‘So, let me make sure I have all the facts here,’ Ruric said, appearing at my left shoulder. ‘We need these curs to charge us and give battle. What we really do not need is them scurrying off behind those big walls.
‘Correct,’ I said.
‘And we did not think the maggots would have the balls to charge us, so what you decided to do was to make a ring of heads, right in front of them. The gory, hollow faces of their own friends, brothers, fathers, and sons staring at them.’
‘You really are very clever,’ I said, knowing full well where this was going and not entirely sure I had an appropriate answer for the inevitable question.
‘So, if we didn’t think they had the stones to charge us before, why do we think they will now that we’re parading what will happen to them if they do?’
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. I frowned, trying to frame the jumbled words that clotted my mind into a coherent sentence. In the end, Ketill came to my aid. ‘Courage, Ruric. Courage and honour. See, Warin is a king now. And a king, even more so than a chief, has a reputation to keep up. How can a king rule his tribe if he does not possess the courage to face his enemy in battle? What we are doing here is embarrassing him, showing him to be a Nithing in front of his men and the gods. If he does not respond, his men will think him a coward. They will see that the gods favour Alaric and that Warin is not a man to follow. A leader is only as good as his reputation, his reputation only as good as his last battle. Warin lost his last battle, about an hour ago in that crevice. He needs to respond, has to, if he doesn’t want to have his throat slit in the night.’
I said nothing, just watched on as the Godi pranced up and down behind the fence of heads. I could not hear what he was saying, but guessed from his flying spittle and regular hand gestures towards Warin, he was cursing the king of the Suebi and naming him a coward. A raven squawked overhead, then another. Two of them, circling the battlefield. They circled twice as I watched, then both flew off to the north. Already he would have received warriors into his hall, still armed and armoured in the garments they had fought and died in. Before sunset, there would be many more.
There was a lasting silence when the Godi finally finished his performance and strutted like a war hero back to our ranks. ‘I have cursed them,’ he said with pride. ‘The Allfather knows of this Warin’s cowardice, and has promised you victory this day, lord Alaric.’ He bowed, and waited for my delayed reply.
‘Well, that is a relief. You and your men can leave the field now, Godi, you will receive your payment once my victory has been secured.’ I said no more to the foul stinking man. He was stick thin, his legs about as thick as my finger. He wore nothing but a long rag that I could only assume had been white when he first put it on. His dirty grey beard slacked almost to his waist; the remaining hair he possessed atop his head was lank and sparse. In fact it was so thin I could actually see the lice as he walked past. I think it was only then I realised I had no notion of his name.
But it was too late then to ask the wretched creature; the enemy were charging.
THIRTY-TWO
They came like a pack of savage wolves. Their war cry was inhuman, nothing like the barritus that was common amongst the tribes. They roared their blood fury, spat their defiance and gritted their teeth for the battle to come. My fence of heads had done its work; although for a moment I wondered if it had been a mistake.
Sure, I needed them to charge. I needed them beaten and scattered to the four winds so I could turn and face Dagr who approached my rear. But what I definitely did not need was them so fired up, so geared for battle that just their sheer momentum could see them tearing through my men like a reaper on harvest day. I had to react quick.
‘Ketill, get back to your men. Ruric… Ruric! You have the centre, make sure the banner stays there, got it? Gerulf, right flank, go, I will be with you shortly. Otto, you’re the left. Have your men all mounted and ready to charge, watch out for Ketill, when he attacks it will be fast and bloody. Baldo, you mad bastard, you’re between Ruric and Gerulf. Every man on foot, axemen in front…I know I know you know your business. Just make sure the curs hold!’ And with that I was gone, galloping across the front of my army, my sword held high, the blade punching the air. ‘TO VICTORY!’ I bellowed as I rode, revelling in the cheers and savage grins I saw as I rode past them. Gods, I love a good battle.
To my left was a maelstrom of charging men; I spotted Warin in their rear and centre, mounted on a fine white stallion. I sent a swift prayer to Donar that the cowardly bastard would find his way to me in the storm of iron and that it would be my blade that sent him down to Hel. To my right was an endless line of red shields, a black raven painted on the front of each. It was a glorious sight, truly beautiful. Despite the losses we had taken at the battle on the Danube my war band was still formidable, still almost unbeatable to my eye. The line was perfect, each man with his left foot forwards, ready to shove their might into the wooden boards when the enemy crashed onto them. Gods, I was proud, and not for the first time I wished my father was with me, so he could see for himself what a man could become if he put his mind and heart into it. All I’d had when I left that sad little farm was his old sword. I still had that old blade, it sat in my right palm, the black leather grip giving me comfort as it always did. I wished he could see what I had built with it.
‘All set, Gerulf?’ I asked with a manic grin as I dismounted and allowed Hilde to be taken through our formation. I thought she seemed disappointed that she would not be part of the battle. It amused me that even my mount was desperate to get in on the action.
‘We’re ready, lord, aren’t we boys?’ A roar of approval that was as the sweetest music to my ears rang out all around me. I barraged my way into the centre of the front rank, snatching a shield off a spearman behind me.
‘You think your lads can hold them?’ I asked Gerulf. He looked hurt, there was a slight twitch of anger in his left eye.
‘We’ll hold till the end of days for you, lord,’ he said with such calm certainty that I knew he would never let me down. I had not to fear of his men risking a doomed charge on the enemy; Gerulf would not die as Adalhard had.
‘You are a good man, Gerulf,’ I said and clasped him on the shoulder. ‘Ruric is old, ready to find himself some land and settle down. I’ve a mind to let him have his wish, he has served me well these long years. I will be needing a new second in command when he is gone,’ I said no more, just let the offer hang in the air between us.
‘I would be honoured, lord,’ Gerulf said. He meant it, I knew. ‘I had nothing when the Ravensworn took me in, all I have is thanks to you. I will serve you loyally, always.’ We clasped hands, the enemy now just fifty paces from us.
‘Right then,’ I said, ‘let’s show these goat fuckers why you don’t mess with the Ravensworn! Shields, UP!’ And just like that the men locked shields to a man and hunched down behind them, showing the enemy nothing but the whites of their eyes.
A few of my men had bows, and those now played their deadly tune and the air bristled around me as the slender arrows rained death on Warin’s men. Not for the first time I wished I had more men with the skill to take a life at such a distance. ‘We have enough spears for a volley?’ I asked Gerulf. The German war spear is different to the pila used by the Romans. The ash shaft is thicker and longer, it being a weapon more suited for hand to hand combat, rather than launching at your foe from a distance. But, when powered by a man with sufficient strength, it will tear through the finest mail and even a stout shield as it hurtles from the sky at terrifying speed.
‘Aye, I think we do. Just the one, though.’
‘Well, we had better make it count then! Give the order, Gerulf.’
We shuffled aside as the biggest of Gerulf’s Hundred strode through and readied to darken the sun. At a distance of a mere twenty paces they sent the heavy spears hurtling into the faces of the Suebi warriors, who could only grit their teeth and pray the Spinners had intended a di
fferent death for them. Even I was shocked at the speed at which the spears flew. For a moment they were lost, nothing but a blur between us as they spun, and the sound when they hit with devastating impact on the enemy was sudden, violent, wet and visceral.
Men fell in their scores, gore filled holes where moments before had been whole flesh covered in mail. The screams of the dying were high pitched and desperate, and a man in front of me went down with a gurgling cry.
There was a pause from both sides, as those in the enemy ranks that had survived the storm of spears looked around in horror; our men were reorganising back into lines, the axemen getting their shields back up and ready for the inevitable onslaught. I still had my sword unsheathed in my right hand. My palm was rank with sweat and twice I had to readjust my grip. I felt oddly calm as the rush of blood that had come with my initial excitement of imminent combat had run its course, and I had yet to hit my second wind. I was silent as the grave, my mind as smooth as a summer sea – I was ready.
The first man to hit my shield must have weighed the same as a cow. It was so hard and fast that the rim snapped back and wedged itself between my top lip and nose. I felt one of my teeth crack like a twig and for a few frantic heartbeats saw nothing but the purest white. My legs were like a new born calf’s as I staggered to and from the men to either side of me; I could vaguely hear the cries of fear from the spearman at my back, for he would not want to be the one who was blamed for causing his lords death. Slowly, very slowly, I came back to my senses. My vision was blurred with tears of pain, but I could just about make out my assailant being struck by three spears and slumping face first to the dirt.
With a tremendous effort I hawked and spat bloody phlegm on the dead man’s face, my fragments of tooth landing on his right cheek. Gods, it hurt. I mean it really fucking hurt. Blood welled in my mouth, streamed from my nose and under my heavy moustache I could feel the long, jagged cut where the iron rim of my shield had driven through my skin and nearly through my skull.
‘Lord? Lord?’ Gerulf was at my right shoulder still, a spearman frantically covering him as he dropped his own shield to put his arms around me.
‘Get the fuck off me!’ I slurred like a drunken. The calmness had left me now; I was nothing but a mass of boiling rage. I snarled, I must have looked like a draugr, one of the terrible undead that stalk the earth and drag the still breathing down into Hel’s domain. Like a toothless Fenrir I ambled into the fray and hacked and slashed at anything that moved, heedless of whose side they were on. I was a berserker, with no control of my body or mind. I just killed, then killed some more.
I know not how long that bloody melee lasted. I was told the next day I had cleaved my way right through Warin’s men. When I had reached the end of that blood drenched path, I had simply turned around and carved my way back. We won the day, but it was certainly not Alaric, lord of the Ravensworn that lead his men to victory. Gerulf regrouped his Hundred and advanced at a steady pace. His men kept their shields locked and as axes ripped down shields the spearmen pierced through flesh and mail. Ruric and his Hundred stood resolutely in the centre. They did not advance against the overpowering numbers Warin threw against them, but nor did they give any ground. He was quick to tell me that he had suffered the most casualties, with another of his disapproving looks. Baldo had advanced with Gerulf and it had been that mad bastard himself who had eventually tackled me to the ground and held me till the madness had subsided; although by that point I had been as weak as a babe. Otto was nearly overrun on the left; his cavalry had committed too early and left his flank vulnerable, but Ketill had been there to save the day. The Harii were still hidden in the crops, forgotten by even some of my own men. They howled their savage war cry and hit the right flank of Warin’s army like a hammer on anvil.
Ketill took great pride in telling me the whole of Warin’s force disintegrated after his men’s charge; like leaves caught in an autumn gust they scattered and went their separate ways. There had been, however, one set back.
‘What of Warin?’ I asked, as I sat and watched the sun set on our day of bloody glory.
‘He fled. Some of his men formed a wedge around him and pushed through our lines. Guess he is heading for his father,’ Ruric said, wincing as he rotated his old shoulders. ‘Merciful gods, I’m not as young as I used to be.’
‘None of us are, old friend,’ I said. I was feeling the effects of the battle too, though some of my pain I believed I had Baldo to thank for. When I had come to my senses he was sitting on my head, and he is not a light man. ‘Get Birgir,’ I said to Ruric, ‘send him on Warin’s trail. We’ll soon know where the Nithing has run to.’
‘We have men looking for him, lord,’ Otto said to me. He was, as most of my men were, as I assumed I was, covered in blood. When he spoke specks of reddened spittle flew from his lips and there was a cut above his right eye so deep and wide a whole portion of his face seemed to flap in the evening breeze.
‘For the sake of the Allfather’s remaining eye Otto, please get that cut stitched, I can actually see through your skull to what’s left of your brain.’ This caused much merriment from my captains, who took it in turns to mock poor Otto. ‘Hang on,’ I said, only now catching on to what Otto had said, ‘what do you mean looking for him?’
There was an awkward silence. Gerulf found something fascinating on the hem of his tunic to study, Ruric grabbed himself a clump of grass and rubbed his hands together gently to let it fall gracefully back to earth, and Baldo winced and gave Otto a shrug, as if to say ‘got to tell him sometime.’
‘Where is Birgir?’ I asked again, more urgently this time. I was very fond of the lad, and all there knew it. It took a lot to get yourself noticed when you live and fight in a band of five hundred blood thirsty mercenaries. Birgir had done that. Not with any great acts of strength or brutality – things which the men believed would get my attention and my favour, they didn’t, ever – but by simply having a unique skill set that no one else could offer me. I have had countless men in the ranks of the Ravensworn over the years, and Wotan himself knows how many now dine in his hall. But when they died, most of them died nameless to me, just another face in the ranks. Birgir was different, special. He had proven his worth to me time and time again.
‘Well?’ I asked again, my voice pure iron.
‘We can’t find him, lord,’ Otto said, unable to meet my eye.
‘Well he cannot have gone far, look harder,’ I said.
‘I’ve got a couple of my men scouring the field, no luck so far,’ Ketill chipped in.
‘You mean they are checking the bodies?’
Ketill nodded.
‘Ruric, he wasn’t with you in the centre, was he?’
‘No lord. To be honest I thought he was off keeping an eye on Dagr for you?’ Ruric looked genuinely shocked at first, then his face set in a scowl and his eyes locked with mine. Birgir was part of his Hundred, but spent so much time away scouting no one would have thought it out of place for him not to be there.
‘Otto, was he with your cavalry?’ Otto turned and consulted with one of his junior officers, I watched as the young man shook his head as Otto spoke. ‘Doesn’t seem to have been, lord,’ he said with reluctance.
I kept my own counsel for a few heartbeats, once more considering his behaviour when I had seen him earlier on that day. It had taken him an age to track Dagr and his war band; his body language had been closed and defensive when he had made his report, and he would not meet my eye. Once more I locked eyes with Ruric, the two of us seemingly both having the same thought. He gave me a shrug and tilted his head.
I was about to speak when a rider came haring towards us. A slight figure atop a fine grey mare. As he drew close and dismounted I saw a boy, almost a man, with a crop of light hair and pale, dirty skin. ‘Lord,’ Birgir said with a half-smile, ‘I see you have been busy!’
THIRTY-THREE
‘I was watching Dagr, lord. I assumed that’s what you would want me to do,’ Birgir
said, all innocence.
‘And why would you assume that when you knew full well we had a damn hard battle to fight?’ I asked with all the grit I possessed. I did not want to doubt Birgir; I wanted to feel the truth that was written on his face.
‘Well…because… well he was right on our tail! Surely it made more sense to have me watching him?’ He seemed surprised, hurt and embarrassed, everything I would want him to be feeling. And yet, something wasn’t right, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
‘Since when did you start making decisions?’
‘You were busy, lord. Preparing for the battle, I thought it just better if I got on with it.’ He spoke quickly, almost too quickly. He seemed flustered, his cheeks glowing red, though that could have easily been from his ride.
I nodded. There was truth in his words. I tried to remember our earlier encounter, when he had first informed me of Dagr’s approach. As hard as I tried, I could not remember where he had gone once we had finished. It had been a long day.
‘So, what did you see?’
Birgir seemed to visibly relax. His posture slouched and a half smile appeared under the thin wisp of beard he refused to shave. ‘Dagr approached even as you were giving battle,’ he said. ‘It was only the arrival of Warin that halted his advance. They had a brief conversation, Dagr even struck Warin!’ This was greeted with much mirth by my captains. ‘After a short while they set off east. I came back here then, and here I am,’ he finished with a flourish.
I grunted, turning his words over. ‘Where will they go? Surely they would head back north and west? To Chauci lands? Why east?’
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