by M J Porter
“You don’t have to do this,” I call. But I’m already moving my shield to counter the first blow from the seax before the final word reaches my mouth.
“I’ll take that as a no then, you bastard.” The blow is more powerful than I expected and yet nothing compared to the force my shield can absorb. I hold my shield firmly before my body, almost decrying the fresh death that will follow shortly.
The feet of the warrior dance, from side to side, and forward and backwards, and the blows keep coming, accompanied by a running stream of Danish.
I don’t understand all of it, but the actions speak louder than the words do.
I sense the fury and the anger, and I could, if I had the need to, end this game now. But, my warriors are winning their battle, and no one is interfering with us. I allow the youngster to vent his rage.
Only as the blows start to diminish, do I step around my shield, seax raised, ready to end the one-sided battle.
The eyes that greet me show shock that I’m entirely unaffected by what they’ve been doing. With quick strides, I’m in front of my enemy, their shield hanging uselessly in their hand. Even the seax is held point down, body heaving, sweating so freely that the hairless chin gleams.
My seax is ready to make the killing stroke, already hovering at the exposed threat. With no more thought, I make the cut clean, the slice immediately exposing the tangled web of body parts that lie beneath the weakness of a neck.
The youth slumps and I walk away, no remorse, just the stone cold knowledge that my enemy is not as proficient in warcraft as they think. Equally, that they try and cover that fact with tricks and boasting.
The shield wall has finally broken up into small areas of fighting when I emerge from the milling horses. My body is free of all marks, or it is until the lead horse bends down and nips my ear.
“Fucker,” I complain, batting the inquisitive head away. I work quickly to disentangle the mass of harness that makes it impossible for the horse to crop the grasses as his companions do.
“Where the fuck you been?” Edmund’s angry words greet me. He glares at me, eyes blazing red with battle fury.
“Killing the fucker, back there. Well, two of them, actually.”
“While we took on the rest of them?”
“Well,” I stand, hand on my hip, meeting him above the moaning cries of a warrior who’s not yet quite dead, “we said two each. I killed my two.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Edmund stabs down, his blade impaling the man through the neck, stilling the feeble cries.
“What?” I demand defensively.
“Nothing Coelwulf, nothing at all.” Edmund strides to the next malingering soul and stabs down again. I can see the tension in the movement.
“Did you miss me?” I call to his back.
“No, we didn’t. See, they’re all fucking dead. It would just have been better to know that you weren’t fucking dead as well.”
“But I indicated what I was going to do.”
“How? How were we supposed to know what you were going to do?”
“I did the thing, with my eyes, rolling back in my head. I’ve done it before,” I counter, confused by the aggression.
Edmund strides to stand before me, the heat of his anger washing me. He jabs me with the handle of his seax.
“Whatever the fuck you think you told us, you didn’t.”
Our argument has garnered the interest of all those no longer fighting.
Hereman is looking from his brother to me, a half-smile playing on his lips. His next words don’t surprise me.
“I knew what you had planned, boss,” Edmund growls at the words. I roll my eyes. Fucking Hereman. Always keen to infuriate his brother.
“You genuinely knew what Coelwulf had planned,” Edmund turns the force of his rage onto Hereman. A flicker of a smile touches my lips.
The daft bastards.
“Of course, I did. Don’t you even know how he works?”
By now, I wish that Hereman hadn’t decided to get involved.
“Right, let’s vote. Who knew what fucking Coelwulf was about to do?” In the face of Edmund’s roar at his fellow warriors, I’m surprised that anyone has the bollocks to respond. But they do.
“I did,” Lyfing calls. “Me too,” Eoppa choruses, and more and more of them, as they bend and pillage, ensuring the dead are dead. Movement in the woodlands has caught my eyes. I’m already reaching for my seax when I realise it’s Eowa and beckon him forward.
“So, you all knew, apart from me?” Edmund is still ranting.
“Yes, that’s about the long and short of it,” Hereman calls gleefully. Edmund, with the barest of veiled threats at me, bows, the action jerky and ill-humoured.
“Then, Lord Coelwulf, please accept my most humble apology for my ill-conceived complaint.”
There’s nothing for it.
“I accept. And my thanks,” I offer, my voice pitched only to reach his ears. Hereman is already back at his task, his back to us. At the same time, Edmund stands, for a moment longer, chest heaving, as he considers what, if anything, he’s going to say next.
“Go and see what Eowa wants,” I command, pointing to the lad from yesterday.
Mumbling under his breath, Edmund marches off, and I go to Hereman and thwack him on the back.
“You shouldn’t wind him up like that.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be such a mouthy shit,” Hereman counters. I know that until the two are reconciled to each other, they’ll be nothing but frosty silence between them.
Fucking brothers.
Wærwulf is moving amongst the horses, trying to get them into some sort of order, but my attention is on Eowa. He seems to be gesturing frantically, but Edmund, still furious, is being dismissive. I can tell just from the body language.
“What is it?” I ask Eowa, aware that the boy rears at my sudden appearance.
“I found more,” he explains, pointing toward the west.
“More what, bodies?”
“No, live ones. Like those,” and he points at the bodies being pillaged by my men.
“How many?” I ask although I expect the answer.
“Many,” he says, and I realise he might not be able to count.
“More than this?” I ask, pointing again at the riderless horses and dead warriors.
“About the same,” Eowa confirms, after screwing his face tightly in thought.
He still carries his seaxs and war axe. It’s evident he’s not yet made it back to the people he lives with.
“Can you show us where they are?”
He nods, although uncertainty tempers the movement. I’m not surprised. I have sixteen men and now nearly seventy horses under my command, and he makes his way through a densely packed wood.
I turn then, gazing at my warriors, and the scene we would be abandoning. But, I don’t want to leave any of my men here. I sigh heavily. I don’t like to do this, but if the sixth and final warband sent to track me down, is not far from here, then I must hunt them down.
A hundred fewer warriors might not feel like a great deal, but it’s worth it.
Edmund is watching me keenly, his anger dimming with the knowledge that we’re not yet done for the day.
“Take the horses into the wood. Make sure they can roam freely if they want to. We’ll have to come back for them.” By this, I mean all of the horses, even Haden, and he clearly realises, his gaze as judgemental as Edmund’s from where he grazes.
“We’ll have to leave the dead, for now. Hopefully, Ealdorman Ælhun will ride this way in the next day or so, but even so, we’ll have to come back for the horses.”
“Tell the men to take all of their battle gear. No one is to leave anything behind they might need.” Edmund nods, and moves to walk amongst those still pillaging, drinking, or perhaps, considering eating. I expect some complaints, but there aren’t any.
“You bloodthirsty bastards,” I holler, as they make ready to move away. The horses shelter under the tree
s, water close by, and plenty of green shoots to tempt them while we’re gone.
“You know us,” Lyfing grins at me, his helm dented on the left-hand side, and a trickle of blood dripping down his neck.
“Who did that to you?” I ask, and Lyfing grins.
“The cut, myself, the helm, I dropped it, and the fucking horse stood on it.” He laughs, and so do I. Damn fool.
And then we’re all under the tree canopy, and I stride to join Eowa, who watches my transformed men with only barely concealed fear.
“They won’t hurt you,” I assure, hoping I speak the truth.
Eowa nods. He’s evidently not one for using words and begins to lead the way. His steps are nimble, his feet almost silent over the matted ground, and I wish I still had the lithesome walk of youth. But I’m weighted down by the passage of years, my weapons, and perhaps even the men I’ve killed, who might, or might not, have stayed with me.
The thought makes me chuckle softly, and Eowa turns confused eyes glance at me.
“Nothing to worry you,” I try to reassure, but a man laughing for no known reason is hardly relaxing.
The sounds of the woods slowly overwhelm my senses, and all traces of daylight fade as we rush ever deeper into the trees. I realise then that we’ll need Eowa to lead us back to the horses, when we win, and if we decide to go through the woods.
Eowa stops, every now and then, as though looking at the ground, or a tree, and as much as I stare, I can see nothing different from the hundreds of other trees. We all have our skills, or so I decide. I’m not a tracker, but Eowa is.
As the time drags on, the heat turns my face slick, and I can hear the grumbling of others as well. But Eowa presses on, with unwavering confidence, and I allow him to. The horses would have stood no chance here, where each tree presses closely to its neighbour, long arms reaching across the gaps above our heads so that they seem to merge into one continual mass.
When Eowa turns, his finger to his lips, I stop in my tracks, Edmund almost crashing into me, the group of men slowly falling silent. Ahead, I can hear the voices of others, and they’re not speaking my tongue. Not at all.
I press on, leaving Eowa under the care of Hereman, with only Edmund for company. I need to see what the enemy is doing before I make any decisions as to what our next move will be.
I crouch low, hoping a fallen tree trunk will shield me from view, as I finally see my enemy.
As Eowa suggested, there are about fifty of them, maybe. It’s difficult to tell because some of them are in perpetual motion and it’s impossible to work out whether I’ve counted them already or not.
They have a small fire, and the smell of roasting flesh reaches my nostrils, as does the stench of a latrine. No doubt, I consider sourly, I’m standing in it.
There are horses tethered closer to the treeline. It seems that while we’ve walked through the dense trees, our enemy has been more cautious in their choice of campsite. But why, I consider, are they camping now? Surely they should be off, searching for me.
And why, I also want to know, are there no sentries?
A heated debate seems to be taking place between two of the men. They stand, one to either side of the fire, practically spitting with rage. The words they speak are Danish, of that I’m sure, but it’s spoken too quickly for me to decipher more than that.
“They’re arguing about what to do,” Edmund whispers to me, and I turn to him, surprised he can make out the individual words. He shrugs as though it’s not important. And I remain silent. If he can hear them, I want him to listen to everything that’s being said.
“They’re waiting for word from a Jarl Sigurd, perhaps the fucker you killed, and then the skinny man wants to go back to Repton, the sturdier one wants to travel south. He says that Jarl Sigurd will never come and that they’ve been waiting an entire day already.”
“So not the man we fought then?”
“Maybe not. Have they sent some other poor bastard to hunt you down?”
“They’ve sent quite a few of the fuckers so far. None of them has managed to get a scratch on me yet.”
“No, they haven’t,” Edmund’s tone is far from complimentary.
“Are we going to attack them then?”
I’ve been considering the same thing. Better to kill them now, than when they’re reinforced and likely to be more problematic.
“Yes, but I’m not sure how yet. A pity we can’t climb the trees and just land on them from above.”
Edmund startles at the suggestion and then begins to chuckle.
“Maybe not, but I’d like to see it, all the same.”
“We’d have to come at them from all around their campsite to prevent anyone from escaping, and it’ll be fraught with danger. No one will be able to watch another’s back.”
“Hum,” Edmund’s response is hardly reassuring, and I indicate we should creep back and re-join the rest of the men.
“What would you suggest then?” I demand to know when we’re far enough away that we can risk whispering a bit louder.
“We could come at them from outside the wood.”
“We could, but then they’d melt away into the woods, and we’d have to hunt them down. It’s not an efficient idea.”
“No, it’s not, and there are probably warriors on fucking guard duty out there. After all, they’re not expecting anyone else to be in the woods.”
“No, they’re not,” I agree, rubbing my hand across my face, feeling the growth of my beard and wishing I could take the time to scrape it clear from my face. It’s too damn hot for such a matted mess.
“So we need to use the element of fucking surprise as our extra warriors, and go from there.”
“I agree,” Edmund confirms, his eyes on where he steps, keen to avoid the multiple trip hazards.
“Fucking bastards,” I mutter. I don’t much want to send my men to another altercation. I’d like to think we’ve killed enough, but the Raiders just keep coming. It’s their damn luck if they meet us.
Eowa waits anxiously for us to return, and I grin at him.
“Well done,” I confirm. Meeting the eyes of the others who’ve all adopted defensive positions in my absence, all of them guarding Eowa.
“Right, they’re in the woods. We’ll have to go around them and encircle them. It’ll be every man for himself. And we all need to stay hidden until the signal is given.”
“What will the signal be?” Hereman demands to know.
“Something they won’t suspect. Something that you’d find in the woods?”
I’m not sure what it could be, and no one leaps to fill the sudden gap in the conversation. My barn owl impersonation will not do, not this time. It won’t carry far enough, and anyway, I know it’s a poor rendition.
If Rudolf were here, I’d know he’d have the answer, but he’s not.
I look at Eowa. Maybe he has a suggestion, but the youth is hopping from one foot to another, and I’m sure he’d rather be gone from here.
“Well we’ll just have to go with a war cry,” I suggest, but Edmund is looking pensive, his face drawn and his eyes unfocused.
“They have a fire burning, and we have a spear. Who’s the best shot?”
He turns, gazing all around him, seemingly unprepared to hand the honour to his brother, even though we all know Hereman can hit a coin from fifty paces with a well-aimed throw.
“For fuck's sake,” I complain when Edmund refuses to answer the question he’s asked, and Hereman is glaring at him. I like the idea, if not the way it’s being arranged.
“Hereman, you take a spear, when you think everyone is in position, throw it at the fire, and then we’ll all move to attack. It’s going to be fucking rough,” I warn, picking out those who really need the warning, Ælfgar and Wulfstan amongst them. There’s a reason I so often leave them at Kingsholm. They’re good fighters, but not the best. It doesn’t matter so much in a shield wall, but one on one, it’s going to matter a great deal.
Hereman ho
lds his spear high, showing it to everyone other than his brother, whose eyes he refuses to meet. The two always reconcile before a battle. Today better be no fucking different.
“Right, the force will be split as follows. Eoppa, Osbert, Hereberht, Lyfing, Ordheah, Oda, Wulfred, Beornstan and Ælfgar will take the far side. Decide amongst yourselves whose going where. The two closest to the end of the tree line will need to be doubly watchful and quiet. I’m assuming there will be lookouts, somewhere. I can’t imagine the lax bastards are quite as confident as they appear.”
“I’ll be at the point of deepest infiltration into the woods, along with Edmund to my right and Hereman to my left. The rest of you take the side closest to where we stand now. This isn’t the way we normally operate. We’re not one for fucking ambushes, but the objective is no different. Kill them all. We’ll try and keep one alive amongst us, but only when we’re assured of a damn victory. Is that agreed?”
We’re in a sort of semi-circle now, bending low, heads together, everyone listening to what I say. Only one person remains standing upright, and that’s Eowa. I look at him and gaze behind me.
“Will you wait here? High up in the branches. I don’t want you to fight. You mustn’t fight. If the enemy win.”
“Which they won’t,” Hereman growls.
“If the enemy wins,” I continue ignoring the interruption. “Go back to your people. Stay there, and keep safe.”
Eowa nods, a flicker of worry on his youthful face. I feel strangely protective of the lad, even though we’ve spoken only a handful of words together. Certainly, I would feel uncomfortable if he died while I was fighting.
“Right, then that’s agreed. We go now, moving quietly, not speaking to each other, and when we’re in position, we’ll have to wait for those on the far side to reach where they need to be. None of you fuckers die. None of you. No matter what, stay alive, even if you have to scramble up a tree and let some of your friends come and rescue you. We’re few enough in number as it is.”
Chapter 15
