The Warrior with the Pierced Heart

by Chris Bishop

  Aelred came and stood beside me. ‘All we have to do is retrace our steps,’ he advised.

  ‘I didn’t pay much mind to the route we came by,’ I admitted, knowing that was a grave error on my part. ‘As best I can tell we’ve been travelling roughly south, which does make sense as the slavers would have been headed for the coast.’

  Aelred agreed. ‘So, we should head north and hopefully find a road which leads to Chippenham from there,’ he suggested.

  ‘Actually, it’s easier than that,’ I said. ‘All we have to do is find a large settlement. Once we do, I can insist on speaking to their Ealdorman and ask him to send word to Lord Alfred who will then despatch an escort to see us safely home. But first I must find a place to rest for, as Ingar said, this wound will surely be the death of me if I don’t.’

  Chapter Six

  Having done what they could to protect their dead from wild beasts, the survivors from the settlement sat together in a small group and ate the roasted pig which Ingar had been cooking for the slavers.

  As I kept my distance, unwilling to intrude on their sorrow, Aelred came across to join me and swung a heavy sack he was carrying from his shoulder.

  ‘What’s in there?’ I asked. ‘More booty?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I couldn’t find much worth taking,’ he said. ‘This is a gift from the other captives.’

  As he opened the sack I saw that it contained what remained of a small pig which had been butchered to the extent that one of the rear haunches was missing, but it was otherwise intact. ‘That’s very generous,’ I said.

  ‘The Vikings slaughtered all their stock,’ explained Aelred. ‘They butchered swine, chickens and even their goat. All that flesh will rot long before they can eat it, so they offered us this for helping them. I reckon there’s enough here to feed us for three days at least.’

  ‘Did you find out what they did here for a living?’ I asked, still curious to know.

  He gave a little laugh. ‘I gather they used the reeds from the marsh to weave baskets. Once dried and split, the ones which grow here are said to be ideal for that.’

  ‘And that was enough to keep them all?’

  ‘So they say. One of them was particularly skilled and could turn out some really fine work.’

  ‘So where is he now?’ I asked.

  Aelred pointed to where all the bodies lay. ‘It seems the good Lord has a fancy for a new basket. It’s all a bloody waste if you ask me.’

  I nodded my agreement knowing that skills like that took a lifetime to fully master yet could be lost to a single stroke of a sword or sweep of an axe.

  In the meantime, Brother Benedict had spent yet more time in prayer, kneeling with his hands held high and clasped together as he thanked God for his deliverance. ‘So my friends, where to?’ he asked when at last he came to join us. He seemed more cheerful than I’d ever seen him before, clearly relieved that his ordeal was over. Either that or perhaps his prayers had helped to lift his spirits. The thought reminded me that it had been a long time since I’d prayed in earnest. It was something I was finding hard to do given that I still blamed myself for the loss of my men and felt I was not deserving of absolution or forgiveness. I decided it was a matter I would discuss with Brother Benedict if and when the chance arose.

  ‘Well, we can’t stay here,’ said Aelred. ‘Those dead Vikings will soon start to stink like hell.’

  ‘You’re right but it’s too late to go anywhere now,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to risk staying here tonight then leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Aye. We could then go back to the mound with the standing stones and rest up there for a while.’

  ‘No, it’s too exposed there,’ I warned. ‘We’ll be safer in the forest.’

  Brother Benedict looked worried. ‘But surely there are even more dangers in the forest,’ he said.

  ‘Yes but at least we won’t starve,’ said Aelred pointing to the sack. ‘This should suffice for a while unless, that is, you have any objection to eating pig meat. When that’s gone we can hunt and fish until Matthew here is fit enough to start the journey to Chippenham.’

  * * * * *

  We settled down to a very uncomfortable night sleeping on the damp ground with the bodies of the dead slavers not far from us. As we feared, they quickly attracted all manner of scavengers, so we stayed close together, sharing the comfort of a fire which we hoped would keep the wild beasts at bay.

  As we listened to the scavengers gorging on the bodies, we found we were none of us inclined to sleep. Instead, we lay there, gazing up at the sky which seemed to be all but full of stars. ‘Is that not strange?’ mused Brother Benedict.

  ‘What now?’ groaned Aelred.

  ‘I was just wondering whether if the sun and moon both move around the earth as we’re told they do, does the sky not do the same?’

  ‘Of course it does. Why would you think it doesn’t?’ I reasoned. ‘It must move for it always looks different every time you look at it.’

  ‘It only looks different because the clouds move,’ said Aelred. ‘You can actually see them sailing across the sky if you look, sometimes even at night.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Brother Benedict. ‘But do they all move as one?’

  For a moment we were all silent, not so much troubled by the question as by our own ignorance of such matters.

  ‘Well,’ said Aelred, ‘one thing’s for sure. The sky will still be there in the morning whether it’s moved or not. And that will come around all too quickly for my liking as I’m sorely tired and need all the sleep I can get. That’s if you’ll both shut up long enough to let me.’

  * * * * *

  Aelred was right, the sky was indeed there the next morning, but we had far too much to do to waste more time looking at it. Before leaving, I recovered the sheath for Ljot’s sword then removed a stiff leather jerkin from one of the other dead Vikings. Although too big for me, I felt it would serve as useful protection if we were attacked again. I also found some shoes and proper leggings which, though far from clean, were better than nothing.

  Aelred’s weapon of choice was a spear with which he professed to have some skill, whereas Brother Benedict decided that to bear arms was against his calling so made do with a stout staff instead. ‘Whilst permitted to join battle, the Holy Church forbids us to spill blood,’ he told us.

  ‘So that means you can fight but you’re not allowed to win!’ sneered Aelred. ‘What the hell is the point of that?’

  ‘We can win,’ explained Brother Benedict. ‘We just can’t draw blood. That’s why Holy men who go into battle carry a club or a stave.’

  ‘That’s very noble, that is,’ teased Aelred. ‘Because of your vows you won’t kill a man cleanly, but you’ll happily beat his brains out with a lump of wood instead.’

  The remark was lost on the good brother who, by then, had strapped what we needed from the Vikings’ effects to their mule along with Aelred’s small stash of booty. Although not tethered, the beast had not strayed far from the ruined settlement, perhaps having been as fearful of the scavengers in the night as we had. The items he chose included various pots and pans, some loaves of stale bread, a rind of hard cheese and what remained of the flagon of mead. To this we added the carcass of the pig to save carrying it and some other weapons and a shield Aelred thought might be needed.

  Whilst we were preparing to leave, the survivors from the settlement started to bury their dead and, when they’d finished, Brother Benedict stood beside each grave and although not ordained, offered prayers for the souls of the fallen. That done, the survivors gathered up all they could find that had been stolen from them and left. There was no point in them staying as their homes had been destroyed and little remained that was worth saving. Also, I fancy the place held too many sharp memories for them to settle there again. None of them said very much beyond thanking me for freeing them even though I tried to explain that Ingar had done far more to help than I had. Whatever the truth of that, I knew
they would struggle to rebuild their lives given all they’d been through. We watched them file away, all looking dejected though no doubt grateful to be alive.

  The father and his son who had been so cruelly beaten went with them, the young boy hobbling whilst leaning on his father for support. He still looked to be in much pain and I feared that at the very least he had several broken ribs and was surely bruised and bloodied well beyond reckoning.

  ‘So where will they all go now?’ asked Aelred as we watched them leave.

  ‘I imagine they’ll just get as far from here as they can,’ I said ruefully.

  ‘Well, I just hope they find somewhere they can protect more readily next time.’

  I considered that for a moment, then shrugged. ‘A fence or ditch would have made no difference to what happened here. What they needed was warning of the attack to give them time to hide themselves and their belongings. No settlement could expect to see off a raid unaided, particularly if it was a band of warriors who attacked them not just a few miserable slavers.’

  Once they’d gone we also left and started out by wending our way northwards. As we went, it occurred to me that we were indeed a very strange group. Led by me, a wounded warrior with no real war gear apart from an old sword, plus Aelred of whom I knew little and Brother Benedict who was a monk without even a crucifix or a bible. I wondered what anyone seeing us would make of such a motley band.

  When we eventually reached the forest, we found a wide path which we assumed was some sort of track used by carts as it was deeply rutted on either side. It was plain enough to follow and we decided that if it was used by merchants or traders it was probably the safest route to take. Also, if we were lucky enough to meet any of them along the way they could well be relied upon for directions.

  We followed the track for most of the day as it weaved its way between tall stands of pine and fir until, eventually, we came across a small glade just to one side of the track where there was also a wide, fast flowing stream of crystal clear water. It looked to be the ideal place to make our camp.

  I knew very little about Aelred’s past, but it soon became clear that he’d learned much during his time hiding in the forests and, using those skills, he quickly built a crude shelter from branches and covered it with bracken to keep out the worst of the weather.

  Brother Benedict gathered firewood and it didn’t take Aelred long to get the fire going and to build a makeshift spit. I was worried that a fire in the forest might attract unwelcome attention but said nothing as, like the others, I relished the prospect of a hot meal. Instead, I watched as Aelred and Brother Benedict set about roasting the remains of the small pig. Then, leaving Aelred to finish cooking our supper, Brother Benedict came to tend my wounds. He first bathed my feet which were raw and bleeding from having travelled so far without shoes. He then mixed some sort of poultice and applied it to the cuts quite liberally, saying that he was sure it would help them to heal more quickly. I’d also suffered a wheal across my back inflicted by a cruel lash of the whip and that he soothed as well, tactfully not mentioning the marks which Ingar had inflicted during our union. That done, he examined the wound to my chest.

  ‘Who tended this?’ he asked, looking worried.

  ‘The woman Ingar,’ I said.

  ‘Then she was truly a gifted healer. You surely should not have survived this wound. The arrow must have lodged so close to your heart that it’s a miracle she didn’t tear that out when she removed it.’

  I told him how she’d done it without probing or prising the arrow free and he seemed much impressed. He then said something which surprised me greatly.

  ‘Some pagan healers have a remarkable gift,’ he admitted. ‘Sometimes I think we could learn so much from them if we would simply open our minds to what they tell us. The Church relies too much upon the written text of the scriptures and thereby fails to see the full extent of God’s great bounty.’

  It was a brave thing for a monk to admit, being a heresy given that the Church would not countenance anything that was not overtly Christian – miracle cures wrought by Christ and by the Holy saints being the only exceptions. ‘She was indeed a very remarkable woman,’ I agreed, but decided to say no more about all that had transpired between us.

  Brother Benedict bathed the wound but admitted he lacked the skill to do much more. In the end he simply took some of the fat from the roasting pig, allowed it to cool and then spread it on my chest. ‘It’s a remedy we have to help the skin to heal more quickly,’ he advised. ‘We also need to mix some broth to make you stronger.’

  I told him of Ingar’s advice about drinking my own piss and he found that very amusing.

  ‘I think you’ll find my broth more palatable,’ he said laughing. ‘And every bit as effective. But if it’s piss you want then you’re most welcome to some of mine!’

  Aelred joined in the joke. ‘Is that like Holy water?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Brother Benedict. ‘But perhaps it will be even more effective if we mix in some of yours as well.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Aelred. ‘But that would mean that we all need to piss at the same time lest some of it gets too cold for Matthew to enjoy fully!’

  Their humour did much to lift my spirits and I took it all in good part knowing it was a sign of just how relieved they both were to be alive after our ordeal. I chose not to tell them that being just three men alone in the forest meant that the dangers were far from over as I could see they needed time to rest and recover almost as much as I did.

  * * * * *

  That night we all ate well, feasting on the roasted pig and drinking a goodly portion of what was left of the mead. As we settled down to sleep it occurred to me that we should have set a guard – not only against the prospect of thieves or robbers but also in the hope of seeing a merchant from whom we could ask directions. In the end I decided we were all too tired. Aelred, however, seemed wide awake.

  ‘Shall I tell you the story of a small man who lived in a land of giants?’ he announced.

  Brother Benedict groaned but then turned over. ‘There are no such things as giants,’ he complained, clearly preferring to sleep. ‘The good Lord made only creatures of grace and beauty.’

  ‘Well, he made you!’ joked Aelred. ‘And I don’t see much grace and beauty in your long, skinny hide!’

  ‘He made us all in his own image,’ replied Brother Benedict emphatically. ‘The Holy Bible tells us so.’

  ‘Ah, but it doesn’t say that he made us all the same size!’ retorted Aelred. ‘For all you know he made a few giants. After all, midgets are common enough so why not giants as well?’

  Brother Benedict groaned again. ‘All right,’ he managed. ‘Let’s hear the story and then perhaps we can all get some sleep.’

  Undeterred, Aelred sat up and warmed his hands against the fire. ‘Well, if you don’t like giants, just think of them as being very tall people,’ he conceded. ‘But our hero was not as tall as all the others who lived in that place. In fact Hereric, for that was his name, was only about half the height of everyone else who lived there. His story goes something like this…’

  ‘Hereric was regarded by everyone as being all but useless as a warrior as he was much too small to fight in the shield wall. Some men would have been glad to be excused from serving in the fyrd but not Hereric. He would have willingly taken his turn but, as everyone else was so much taller, there was just no place for him to stand. Whenever he did attend the training sessions he was always the one everyone picked on so, not only did he get a beating, but he also became very unpopular when he was knocked down leaving those who stood on either side of him in the shield wall open and exposed. So instead Hereric was always given the standard to carry, which, of course, is the worst job of all.’

  ‘Why is that the worst job of all?’ asked Brother Benedict who clearly knew nothing of battles and combat.

  ‘Standard bearers are targeted by everyone,’ I explained. ‘They seldom survive a battle hence the job is
always given to the man you can most readily afford to lose.’

  ‘Exactly,’ continued Aelred.

  ‘Despite this, Hereric practised with the spear whenever he could, honing his skills until he was actually quite good with it but even so, he was still not allowed to fight with the rest of the fyrd. Then, one day, the Shire was attacked by a very fierce Viking war band and everyone quickly retreated behind the palisade. Once all were safely inside they promptly secured the gates.

  ‘The Ealdorman, a man named Trounhere, was a wise fellow and realised they were unlikely to beat off the attackers. Surrender seemed impossible so he sent a runner to the next Shire asking for help and reinforcements. That meant all he had to do was delay matters long enough for help to arrive.

  ‘The Viking warlord came forward and shouted up to the Saxons, challenging them to come out and fight. The challenge was a serious dent to Trounhere’s pride, so the Ealdorman had to think of something quickly. “Why should we waste our time fighting puny warriors like you?” he shouted back. The men under his charge were horrified – the Vikings certainly didn’t look puny and they saw no cause to rile them any more than was needed.

  ‘The warlord raised his axe and shook it at the Ealdorman defiantly.

  ‘Trounhere laughed, trying to appear bolder than he felt. “So, who is your strongest warrior?” he demanded.

  ‘The warlord knew the answer to that and called for a man named Grendon to step forward.

  ‘Trounhere had thought he would be able to buy enough time for the reinforcements to arrive by challenging the chieftain’s champion to a fight but, when he saw Grendon, he quickly realised his mistake. What stood before them was truly the fiercest warrior they’d ever seen. Not only did Grendon stand as tall as a tree, he also looked to be as strong as an ox and carried a huge battleaxe that most men would have struggled just to lift, never mind wield in battle. The Ealdorman turned to his men. “I need a volunteer to fight this ogre,” he said. “Who will be my champion?”