by Tony Bradman
‘No, I am no scop,’ he said now. He didn’t want to shame himself in front of Wuffa and Alfgar and everyone else by making a mess of the tale. He looked up and saw that Alfgar and Wuffa were deep in conversation, their heads together. ‘You know everything, Widsith,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘What do you think will happen to us? Will Wuffa offer to settle the Alfgaringas here with his own people?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Widsith. ‘It would be too many people to take into the village at once. Besides, Alfgar will want his own land, and I have a feeling Wuffa might just have a special place for the Alfgaringas. So there is a bargain to be struck.’
‘But what can Alfgar give Wuffa? He has no treasure and no animals.’
Widsith smiled. ‘Alfgar has the strength of his sword-arm, and good men to fight alongside him. Believe me, those things are worth a lot in a land such as this.’
Oslaf felt a sudden thrill at the thought of what might lie in the future.
The bargain was finally sealed a few days later, and Alfgar called all his people together outside Wuffa’s hall to tell them what had been agreed. The Alfgaringas would have land to settle by a river north-west of Wuffa’s village, a journey of three days on foot. Wuffa would help them build a hall and houses, and was giving them cattle, sheep and horses as well as seed so they could sow some crops.
Oslaf was standing with Widsith in the crowd. ‘Lord Wuffa is very generous,’ the poet muttered. ‘That can only mean this place he is sending us to will be dangerous. I have a feeling things are going to be even livelier there than I thought.’
Widsith’s words stuck in Oslaf’s mind, and later that day he sought out Tovi. If anyone knew what they would be facing it was Alfgar’s second in command.
‘The old man is right,’ said Tovi. ‘We will be plugging a hole for Wuffa on the edge of the lands he rules. It is a weak spot for him, and his enemies know it.’
Those enemies were a real threat, it seemed. The local Britons regularly raided Wuffa’s territory. They struck hard and fast, burning villages, stealing livestock, killing Wuffa’s people, then quickly retreated to their strongholds. Wuffa sometimes caught them, and he did plenty of raiding himself, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. There had also been a lot of trouble with the Saxons to the south.
‘So what was the point of coming here?’ said Oslaf. ‘It sounds just as bad as back home.’
‘Ah, but we are part of something bigger now, Oslaf,’ said Tovi. ‘Wuffa is strong, and together with Alfgar he will be even stronger. Why, with two such chieftains fighting side by side, we Angles could take all of Britannia for ourselves.’
It was an amazing idea, and for a while Oslaf couldn’t get it out of his mind. He would gain so much glory and honour if he played a part in such a great victory! Being kinless wouldn’t matter any more – he would always have a place in Alfgar’s war-band and by the hearth in his hall. And perhaps one day scops would even tell tales about him, the mighty Oslaf, as they did about other great warriors…
But Oslaf’s dreams quickly had to take second place to playing his part in another great effort, helping the tribe move to its new home. Alfgar led a party of men there, his hearth-companions and Wermund and some of Wuffa’s best craftsmen. Oslaf begged to be taken along, and Alfgar gave in, much to Wermund’s disgust. Nothing could dampen Oslaf’s enthusiasm, though, not even Wermund’s mockery.
They made camp on a low hill from where they could look down on the river. It was wide, and shallow enough to be crossed by a man on horseback. On the far bank were water meadows that probably flooded in the winter. Alfgar decided the best place to build his hall was on the crest of the hill, and they soon got started.
They worked through the spring and summer, through days of wind and rain and sun. The settlement was ready by the time the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn yellow in the early autumn. They had sown a crop of winter wheat, and they had plenty of salted meat stored away too. At last the rest of the Alfgaringas came in ox-drawn wagons, with Tovi and half the hearth-companions escorting them.
Oslaf was waiting at the gate of the stockade to welcome the new arrivals. It was the afternoon of a windy day, the sun playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds. He was pleased to see Widsith and Elfritha, and very pleased to see Gunnhild.
They smiled at each other, but then Oslaf noticed Tovi had ridden a little way off. The warrior was sitting on his horse, staring at something across the river.
‘What is it, Tovi?’ he asked, going over to him. ‘You seem troubled.’
‘We are being watched,’ Tovi said quietly, and pointed with his spear.
Now Oslaf turned to look in the same direction. In the distance, three riders sat on their horses before a stand of trees. They wore helmets and long dark cloaks, and carried spears and blue-painted shields. As Oslaf watched, the rider in the middle pointed his spear back at Tovi. Then all three swung their horses round and passed into the shadows beneath the trees, vanishing as if they had never been there.
But they had, and suddenly Oslaf realised he had seen his first Britons.
Time passed, autumn turning to winter, then it was the tribe’s first Yuletide in their new home. Spring followed, and a lovely summer that ended with a good harvest, and they all felt that things were going well. There were no raids, either, although it was clear the local Britons were keeping a close eye on them. Alfgar sent out regular patrols, and when they came back they always said they had been followed.
Oslaf made sure he pulled his weight, and worked just as hard as ever. He trained hard with the other boys too, and constantly pestered Tovi to let him go out on a patrol. But Tovi said such things were only for the hearth-companions.
‘Very well,’ said Oslaf. ‘So when will I become a hearth-companion?’ Training had just finished and Oslaf was helping Tovi to stack the spears and shields.
‘And what makes you think you’ll be good enough?’ said Tovi, smiling.
‘Everyone knows I’m a better fighter than all the other boys.’
‘Not all of them, Oslaf. I think Wermund could still beat you.’
‘That’s only because he’s a couple of years older than me,’ said Oslaf. ‘Wait until I have grown into my full strength. Then Wermund will see just what I can do.’
Tovi frowned. ‘Let me give you some advice, Oslaf. Sometimes it is good to have a rival, a fellow warrior you can test yourself against. But you should never let it get out of hand – especially when your rival happens to be the son of your chieftain. Alfgar likes you, but Wermund is his firstborn son, his heir. Wermund is bound to be chieftain after his father, and he will remember those who challenged him.’
‘I did not choose to be Wermund’s rival. He started it, not me.’
‘That may be so,’ said Tovi with a shrug. ‘But you should try to end it. Who knows, you might even be friends one day. Stranger things have happened.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Oslaf. But Tovi had certainly made him think…
CHAPTER EIGHT
Their Best War Gear
Oslaf soon decided Tovi might well be right about ending the rivalry with Wermund, and for a while he tried his best not to argue with the chieftain’s son. That wasn’t easy, as it only seemed to make Wermund much worse. Oslaf prayed often to Woden, asking the god to give him the strength to ignore Wermund’s taunts. But it still wasn’t enough, and things came to a head one cold autumn afternoon.
The boys were training, and when they had finished Tovi told them to stack their shields and spears as usual. Wermund muttered yet another insult about ‘the kinless boy’ – and Oslaf finally snapped. He flung himself at his tormentor, knocking him down. They grappled with each other, rolling through the mud, punching and gouging. A few of the others cheered, but most looked on in uncomfortable silence.
Tovi pushed through the crowd and grabbed Oslaf to pull him away. Oslaf kicked out at him, refusing to release his hold on Wermund. The warrior was too strong, however, and threw Oslaf to one
side.
‘That’s enough!’ Tovi yelled. ‘In Thunor’s name, what are you two fools playing at? Have you both lost your wits?’
‘He hit me first,’ said Wermund, slowly getting to his feet. His nose was bleeding, one eye was completely closed, and that side of his face was red and swollen.
‘Only to make you shut up,’ said Oslaf. He had a split lip and he could taste blood in his mouth. But he was pleased to see the damage he had done to Wermund.
Tovi sighed. ‘How old are you, Wermund, seventeen summers?’ he said. ‘And you, Oslaf, fifteen summers? Well, you sound like a pair of babies who have only just learned to walk and talk. You deserve a good thrashing, and I’d be happy to do it myself. But I’ll leave Alfgar to decide what your punishment should be.’
Alfgar was in the hall, sitting by the hearth-fire, talking and laughing with Elfritha. Gunnhild was sitting on a bench beside her mother, a piece of sewing in her lap. She smiled when she first saw Oslaf, but then she noticed the blood on his face and the state of his clothes, and her expression changed to one of concern. Tovi led Wermund and Oslaf up to the chieftain and quickly explained what had happened.
‘Father, you should know that…’ Wermund started to say when Tovi had finished. Alfgar turned to look at his son and scowled. Wermund stopped talking.
‘All I need to know is that you have been too hard on Oslaf for too long,’ said Alfgar, much to Oslaf’s surprise. ‘I should have done something about it before, but I thought it would pass, as these things between boys often do. You have a good heart, Wermund, and if you want men to follow you when you are chieftain, then you must learn to show them that as well as your strength. Do you understand?’
Wermund stared at him for a moment. ‘Yes, Father,’ he murmured at last, dark blood seeping from his nose. He wiped it away roughly with his sleeve.
‘And as for you, Oslaf…’ said Alfgar, shaking his head. ‘You should have come to me, even though Wermund is my son. I am your chieftain, so it is for me to settle disputes and to keep the peace among my people. How can we fight our enemies if we are fighting each other? Believe me, the Britons are wolves who will sniff out any weakness within us and swiftly turn it to their advantage. Do you understand?’
‘I… I do now, Lord,’ spluttered Oslaf, and lowered his head, unable to bear Alfgar’s gaze. He felt stupid and guilty and angry with himself, all at the same time.
‘So, how shall I punish the pair of you?’ said Alfgar. ‘Elfritha, what do you think?’
‘I think I ought to have done something about it myself,’ said Elfritha, frowning at both boys. ‘But now you should make them swear an oath to be friends.’
‘An excellent suggestion,’ Alfgar murmured, looking thoughtful. ‘But if they are to go through all the trouble of swearing a solemn oath, then we might as well get the most out of it… I have it in my mind to make them hearth-companions.’
Oslaf raised his head. He could hardly believe what he had just heard – that was an even bigger surprise! Wermund also seemed startled by his father’s words.
‘Really?’ said Elfritha. ‘Surely they are a little young for such an honour.’
‘They are young, but they are both ready,’ said Alfgar. ‘Do you agree, Tovi?’
‘I do,’ said Tovi. ‘At least as far as their skills with weapons are concerned.’
‘That is a good place to start,’ said Alfgar. ‘I have a feeling the tribe will need those skills before too long. And there is no better way to learn that we must trust each other or die than to stand side by side in the shield-wall. In my war-band we are shield-brothers, and we have no patience with childish feuds. Is that clear?’
‘Er… yes, Lord,’ said Oslaf. Alfgar nodded, then turned his gaze to his son.
‘Yes, Father,’ said Wermund, but Oslaf could see it cost him a great deal.
‘Good,’ said Alfgar. ‘You can swear your oaths tomorrow. See to it, Tovi.’
At dawn the next morning the hearth-companions gathered in the large open space in front of Alfgar’s hall. They were wearing their best war gear, and the bright sunlight glinted off helmets and chain mail and spear-blades. Oslaf and Wermund stood next to each other before the hall doors. Tovi had supplied them with helmets, proper chain-mail byrnies and spears from the tribe’s store of weapons and armour. Alfgar had also given his son a beautiful Frankish sword, and a fine seax to Oslaf.
At last the hall doors opened and Alfgar came out. He too was dressed for war, his helmet topped with a tuft of boar’s hair, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Wermund took his oath first. He knelt before his father and spoke loudly and clearly so all could hear. ‘I swear I will always do your bidding. I will fight to the death for you, and for my fellow hearth-companions, my shield-brothers…’
Then it was Oslaf’s turn. He knelt and swore the same oath, making sure he spoke as clearly as Wermund. Alfgar smiled. ‘I accept your oaths, and I swear to be a good lord to you,’ he said. ‘Men of the war-band, greet your new shield-brothers!’
The warriors behind Wermund and Oslaf roared their approval and banged spear-shafts and swords on shields. Oslaf turned round and saw that each and every one of them was grinning. Tovi winked, and at that moment Oslaf knew he should feel proud of what he had achieved. He did, of course – but he also felt a great sense of relief. He knew now that he should always have a place by the hearth in Alfgar’s hall…
He silently offered thanks to Woden for keeping him on the right path, then glanced sideways at Wermund. Alfgar’s son was smiling, but his face stiffened as he realised that Oslaf was looking at him. He met Oslaf’s gaze briefly then turned away, and Oslaf wondered what he was thinking. Of course it was impossible to know.
They would just have to wait and see how things worked out between them.
Three days later Oslaf went on his first patrol. There had been reports of more Britons being seen west of the settlement, and Alfgar wanted to know if it was a war-band. So he sent a dozen men in that direction, with Tovi leading them. They were mounted, which was a little tricky for Oslaf. He could ride a horse well enough, but he had never before had to do it while wearing chain mail and carrying spear and shield.
Tovi soon spotted hoof prints in the mud on the far side of the river, and said he thought they had been made by a small scouting party, not a war-band. They followed the trail and caught the Britons unawares in their camp by a wood – they barely had time to grab their weapons. Like Tovi and the others, Oslaf jumped off his horse to fight on foot. A Briton stepped forward, thrusting his spear at him. Oslaf deflected the blade with his shield and thrust back, only for the Briton to do the same.
They exchanged a few more thrusts, then the Briton turned and ran for his horse. The rest fled too, except for a couple Tovi had killed almost immediately. Oslaf looked at the bodies, the faces fixed in expressions of fear and shock, the blood dark against white skin. He felt his stomach churn, and for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick. But he kept his mouth shut and managed to hold it down.
‘All right, Oslaf?’ said Tovi. ‘Just be glad it was them and not you.’
‘I’m fine.’ Oslaf suddenly realised it could have been him lying dead on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Then he did throw up, and Tovi laughed.
There were many more patrols that summer, and more fighting. The Britons raided villages to the north and south of the Alfgaringas, and one a day’s ride to the east. Tovi said they were bound to get a visit from a war-band soon, and he was right.
The Britons came on a chilly autumn morning, charging out of the mist, screaming their war cries, shooting arrows, throwing spears and climbing the stockade wall. It was hot work on the fighting platform. Oslaf stood shoulder to shoulder with the other hearth-companions, jabbing his spear at the attackers, pushing them back, although some did manage to get through. Most of those were quickly killed on the fighting platform, but three jumped down and ran into the heart of the settlement.
Tovi leaped down too and went after them, Oslaf and Ragni following close behind. They quickly caught up with two of the Britons. Tovi threw his spear aside and drew his sword, and soon both Britons lay dead. The third made it as far as the open space outside the hall, but there he ran up against Elfritha and Gunnhild and the other women and girls. They were armed with wood-axes and spears and knives, and by the time Tovi arrived with Oslaf and Ragni they had the attacker surrounded.
Tovi pushed through the ring of women and girls. Oslaf and Ragni did too, and Oslaf saw that the Briton wasn’t much older than Wermund. He was thin and dark and was wearing a leather jerkin with metal plates sewn on to it, plaid trousers tucked into boots and a round iron helmet. On his left arm he bore a blue-painted shield, and in his right hand he held a sword. His eyes were wild and he was panting.
‘Drop your sword and no harm will come to you,’ said Tovi. The Briton stared at him. ‘Do you understand me?’ Tovi added. ‘I am offering to spare your life.’
‘I can speak your filthy Saxon tongue,’ the Briton snarled in a strange accent, spitting out the words. ‘But I do not trust you whatever words you use.’
‘Our tongues are alike, but we are not Saxons,’ said Oslaf. ‘We are Angles.’
‘You are all the same to us – wild godless savages who came to take our land with fire and slaughter,’ said the Briton. ‘And we would rather die than give in!’
Then he ran at them, his sword raised. Without thinking, Oslaf moved forward to meet him as he had been taught, and rammed his spear into the Briton’s chest.
Oslaf saw the light in the young man’s eyes go out as he died.
CHAPTER NINE
Only the Strong Survive
The attack ended as quickly as it had begun, the raiders slipping back into the mist, leaving the Alfgaringas to count the cost. Five defenders were dead, and more were wounded, a few seriously. Oslaf had come through the fight unscathed, but that evening he couldn’t stop shaking. Elfritha and Gunnhild were busy tending to the wounded, but they still found time to make him eat and drink. Gunnhild squeezed Oslaf’s hand, and that seemed to calm him a little. They both knew there was something special between them now, and he was glad to be with her.
