As I translated his words, Gwawrddur smiled.
“Until tomorrow,” he shouted. Then, more quietly to me, “We shall see what fruits the night bears. I can imagine there will be those who speak for leaving us and moving on.” We watched as the Norse turned and trudged away, back towards the woods and their ships. Gwawrddur waved to Drosten.
“Go and tell Hereward what has happened here,” he said. “And tell him to be wary. That Norse whoreson might yet strike from a different place. It seems to me he has decided to retire too easily.”
I looked into the bloody morass of the pit with its pile of gore-smeared pallid flesh and then back to where the two men who had leapt the trap lay, twisted and open-eyed, unseeing and staring up at the gloaming. Finally, my gaze rested on Wigmund’s smashed skull.
If this struck Gwawrddur as an easy victory, I could barely begin to imagine what the future might hold if the Norse returned.
Forty-Nine
“You are certain there were three ships?” asked Gwawrddur, his voice a whisper that would not carry to those we watched. The sound of his murmured words would be lost in the constant sighing rustle of the trees. The rain still fell and we were soaked and shivering. It was dank and miserable in the night-time woods and my body ached. At least the murmur of the rainfall would mask any sound we’d made while approaching the Norse encampment.
“Yes,” I hissed. “There were three.” There was no doubt that Skorri had led three long ships to Werceworthe. Both Osfrith and I had seen them. But now, by the flickering light of the two small campfires that burnt on the shingle strand of the Cocueda, we could see clearly enough that only two ships were beached. What had happened to the third, we could not tell.
“Let us get a closer look,” whispered Gwawrddur and his teeth flashed bright in the gloom. I wondered at the change in him and not for the first time questioned the decision to come here.
After the Norse had left, we had retreated to Werce’s Hall. It was crowded and stifling, but it felt safe to be surrounded by so many friendly faces. My mind continually flew back to the horror and death of the dusk, and it was all I could do not to weep and moan, such was the fear that now gripped me. I knew that safety was an illusion. We had survived the first attack, but when the Norse returned, it would be different. They would come prepared for our traps and defences, and surely they would sweep all before them. I looked about at the people of Werceworthe, the womenfolk, the children and the brothers from the minster. They should all flee, now, while they could.
I said as much to Hereward, but he shook his head.
“If they were going to run, they would have gone already. Now they are too scared that the Norsemen might be roaming the land. And they pray that we will protect them until more aid comes. No,” he said, “all they can do now is remain here and trust that our plans will work and that men will come from Corebricg.”
The moment we knew the Norse had come, Hereward had sent Ingild, a young man and a good rider, on our fastest horse to Corebricg. It would take time for Lord Gleadwine to gather men to come to our aid, and then they would have the rain-sodden walk back here. Of course, it could be that there would be no help from that quarter. We had heard that the conflict with Causantín’s Picts still raged in the north so, like Uhtric, Gleadwine of Corebricg might well be far away with all of his fighting men.
We could not rely on salvation in the form of spear-men from Lord Gleadwine’s men, but we knew the people of Werceworthe prayed for the swift arrival of a warband. We hoped God answered their prayers, but Hereward had emphasised that they might well not come at all, or come too late to save us. The defence of the settlement and the minster rested on our shoulders alone. At least for another day, for we could see no way that men could reach us from Corebricg before then.
“Who knows?” Hereward said with a glance at my blood-stained kirtle. “After your run today, perhaps our plans will work and we will see the Norse off before the need of any aid.”
I knew he was saying this for the benefit of our morale, but still it pleased me to hear it. And Hereward had been genuinely surprised that we had managed to lure so many of the raiders to their deaths. He smiled grimly and nodded as Gwawrddur told the tale of it. Runolf and Cormac listened carefully. When the story was finished, Runolf slapped me on the right shoulder.
“You did well,” he said. I beamed with pride at his words, but still the sensation of terror scratching at my insides did not abate.
“I wish that I had been there,” said Cormac. “Perhaps we could have slain them all.”
Hereward shook his head.
“We must stick to what we have agreed. We do not know where they might strike and therefore we need to watch other routes into the settlement. If we do not follow the plan, all will be lost.”
“But we could have added our swords and killed more of the Norse bastards,” Cormac said.
“If there is more fighting,” said Hereward, keeping his voice low so that only we warriors could hear him, “you will have ample chance to wet your blade.”
Cormac frowned.
“You think they may leave without further fighting?”
Hereward shrugged.
“As Runolf likes to say, anything is possible. It is what I pray for,” he said. “That they have lost enough men, that they see this place as too costly a prize. Whatever happens, tomorrow will see the end of it. Skorri is no fool, I’m sure, and he will know that others will come to our aid soon. Time is on our side, which might make him decide to leave in the end. All we have to do is to hold them off on the morrow.”
“Skorri will not run,” Runolf rumbled. “He will return and seek vengeance now, as well as silver and slaves.”
We fell silent at his grim prediction and the quiet weeping of Wigmund’s wife rose above the general hubbub of the hall. When she had heard of her husband’s death, her keening had cut through me like a seax. Now she was huddled with her children, and the other womenfolk brought them food and drink in an effort to distract the young ones. How many more widows would there be before the Norse left or were all slain?
Most of the able men were set to watch for possible night attacks, but Hereward had ordered me to sleep after my shoulder had been tended to. Hildegyth, one of the older women, took a bone needle, threaded it with horsehair and, after thoroughly cleaning the cut and washing the needle and thread in fresh urine, she had sewn the lips of the gash together. It had stung, and I flinched.
“Better it should hurt, Hunlaf. For only the dead feel no pain,” Hildegyth said, patting my hand. “Your wound is not so bad.” She bandaged it tightly and I moved my arm and was surprised that it was sore, but not agony. I thanked her and she smiled. “Rest now,” she said. “I fear tomorrow will be a long day.”
When I lay down I imagined the throb in my shoulder and the tumult of thoughts and fears that battered inside my mind would keep me from sleep, but no sooner had I wrapped myself in my cloak than I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Gwawrddur had awoken me with a touch and a whisper. It was the darkest part of the night and most of those within the hall slept. I felt as though I had barely closed my eyes, but I was instantly alert. For a moment I wondered which of the offices I would need to pray. Were the brethren already waiting in the church? Then my memories of the previous day’s bloodshed and terror flooded back like the tide at Lindisfarnae.
I had followed the Welshman out into the darkness, shivering against the rain and wind that blustered about the hill.
“What is it?” I asked. “Have they come back?”
“No,” he whispered, “they have not.”
“Is it my turn to watch?”
By way of answer, he handed me my belt, to which was attached my seax sheath and sword scabbard. I struggled with the leather and the weapons that dangled from it, but soon I had it buckled. My shoulder ached and I wondered if I had pulled any of the stitches out. Gwawrddur tugged on the sleeve of my kirtle, pulling me away from the hall. When we
were some distance away, trudging down the slope, the wet grass soaking our shoes and leg wraps, I pulled Gwawrddur to a halt.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Knowledge is all important in battle, Hunlaf,” he said. “You heard Hereward earlier. We need to split our meagre force because we do not know where they might strike. Let us see what they are planning.” He walked on through the pouring rain and, after a moment’s hesitation, I jogged after him to catch up.
“How are we going to do that?”
“That is the easy part,” he said, grinning. “We are going to find their camp.”
The idea had seemed madness then, but Gwawrddur was my mentor, my sword trainer and the man Hereward trusted most of all of us. And so, I had swallowed my fear and followed the Welshman down to the river’s edge.
Now that we looked upon the flame-licked shapes of the sleek ships and the figures that crouched low beside the fires, sheltering from the worst of the storm with their backs to the beached hulls, I wondered again at the sanity of what we were doing.
Gwawrddur rose silent as a ghost and flitted between the boles of the trees, moving ever closer to the camp and the moored ships. I followed, terrified that the sound of our steps on the damp earth, the snagging of a branch on our clothing or the rustle of leaves brushing past, might alert the Norse sentries. But truly there was little chance of that. The night was loud with the falling rain and there was no sign of it easing.
Gwawrddur paused to peer at the fires on the beach and I halted behind him. Despite the rain and the night-chill that seeped through my sodden clothes I did not feel cold. I was on edge, as taut as a bowstring, my blood coursing through me like a hot torrent.
“Do you think we can take some of them?” asked Cormac, his voice louder than it should be in the gloom.
I shook my head, knowing he would not see the movement. This was madness indeed and it seemed that Cormac had been infected with the same crazed energy that had a grip on the usually sombre Gwawrddur.
Cormac had come upon us just as we were pushing the rowing boat into the black waters of the Cocueda. I had been startled at the crunch of his feet on the shingle, but Gwawrddur had seemed to know who it was without looking.
“Where are you off to?” the Hibernian asked.
“Scouting,” Gwawrddur replied.
“I’ll join you,” Cormac said. “I don’t want to miss all the excitement.”
I bridled at his words, thinking again of the terror of the day and the feeling of Wigmund’s hot brains slapping against my skin. I opened my mouth to snap a retort, but Gwawrddur spoke first.
“You are not needed on watch?”
There was the briefest of pauses.
“No more than you are,” replied Cormac.
Gwawrddur contemplated Cormac’s words, then nodded.
“Very well,” he said, clambering over the side and into the boat. “You can row. Hunlaf’s shoulder would trouble him and he will do better acting as our eyes. He knows this river better than us.”
It was not just my shoulder that troubled me as we rowed quietly along the wide river. Nothing about this seemed right. I wished I had spoken up and said that we should talk to Hereward before slinking away from the settlement. I began to wonder whether our leader even knew of Gwawrddur’s plan and I cursed myself silently for a fool. Ever since the fight that afternoon, the Welshman seemed almost to be another person. Gone was the thoughtful, careful man, who mulled over every decision until certain that it was the best one for all of us and the people we protected. He had been replaced by a warrior whose lust for battle burnt in his eyes. He had said that he wished to test himself, that his life was a quest to pit himself against the ultimate opponent. As we slipped along the river, the oar blades cutting into the water silently, the only sounds the wind and rain and the hushed creak of the tholes, I began to wonder if he had not brought me along as a witness to his bravery. For what could we hope to gain by seeing the Norsemen’s camp?
Cormac, all bravado and vengeful desire, seemed more than happy to follow Gwawrddur wherever he led. All he wanted was to feel the bite of his blade in Norse flesh, to slay as many of them as he could. I wondered if he thought such a feat would make his piercing loss more bearable.
We rowed for some time along the river and I began to think we might reach the estuary and the sea beyond. Could it be that the Norse had actually fled, despite what Runolf had said? But my hopes were quickly dashed. The faint glimmer of campfires flickered through the trees and I signalled to Cormac to bring us in to the north bank. I knew where we were. The Norse had chosen a good spot, with a shallow beach wide enough for all of their ships to be moored and for them to sleep ashore if they wished. It was on the opposite side of the river from Werceworthe and so they must also have thought it unlikely they would be disturbed by the defenders.
Willows overhung the swollen river and there was nowhere to pull our boat ashore, so we used the rope that lay in a puddle of rainwater in the boat’s belly to tie it to a branch. We then pulled ourselves up, climbing into the enveloping darkness beneath the trees. I’d glanced up at the sky. The moon was a pale glow through the thick clouds. It would be dawn soon. We should not linger here.
We reached the edge of the trees without incident and it was then, when we had an unobscured view of the beach, that we saw that one of the Norse ships was missing.
The sound of a blade being drawn slowly from its scabbard made my breath catch.
“We should kill some,” hissed Cormac and I realised it was he who had unsheathed his sword, Moralltach. I placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“No,” I whispered. “We are here to look.” I turned to Gwawrddur for support, but he was peering through the undergrowth. “We just want information,” I muttered.
Gwawrddur had said he wanted me there as I knew the land and also, if we managed to capture or confront one of the raiders, I could understand the Norse tongue. This made sense, but I hoped we would not have to use my language skills that night. All I wanted was to move back stealthily to the boat and return unnoticed to Werce’s Hall.
“We already know they have only two ships now,” I said. “That is something. Let’s go now.”
“Kodran?” said a deep voice. It was very close to us and must have come from just behind one of the trees between our position and the campfires. It was all I could do not to cry out, such was my terror. Cormac, despite his brash shows of courage, also stood as if frozen. I could see the flame-light shimmer in his wide eyes. He looked as scared as I felt.
I sensed, more than heard, a movement, and a moment later, Gwawrddur slipped back behind the tree where we stood. In his grasp was a burly man, much broader than the Welshman, but nearly a head shorter. The dim light from the campfires glistened against the long seax blade pressed into the Norseman’s throat. Gwawrddur’s other hand was clamped over the man’s bearded mouth. His eyes were wide and furious. He began to struggle and Gwawrddur held on tightly. Of the two of us, Cormac reacted first and hammered a punch hard into the Norse sentry’s stomach. His eyes bulged. Cormac hit him again as hard as he could.
“Stop moving,” I whispered in Norse, finally snapping out of my inaction.
Gwawrddur pressed the seax into his throat, cutting the skin.
“Do as he says,” he hissed in the man’s ear. The Norseman might not have understood the words, but he comprehended their meaning. He ceased struggling.
“Help me to get him away from their camp,” said Gwawrddur.
A powerful gust of wind shook the trees and rain splattered down around us with renewed force. Taking the moment to cover the sound of our passage, we half-lifted the sentry and dragged him as quickly and quietly as we could through the woods.
Fifty
The Norseman’s eyes glimmered in the darkness, wide and bright, with fear or defiance, I could not tell. Perhaps both. I had bound his hands behind his back with his own leg wraps, but even though he could not cause us any harm wi
th his weapons or his obviously prodigious strength, he still held power over us. We were within earshot of the Norse camp and one shout from our captive would bring them sweeping down on us in moments. And yet, if we wanted to gain information, we could not gag him. Gwawrddur leaned over the man, his face as close as a lover’s and the wicked blade of his seax still pressing down into the soft flesh of the Norse warrior’s throat.
“Tell him,” hissed Gwawrddur, “that if he calls out, I will kill him.”
The Norseman’s eyes flicked towards me as I translated Gwawrddur’s words. He snorted.
“You will kill me anyway,” he said, making no effort to lower his voice. “I am already dead.”
Gwawrddur did not wait for me to speak the words in Englisc, the man’s meaning was clear. Without warning, the Welshman shifted his weight, lifting the seax from the Norseman’s throat. Then, as quick as a striking viper, he whipped the blade down to the man’s groin. With a couple of quick sawing strokes of the blade, Gwawrddur cut through the man’s breeches. The Norseman’s eyes widened, and he began to struggle.
“Keep him quiet,” Gwawrddur said, his voice as cold and sibilant as a blade being drawn from a scabbard.
Unsure what to do, I did not react. But Cormac clapped a hand over the man’s mouth, pressing the sharp point of his short eating knife into the hollow beneath his greasy beard. The Norseman tried to shake him off, but Cormac growled and jabbed with the small knife to get his attention. A heartbeat later, the Norseman grew very still.
“Tell him I will do worse than kill him if he calls out,” said Gwawrddur.
I looked down and was shocked by what I saw in the dim light of the moon beneath the trees. Gwawrddur had cut the man’s breeches away from his waist to his upper thighs. Now, in his left fist, Gwawrddur held the man’s balls, while the deadly blade of the seax that he grasped in his right, was pressed firmly against that soft flesh.
A Time for Swords Page 36
