The Warrior with the Pierced Heart

by Chris Bishop

  Chapter Nine

  None of us slept well that night for thinking of the fate which awaited us. As if to make matters worse, a fireball appeared in the sky which Aelred took to be an omen and was so disturbed by it that Brother Benedict and I both tried to quell his fears.

  ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ Brother Benedict assured him. ‘It’s just a restless star, that’s all.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Aelred. ‘As restless as we are and therefore not unconnected to our fate.’

  I recalled all that Edwin had said that morning on our way back to Chippenham when he and I saw the sun and moon in the sky together. ‘There’s no such thing as omens,’ I assured him. Then I remembered how some men had feared what they said was an omen the night before the battle at Edington. ‘The sky turned red and some said it heralded all the blood that would be shed the next day,’ I told him.

  ‘And did it?’ asked Aelred.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I admitted. ‘It’s true that many died in that battle but most of the blood was that of our enemies. No, if it is our fate to die tomorrow then die we shall. But if we do it’ll be because God wills it so, not because of some sign in the sky.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Brother Benedict.

  ‘Aye,’ said Aelred. ‘Amen indeed. But if you’re planning on saying any more prayers tonight you might at least ask God to have mercy on our souls for, restless star or not, I have a very bad feeling about all this.’

  * * * * *

  Having slept so little we were all awake well before dawn. I watched as Brother Benedict knelt for a long while in silent prayer as he always did each day. When he’d finished he got up and, with nothing more than a cursory word of farewell, walked down to join those at the farmstead.

  ‘He’s a braver soul than I took him for,’ said Aelred as we watched him go. Aelred then began to sharpen the tip of his spear even though it was already honed to perfection.

  ‘That must by now be the sharpest spear in Wessex!’ I joked, trying to lighten our mood.

  ‘The sharper the better,’ retorted Aelred. ‘For a properly sharpened spear saves lives.’

  I looked at him curiously. ‘How can that be?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, for one thing it might save mine,’ he said grinning.

  As at that point we’d seen no sign of the raiders we assumed there would be ample time for Brother Benedict to persuade the people at the farmstead to leave. But that was the first of several mistakes I made that day for no sooner had the goodly Brother reached the stockade than we heard the unmistakable sound of a Lur – the deep, booming note of the Vikings’ battle horn sounding like a roar in the early morning air. Almost at once we could see the raiders approaching, but they were not creeping stealthily towards the farmstead as if to surprise it; they were marching openly, their banner flying and their warriors spread out in a line, armed and ready.

  Aelred nudged my arm. ‘What the hell is that all about?’ he asked.

  I could make no sense of it either. They seemed to have given themselves away deliberately, thereby forgoing the element of surprise.

  All those in the farmstead had heard the Lur as well but, far from fleeing for their lives as I hoped they would, they looked set upon making a fight of it.

  ‘They’ll all be slaughtered,’ muttered Aelred mournfully.

  There was no denying the truth of that as they could never hope to match what was set against them.

  Even as we spoke the Vikings came on, their rank still brazenly open as they advanced. Meanwhile those at the farmstead were busy taking up positions behind the fence, perhaps hoping that the raiders would think twice about attacking a farmstead where the men were armed and ready. That was all very well but I knew that would not deter fully fledged warriors even for a moment. They would like nothing more than the chance to make a real fight of it and would no doubt savour the prospect of the slaughter they knew would follow.

  I counted at least thirty Vikings and there were doubtless others I couldn’t see. What’s more, they were, as I feared, not slavers like those who had taken Ingar and myself but almost certainly men who’d escaped during their retreat after the battle at Edington all those months before. Their leader was a man who stood tall and straight and was obviously very sure of himself. I could see him clearly from where I lay, his yellow hair shaved at the sides but worn long at the back, like the mane of a wild horse. His war gear was equally impressive. He carried a bright sword and was dressed in a mail vest that was so well polished that it glinted in the early morning sun. I could see at once that he was a man to be reckoned with.

  Those who came with him were also well armed, mainly carrying axes but with a few having spears or other fearful weapons – though curiously only three of them were armed with bows. It was whilst assessing the warband that I noticed a small boy among them. It was only as he drew closer that I recognised him as Edmund, the Viking boy I’d sought to adopt but who I feared had been taken when we were attacked that day in the forest!

  If it was indeed Edmund then it confirmed my fear that those he was with were the ones who’d brutally slain my escort. If so, why was he so at ease with them and— Suddenly I realised what a fool I’d been! Of course he was at ease with them, he was of Viking blood! Not only that but in drawing his sword that day the boy had not been intent on defending us, he was rushing to join our attackers! The ungrateful little runt had betrayed us – and it was therefore his treachery which had cost the lives of my men, not my incompetence!

  That dreadful realisation stirred within me a rage so strong that it swept through my entire body. I shuddered, barely able to believe that what I was thinking could be true. Then, when I realised it was, I craved vengeance as others might crave the very air they need to breathe.

  Sensing that something was amiss, Aelred put his hand on my shoulder then looked at me, his eyes desperately trying to fathom what I’d seen that so disturbed me.

  ‘It’s them!’ I hissed. ‘It’s the bastards who killed my men!’

  Aelred stared at me. ‘It can’t be,’ he said. ‘That was months ago. They’d be long gone by now!’

  ‘It is!’ I insisted, my mind by then already lost to thoughts of vengeance. In that moment I realised the real reason for the given years Ingar had told me about; the true meaning of all those tormented dreams I’d endured about Edmund’s fate and, most important of all, the reason I alone had been spared that day. It was so I could avenge the others!

  Driven by that thought, I started to my feet but Aelred stopped me, grabbing me and pinning me to the ground. ‘Wait!’ he insisted. ‘Don’t show yourself too soon!’

  He was right of course. We were the only hope those at the farmstead had of surviving the raid and for their sakes alone we needed to time our attack so as to strike only once the Vikings committed to their bloody work. That way we could hit them from behind and try to even out the odds by taking them out one by one.

  Though itching to join the fray, I was persuaded to bide my time for what seemed like the longest wait I can ever recall.

  As the Vikings continued to advance I noted that Edmund was kept towards the rear of their line, presumably so he would not be too much at risk. Even so I vowed to kill him if I got the chance, but that would have to wait as there were others who needed to feel the edge of my sword even before he did if I was to help those at the farmstead.

  Then, quite suddenly, the leader of the Viking warband stopped and put on his helmet. Thrusting his sword into the air, he then let out a cry so shrill as to hurt the ears. That was the signal for the raiders to attack and with it they all rushed towards the farmstead as one, screaming and howling their abuse.

  The Saxons were not to be so easily taken in as I’d thought. Several men appeared almost at once, stepping in front of the fence armed with bows. Even as they started loosing their arrows I saw one Viking reel back in pain.

  I still willed them to run if they could, or at least to send the women and children to a place of safety, but, in
truth, it was much too late for that. Instead, they all stood their ground, men and women together, hopelessly outnumbered and armed with nothing which could be described as proper war gear or even weapons.

  As the Vikings closed on the farmstead, Brother Benedict ventured towards them with his arms outstretched as if imploring them to turn back by sheer force of will – or perhaps expecting some sort of divine intervention. Needless to say he was cut down by the first of them to reach him, knocked to the ground by a single blow from the flat edge of an axe. They could have so easily killed him at a stroke but, given he was a monk, they clearly meant to save that pleasure for later.

  It was that which caused me to make my second mistake that day. Incensed by Brother Benedict’s cruel fate, I could contain my rage no longer. I grabbed a spear and, with Aelred at my side, attacked too soon.

  As we charged forward to join the fray I hurled the spear at the first raider I came to but missed my mark. I drew my sword instead and slammed into him so hard that he had no time to defend himself. I’m not sure whether I killed him or not but even as he fell, I turned to face the next man who dared to confront me. I fancy that he could see the anger blazing in my eyes and hesitated for just a moment longer than he should before thrusting with his spear, hoping to catch me off guard. Instinctively, I caught the shaft of it with my hand and jerked him forward with such force that he was pulled towards me and impaled on my sword. As he fell, I placed my foot on his chest and withdrew the blade then turned to face another man who was coming towards me with an axe. I nimbly dodged his blow and cut him down with a cruel stroke across his back, my sword scything through so deeply that he died almost where he stood. I wasted no more time with him but, as I turned and readied myself once more, someone barged into me with his shield so hard that I was sent reeling and breathless to the ground.

  As I lay there winded and all but helpless, I looked up and saw Aelred locked in combat with the man who had barged into me, desperately fending him off with his spear. My friend gave a good account of himself, felling his opponent but then falling victim to another who struck him whilst his back was turned.

  I didn’t actually see Aelred as he fell but was sure that he could not have survived the blow. Although I did try to get up to help him, my heart was beating so fast within my breast that I could scarcely move. All I could do was to watch in horror as the Vikings who, with such numbers in their favour, seemed assured of victory and therefore took their time to complete their slaughter. After that I remember nothing more of the raid itself.

  * * * * *

  By the time I came round the fighting was over. I lay very still hoping the Vikings would think me killed, though I knew that ruse wouldn’t last for long. I also knew that when they did discover me they’d relish the chance of wringing what life I had left from my body.

  Carefully, I raised my head a little to see what was going on. I half hoped there might be some chance of escape whilst they were busy with their spoil or torturing the others who were wounded, but all I could see was the usual debris of a raid – burning buildings and things strewn and discarded on the ground. The latter included many bodies so I guessed that most of the Saxons had been killed. Not having actually seen either Aelred or Brother Benedict slain, I scanned the battlefield for any sign of them. I couldn’t see Aelred anywhere but there was a long scrawny body which I was certain was that of Brother Benedict hanging bloody and naked from a tree. I could only hope that the blow which felled him had either killed him outright or had at least left him unconscious so he didn’t have to fully endure their torments.

  Somewhere in the distance I could hear a woman screaming. When I looked in that direction I could see that she was being passed between three warriors who were taking turns to abuse her. Using her dreadful fate as a distraction, I tried to make good my own escape.

  I managed to raise myself up a little further and could then see the full carnage of the raid. Many buildings were still on fire and the raiders were busy pulling what they could from the flames or stripping anything of value from the bodies. One thing was also clear, they had not forgotten about me.

  Still on the ground, I groped around for my sword thinking that I would at least die fighting but, before I could grasp it, two of them came across to where I lay. I saw them coming so remained very still, but it was all to no avail as they kicked me so hard in the ribs that I couldn’t avoid flinching. I heard them laugh then, taking me by the arms, they roughly turned me over. I struggled as best I could but lacked the strength to free myself as they continued kicking me and shouting. Of course I could understand nothing of what they were saying but then I didn’t need to – it was plain enough what they had in mind. One of them then started to strip off my leather jerkin, presumably thinking it worth having and not wanting it spoiled with blood. As he did so, my undershirt gaped open and he saw my scar.

  For a moment they both just stared at me, then stepped back as if stunned by what they’d seen. One of them called others to come and look as well. This included the tall warrior I’d seen earlier and who I’d taken to be their chieftain.

  ‘So, are you the famous warrior with the pierced heart I have heard so much about?’ said the chieftain. He seemed to speak our tongue well with barely any trace of an accent, yet was clearly not a Saxon. ‘Now perhaps we shall see whether it’s true that you can cheat death at will.’ With that he ripped open my undershirt so that my scar was fully exposed.

  I also glanced down at it and could see that it was red and livid, having not fared well from so much exertion. I cursed myself for not doing as Ingar had advised and rested long enough for it to heal fully. But none of that mattered. If they were indeed the ones who’d attacked my escort then I was quite prepared to die if it meant that I could take a few of the bastards with me and thus avenge my men.

  Satisfied with what he saw, the chieftain called others to look at the scar as well. As they gathered round many of them seemed so in awe of it that they were almost afraid to get too close.

  ‘Is it true that the arrowhead is still inside?’ asked the chieftain, seeming intrigued.

  ‘No,’ I said as defiantly as I could. ‘I pulled it out with my teeth!’

  He looked surprised. ‘Then is it not true that you died and then returned from the underworld?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ I boasted. ‘My God told me that I had to return and slay even more of you heathen bastards before I would be allowed to rest in Paradise.’

  The man nodded. ‘I am told by Arne, who I believe you have met before, that even though you are so young you are a famed warrior, known to Lord Alfred himself. So what are you really called?’

  I glanced across and could see that he was referring to young Edmund who it seemed could not recall my name. I decided to tell them nothing. ‘So is that the little runt’s name?’ I asked instead. ‘We called him Edmund after my older brother. Perhaps we should have called him Judas.’

  The chieftain looked puzzled and I realised that he didn’t understand my reference to the man who had betrayed Christ. ‘I am told that you killed the boy’s father,’ he said.

  ‘That was my brother,’ I boasted, resisting the temptation to name Edwin lest he guess who I was from that.

  ‘You are both of you warriors? Then no doubt your father is very proud, though I fear he will soon have one less son to boast about,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘My father is dead, as are both my older brothers. Though like me, each of them accounted for many dozens of your kind – and not by shooting arrows at them from behind a tree either. Our way is to look a man in the eyes when we slay him.’

  He nodded as though accepting the truth of that. ‘So what is your name?’ he pressed again.

  ‘As you said yourself, I am called the warrior with the pierced heart. That’s all you need to know.’

  ‘Well, warrior with pierced heart and no other name, know that I am called Torstein and that I am Jarl to these men. And as for you, we shall soon see whether yo
u can be killed or not. But for now we shall leave you to think upon your fate. There are things I would know of you before I kill you.’

  ‘I’ll tell you nothing,’ I said sounding braver than I felt given that I was all too well aware of how cruel they could be when it came to torturing prisoners.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ he said. With that two men came to bind my hands.

  I realised that he wasn’t anxious to kill me, perhaps because, like the slavers, he feared that to do so would bring misfortune upon him. ‘So how come you speak my tongue?’ I asked as he turned to leave.

  ‘My mother was a Saxon,’ he explained. ‘She was taken by my father on a raid and kept as his whore. His wife bore him four daughters but no sons, so he favoured me.’

  ‘That makes you a bastard,’ I said, half hoping it would rile him enough to finish me and get it over with, thereby avoiding whatever other dreadful torments he had in mind.

  ‘We Vikings are not so fussy about such things,’ he said, perhaps guessing what I was trying to do. ‘Blood is blood and marriage means little to those of us who spend so much of our time away.’

  It was then that I noticed that one of the raiders carried my father’s sword – the one also used by my brother Edwin and stolen from me when I was struck by the arrow.