by C. R. May
Erik hailed the earl as he crossed the yard. ‘Who made the muster during my absence?’
‘Godred has brought his lads up from the Humber.’ He shot Erik a mischievous smile. ‘So that will surprise you, lord.’
Erik laughed aloud, the sound enough to confirm that the Northumbrian had rightly suspected his fears for the strength of the Dane’s loyalty. Regenwold continued. ‘Gunderic will still be half a day away. It is a long haul from the Moors and his levy men are spread out all over, but he will be here before nightfall you can count on it.’
‘Thanes?’
‘About a dozen so far, lord,’ Regenwold replied with obvious pride, ‘and there will be many more to come. They may not bring as many spearmen as the earls, but they are stout fighters, good lads to have at your side. There are not so many from York though,’ he added with a sniff, ‘apart from Morcar and his boys of course. I suspect they are still upset that your wife made them pay their dues. Still,’ he added with a look of disdain, ‘city boys. Striplings who think that sticking a blade in a man’s back in a dark alley makes you a bit of a roughhouse, but they are not so keen on going toe to toe, shield to shield with men who fight back.’ To Erik’s delight the earl hawked before turning his head aside to send a ball of phlegm spinning into the grass: ‘fuck ‘em.’
The lightheartedness left the king as quickly as it had come as he recalled that he still not spotted his kin. He swept the riverside with his gaze before turning back with a questioning look. ‘My sons?’
‘Gamli has taken a ship’s company and led his brothers on a sweep of the settlements to the south-west, lord.’ Regenwold recognised the look in Erik’s eye and moved to allay his concerns even as he skilfully made it appear as if the idea had been the king’s own. Erik was once again impressed by the big Northumbrian, he was far more than the bruiser he appeared. ‘Gamli may be a little headstrong,’ Regenwold said, ‘but he is no fool. He knows how important it is to place duty above personal gain. We had a good long talk the two of us, last night as we checked the watchmen, and I share your confidence in him, lord.’
Both men had skirted around the absence of the remaining earl, but Arinbjorn broached the subject in his own way as he finally came up. ‘Still no sign of that bastard Orm then?’
Erik looked from one man to the other. ‘There has been no word?’
Arinbjorn shook his head. ‘We thought that he might come in with you. There has been no word of him reaching York.’
Erik inhaled as he thought, blinking in surprise as it turned into a yawn.
‘You need rest, Erik,’ Arinbjorn said, plucking at his sleeve as he motioned towards the hall from which Regenwold and his men had just emerged. ‘The owners have cleared off to hide behind York’s walls. Why don’t you round up the lads who were with you last night and go and get your heads down for a couple of hours?’
Erik made to argue, but Regenwold backed the Norwegian up before a word could pass his lips. ‘Arinbjorn is right, we can handle everything here. I will send out scouts to shadow the English and gather in the latecomers. By the time that you are rested we should have a better idea where Eadred is taking his army, and an indication whether earl Orm intends to honour his oath or not.’
Erik thought back to the last time that he had slept and realised with a start that it had been the morning that he and Gunnhild had been interrupted with news of the invasion. Still, he pondered as they awaited his reply, there was far too much to see to before he could even think about his own needs. Eadred’s army was on the march, their ultimate destination still a mystery; but even if he kept heading northwards along Dere Street, the southern king could easily take one of the numerous East-West roads which cut across the main highway and fall upon the undefended city. If the English scouts had discovered the whereabouts of Erik’s army of Northumbria and Eadred had decided to outflank his opponents, York’s best hope would be left stranded and looking foolish defending a few rude huts and a bridge so rickety they had taken pity on it and left it standing after all.
Erik was about to brush their cares for his own health aside when the clatter of horsemen saved him the trouble, but the riders when they came into view were not the men of the Moors he expected but Wulfstan and a gaggle of priests. The archbishop drew rein as he entered the courtyard and slipped to the ground with the litheness of a man half his age. Brushing the road dust from his riding clothes, the churchman raised a hand in blessing to all those gathered in the courtyard as he came across, but the smile fell from his face and his voice lowered to a murmur as he came close to the king. ‘I have news for you Erik.’
Erik held his gaze. ‘Orm?’
Wulfstan nodded.
Men on the roadway and gathered in the fields were beginning to peer away to the west, and arms were raised as an excited chatter got up among them. Erik flicked a look across and back to the churchman. ‘A smudge of smoke, the first of many I fear.’ The archbishop grimaced. ‘I have information which will be of the greatest use to you Erik, from an unimpeachable source, one which I trust implicitly.’ Wulfstan pulled a face as he began to knead his travel-sore rump. ‘Perhaps we could retire to somewhere a little more comfortable? I have just entered my seventh decade on God’s Earth, and I am convinced that saddles are made from much tougher leather than was the case in my distant youth!’
Erik indicated the hall which had been earmarked for his own use only a short while before, and his greatest worry was laid to rest as a shout told him that the Erikssons had been spotted on the road. Erik called to Arinbjorn as he and Wulfstan began to make their way across. ‘Foster-brother, could you send men to ask my sons, the earls and thanes to join us? With the archbishop here it is the perfect time to plan how we will strike back at the invader.’
Erik raised his eyes as they made their way across to the hall. In the short time since Wulfstan’s arrival the smoky haze staining the western sky had darkened. Eadred’s army was clearly moving northwards at a pace, burning and killing as it went, and Erik was keen to hear just what news the archbishop had thought so important that he would leave the safety of the city at such a time to carry it to him in person.
Ducking inside the doorway, Erik was surprised to find that the homeliness of his surroundings plucked at his heartstrings. The central hearth burned low despite the warmth of the day outside, with the various kettles, pots and cauldrons resting in the ash ready to prepare hearty fare for the occupants after a hard day spent in hayfield or market. Side benches lined the walls, corn dolls and wooden swords stuffed into nooks and crannies showing where the children had left their toys in the haste to get to safety; the lord and lady’s high seats stood just where they always did at the head of the room, iron hooks and pale rectangles the only trace of the rich tapestries and wall hangings which had been squirrelled away or carried off to safety. The whole reminded Erik of his own youth spent at foster, far off now in distance and time. Both his foster-father and mother were gone now to the place that priests of every flavour assured him was far better than Midgard’s hard ride, their son Arinbjorn hersir at Nausdal. But they had left a raft of good tales and warm memories in the hearts and minds of those who remained, and perhaps, Erik mused as the archbishop plumped up a cushion, that was the closest thing to living beyond death’s winding sheet that men could hope for, however earnest their prayers and devotions.
Erik walked forward, settling himself into the lord’s seat as Wulfstan took the lower at his side, and that unlikeliest of bedfellows, one-time high godi of Norway and the high bishop at York, bent their heads to war.
24
NIGHT RIDERS
Raised voices drew anxious looks across to the doorway as they came closer despite Wulfstan’s measured tones which filled the hall, and Erik watched as the earls and thanes of Northumbria forced their minds back to prayer despite the overwhelming desire to discover the cause of the ruckus. It was far from the first time that the king had been in a roomful of Christians at prayer but it was a unique expe
rience that the men at their devotions were dressed for war, and as his eyes slipped from one battle hardened veteran to the next and he witnessed the strength of their belief Erik felt a sense of sadness. The days of Óðinn and Þórr, Njörðr and Frey were slipping inexorably away.
The clamour reached the hall, and he pushed his own feelings aside as a rectangle of sunlight lit the floor. Gunderic stood framed within the doorway, and Erik’s sense of humour returned as he watched the earl’s demeanour change from bullish bustle to awkward silence as he caught the sight of his archbishop in mid prayer. Erik glanced across to the place where his sons sat at their bench and stifled a snort. All but Harald were struggling manfully to cover up their own sniggers at the humour of the moment, and Erik was forced to turn away as Gamli flashed him a filthy smirk at the sight of the earl’s discomfort. Gamli’s action had relit the flame of resistance in the old warrior, and Erik’s confidence returned in an instant as he saw that despite his fears, another generation of fighting men were destined to pitch up at Óðinn’s shield roofed hall after all.
Wulfstan was as keen as any to discover the latest news which had arrived with the earl, and the pace of his delivery moved up a notch until the room echoed to the sound of the inevitable Amen. The moment that the rumble had rolled away Gunderic was in the room, striding the short distance which separated the doorway from the high seat in the modest hall. Erik grinned in welcome as the earl dipped his head in supplication, reaching out to thrust his own ale cup into the Northumbrian’s hand as he bid him wash the road dust from his throat. ‘I come directly from York, lord,’ Gunderic said as he returned the cup with a grateful nod. ‘The docks and artisan quarters are up in arms.’
Erik looked across to Wulfstan, whose face betrayed his surprise at the news. ‘All was well when I left earlier, there was not a hint of unrest.’
‘Then we have to conclude that your own coming here was the sign they were waiting for,’ Erik said before turning back to the earl. ‘What form does this unrest take?’
‘Simple barricades, tradesmen and dockyard workers armed with billhooks and the tools of their trade.’ He glanced at the archbishop before continuing. ‘They seem to be content to remain where they are for now, but if they are left to gain confidence…’
Gunderic allowed the sentence hang in the air so that the men lining the benches could draw their own conclusion. Just like the inhabitants of the hall in which the leaders of the nation were sat at that moment, York had become a refuge for any who lived within walking or riding distance of its walls. Large numbers of men in Erik’s army would have wives and children there, Gunnhild herself was, although she had the protection of young Ragnfrod, her personal guards and a bolt hole which had stood for almost a millennium to retreat to. But word would soon spread and levy men would begin to slip away to protect their own. At best morale would plummet as men realised that the country was far from united behind its king; whether the trouble had been caused by Gunnhild’s tax take or something more sinister, Erik knew that he had to act, and fast. He turned back to the room and surprised them with a smile. ‘Does everyone have a drink?’ The smile was returned as every man assured him that he had. ‘Gunderic’s news is regretable in that it will force us to split our army, but that cannot be helped. York is the beating heart of the kingdom, without it we are lost so the rabble rousers must be brought to heel. It will weaken our response to Eadred’s invasion, but for now that cannot be helped.’ He held them with his gaze as he sought to judge the mood. No fighting man wants to retreat behind walls while his lands are ravaged by a merciless enemy.
The fear was confirmed as Regenwold spoke up. ‘Are we to leave the field, lord?’
Erik shook his head. ‘This is what I intend to do. Ask any questions as they occur to you, I want to move quickly, we have lost enough time as it is.’ Erik was gratified to see the bodies of his leading men tense, their snouts rising like wolves on the hunt as they awaited their instructions. ‘Morcar and his men will accompany the archbishop back to the city and I want you, Godfred,’ he said with a stab of his forefinger, ‘to go with them. Your earldom is the furthest from the invader so you and your men can concentrate on bringing order to the city and then await my orders to rejoin the army when we fight back. Regenwold and Gunderic will use the old track which follows the River Swale to keep pace with Eadred’s army and ensure they keep moving north.’ He flicked a look across to the earls as they straightened their backs at the news. ‘Both of your earldoms lie in the northern part of the kingdom so you will be most familiar with the land. It will also help to lay the fears of your men about any threat to their homes while they are away with the army.’
Erik paused to sink a mouthful of ale and Gunderic grabbed the opportunity to ask a question. ‘How are we to communicate? If we are forced to scatter our forces all over, we can’t have riders crisscrossing Northumbria hoping that they stumble upon another part of the army.’
Erik glanced at the man at his side before turning back. ‘Archbishop Wulfstan will coordinate our efforts from his residence in York. The city is central to us all so it will be a short ride for our messengers; they can push their mounts harder and not waste time searching for their destination. The archbishop will sift through the reports, decide who needs to know what and how quickly and dispatch fresh riders accordingly.’
Morcar was wearing the face of a man who had just been told that he was to stand guard during a feast, and Erik felt almost sorry for the Archbishop’s hearth warrior as he asked a question of his own. ‘Where will you be lord?’
‘My Norwegians will accompany me westwards. Arinbjorn hersir will ride to Sheptun to discover what is keeping our friend Orm, while I lead my Erikssons in a sweep to the rear of the English army. From there we can harass Eadred’s tail, cutting their links to the south, picking off stragglers and foragers and generally reminding them that they have come into our country unbidden and unwelcome.’ Erik paused and ran his eyes around the room. ‘That is it, nice and simple. When York is pacified and we discover just how far north the enemy is intending to go we can reassemble the army of Northumbria, cut their line of retreat and give battle at a place of our choosing.’
Erik slipped down from the saddle and stretched his back, drawing questioning looks from the men riding at his rear. Although they had travelled little more than half a dozen miles from Tadceaster, they were comfortably within the woodlands which shielded them from view and he still had not slept for days. He was not as young as he was, and his lack of rest needed to be rectified if the following days were to be the success they needed to be. The clearing looked about the right size to accommodate them all, and he hailed his sons as they came up. ‘Gather the men here,’ he said, ‘and I will let them know what is really happening over the next few days.’
The riders swapped looks of surprise as the order was passed down the column, but they did as they were bid as Thorstein and Helgrim Smiter moved to the king’s side. ‘We will still be fighting though I hope,’ Helgrim muttered, and Erik clapped the big man on the shoulder as the last of the riders entered the clearing. ‘If Óðinn wills it,’ he replied, the pair sharing a look as the huskarl thrilled to the sound of his lord invoking the Allfather after all the Christ worship. ‘And it will not be pissing around chasing the laggards in Eadred’s army.’
Erik took in the men gathered before him as he waited for the last of them to dismount. His sons were there: Gamli; Harald; Guttorm and Sigurd at the head of their hird, each Eriksson now a man to be feared in his own right. Arinbjorn flanked by Helgi and Horse Hair Gisli; the trio were beginning to slow with age, but what the hag of time had drawn from their strength had been more than compensated for with experience and battle cunning. They were ready now, and Erik crossed to a rise in the ground and cleared his voice to speak. ‘You have been told that we are going after the waifs and strays of the English army but I am pleased to tell you that was a ruse, at most a half-truth designed to keep the secret of our real destination
from the enemy for as long as possible.’ Erik continued as excitement flared in the eyes of the young men facing him. ‘Archbishop Wulfstan left York because he discovered through his contacts with southern churchmen, that Eadred’s invasion is not only intended to punish the Northumbrian leadership for their oath breaking but to replace the king with a man of their own.’
The name of Olaf Cuaran rose into the air above the clearing as the assembled men gave voice to the most likely identity of the claimant, and Erik laughed despite his weariness as he confirmed their guess. ‘Yes, it appears that earl Orm has thrown in his lot with Olaf Cuaran and the southerners. As most of you know Orm’s earldom contains one of the main East-West routes through the Pennines, a Roman road between the Irish Sea, the Humber in the east and York itself. Orm has been told to hold the pass until King Eadred can draw the army of Northumbria northwards and have our old friend Olaf safely installed in York before we even realise what has happened. Orm’s hall at Sheptun is less than twenty miles from where we are standing so we can rest up for the rest of the day and move into position to attack them in the dawn.’ Erik joined most of the others as they craned their necks. The arrival of Wulfstan and Gunderic at Tadceaster and the discussions which had followed had eaten up the best part of the day, despite Erik’s eagerness to put his plan into play, and the sun was past its high point in the sky to the south. ‘Even moving slowly we should be able to gain the hall long before sunrise, with the added advantage that there is little likelihood of being spotted as we cross Dere Street. Any English camps in the vicinity will be illuminated by campfire, so we can steer clear if we see them.’ Erik raised his chin. It was the usual way in which he invited comments or questions and Gamli did not disappoint him.
