by M J Porter
“Bastard,” I offer. He has two weapons, and I only have one.
“Hold,” Icel calls, and I take his advice, rushing Halfdan, war axe swirling, fist punching, landing on his chin wound, so that my hand comes away bloodied this time, but at least it covers my blood.
He howls, eyes glazed with pain, and I continue. Slashing, punching, threatening to head butt, and Halfdan steps back, once, twice, and then more and more, so that his warriors are forced to part ways to allow him through as he almost runs away. He’s nearly back inside the ruin of the steading he sheltered within.
The chanting of his warriors intensifies, and while I think I’ve done a good job of revealing his weaknesses, he’s suddenly running at me, weapons out of control. Slashing, hacking, and now I’m the one moving back to avoid the attack.
And my foot catches on something, and my arms spiral around me. The air leaves my body, and I’m down on the floor, the wet snow and warm blood seeping into my clothes as my chin bounces on my chest. For a frantic moment, I can see two of everything.
I hear a collective gasp from my warriors, well, all apart from Icel.
“Get up, get up,” he rails, and I think he’s crazy this time, but I stay low, listening to Halfdan’s cackle as he threatens me with seax and war axe. He thinks his actions keep me on the ground, but they don’t. I’ve seen what tripped me—my damn seax. I reach for it, eyes on Halfdan, not my blade, and I crush it, unheeding that it’s landed upside down and blood pools between my fingers.
Halfdan aims a swipe at my head. I duck even lower, scurrying forwards in the snow so that I rear up behind him, fully armed once more, despite the two injuries I now carry.
I jump high, reach for his sword with my seax hand, and just about get my fingers to it before he turns, anger on his face. The sword is loose, though, and it tumbles to the floor, out of my reach, and more importantly, out of his.
His war axe looms at me, coming for my throat, my chest, my belly, each swipe just about missing me as I dodge every attack, trying to insert my war axe between his and mine. I thrust it in the air, catch it lower down the wide wooden handle, forcing the bottom of the war axe into his face.
Halfdan’s eyes blank, just for a moment. I’m rushing around him, eyes keen for the prize of his sword, half-buried in the snow, but before I can get my hand to it, I feel the unmissable ache of cold iron at my throat, and I still, hand reaching, war axe facing down.
The bite of the iron comes ever closer, the reminder of my last injury making it difficult to swallow or breathe or consider moving.
Fuck, the bastard has me. He’ll kill me, here and now, even though I’m fully armed, and his sword is within reach.
Silence reverberates, not even Icel offering his advice. I close my eyes, picture my Aunt’s look of horror, the anger on Edmund’s face, and the dismay that Pybba will wear.
This is it.
I thought to die before, protecting my warriors, protecting Mercia. But now it seems Jarl Halfdan is to have the last bastard word after all.
Chapter 25
“Get low,” Icel’s voice is louder than thunder, my limbs almost doing as he demands.
Only then I don’t. Instead, I press on that fucking blade, hands questing for the sword. I know what it feels like to have my neck ripped open. But I know something else as well, and I doubt many do. Whether Icel does or not, I’ll have to ask him later.
For now, I press on the seax, Halfdan’s hand shaking with the effort. I meet his eyes evenly, no hint of fear in mine, while his glow with triumph. Daft cunt.
I feel the skin start to give, but still, he makes no motion to cut me or to move it aside, and my hand, slick though it is, is almost on the hilt.
Jarl Halfdan’s warriors' jeer and catcall, the air rife with the cries of triumph, of the promise of death for my small force.
Stupid bastards.
My fingers reach the hilt, but slick from it, my glove saturated with blood. I growl, the sound bringing my throat even closer to Jarl Halfdan’s blade.
He crows. I can’t call it anything else. Rather than finishing the job, he shrieks with triumph, and I finally make a firm connection, hold the hilt tight. It lifts from the ground without so much as a slither of sound. I force it behind my back, even though my arm protests at the unfamiliar action. I close my eyes, consider Halfdan’s posture. Only then do I jab the sword across my back, giving it an extra stabbing action as it pierces byrnie and then flesh.
And then I force it even deeper, the satisfaction of knowing it’s another man’s blood that streams over my back, another man’s piss that pollutes the snow, allowing me to enjoy the moment.
His seax hand falters, coming closer, the grip tighter and tighter. I’m wedged between seax and blade, but Halfdan is cut and bleeding. I’m not wounded anywhere near as badly as he is.
The jeering falters once more, falling away, silence filling the air again, all apart from Edmund.
“Get the fuck on with it,” he rants, and I smirk. He has no patience. None at all.
I wrap my remaining hand around my enemy’s leg, able to grip the seax Jarl Halfdan holds at my throat, overlaying his hold with my hand. I can feel the shaking in his hand coursing through his body. I can feel it down his legs as well.
But I’m still trapped. For now.
I thrust my elbow upwards, but there’s not enough room to land the blow on his stones.
“My Lord King,” Edmund’s voice once more. “We haven’t got all fucking day.”
If he means to anger me, he’s going about it the wrong way.
I try and reverse my grip on the sword, thinking to pull it clear to enable me to stand, but my hand won’t cooperate. It’s weak from being in that position for too long. And the seax blade wavers once more.
I don’t think Edmund truly appreciates my predicament. The damn bastard. I can hear something tapping with impatience, no doubt his seax on his war axe. I close my eyes, try and see my position as though I’m a bird far overhead. But it’s no help. All I can see is the sword over my back, not the problem at my throat.
Only Jarl Halfdan staggers, the leg I encircle with my arm remaining firm, but the other one moves away from me. Finally, I have some room with which to play.
I force his hand away from my throat, even though he still holds the seax. I stab into his thigh, feeling the bones in his wrist crack at the unnatural movement. I’m finally able to duck low beneath the sword that sticks from his belly, the seax now in his thigh. I stand, note his face is bleached of all colour, lips faintly blue.
I nod at him, one warrior to another, sucking in a breath.
“You fucking lose, Jarl Halfdan. You fucking lose,” and my warriors rush the Raiders, and Jarl Halfdan is immobile. He can do nothing but watch, and bleed, and fucking die.
Icel, Hereman, Edmund, Rudolf, Pybba, Sæbald and Lyfing, reach the enemy first. They kill without thought, without anger, with just the right amount of detachment to ensure everyone is fucking dead.
I nod at the rest of my warriors, the Mercians from inside Gainsborough included, as I feel my throat, aware of the trickle of blood, of the healed wound, forced opened at the right side of my neck. I remove my glove, the hand appearing reddened and not white, the stickiness of the blood making me wish I’d kept the covering on and not forced it clear.
My legs shake, my arms as well. I glance at Halfdan once more. His sword still protrudes from his belly, but at an angle, the hilt too heavy to stay upright, pulling at him, making the cut an agony.
“That’s got to hurt like a bastard,” I offer, but I’m reaching for my seax, now I can see it, my focus on the Raiders. I bend to check on Wærwulf, pleased to feel his chest rising and falling beneath my whole hand, even if he’s unconscious. I turn his head, make sure he can breathe while I’m away.
These Raider bastards should never have followed Jarl Halfdan. And I’m about to show them just how deeply they’re going to regret their actions.
“For Mercia,” I
roar, pleased my voice is firm.
“For Mercia,” echoes back to me, and I confess, a grin touches my cheeks as I dance into the Raiders still determined to fight.
They really should have fucking run away.
Historical Notes
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle makes no mention of affairs in Mercia in AD875. It mentions only what is happening in Wessex, with a passing reference to Northumbria. This is to be expected. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle was a Wessex invention, under King Alfred, begun in the 890s. Whether it was intended to whitewash events in Mercia or not, must be debated. Certainly, it had a Wessex bias, and this needs to be remembered when considering the value of it for events throughout all of England.
Still, this silence speaks more loudly than any information offered. Something was afoot, and this is my attempt to offer some sort of accounting for Mercia. It is entirely fictional.
My decision to take the Raiders to Gainsborough is based on the fact that King Swein of Denmark made it his base when attacking England in the early 1000’s and that King Cnut, his son, also used Gainsborough in the same way.
As I’ve said elsewhere, I’ve not been able to determine where the ealdormen mentioned in the charters that King Coelwulf witnessed were based in Mercia. I have simply guessed, and it is probably wrong, but there’s not enough information to say either way. I would rather use the proper names, and get the places wrong, than make it entirely fictitious.
I wrote this book during the snow storms in early 2021, when I went out walking every day, no matter the weather. A stag did erupt from the woodlands to startle me.
The story of Coelwulf and his warriors is far from done.
Cast of Characters
Coelwulf’s Warriors
Ælfgar – one of the older members of the warband
Athelstan – killed in the first battle in The Last King
Beornberht – killed in the first battle in The Last King
Beornstan
Coelwulf – King of Mercia, rides Haden
Edmund – rides Jethson, was Coelwulf’s brother’s man until his death. Brother is Hereman.
Eadberht
Eadulf
Eahric
Eoppa – rides Poppy, dies in The Last Horse
Gardulf – first appears in The Last Horse – Edmund’s son
Goda
Gyrth
Hereman – brother of Edmund, rides Billy
Hereberht – dies at Torksey, in The Last Warrior.
Hiltiberht - squire
Ingwald
Icel – rides Samson
Leonath – first appears in The Last Horse
Lyfing – wounded in The Last King
Oda
Ordheah
Ordlaf
Oslac
Penda – first appears in The Last Horse – Pybba’s grandson
Pybba – loses his hand in battle, rides Brimman (Sailor in Old English)
Rudolf – youngest warrior, was a squire at the beginning of The Last King, rides Dever
Siric – first appears in The Last Horse
Sæbald – injured in The Last King, but returns to action in The Last Horse
Tatberht – first appears in The Last Horse, normally remains at Kingsholm. Rides Wombel
Wærwulf – speaks Danish, rides Cinder
Wulfstan
Wulfhere – a squire, grandson of Tatberht, rides Stilton
Wulfred – rides Cuthbert
The Mercians
Bishop Wærferth of Worcester
Bishop Deorlaf of Hereford
Bishop Eadberht of Lichfield
Bishop Smithwulf of London
Bishop Ceobred of Leicester
Bishop Burgheard of Lindsey
Ealdorman Beorhtnoth – of western Mercia
Ealdorman Ælhun – of area around Warwick
Ealdorman Alhferht - of western Mercia
Ealdorman Æthelwold – his father Ealdorman Æthelwulf dies at the Battle of Berkshire in AD871
Ealdorman Wulfstan – dies in The Last King
His son – (fictional) dies in The Last King
Werburg – his daughter
Ealdorman Beornheard – of eastern Mercia
Ealdorman Aldred – of eastern Mercia
Lady Cyneswith – Coelwulf’s (fictional )Aunt
Raiders
Ivarr – dies in AD870
Halfdan – brother of Ivarr, may take his place after his death
Guthrum - one of the three leaders at Repton with Halfdan
His sister
Oscetel - one of the three leaders at Repton with Halfdan
Anwend – one of the three leaders at Repton with Halfdan
Anwend Anwendsson – his fictional son
Sigurd (fictional
Olafr (fictional)
Estrith (fictional)
The royal family of Mercia
King Burgred of Mercia
m. Lady Æthelswith in AD853 (the sister of King Alfred)
they had no children
Beornwald – a fictional nephew for King Burgred
King Wiglaf – ninth century ruler of Mercia
King Wigstan- ninth century ruler of Mercia
King Beorhtwulf – ninth century ruler of Mercia
Misc
Cadell ap Merfyn – fictional brother of Rhodri Mawr, King of Gwynedd (one of the Welsh kingdoms)
Coenwulf – Coelwulf’s dead (older) brother
Wiglaf and Berhtwulf – the names of Coelwulf’s aunt’s dogs, Lady Cyneswith
Wulfsige – commander of Ealdorman Ælhun’s warriors
Kyred – oathsworn man of Bishop Wærferth of Worcester
Turhtredus – Mercian warrior
Eanulf – Mercian warrior
Beornfyhrt - Mercian warrior
Heahstan - Mercian warrior
Denewulf and Eahlferth – inhabitants of Newark
Places Mentioned
London – more strictly Lundenwic and Londinium at this time
Gainsborough, in north-east Mercia.
Northampton, on the River Nene in Mercia.
Grantabridge/Cambridge, in eastern Mercia/East Anglia
Gloucester, on the River Severn, in western Mercia.
Worcester, on the River Severn, in western Mercia.
Hereford, close to the border with Wales
Lichfield, an ancient diocese of Mercia. Now in Staffordshire.
Tamworth, an ancient capital of Mercia. Now in Staffordshire.
Repton, an ancient capital of Mercia. St Wystan’s was a royal mausoleum.
Gwent, one of the Welsh kingdoms at this period.
Warwick, in Mercia.
Torksey, in the ancient kingdom of Lindsey, which became part of Northern Mercia
Passenham, in Mercia
River Severn, in the west of England
River Trent, runs through Staffordshire, Derbyshire, Nottingham and Lincolnshire and joins the Humber
River Avon, in Warwickshire
River Thames, runs through London and into Oxfordshir
River Stour, runs from Stourport to Wolverhampton
River Ouse, leads into the Cam/Granta, runs through Bedford (Bed’s Ford)
River Nene, runs from Northampton to the Wash
River Welland, runs from Northamptonshire to the Was
River Granta/Cam, runs from Cambridge to King’s Lynn (East Anglia)
River Great Ouse, running from South Northamptonshire to East Anglia
Kingsholm, close to Gloucester, an ancient royal site
The Foss Way, ancient roadway running from Lincoln to Exeter
Watling Street, ancient roadway running from Chester to London
Icknield Way, ancient roadway running from Norfolk to Wiltshire
Ermine Street, ancient roadway running from London to Lincoln, and York.
Meet the author
I’m an author of fantasy (viking age/dragon themed) and historical fiction (Early English, Vikings and the British Is
les as a whole before the Norman Conquest), born in the old Mercian kingdom at some point since AD1066. I write A LOT. You’ve been warned! Find me at mjporterauthor.com, mjporterauthor.blog and @coloursofunison on twitter. I have a newsletter, which can be joined via my website.
Books by M J Porter (in chronological order)
Gods and Kings Series (seventh century Britain)
Pagan Warrior (audio book coming soon)
Pagan King
Warrior King
The Ninth Century
The Last King (audio book coming soon)
The Last Warrior
The Last Horse
The Last Enemy
The Last Sword
The Tenth Century
The Lady of Mercia’s Daughter
A Conspiracy of Kings (the sequel to The Lady of Mercia’s Daughter)
Kingmaker
The King’s Daughter
Chronicles of the English (tenth century Britain)
Brunanburh
Of Kings and Half-Kings
The Second English King
The Mercian Brexit (can be read as a prequel to The First Queen of England)
The First Queen of England (The story of Lady Elfrida) (tenth century England)
The First Queen of England Part 2
The First Queen of England Part 3
The King’s Mother (The continuing story of Lady Elfrida)
The Queen Dowager
Once A Queen
The Earls of Mercia
The Earl of Mercia’s Father
The Danish King’s Enemy
Swein: The Danish King (side story)
Northman Part 1
Northman Part 2
Cnut: The Conqueror (full length side story)
Wulfstan: An Anglo-Saxon Thegn (side story)
The King’s Earl
