by Martin Lake
‘They have travelled a thousand miles and more,’ Alfred said. ‘They are men who have no fear of danger.’
‘But this is a place of war, Alfred. That’s different from facing the hardship of travel or even the occasional brigand.’
He walked over to the ancient box from Rome and peered at the fragment of the Cross.
‘Do you think we can make use of use this? Could it inspire our warriors to battle?’
Alfred sighed. ‘I wonder this myself.’
He reverently picked up the wood. Was it imagination or did it seem to make his flesh tingle? Did it bear within itself the potency of the Lord?
‘Why else would the Holy Father send it to me?’ he murmured.
‘Then there’s the answer,’ Ethelnoth said. ‘Have goldsmiths mount it in a costly shield and bear it into battle.’
‘Perhaps. Yet I cannot believe that this symbol of love and sacrifice should be so grossly used to encourage war.’
‘None of us want war, Alfred. It’s been forced upon us by the Danes. By the heathens.’
‘Yet Guthrum agreed to baptism. He’s a Christian and my godson.’
Ethelnoth gave a snort. ‘You can’t believe that, Alfred. Guthrum will have forsworn the faith already and be drinking health to Thor and Odin. The only godchild you have is Ulf’s sister, Inga.’
Alfred sighed and placed the wood back into the box. ‘I know. It’s just that it would be a comfort to think otherwise.’
Ethelnoth picked up a cup of wine. ‘I think it best that he not be a Christian’
‘Why so?’
‘Because you have broken the peace you made with him, a peace witnessed by priests and sealed with holy water.’
Alfred gave him a look which anyone but his closest friends would have believed innocent. ‘I have not broken my promise of peace with Guthrum. I fight against the Norse and not the Danes. Against Hrólfr and not my godson.’
Ethelnoth laughed and drained his cup. ‘Then let’s finish the fight before Guthrum is tempted to join it.’
‘He has already,’ came Edgwulf’s voice from the door. ‘Our scouts say that a Danish army has marched down the Roman road from Colchester. They’re two miles from the city wall.’
‘Is the army trapped?’ Ethelnoth asked.
‘No.’ Edgwulf answered. ‘Our men are camped close to the Roman fortress, a mile to the west of the Colchester road. We can escape westward should we need to. But I think it would be a mistake to do so.’
Alfred nodded. ‘So do I.’
He paced around the room. When, at last, he spoke, his voice rang with excitement.
‘This may be a godsend, my friends. If we defeat the Danes outside the city walls then the warriors inside may lose heart and surrender.’
‘True,’ said Edgwulf.
Ethelnoth grinned. ‘Then what are we waiting for?’ He started to march off but Edgwulf reached out and detained him.
‘There’s a danger that the men inside the city will sally out and attack our rear,’ Edgwulf continued. ‘A conventional shield-wall will be vulnerable.’
Alfred and Ethelnoth fell silent. Neither had considered this.
‘Then what do you suggest?’ Alfred said, finally.
‘A circular shield-wall.’
‘You must be mad,’ Ethelnoth said. ‘Our men will be surrounded.’
Edgwulf shook his head. He went to the table and placed Ethelnoth’s cup in the centre.
‘Here’s our army,’ he said. He picked up another cup. ‘Here’s the Danish army.’
He smashed this cup into fragments and scattered it around Ethelnoth’s cup. ‘The Danish army will be spread too thin to surround us.’
‘But the men in the old city?’ Alfred said.
‘Ulf thinks there are no more than a thousand there. And they are Danes and Norsemen, led by different captains. I doubt they will readily fight well together.’
‘But this Hrólfr seems a seasoned warrior. And I don’t doubt that the Dane, Ketil is a skilled commander. I recall him from his time when he was our hostage. He’s no fool. He’s a man who thinks deeply.’
‘Your priest, Snelling, thinks deeply,’ Ethelnoth said. ‘It doesn’t make him a warrior.’
‘Maybe not. But I’ve seen Snelling marshal words to defeat you in debate.’
Edgwulf pointed at the cup on the table. ‘But now we have little time for debate. What should we do?’
‘I think your plan might work,’ said Ethelnoth, grudgingly.
‘I think it will work,’ Alfred said. He reached for his sword. ‘Let’s make it work.’
THE HEATHEN TRAP
Ulf shook the knuckle bones in his fist, flung them on the ground and cursed.
Holdwine laughed. ‘You lose again, my friend. It’s not your day.’
‘It’s never his day,’ said a voice from behind.
Ulf shot to his feet. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to look after you, brother.’
Ulf took him by the arm. ‘I’m not joking, Osgar. There could be a battle any time.’
‘Which is why I’m here.’
Ulf stared at him as if he could not comprehend his words. ‘You should be at Athelney,’ he said at last. ‘At home.’
Osgar crossed his arms belligerently. He was tall and stocky for his fourteen years, with broad shoulders and large hands. He took after his father in build and looks. Despite the seven years’ difference in age he was not much smaller than Ulf.
‘Does father know you’re here?’ Ulf asked.
Osgar glared at him. He had expected a joyful welcome yet he was being criticised and treated like a child in front of Ulf’s friends.
‘Of course he does,’ he said. ‘He’s here as well.’
Ulf’s eyes swept around the camp. ‘Why has father come?’
‘The King sent for him.’
Ulf glanced at Holdwine for support but he shrugged. ‘Perhaps Alfred thinks your father brings him good luck.’
‘They hate each other.’
Holdwine did not answer for a moment. ‘But there’s some link between them. Not like brothers but —’
‘Well I don’t much like my brother,’ Osgar said. He gave Ulf an angry look. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me. But instead you shame me asking if father has given me permission to be here.’
‘Don’t be such a child,’ Ulf said. ‘It’s just that I’m concerned about you. I don’t want you anywhere near a battle.’
‘I’m almost as old as you were at Ethandun,’ Osgar said. ‘And I’m stronger and better prepared than you were. Manni has been training me.’
‘Manni’s a good warrior,’ Holdwine said.
Ulf scoffed. ‘He let Inga and Aethelflaed escape from under his nose. What’s good about that?’
‘I doubt anyone can make Aethelflaed do anything she doesn’t want to. You can’t blame Manni for being bested by her. If he’s trained Osgar then he’ll have done a good job.’
Ulf pursed his lips, angrily. But there was nothing that could be done about it.
‘Well you’re here now,’ he said. ‘But you’re to keep away from any battle.’
Osgar shook his head. ‘That’s not what Ealdorman Ethelnoth says. He wants me to fight.’
Ulf’s eyes widened in astonishment. ‘We’ll see about that,’ he said. He made to walk off in search of Ethelnoth but Osgar leapt into his path.
‘You can’t plead for me like this,’ he cried. ‘What will the Ealdorman think of me if you do? He’ll think I’m a coward who sends you to beg him not to put me in the shield-wall. I’d rather die.’
Holdwine grabbed Ulf by the wrist. ‘Osgar’s right. You can’t plead on his behalf. In any case, Ethelnoth won’t listen. If he’s made up his mind to allow Osgar to fight, there’s nothing you can do about it.’
‘But why would he do that?’ Ulf flung his arm in the direction of his brother. ‘He’s just a boy. A boy.’
‘When does a boy become a
man?’ Holdwine said. ‘When he’s asked to do a man’s deeds. And what’s more manly than fighting against your enemies?’
Ulf kicked the knuckle bones, sending them flying across the camp. He knew he was in the wrong but he hated to admit it.
‘Well if you do fight in a shield-wall,’ he told Osgar, ‘you stay by me. By me and Holdwine. And you don’t do anything unless I tell you to.’
‘I presume I can slay a Dane without your permission.’ Osgar’s voice was a mix of humiliation and scorn.
‘Of course you can,’ Ulf mumbled. He grabbed Osgar and hugged him fiercely. ‘You’re the only brother I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you.’
At that moment a horn sounded in the distance. Men climbed to their feet, looking towards the east. A cloud of dust rose into the clear morning air.
‘An army,’ breathed Holdwine.
‘And if they’re coming from that direction,’ Ulf said, ‘they must be Danes from East Anglia.’
Osgar followed their gaze. He found his courage evaporating though he did his best to hide it. ‘Are they going to attack us?’ he asked.
‘By the look of them, yes,’ Ulf said. He pointed to the west. The King, Edgwulf and three Ealdormen thundered into camp.
‘To arms, to arms,’ cried Edgwulf. ‘It’s a mile to the gate the Danes hope to use. We must get there before they can join their friends in the city.’
Ulf grabbed Osgar’s shoulder. ‘Stay close to me and Holdwine.’
Osgar nodded but could find no voice to speak.
‘Shall we put him between us?’ Holdwine asked.
Ulf hesitated. He and Holdwine had fought shoulder to shoulder in a dozen shield-walls. They knew each other’s skills and weaknesses, could anticipate the other’s reactions, and pooled their strength and courage. They were sword-brothers. It was folly not to fight shoulder to shoulder.
He swallowed. ‘Yes. We’ll put him between us,’ he said reluctantly.
Holdwine nodded, his face resigned rather than enthusiastic. Osgar never noticed the sacrifice they had made for him.
They grabbed their shields, spears and swords and hurried towards the King’s-thegns who were already gathering around the King.
‘I can’t fight beside you,’ Osgar said. ‘Not with the King’s-thegns.’
‘You can today. If Ethelnoth insists you fight, I’ll insist you fight next to me.’
A stone road ran a little way distant from the city walls and the King’s-thegns raced along it, heedless of the missiles being thrown at them by the Danes on the battlements.
Alfred and Edgwulf spurred their horses a mile in the direction of the Danish army to judge their strength. When they returned they looked grim-faced.
The last of the army were getting into position now, straddling the Roman road facing the Danish army. They had already created a crude shield-wall, their every step and movement bringing greater order to it, tightening it up, smoothing out gaps and bends in the line.
Ulf took up position in the wall, Osgar and Holdwine to his right, his friend Grimbold to his left. He could see the dust clouds surging over the approaching Danes, feel the beating of their feet upon the earth, hear the chanting of their battle songs. He glanced at Osgar, his heart sick at the thought of him being here.
Alfred and Edgwulf halted a little way in front of them, waiting for the ealdormen to join them. Edgwulf watched the army as they completed the shield-wall, proud of their skill.
‘I thought you wanted them in a circle,’ Ethelnoth said.
‘I do. But it will be easier to position them once they’re already in a wall.’
He glanced at Alfred. The King would give the command, his Horse-thegn would put it into operation.
Alfred cantered along the shield-wall, coming to a halt in the middle so that the whole army could see him.
‘My friends,’ he cried, ‘we came to conquer the Norsemen within the old Roman city and take it back for our people. We will do so, soon.’
A loud cheer echoed from the men.
‘But because he fears this, the King of the Danes has broken his words of peace and sent an army against us.’ He pointed towards the approaching Danes although he kept his gaze fixed firmly upon his own men.
‘I’m glad Guthrum did so,’ he continued. ‘I relish it. For today we shall win a victory not only against the Norse foe within the wall, but the greater one sent here by Guthrum.’
Another cheer rang out, still louder. Alfred allowed this to echo across the army before continuing.
‘Yet, treacherous heathens intend to stab us in the back. While we strive with the Danes from the north, they will attack from the city. Our shield-wall will be assailed from all sides.’
There was no cheer now, only a murmur of doubt and fear.
Alfred did not allow this to continue.
‘Because of this, our Horse-thegn, Edgwulf, master of battles, has devised a plan which will confound and defeat the enemy. We will fight in a shield-wall fist.’
He raised his arm above his head, hand clenched tight, and again the cheers rang out though no one had the faintest idea what he meant.
‘A fist of spears and death upon which the foe will break and die.’
He turned towards Edgwulf.
‘The Ealdormen will march their fyrdmen into a circle,’ Edgwulf cried, ‘the men of Surrey to the west, with the men of Berkshire on their right, the fyrd of Kent to the south and the men of Sussex to the north and east.’
He had chosen this disposition with great thought. The men of Sussex and Surrey were part of ancient Wessex and he trusted them more than the others. Trusted them to endure the fiercest attacks and not falter. Today, once the shield-fist was surrounded by the enemy there could be no escape. They would have to fight; to victory or defeat.
It did not take long for the men to move into the new shield-fist. Half of the King’s-thegns were placed on the road from Colchester, directly facing the oncoming Danes, with the men of Sussex on either side. Ulf, Holdwine and Osgar were in the front rank, where any onslaught from the Danes would hit hardest.
The other half of the King’s-thegns were moved to the west, where the men of Surrey stood next to those of Berkshire. Edgwulf feared a sudden sally from the Vikings in the city and needed experienced men to stiffen the line there.
The circle was made up of five lines of men with a large space in the centre. Here Edgwulf placed a reserve of his best men; strong, fleet and doughty warriors who would shore up the wall wherever it looked likely to buckle. He also intended to use it as a space where the dead and badly wounded could be dragged back from the wall.
Ulf felt cheered as he watched it. No heathen war-lord could match Edgwulf at fighting battles.
But then a doubt crept in. How many men have we got, he wondered. How many heathens will we face?
He did not have to wait long for an answer.
The Danish army were only a quarter of a mile away. By standing on tip toe he could just see them approaching along the road to the east. His eyes grew round at sight of them. There were thousands upon thousands, perhaps twice their number. He swallowed hard. Why had Alfred and Edgwulf begun the siege with so few men? How had they allowed themselves to be caught like this?
Edgwulf found himself wondering the same thing. Alfred and he had given great thought to the numbers of men to lay siege to the city. In the end, they had decided on two thousand. They had not risked more because of difficulties in supplying them, for all food had to be ferried across the Thames. Alfred had been reluctant to pillage the lands north of the city as he did not wish to give Guthrum an excuse for going to war. A futile hope, Edgwulf now realised.
The Horse-thegn glanced towards the east, calculating that there were four thousand Danes to their two thousand. And if Ulf’s report was right, there were a thousand or more heathens within the city. They were outnumbered almost three to one.
Alfred too was looking at the Danes. Then he turned towards his own army, felt inside his
tunic and pulled out a dark piece of wood, a fragment, little more than a splinter.
‘Behold,’ he cried. ‘This is a mighty gift, sent to us from Rome. It is a piece of the one true Cross, the very wood on which our Saviour sacrificed himself.’
The men gasped in awe, every head craning to see it.
‘It is no mere coincidence that the Cross arrived this very day,’ Alfred continued. ‘It is a sign sent to us from God and his Son. A sign that His sacrifice should not be in vain, that we shall battle for our Lord and seize back this island from the foul and profane clutches of the heathens.’
Every man cheered at his words. Swords and spears were raised to the heavens. Every warrior felt more courageous.
They were about to need every last drop of it.
BATTLE RAGE
The Danes began their familiar chant as they marched closer to the men of Wessex. It was a long, low, dirge of a chant, charged with the bleak coldness of their northern homeland, heavy with sullen threat, promising morbid death.
Ulf had heard the sound many times yet still he shuddered at it. He glanced at his brother. Osgar looked utterly petrified.
‘Just keep with me and Holdwine,’ Ulf said. ‘Nothing will happen to you. You’ll be alright.’
Osgar turned towards him, his face a mask of blank despair and hopelessness. Ulf swallowed hard and forced a smile.
And then the worse noise came. While continuing their chant, the Danes began to beat their weapons upon their shields, a relentless hammering at the rate of a heartbeat. As they got closer they gradually increased the tempo, the space between beats getting shorter and shorter. Ulf felt his own heart beginning to race in response to it.
It was unnerving, unmanning. It felt like the Danes had reached into his body and were toying with him.
He consoled himself by the thought that most of the men in the shield-wall would be feeling the same. It was the same after every battle he had fought in. His friends loudly cursed the tactic although few would say more than that. It was almost as if the Danes had won the battle before it had begun, seized the advantage in each man’s soul.
Grimbold made a thick, gasping noise in his throat and spat a thick wad of phlegm in the direction of the Danes. Ulf took comfort from his friend’s contempt for the enemy and forced his mind back to the present. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the hammering in his chest.
