Leofric was not accustomed to such rude accommodations, but he slept well nonetheless, with the sand soft beneath him and himself wearier than he could recall. He woke to the sound of movement, a muted but purposeful sound. He opened his eyes to find that it was still dark. He pushed himself to his feet and looked around.
The stars were brilliant overhead and they gave off enough light that he could make out the bands of men moving toward their ships, and the last of anything important still on the beach being carried off. He was just wondering where he should go or if they meant to leave him behind when Harald appeared beside him.
“My father says please join him on his ship,” Harald said and without waiting for an answer he headed off toward the water’s edge, leaving Leofric to follow behind. They waded out into the water, knee-deep. Harald put his hands on the edge of the ship and hoisted himself up, swinging easily over the rail and down to the deck.
He turned and looked back. “I can send you a line, or put down a plank,” he said.
“No, I can manage,” Leofric said, wondering if that was true. He set his hands on the rail, pressed his lips together, jumped as high as he could and pushed down with his arms. As he came up he felt a shot of pride at still being capable of such a thing, and then a shot of panic as he realized he was not going to make it. But then Harald grabbed a fistful of his mail shirt and pulled him the rest of the way aboard.
It was the mail, Leofric thought as Harald helped him to his feet. I could have made that easily if I hadn’t been wearing the mail.
The two men made their way toward the center of the ship where they could walk aft without stepping over the sea chests that served as benches. Leofric stumbled once on something in the dark, but he caught himself before he fell. At the very stern of the vessel he could just make out a raised platform, and standing there was Thorgrim, a fur wrapped around him against the morning chill. He was looking forward, looking up at the mast and the stars, turning and looking out over the blackness of the water. He seemed to miss nothing.
Thorgrim looked down and said a single word and Harald said, “My father says ‘Good morning.’”
“Good morning to him,” Leofric said, and he noticed for the first time a hint of light off to the east.
Thorgrim spoke again. “My father says we’ll wait for a bit more light, and then we’ll go,” Harald said.
Leofric nodded, figured that would not need translation. He turned and looked forward. He could see the dark outlines of the men as they took the long oars down from the rack that ran along the center of the ship and slid them out through holes in the ship’s side. They settled on the sea chests and held the oars up the way seabirds will hold their wings to dry. They waited and Leofric waited.
They did not wait long. Soon the shadows began to soften and the men became more discernable and Thorgrim shouted out an order, loud enough in the still air to be heard all over the sandbar. Leofric felt the ship lurch a bit and he realized there were still men ashore and they were pushing the vessel back into the water. He felt a change in the ship’s motion, a sensation of floating. Thorgrim called another order and the oars came down and the men bent as they rowed and the huge vessel began to slowly back away from the sand.
Leofric watched it all, all that he could see, with fascination. He had a naturally curious mind, and this was something well beyond any previous experience. He had been in boats and ships before, certainly, but nothing like this, the powerful war machine of a powerful enemy. If he felt like Daniel in the lions’ den on the beach, now he felt as if he were in the jaws of the beast.
The light continued to spread and he could see the men down either side of the ship, moving with an easy rhythm, the ship moving fast and silent in the still water. He could make out the dark shapes of the other ships slipping off the beach and following behind, a wolf pack falling in behind its leader.
With a few words Thorgrim made the ship stop and turn in its own length, as if he had uttered some sort of magic incantation. But to Thorgrim or Harald or the others there seemed to be nothing magical about it. They just watched it happen and said nothing.
Leofric could see only the vaguest outlines of the shore, but Thorgrim seemed to know where he was and where he wished to go. With a few gruff orders the ship began to gather way while Thorgrim shifted the tiller slightly forward and back.
Harald was standing at Leofric’s side, so Leofric asked him in a soft vice, “How does Thorgrim know where to go?”
“He looks at the stars,” Harald said. “He looked last night, saw how the stars should be for the direction he wants to go. And he knows the harbor well. He made sure of that.”
“It sounds like he is a good mariner,” Leofric said.
“He is a great mariner,” Harald said and the pride was obvious in his voice.
They pulled on through the growing light of dawn, slowly, like men feeling their way through a dark room. But the light continued to spread and soon Leofric could see where they were and where they were headed and it was exactly where he had meant for Thorgrim to land his ships, south of the channel entrance. They were less than a quarter mile away.
Soon after, Thorgrim’s ship bumped up on shore and one after another the others did as well. There was light enough that Leofric could see the full length of the ship now. He could see men going over the bow with ropes in hand, no doubt to secure the ship in place. One of the Northmen came back and spoke a few words to Thorgrim.
Harald turned to Leofric. “That man says there’s an Englishman waiting to talk to us,” he said. Thorgrim hopped down from the afterdeck and waved for Leofric and Harald to follow, and the three of them made their way forward, walking down the centerline of the ship.
At the bow Thorgrim leaned over the side and looked toward the beach and Leofric did likewise. Thirty feet away, looking not at all comfortable, stood Ailmar, captain of Leofric’s hearth-guard, commander of the men there in Leofric’s absence. Leofric could see the relief wash over the man’s face when he saw his thegn looking down toward him.
“Lord Leofric! You’re unhurt?” Ailmar called.
“Yes,” Leofric called back. “And if you need to say anything to the Northmen, Harald here can translate. Speaks our language.” Leofric wanted Ailmar to know that, before he said anything the Northmen should not hear.
“Very good, lord,” Ailmar replied. “We got word from Nothwulf. The men are under arms and ready.”
Leofric heard Harald translate the words to Thorgrim and Thorgrim replied. “My father says have your men come to this place and wait on the beach. When we hear the sounds of the fight, then we go.”
Leofric nodded. Sensible, he thought. Keep English and heathens apart until there’s need for them to mix.
Ailmar hurried off and it was not long after that he was back, walking at the head of his column, two hundred men or so strong. A good-looking, capable-looking army. More disciplined, less loose than the Northmen, not as savage-looking. Leofric wondered, if it came down to it, on level ground, who would win in an all-out fight, his men or Thorgrim’s.
Dear God, I pray we don’t have to find out, Leofric thought.
He and Thorgrim headed aft again and Leofric could see Thorgrim’s limp had become more pronounced. They reached the stern and Thorgrim sat on the edge of the small raised deck and extended his leg with a stifled groan.
One of his men, a mere boy by the looks of him, came over and spoke a few words. Thorgrim looked reluctant about whatever the boy had said, but he seemed to give in. The boy knelt down in front of him and peeled back a tear in Thorgrim’s leggings to reveal bloody bandages beneath.
They spoke again, and with continued reluctance Thorgrim stood and pulled his leggings down. His tunic hung to his knees and pale legs extended down from there. His left thigh was wrapped tight with bandages, soaked through with blood.
Leofric, sure that Thorgrim’s tunic covered the things he had no desire to see, watched with interest. The boy carefully peeled the bandages away, pulling t
hem free of Thorgrim’s leg, eliciting a grunt of pain as the cloth pulled on the wound. The boy’s hands were delicate and sure. Leofric looked at his face, which was set in concentration.
That’s a woman! he realized. He was not entirely sure at first, but as he studied the face he became certain. She was dressed in a tunic and leggings, like the rest of the men, and wore a mail shirt and a seax on her belt. But she was without a doubt a woman.
Leofric shook his head. The more he learned about the Northmen the more mysterious and strange they seemed.
With the bandage gone, the woman took a wet cloth and washed the wound as well as she could, then began to dress it again. She had two wraps around Thorgrim’s thigh when another of the Northmen came running aft. This one looked more manic than Thorgrim, or any of the others. He was wearing only leggings, and his arms and body were lean and muscular and crisscrossed with scars, with one particularly vicious one at his shoulder, the result of a spear thrust or a sword, Leofric guessed. His hair was unkempt and fell in a great heap over his shoulders. There was a wild look on his wild face.
This is the one who hit me! Leofric realized. He remembered the man now, how he had launched himself at Leofric’s men-at-arms, had seemed impervious to the swords and spears and axes that had tried to do him in. Instinctively Leofric laid his hand on the pommel of his sword.
But the wild man did not attack him this time. Rather he stopped in front of Thorgrim and pointed off to the north and said something in a tone that conveyed his excitement. Thorgrim nodded and cocked his head as if to listen.
“What is it?” Leofric asked Harald.
“This is Starri,” Harald said, nodding toward the crazed man in front of him. “He has the best hearing of anyone aboard. He says there’s fighting, on the western bank of the channel.
Leofric felt a surge of excitement at those words, a sense of movement, things happening now. All the Northmen within earshot of Starri were also cocking their heads to listen, and Leofric did as well. He strained to hear, tried to filter out the other sounds, the lapping of the water, the grinding of the ship’s bow in the sand, the shuffling and murmuring of the men aboard. He thought he heard it—the clash of weapons, the shouts of men, the familiar sound of fighting. But Leofric was not a young man, his hearing was not what it had been, and he was not certain.
He looked at Thorgrim and saw the same look of uncertainty. He looked at Harald and Harald seemed more intent, more determined than his father did.
Harald said a few words to Thorgrim. Then he turned to Leofric. “I told my father I hear it, too. I’m pretty certain I hear it, anyway. Fighting. I can hear the clanging of weapons and I can hear men shouting.”
Leofric shook his head. “I don’t hear it,” he admitted. “But if younger ears…or this Starri fellow says it’s so, I’ll believe it. And if it’s so, then it’s time for us to move.”
This was the moment Leofric had been waiting for, the moment Cynewise committed her men to battle. She would never have launched an attack if she saw that Nothwulf’s army was complete, and certainly not if she saw the Northmen’s ships heading into the fight. Leofric wanted the battle fully joined before he sprung his surprise on her.
Harald translated his words to Thorgrim and Thorgrim nodded. The young woman bandaging his leg finished and Thorgrim pulled up his leggings even as he began calling orders forward. Then he turned to Leofric and said something else.
“My father says get your men on board,” Harald said.
Leofric nodded and turned and jogged down the length of the ship, as well as his old legs and the obstacle-strewn deck would allow. It would not take long to get his men aboard. During the waiting time Ailmar had divided the men up into six divisions, one for each ship, and positioned them on the beach near their assigned vessels.
He reached the bow and looked down. Ailmar was standing there, waiting for word.
“Do you hear that?” Leofric asked, pointing to the north. “Fighting?”
Ailmar listened for a moment. “I think so,” he said, but he sounded unsure. No matter.
“The Northmen say they hear the fighting, so time to go. Get the men aboard.”
Ailmar nodded and raced off. Leofric reached the back of the ship just as the first of his men came climbing over the side and stepping aboard, hesitant and uncertain. Like him, the men-at-arms must have that into-the-lions’-den feeling. But the Northmen simply indicated with gestures and minor shoves where they should stand, and they found places clear of the rowers.
Leofric looked over the starboard side. His men were climbing aboard the other ships as well, the embarkation quick, smooth and efficient. He was glad of that, and felt both pride and relief. He wanted Thorgrim to see that English men-at-arms were no less able than the Northmen.
The last of Leofric’s men had just pulled himself aboard when Thorgrim called for the rowers to lower oars. Men ashore pushed the bow off, then came scrambling over the side as the men sitting on the sea chests heaved their oars.
Once again Leofric watched and marveled at the way Thorgrim brought the ship out into the deeper water, then made it spin in place and head off to the north. It seemed even more impressive now, with the sun up and Leofric able to see the smooth coordination of the rowers as they reacted to the perfunctory orders that Thorgrim called out.
These men have been bred to this, Leofric thought. Born and bred. Skill such as this could only be the result of a lifetime of experience at such things.
The fleet did not have far to go. Off the starboard side the low sandy beach slipped past, and very soon the mouth of the channel opened up off the starboard bow and Leofric could see part of the wall that Nothwulf had built. And there was no longer any doubt that the battle had begun. Even Leofric could hear it clearly now: shouts and screams and the clashing of weapons carried on the still morning air.
It was all working out as planned, so perfectly it made Leofric uneasy.
Thorgrim reached over and prodded him, and when Leofric looked, Thorgrim pointed to his ear and to the distant shore, asking in sign language if Leofric heard the sound of the fighting. Leofric nodded and Thorgrim nodded as well. Thorgrim spoke to Harald, Harald spoke to Leofric.
“My father asks where do you want the men landed?”
Leofric looked off toward where the fighting was taking place. He could see most of Nothwulf’s wall, but he could see none of the men-at-arms or any of the battle. That did not surprise him. Nothwulf would not have kept his men behind the wall for fear of Cynewise’s army coming around the ends and encircling them.
“Tell Thorgrim to land us in front of the wall,” Leofric said, pointing to the spot he meant. It was perfect. Cynewise would not see the ships coming. The first indication she would get of Leofric’s joining the fight would be the sight of his two hundred men-at-arms surging out from behind the barricade.
Harald relayed that request. Thorgrim nodded and adjusted the tiller a bit and the ship’s bow turned until it was pointed like a spear at the place Leofric had indicated.
He felt his pulse quickening, his excitement building. This trap, this battle, could put an end to all of the nonsense, all the confusion and struggle for power and duplicity that had started with the murder of ealdorman Merewald, Cynewise’s husband of two minutes. Before the sun reached its zenith that day, the pretender might be crushed, Nothwulf in his rightful place, peace in Dorsetshire once again.
Thorgrim called another order. The rowers pulled one more time, then lifted their oars and once again the ship’s bow ground up on the shore. The tide, Leofric could see, was high and the ship made it nearly to the wall before going aground. Even better.
He looked at Thorgrim and Thorgrim nodded. Leofric extended a hand, offering his thanks to this heathen, well aware of how odd this was. Thorgrim looked at the hand and gave a hint of a smile, suggesting he, too, saw the irony in the gesture. Then he grasped Leofric’s hand in his and shook.
Leofric let go of Thorgrim’s hand and hurried for
ward. “Over you go! Over you go! Get ashore now!” he shouted as he ran and the men-at-arms began to race for the sides of the ship, up by the bow, and swing themselves over.
Leofric was last, and he went over as gently as he could, landing in water up to his thighs. He waded ashore behind the rest. On either side of Thorgrim’s ship the other vessels were also running up onto the sand, the Englishmen leaping over the sides and thrashing their way up onto dry ground. It took blessedly little time to get them ashore, and then Thorgrim’s ship and the others began to draw off again, turning to head down the cleared channel and out to the open sea.
The men were shifted into their divisions, one under Leofric’s command to go around the south end of the wall, one led by Ailmar to go around the north. Once they came in sight of the battle each man would lead his soldiers into the attack wherever they judged best. They had planned it all out.
Leofric stepped up to the head of his column. His helmet and shield were long gone, but he was too fired up now to care about those things. He drew his sword and with a shout led the men forward.
They came around the end of the wall and right into the fighting. It was chaotic and Leofric could not tell at first what was going on. A ragged line of men were pushed back nearly to the wall and they were fighting off a half-circle of attackers, so many that the attackers were two or three deep. Nothwulf’s men, pushed back by Cynewise’s greater numbers, Leofric realized. And with that, the point of attack became obvious.
“There! There! Right at them!” Leofric shouted, pointing with his sword to the left flank of the attacking line. The men behind him raised a cheer as they surged forward and Leofric could see looks of surprise on the men laying into Nothwulf’s army. They looked up, looked over, mouths opened in shock. As well they might. They were moments from a bloody and final victory, and now this, like the hand of God come to smite them.
Leofric let his men race past him. He would join them in the fight, but first he had to find Nothwulf, if Nothwulf was still alive. He had to talk to the man, make certain their intentions were coordinated.
Kings and Pawns Page 35
