The Warrior with the Pierced Heart

by Chris Bishop

  * * * * *

  As soon as the storm abated we gathered up our things and set off again. We rowed clear of the rocks until the sail could be set once more and from there began to make good progress.

  As we continued along the coast I noticed smoke rising from various beacons placed on the higher ground, presumably to pass word from one settlement to another of our presence. Torstein had seen the signals as well but seemed unperturbed. When I asked him about it he told me that he knew we’d been seen whilst sheltering from the storm and that it didn’t matter, for all the time we remained at sea such a small boat was unlikely to be judged a threat. I could see that was probably true – or at least it was until, as we rowed past a large open bay, two ships could be seen sailing directly towards us with the wind behind them.

  Torstein immediately turned our boat towards the open sea and ordered the sail to be raised, clearly meaning to avoid the prospect of a battle rather than confront them. As he did so, we were all made to continue rowing as hard as we could, with Torstein shouting his instructions above the noise of the wind as it filled the sail.

  ‘I think he means to outrun them,’ said Aelred who could understand at least some of what was being said.

  I looked back at the two ships and could see that they were bigger craft than ours, each manned by twenty men and therefore making better speed than we were. When Torstein saw this he changed his mind. He ordered us to stop rowing, to ship the oars and to take down the sail so that we drifted whilst he skilfully kept us in position.

  The rest of the Vikings gathered on the rail, spears and axes in hand as if ready to fend off any attack.

  ‘What the hell is he doing now?’ I asked Aelred.

  ‘He’s letting them get closer, banking on the fact that they won’t risk an attack when so far from land.’

  ‘But they’re still coming straight at us!’ I said. ‘This could be our chance to be rescued!’

  ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ warned Aelred. ‘These Vikings know far more about fighting at sea than our friends over there ever will.’

  Even as he spoke it was clear that the Vikings lined up along the side of our boat were not actually expecting to fight. In fact concealed behind them were three men with bows. They’d lit a torch and were intending to set fire to their arrows then shoot them into the Saxon ships as soon as they came within range. I realised at once what would happen if they did.

  ‘I can see no way to warn them!’ I said to Aelred.

  He agreed so all we could do was watch as the two ships sailed towards us and to almost certain ruin.

  It took no time at all for the Saxons to sail close enough for us to hear the voices of the men on board, though with so much shouting, making sense of what they said was impossible. Yet they seemed ready and willing to fight us as they crowded on to the bow, armed and intent on boarding us.

  Torstein waited, biding his time until they came well within bow range. It was then that the fate of the Saxons was sealed. Their huge sails straining in the wind made an easy target for the arrows which ignited them as soon as they struck home. As the oiled sailcloths went up like a torch, all those on board both vessels looked up in horror. Screaming and shouting to each other, those on one of the ships managed to cut down the burning sail and cast it over the side but were then left helpless, with nothing but their oars to power them. That meant that most of their crew had to abandon any thought of fighting, leaving them so desperately vulnerable that they had no option but to turn away and make for the safety of the shore. The other ship was less fortunate. Fragments of the burning sail fell down into the hull and, even though they tried to damp those down, the fire quickly took hold and spread, helped by yet more lighted arrows that Torstein had his men loose upon it.

  The panic of those on the stricken vessel was obvious, the crew having no option but to leap over the side to escape the flames. Those wearing mail struggled to stay afloat and were quickly lost whilst those who could swim made for the shore – but it was soon clear that none of them would make it that far. We watched as the ship, once fully engulfed in flames, slowly turned on to its side and sank.

  The second ship was, by then, pulling away, not even stopping to pick up any survivors from the water. It was obvious they were terrified, knowing that if Torstein chose to attack them they would all be slain as they floundered there, unable to fight back without abandoning their oars.

  But Torstein saw no value in completing the slaughter. He simply watched as the remaining ship struggled away then ordered us back to the oars. From there we continued on our way as though nothing had happened.

  * * * * *

  For several days after that we made our way along the coast where the shoreline seemed to change from sandy beaches to pebbles, then eventually to tall white-faced cliffs that rose up directly from the sea. Once past those there was very little wind, so we took turns to row hard until we came to a wide, muddy estuary with swamps and marshes on either side. Torstein seemed pleased as we turned into the estuary and prepared to make our way towards the settlement called London.

  With the river running against us, we were obliged to wait until the tide turned enough to carry us upstream, thereby giving us all a chance to rest. Holding the boat in the mouth of the estuary required great skill but Torstein was more than a match for that. He steered it towards the northern shore where he beached it on one of the many mudflats there, then settled back to wait for the tide to rise.

  Aelred and I were no longer manacled at that point, the chains having been removed whilst at sea and not replaced. Thus we were tempted to risk making a run for it but, in such thick mud, it would have been impossible to walk, never mind run – and we realised that a man caught in the open would be an easy target for one of the Viking bowmen.

  When at last the tide began to turn, Torstein ordered us to man the oars once more. It was slow hard work at first but eventually the sail was also hoisted to take advantage of a stiff east wind which helped to carry us upstream. At that point Torstein allowed one of the others to take the helm whilst he joined Arne at the prow from where they could pick out areas of turbulent or shallow water which we needed to avoid. In fact the river seemed a treacherous place, like a long twisting snake with currents and eddies that were each enough to cause the small boat to flounder, but, at last, the settlement at London came into view. Whilst all the others on board were thinking of what it would mean to be ashore – a dry bed of fresh straw, hot food and strong mead, not to mention a woman or two – I was thinking of something else altogether, realising that it might be my last chance to escape. What’s more, I had already formed a plan on how to do it.

  * * * * *

  At first sight, the Saxon settlement at London looked to be one of the largest I’d ever seen, being easily as large as Chippenham and bigger even than Winchester. Only as we drew closer could I see why it appeared to be so large for it was, in fact, two settlements, both straddling the wide river. The one on the northern bank was clearly a Saxon settlement and looked to be both prosperous and busy. It was established just to the west of what remained of the walls to an old Roman garrison and boasted many wharfs and warehouses, all with good moorings for the traders who used the river to navigate their boats that far upstream. There were even the remnants of a bridge which must have originally spanned the river, but which had long since fallen into disrepair and had large sections of the walkway missing.

  What surprised me most was that on the southern bank there was a large Viking encampment which seemed to reside quite peaceably even though so close to the local Saxons. The calm acceptance of each other’s presence was presumably based on trade and mutual advantage as I could see no sign of any guards on either bank and there were many small boats ferrying passengers and goods from one side to the other.

  Given how close they were, the settlements seemed to me to be the embodiment of Lord Alfred’s dream of Vikings and Saxons living in peace together, side by side. As if to refute that, I
noticed a yard for building longships on the southern bank which looked to be much too big for any normal commercial purpose. They’d already fashioned a dozen hulls all of which were moored either side of a wide pier, ready to be fitted out. When completed, it would mean that the ships could be sailed directly into the river rather than be manhandled from the shore in order to be launched only when the tide allowed. I could only guess why so many longships might be needed but knew it was something Alfred should be told about given that a fleet of ships could mean the prospect of a coastal invasion.

  No one made any comment about the vessels being built or, at least, they said nothing I could understand, but I think all were as surprised as I was to see the two settlements existing side by side. As a warband, Torstein’s men, like many other Vikings who still sought plunder or slaves, probably regarded any treaty between Alfred and Guthrum as nothing more than a convenient ruse. Similarly, although I had been there when the truce was declared, I was far from convinced that the terms, even once finally agreed, could actually work, particularly after all I’d seen and endured since then. Either way I was not about to miss my opportunity to escape on the slim chance that I would be received well when we landed on the Viking shore.

  * * * * *

  I saw my opportunity as we sailed closer to the southern bank where, although the moorings were more basic, Torstein could be sure of a welcome from his own kind. We approached with the sail straining in the breeze which was deemed strong enough to carry us home. Those of us at the oars were therefore relieved of our labour and most of the men took to gazing at the shore to see what awaited them. Whilst they were thus distracted, I knew it was my chance to act.

  I leaned across to Aelred to tell him of my plan. ‘Can you swim?’ I whispered.

  He nodded. ‘Aye, like a fish,’ he said simply.

  ‘Then be ready,’ I said. ‘Get up when I do and follow me. I plan to upset the boat and when I do, strike anyone near enough to stop you then dive overboard and make for the northern shore.’ He looked surprised and made as though to protest that it was further than it looked, but I gave him no chance to say anything more. Judging the time to be right, I stood up and went to the rail as if intending to relieve myself over the side, standing close to the man who was handling the steering board. Torstein was still positioned close to the prow at that time, staring at the Viking settlement and clearly feeling very pleased with himself, not realising that he’d relaxed his guard too soon. I smiled at the helmsman then, when he least expected it, struck him full in the face with my fist, then gave him a hard shove so that he stumbled then fell headlong overboard. Even as he hit the water I grabbed an axe which was stored near the stern and used it to cut the rigging. As I did so, the spar which carried the sail dropped like a stone on to the Vikings standing or seated either side of it, enveloping them all like a shroud. Two of them were free in an instant and came straight at me, but Aelred was also on his feet by then and quickly had the measure of them. As he struck them one after the other, both were sent reeling into the water.

  With no sail to power it and no one at the helm, the boat was at the mercy of the wind and the river. It seemed to wallow for a moment before listing over to one side. Several men fell in at that stage, but I had no time to see what became of them. Instead, I simply dived over the side and started swimming towards the northern shore hoping to reach the safety of the Saxon settlement.

  Once clear of the boat, I looked back and could see that it had, by then, fully capsized, tipping everyone into the water along with their trove of plunder and everything else they’d stowed on board. A few men seemed to be struggling for the shore, but several had already drowned in the rough water, either because they couldn’t swim or because they’d become entangled in the ropes trailing in the water and dragged under.

  I looked for Aelred and could see that he was making better progress towards the northern bank than I was. I tried to reach him but had never tackled anything like that which confronted me. The rough waters seemed icily cold and swamped me with every stroke so that I struggled even to keep my head above the waves. I soon realised that I was making no headway – in fact I seemed to be getting further and further from the Saxon settlement as I was carried away by the vicious current. I was soon too exhausted to do anything more than concentrate on staying afloat so had no choice but to allow myself to drift with the flow.

  I eventually made it ashore a good way from the ruined bridge but, even though I knew I was still in danger, I was too exhausted to do more than drag myself up on to the muddy bank, desperately trying to gulp air into my lungs.

  The bank where I came ashore was bordered by tall reeds and rushes which I hoped might provide some measure of cover, so I crawled towards them. I had not the strength to do more than roll myself out of sight then lie there shivering with the cold, desperately trying to recover from so much exertion.

  As I began to feel better I looked for any sign of Aelred but couldn’t see him. I hoped he’d made it to the other side or, failing that, had at least survived the river even if like me he was on the wrong bank. I checked the wound to my chest and found that it was none the worse for wear. Grateful for that, I crawled back to the water’s edge to drink but found that the water tasted gritty and salty, probably because the tide had carried with it the muddy seawater from the estuary. As such it was all but undrinkable so instead I used it just to refresh myself, then lay back to decide what best to do.

  In terms of my position, the Viking settlement lay some way upstream of me and all I had to do was wait until dark, walk back towards it and seek help from one of the ferrymen in order to cross the river to the Saxon side. Whilst I waited, I wanted desperately to light a fire to dry my sodden clothes and warm myself but knew the risk of it being seen would be too great. Besides, I was too exhausted and so just lay there and allowed myself to sleep. I can’t say how long I slept but it was already light when I was rudely awakened by two Viking warriors who, I’m ashamed to say, had caught me completely off my guard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’d been a fool not to think that those at the Viking camp would do other than send out men to look for survivors from the capsized boat. Having found me, it didn’t take them long to realise that I was not one of them. They began by shouting at me and prodding me with their spears, trying to force me to my feet. When I resisted one of them struck me hard across the face then held me down whilst the other tied my hands together in front. That done, they hauled me to my feet then made it clear that I was to go with them. Being outnumbered and unarmed, I had no choice but to comply, so allowed myself to be marched at spear point back to their encampment. I had no idea what to expect there except that I knew it was unlikely I’d be treated well. I even half hoped that Torstein had survived the river so he could confirm that I’d been his prisoner, but realised it was more likely that he, like many of the others, had drowned.

  The Viking encampment was set just beyond the bleak marshland to the south of London, surrounded by pools of brackish water most of which were bounded by reeds. It was clearly not a permanent settlement, most of the shelters and huts having been hastily and somewhat crudely put together from whatever came to hand. Nor was it as large as it had appeared from the river but, by my simple reckoning, there were at least three hundred people there, many of them living in tents which were packed so close together they might just as well have been covered by a single awning. There were also numerous workshops and trading stalls, most with little more than a canopy to keep out the weather and separated only by a maze of muddy paths. Apart from the traders and the merchants, there were also many slaves, but by far the largest group was that of what seemed to be fully fledged warriors, many of them openly bearing arms. Surprisingly, there were also a lot of Saxon women in the camp who, having been raped or widowed and having nowhere else to go, had taken to becoming whores.

  I couldn’t help but be reminded of when I visited Guthrum’s camp at Chippenham and I began to fear tha
t what I was seeing was, in fact, an army. My fears were compounded when I noticed that there were virtually no defences. I wasn’t sure whether that meant they felt secure after having accepted Lord Alfred’s offer of peace or whether they were about to embark on some sort of invasion and therefore saw no need to fortify a temporary encampment. The latter seemed the more likely, particularly given all the longships I’d seen being built beside the river. Either way, they didn’t seem to be expecting an attack – or perhaps they thought the marsh offered protection enough. I had no time to look any closer as I was taken directly to a crude hovel where I was pushed inside and the door closed and barred behind me.

  It was as dark as night in there and reeked of sweat, piss and vomit, but I was not alone. There was another prisoner who sat huddled in one corner, gently rocking back and forth on his heels and muttering aimlessly to himself. When I introduced myself he just looked up at me, then turned away.

  ‘So who are you?’ I pressed.

  He looked at me again then said in a voice which I could barely hear that he was called Cenric.

  ‘So Cenric, why are you here?’ I asked, trying not to sound too harsh as he was clearly very frightened.

  He told me that he’d killed a Viking whilst stealing a sheep to feed his family. ‘It was a fair fight, yet I now stand accused of murder!’ he moaned, sounding almost incredulous at his fate. ‘What sort of justice is that?’

  ‘They’ll hang you just for stealing the sheep, never mind killing one of their own,’ I said.

  He shrugged as if he already knew the truth of that.