Viking Revolt

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘I go with Ulf,’ Gest said reluctantly. He was reluctant because he knew that Ulf needed little encouragement in believing that he was as wise as Odin himself. ‘Should we attack lands in Norway, it will draw attention to our presence, and surely we do not want that at this point.’ He looked around, and the berserks nodded wisely. ‘It may take longer, but we will sail as fast as we can, make our attack, and sail back. Take what we can, cut down any who resist, depart as soon as we can.’

  Ulf looked to the others. ‘Hunding is right,’ he said.

  ‘You would say so,’ Valgard growled, ‘since he takes your counsel. But I see the sense of it. If word reached King Harald that vikings are raiding so far into his kingdom, he might put off his proposed raids on the outer islands and come searching the fjords for foes. We’ve been hiding in plain sight, but that has its own risks.’

  Kari said nothing, but instead held out his hand and examined it. ‘Then let us make haste,’ he murmured almost to himself. ‘My blade is eager to taste blood.’

  Gest went aft to speak with Orm.

  ‘We’ll sail west,’ he told the skipper. ‘Set course for England.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Orm curtly. He pulled on the steering oar and shouted orders to his crewmen, two of whom left their oars and went to haul the sheets. As they veered westwards, the wind blew cold and wet across the deck. Without glancing at Gest, Orm said, ‘What are we looking for? A strand-hewing?’

  Gest nodded. ‘Do you know of a good place?’

  ‘Plenty of fat farms with fine herds down in Northumbria,’ the skipper said, ‘but those waters are thick with vikings preying on traders. With only a single ship, we would find ourselves in trouble soon. I say we sail due west for the shores of Scotland, avoiding the worst of it, and attack a settlement on the edge of the strand.’

  Gest listened to his advice with a show of eagerness, told him to make for the shores where he thought they had the most chance of loot, then went back to the prow where the berserks awaited him.

  Dark clouds towered on the horizon, and a chill wind blew down from the east. The crew hauled in their oars and hastened to take advantage of the wind. Rain lashed down as they sailed before it, crossing the North Sea at a rate of knots. The deck lurched beneath Gest’s feet and he clung to a line. Teeth bared against the wind and spray, he waited for them to ride out the storm.

  At last they limped into calmer waters, and in due course a wooded shore became visible as a black line on the western horizon. The kingdom that had been conquered by the current English king was centred on Wessex a fair way to the south. Scotland, where they were heading, was debatable land, home to sturdy clansman who never bowed their knees to the English king. But by the time the ship was closing on the shore, the sun was beginning to set in the west, throwing long shadows across the water.

  They anchored off a skerry off the shore, and Gest gave orders for cooking fires to be lit. As the men ate and drank, he idled by the gunwale and looked out to shore. The sun had set by now, and all was dark beneath wheeling stars. But in several places along the coast he could make out twinkling ruddy dots that marked the fires of settlements where folk, he assumed, were also eating. Everything looked peaceful, tranquil. But one of those places would be visited by red war ere the following day was out.

  His loyalties were to the king of Norway. The Scots were another folk, and they meant little to him. It was vital that he remained with the sea king until he was able to discover his plan and report it to King Harald Finehair. He felt few qualms about attacking coastal settlements in another kingdom. Life was harsh. Anyone who dwelt on the coast ought to be ready for the attacks of vikings and sea kings.

  What mattered most was that he gain the confidence of the sea king and his berserks. If the lives of a few Scots must be sacrificed, it was a necessary price to pay for the continued security of the kingdom.

  The deck swayed gently beneath him, lulling him as he studied the dark coast. He heard a creak behind him and looked round to see Kari coming over to join him.

  ‘The skipper says there are steadings along this shore,’ said the berserk, ‘but are they rich enough to supply our wants? We should have sailed straight for England. I’ve been there before! Rich grasslands, herds of milch cows and kine. Before I joined the sea king it was, and before Alfred made himself king of the English.’

  Alfred was the king who now ruled over England, but his sway did not stretch as far as the country of the Scots. Before his day, England had been split into several petty kingdoms, and harried by Danes, but he had defeated his foes in the south and gone on to become a powerful ruler. But like King Harald Finehair in Norway, he still had to fight a never-ending war with vikings.

  ‘And that’s why we won’t sail to England,’ said Gest. ‘England is a stronger place than you remember. We shall raid one of these ill defended Scottish settlements, then return to the sea king with our plunder. Remember that it is I who was chosen to lead this raid.’

  Stung, Kari looked away. He studied the red glows that dotted the dark shore. ‘All that worries me,’ he said in a mollifying tone, ‘is that in these far flung parts we will not find meat enough to feed the fleet.’

  ‘If we do not find enough to stock up on our first raid,’ Gest said, ‘we shall sail on to another steading.’

  ‘The folk will unite against us,’ Kari objected. ‘The longer we stay, the more they will organise themselves to fight us. King or no king, the folk in these parts are hardy and stalwart, everyone says so.’

  Gest clenched his fist. ‘Then we fight,’ he growled. ‘Are you afraid to face these clansmen?’

  Kari bridled. ‘Not I,’ he said. ‘I fear no man, nor do I fear death. When my Valkyrie takes me, I will be swept up into Valhalla to drink and feast until the end of all worlds. But…’

  ‘But what?’ Gest asked edgily.

  Kari shrugged. ‘We can’t fail in this mission,’ he said. ‘The fleet needs feeding.’

  Gest scowled, and spat over the side. ‘Why the wait?’ he demanded. ‘What are we waiting for, besides? Tomorrow we will make a lightning raid, kill all who resist, sail away with all we can lay our hands upon…’

  ‘Of course,’ Kari said, fingering his hair as he gazed out into the night, ‘what of it?’

  ‘Why does the sea king not do the same?’ Gest asked him. ‘What is he waiting for?’

  Kari looked across at him. ‘You do not know?’ he asked in surprise. ‘You’re one of the sea king’s guard now. And you don’t know something that the meanest oarsman is privy to?’

  Gest shook his head patiently. ‘I may have won myself a seat beside the sea king,’ he said, ‘a place with you and the others as his guard. But no one has told me what we wait for. Why not simply go raiding? Not you and me, I mean the whole fleet. What else is it for?’

  Kari grinned, eyes glittering weirdly in the light from the cooking fires. ‘We’re not gathered to carry out a few raids,’ he said; ‘we’re not going to scoop up a few trade ships, loot a few settlements. We’ve got our eyes on a bigger prize.’

  Gest nodded his head slowly. ‘I thought as much,’ he said, thankful that Kari was such a boaster. Wild notions passed through his mind. He could learn the whole plan here and now, then jump ship on his return and make his way to Tunsberg with the whole plot…

  Kari studied him. ‘You did?’ he said challengingly. ‘Then what is our prize?’

  ‘We’re going to attack somewhere big,’ Gest said. ‘Somewhere in Norway. On the south coast, am I right? Kari nodded wonderingly. Gest halted. ‘But what are we waiting for?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t stand this waiting.’

  Kari slapped him on the back. ‘Eager to wet your blade?’ he laughed. ‘So am I. Tomorrow’s fight will not be enough. I want to see blood again. I’ve not fought since last summer, and I grow rusty. But I can tell you, Hunding, when it comes to the real fight, we’ll wade in blood. And a kingdom will fall. But for now… we wait.’

  The fol
lowing morning dawned clear and bright. The skies were blue, and there was not a hint of the rainclouds Gest had seen during the voyage. The Scottish coast brooded silently, the sky above streaked with smoke trails where last night there had been red glows. He went to Orm, who was already at the helm.

  ‘Sail along the shore,’ he said. ‘When we see signs of rich pickings, we’ll strike.’

  —26—

  Broad meadows led down to the strand, a patchwork of fields between the wooded hills and the water. In the distance, a scattering of huts was visible, but there was no sign one about. Cattle cropped the grass not far from the strand.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Gest darkly. ‘It looks too easy.’

  Valgard shrugged. ‘What do you mean? Do you expect a trap?’

  Kari snorted. ‘Vikings go boldly into battle. If any of these clansmen attack, we cut them down. We are trained fighters, they are men of the soil.’

  Orm leaned on the steering oar. ‘Do we go ashore?’ he asked. ‘Or keep looking?’

  Ulf turned to Gest. ‘I counsel a fast attack. Drive the herds down to the strand, fight off any attack, slaughter and butcher the cattle, and load the ship with their meat. That’s how it’s always done. You’re green to strand-hewing?’

  ‘I’m not unaccustomed to fighting,’ Gest said, ‘but never have I stolen livestock before.’ He mulled it over for a moment. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘We attack!’

  The wind whistled in the rigging and the sail bellied in the wind; oars clacked in rowlocks as the oarsmen bent over their oar looms. Oar blades cut the green waves as the Sea Eagle drew closer to land. So far they had seen no sign that any ashore had sighted their sail. But as soon as they did, the alarm would be sounded. Messengers would ride to other settlements, fighting men would be mustered.

  The raid depended on speed to achieve a successful outcome. Despite Kari’s grandiloquent words, Gest had no wish to meet the local levy. His vikings were trained, hardened fighters, and the opposition would be under-trained and under-armed. But if it came to a fight, the foe would be fighting them on their home ground. He did not want to return to the sea king with a tale of loss, or even failure. His standing within the viking brotherhood depended on his success. And the berserks were watching him all the way. The sea king would want to hear everything on their return.

  The longship flew like a bird across the foam as they bore down on the green shore, but it was a bird of ill omen for the folk of the land. The vikings steered their way into a shallow bay where they weighed anchored. The men hastily donned helms and byrnies, took their shields from the gunwales and spears from where they were stacked.

  The fields were out of sight from here, the strand ending at a low cliff, topped by turf. All that was visible in the distance were the wooded hills. Gest tramped down the creaking gangplank, leading the berserks and the others onto the gritty sand of the strand, where they gathered, weapons at the ready for any sign of attack. A complacent silence hung over the land.

  Weighed down by his armour, Gest turned to regard his band of vikings. ‘Two of you, get up there and see what you can see,’ he said, gesturing at the low cliff. ‘The herds should be due west of our position. Five of you, remain with the ship. Orm, you stay with them. Get us ready to depart on the evening tide. The rest of us will remain here, ready for attack, until we get word that the coast is clear.’

  The two scouts hurried away up the beach towards the cliffs. Orm took five men back aboard and they readied the ship for a hasty withdrawal. The rest formed a defensive formation, shields interlocked, spears jutting landwards like a hedgehog’s spines. Gest stood with the berserks behind the shield wall, surveying the cliffs over which even now the two scouts were disappearing.

  ‘This is not a good position,’ Valgard remarked. ‘Archers could appear on the cliff and riddle us with arrows.’

  Nettled, Gest glowered at him. ‘What would you do?’ he said. ‘The coast is like this for miles, low cliffs and shallow bays. It was this or keep sailing, and that might take us into waters King Alfred controls, where we would soon find ourselves in trouble. We are here to restock the fleet, not to fly to Valhalla with songs on our lips.’

  ‘Hunding is right,’ said Kari unexpectedly. ‘Besides, this part of the shore doesn’t seem to be well defended.’

  ‘So why has it not been raided already?’ said Valgard. ‘I’m getting wary in my old age, it seems, but it also seems that something isn’t right.’

  Gest felt a chill at his words.

  Where were those scouts? There was no sign of them. Were they ever going to come back? He was about to order an immediate return to the ships, but how would that look? It would be seen as rank cowardice. He wondered if this was part of the test. Were they all working to try his will and resolve?

  He took off his helmet and mopped his brow. The sun beat down from high overhead. Still the scouts showed no sign of returning. Sea mews circled in the air, squawking to one another. The vikings betrayed signs of mounting impatience.

  ‘You, you, and you,’ Gest said, pointing at three of his men who had been quarrelling aimlessly in undertones. ‘Go up the cliff and see what’s keeping those scouts.’

  Dropping shields and spears in the sand, armed only with knives, the three men sprinted away, sand scudding up behind their running feet.

  ‘What do you suppose it is?’ Kari asked.

  Gest cursed under his breath. ‘Who can say?’ he asked. ‘They may have run into trouble.’

  The three men he had just sent reached the top of the cliff, but went no further. They had seen something, Gest guessed as they scrambled back down to the beach.

  ‘Armed men,’ gasped their leader as they ran back. ‘They’re gathered around an oak, from which our two men are hanging. Looks like they’ve been questioning them.’

  ‘Did they see you?’ Gest demanded.

  Before the man could reply, Kari cried out warningly. Dark shapes had bobbed into sight above, Scots looking down from the cliffs at the vikings gathered on the strand. One of Gest’s crewmen took a throwing spear and flung it towards them. It soared through the air, describing a curve that ceased abruptly when it sank into the cliff halfway up. The newcomers vanished out of sight.

  ‘What now, Hunding?’ asked Valgard. ‘Back to the ships in shame?’

  Gest rounded on the man who had reported to him. ‘How many armed men?’ he demanded. ‘Do they outnumber us?’

  ‘We’re here for meat, remember,’ said Ulf.

  The man told them that from the brief glimpse they had received, their forces were evenly matched, and the Scots were at the edge of a meadow where cattle cropped the grass. Gest nodded. It seemed that their coming had been noticed by some folk in this seemingly peaceful land, and the local levy had been called out. Maybe more clansmen were on their way. Right now, the vikings stood a chance.

  ‘Up the cliff,’ he told his men. ‘Up the cliff and attack.’ He told off a group of men to leave the main band when they could, and drive the cattle down to the strand. ‘The rest of us will keep the locals occupied,’ he added.

  The cliff was not steep, and they scaled it in a short while. Beyond stretched the fields Gest had seen from the sea, the dark line of wooded hills in the distance. Between them and the trees, cattle could be seen. Grouped around a tall oak was a number of men, some mounted, some on foot, but all armed. Two figures hung by their feet from a bough of the tree.

  At the appearance of the vikings, the armed men bunched together, forming a shield wall and marching forwards across the grass. A few broke off and began herding the cattle up a lane towards the nearby settlement.

  Gest gave the command to his own men to form a shield wall. Soon two lines of men faced each other across the meadow, the locals advancing at a stately pace that spoke of confidence. Gest turned to those men of his who carried throwing spears.

  ‘Now!’ he yelled.

  The men flung their spears over the shield wall and they flew towards
the advancing men. Shields were lifted high as the spears clattered down, and some of the deadly missiles were deflected. One plunged straight through the linden boards of a shield and ran the shield bearer right through, entering at his right shoulder and coming out between his legs, pinning him to the soil. The rest halted, and their leader, a short youth with an auburn fringe of beard, shouted an order. Archers fitted arrows to bows, spearmen poised with spears, and a return volley was soon whizzing towards Gest’s vikings.

  ‘Lift shields!’ Gest bellowed.

  He raised his own, and felt a thud run through his arm as a flying arrow pierced it, coming to a halt with the arrowhead only inches from Gest’s face. On either hand men fell with arrows jutting from torsos or thighs.

  ‘Attack!’ he yelled, and they ran across the springy turf. As he ran, the men he had spoken to earlier broke off, heading for the Scots driving off the cattle.

  Then Gest slammed into the shield wall of the Scots. On either side of him his men were tackling the defenders. Spears flashed in sunlight, axes clashed, swords sang. The two lines of men met mid-meadow; first they moved one way then the other, as first the attackers forced back the defenders, then the defenders fought back. Blades hewed flinders from shields, men fell. Gest had hoped this would be an easy raid, seize the cattle and slaughter them, then take the salted meat back to the sea king. Now it seemed to be going badly wrong.

  The fight went on for what seemed like forever, warriors duelling with one another, swords clashing with swords, shields beaten to pieces by axes. Gest’s throat was raw from shouting orders that went unheard and unheeded over the clamour. Then the line of defenders broke, leaving several of their number lying in the lush grass of the meadow, and fled back towards the lane. Here even now the men Gest had sent to drive off the cattle were doing exactly that. Men met cattle and the cows stampeded, some trampling the warriors, others galloping wildly across the meadow.