loose four or five arrows in the time it took a crossbow to send one bolt towards us. Of course, the bolts, if they were released accurately, could be deadly.
We had been home for three weeks
and I was about to summon my leaders to a council of war when the Archbishop of Rouen asked for a meeting. I acceded to his request. I liked him. He was a pragmatic man. Normandy was safer because of my presence and if I did not always attend church, he could turn a blind eye to that. Father Harold had told me that he had been less than pleased with my raid on the three churches. I expected censure for the act. I could live with censure so long as it was not public. No man criticised me!
“Yes, Archbishop, how can I be of service?”
He smiled and spread his hands, “It is not me who wishes to speak with you. It is the King.”
“And what does the King wish?”
“He would have you meet with him. His daughter, your wife, has not seen you for some time and he thought you might meet with him at his hunting lodge. It is close to the priory of St. Julian. It is in the forest to the west of Paris.” He leaned forward. “It is a discreet hall. There the King can be relaxed and away from prying eyes. He asks that you take just a few men.”
I immediately became suspicious. Was this a trap? Would I be lured there to be murdered? Even as I thought it, I knew that my death would not harm Normandy. My son would rule after me and he had advisers like Sámr and Bergil. In fact, killing me might be the worst decision the Frank would make. I had kept my word. If I died then there was no pact with the Normans! “Of course. I shall just take my hearth weru. Will you be coming with me, Archbishop?”
He shook his head, “No, Count Robert, I do not enjoy hunting and I think the King would like as few other people there as possible.” He could not call me Duke for the King had not accorded me that title. As I said, he was a pragmatic man. We might discuss things which might not be in the interests of the church. The Archbishop could honestly say he knew nothing about what was said.
After he had gone, I summoned William and spoke with him. I explained where I was going and what I thought it might be about. “I think I am going to have my hands slapped for the raid on Wessex. King Charles is no fool. If he did it publicly then he might risk my anger. He does not want the treaty broken.”
He was concerned for my safety. “You are riding deep in the heart of West Frankia, father. This is too great an opportunity for our enemies. What if another, not the King, has you ambushed?”
I shook my head. “My son, soon I will have seen seventy summers. I should have died many years ago. Who knows there may be a wild boar in the King’s forests and the Norns may have spun my death on his tusks? I might be hurt whilst hunting. I have clawed a land for you and the clan. It is called Normandy. It is not as large as I would have liked it to be and if this is not a trap and I return then we will, together, make it larger! If I am taken as a hostage then let me die! If I am murdered then with it dies my oath not to fight the French King. That oath is what keeps me alive. If I die or the King dies then it is null and void. You can attack the Franks as well as the Bretons. So, you see, there is no danger for me. I will, however, take care.”
I left the next day. I rode my mighty horse, Blue, and my ten hearth weru rode as well. They wore the same cloaks, helmets and carried the same shields which had been made by Alain of Auxerre. The dark blue hue and the sign of the sword had been created by Alain. On the battlefield, they looked effective. The only difference was that the sword on the breast was longer than Alain’s had been. It made us look less like Vikings and more like Franks. That was no bad thing riding through Frankia. I also wore an open helmet with a nasal. I did not think we would be fighting and it was more comfortable than my masked helm.
We stayed at the stronghold of Bjorn the Brave at Évreux. He was one of my lords who had left the sea. He and his son farmed and they did so successfully. This was not the hard land of Norway. This was fertile land. It was said if you threw a seed into the ground you could almost watch it grow before your eyes! He raised cattle, sheep and pigs. His vineyards produced wine. Bjorn still preferred ale but wine sold! When we fought the Bretons, he would not have his own ship. As we ate, I told him the purpose of my journey to visit with the King. Like my son he was suspicious, “Lord, let me come with you. You need to be protected.”
I laughed, “If the Norns have spun and it is my turn to die then so be it. If the Franks are foolish enough to murder the Duke who has kept the peace then they deserve the tidal wave which would engulf them.” He nodded. “I need you to prepare for war. You have good horsemen here as well as shield brothers. I will be counting on you and your men.”
He nodded, “Like you, lord, I am getting old but my son, William, is a good warrior. I will ride at his side and give him my guidance.”
“You are right Bjorn, the future is with our sons but we are not relics yet. There is still work for our swords.”
After leaving Bjorn my men and I headed for the lodge. We would be met at a small village on the Paris road for the ways to the lodge and hall were secret. That alone gave me comfort. I did not worry about assassination from Charles the Simple but his lords were a different matter. It was one of his bodyguards who met us. I recognised the small stars he wore on his tunic. I gathered, from his curt manner, that he did not approve of us. That was no surprise. We had killed many of his fellows in battle.
“Follow me, Count Robert.” To the Franks I was still just a count. He led us down a narrow track. It was not big enough for a wagon. This truly was a retreat. As we rode, I noticed men in the eaves of the forest. I turned to the Frank, “Are they a threat to us?”
He smiled, “No, Count. They are here to protect the King.”
The hall was made of wood and looked like the halls I had seen in Wessex. Next to it were two smaller halls and I guessed that one was the stables while the other would house servants. Men were gutting a pair of deer and a wild boar. The King had been hunting already. When we dismounted the bodyguard pointed to the smaller hall. “Your men will be housed there. Next to it are the stables. If you would follow me, Count.”
I saw the worry on Mauger’s face. I smiled, “If I need your help, I will shout but I have seen nothing here to make me fear for my life!”
I was reassured when I entered the hall. It looked like my grandfather’s hall in the Haugr. King Charles was a much younger man that I was but he looked to have the cares of the world upon his shoulders. His eyes showed that he did not sleep well. “Count Robert, it is good to see you. You are ageing well.”
I laughed, “I live the way I always did. And you, King Charles, what of you?”
“I am beset with enemies.”
I looked around, “Gisela?” I did not necessarily need to see my wife for she had barely attained double figures but I had been told that she would be here and I was being polite.
“She is a little unwell. She is in Paris with her mother and sisters. It will be men only. There will be good hunting. This forest is renowned for its wild boar and deer.”
I nodded as one of the King’s servants handed me a goblet of wine. I was right. Gisela had been the smokescreen for the Archbishop and others who might have heard of my clandestine visit into the Kingdom of the Franks. “I think, King Charles, that you have asked me here for a different purpose.”
“Your mind is as sharp as ever. We will leave such talk until the morrow. For tonight we eat and we drink. We talk as civilised men for, despite the act you put on, I believe you are one of the cleverest men I have ever met.” He did not deserve the title Charles the Simple. I think he earned the name because he was not a complicated man. Others used it to mock him.
In truth, I enjoyed my first meal with the King. It was not a feast but it was the kind of food I liked. We ate wild boar. This was not the one we had seen being taken to the kitchens. This had been slow roasted. The crackling was well salted and to my taste. The juices ran from the flesh. It was served with honeyed apples and bread made from wheat! He had ale for me and it was good. We talked, not of politics but of hunting and of our families. Having only daughters, he was envious of my son.
“Aye King Charles but he is my only chi
ld. If anything happened to me then I would have none. A man worries about his inheritance but William is in good health and one day will marry.”
He shook his head, “You may be right, Count Robert. I know that you are a man as I am. You have needs which must be filled. You have spilt your seed. There are young warriors and maidens who have your blood. I know I have bastards. They cannot have the crown but they are of my blood.”
Of course, he was right. I had lain with women other than Poppa. While I had been married to her, she had been the only woman in my life but before and after was another matter. I had no idea how many there were and it did not matter. William was my heir.
“Then that is the difference between us, King Charles. I have someone to inherit Normandy.”