by Martin Lake
Ulf’s heart lurched. He raced part way down the stairs and peered towards the gate. He sighed in relief. It was still firmly closed.
‘You fools,’ he told the men, climbing back up. ‘Never leave the sally gate unguarded. Just be thankful that no traitor has opened it to the enemy.’
Chastened the men hurried off.
‘And send Father Theobald to us,’ Holdwine called. ‘He needs to explain why he sent you from your post.’
Ulf turned back towards the Viking camp to see if they were stirring.
It was not Theobald but Archdeacon Ceolmund who came hurrying up the stairs to find them.
‘I heard you wanted Theobald,’ he said.
‘That’s right,’ Holdwine said. ‘He sent the guards away from the sally gate.’
‘So they told me. We’ve searched high and low but can find no trace. And that’s not all.’
Ulf and Holdwine exchanged looks of alarm.
‘Some of our most precious things have disappeared from the cathedral,’ Ceolmund said. ‘A gold crucifix, some precious jewels. And…’
‘And?’ Ulf snapped.
‘Some of my brothers had doubts concerning Theobald from the first. He seemed uncertain of his Latin and knowledge of Holy teachings. Alas, that’s not unusual nowadays but nevertheless.’
‘You think he’s not a priest?’
‘I do not doubt he started to train as one. But I begin to fear he may have been tempted by more worldly concerns.’
‘He’s a traitor, then,’ Holdwine said.
Ulf stared at the gate. ‘It’s closed now but if he escaped through it he could have allowed some of the enemy to enter.’
At that moment there came a mighty roar and the Vikings surged to the attack.
‘So much for their agreement,’ Holdwine said to Ulf.
‘Get to safety, Father,’ Ulf said. ‘And see that those fires are well tended.’
The Vikings were close now, with a large group heading straight for the gate.
‘They have no battering ram,’ Ulf said in surprise. ‘Nor wood to set a fire.’
‘Lord God, help us,’ cried Father Ceolmund. He stood on the topmost step, staring down at the gate below. Theobald had allowed the enemy to enter the city.
Ulf followed Ceolmund’s gaze. A dozen Vikings had crept up behind the gate-wards, slaying all. They now began to clear the rocks from the centre of the gate while two hurried to remove the timber stays.
A shrill voice cried out, ‘Wessex,’ and a small band of boys flung themselves on the Vikings.
Ulf gasped in horror. Prince Edward was leading the attack.
‘Shit,’ he cried and launched himself down the stairs.
Holdwine and Cuthred raced after him but the three of them could not fight so many. Their foes would open the gate and the city would be doomed. Worse yet, Alfred’s son would be slain or captured.
Ulf leapt the last half dozen steps and raced towards the gate. The Vikings beat back the boys, killing two. And then, one of them raised his sword above Edward’s head.
Ulf heard Edgwulf’s words once more. Claim wild courage, reckon not the danger.
He took a deep breath. ‘Come to me,’ he cried. ‘I summon you.’
Familiar spectral doubts and fears assailed him but he ignored them, banished them to the recesses of his mind. He had need of a greater horror.
‘I summon you,’ he whispered.
Leaping into his mind’s eye came the demon in his soul. The serpent body writhed in rage, the wolf head howled and bayed, the leather wings beat above him, spreading a stench of pestilence and rot. And then, just as the creature’s bloody beak darted towards his heart, he leapt upon its back.
The Vikings cried in terror.
Ulf smashed into the man attacking Edward, sending him reeling to the ground. He turned at bay, shielding the prince.
Warriors leapt towards him but Ulf did not flinch, dispatching three in as many heartbeats. A fourth man pierced him with a spear but Ulf chopped at the wood and brought his sword round to slice open the man’s neck. More warriors drew swords and raced towards him but he parried swiftly, howling in rage. The first he knocked over bodily, stamping on his face, smashing bone and flesh and cartilage. The second he disembowelled, dragging out the man’s innards like a butcher drawing offal. Two more he slaughtered outright, a deadly thrust into one man’s chest, a second piercing throat and neck.
He saw the shadowy figures of Holdwine and Cuthred killing the remaining Vikings, saw priests and townsfolk piling up more stones against the gate, heard the fruitless hammering of his foes upon the timbers beyond.
‘Are you hurt?’ he cried to Edward. Then he staggered, sight failing, his hand reaching for the dreadful spear wound in his side.
Cuthred rushed to his aid.
‘I’m alright,’ he gasped through gritted teeth. ‘The prince.’
‘Holdwine has him,’ Cuthred said. ‘He’s safe.’
And then a wail of anguish came from beyond the walls.
A vast plume of smoke was rising from the river. Slowly it rose at first, but then it grew like a mighty summer thunderstorm, engulfing the sky.
‘The ships, the ships,’ cried voices from beyond the gate.
And then the earth seemed to shake as two thousand Viking warriors charged from the walls to the river, to where half their ships were engulfed in flame, burning to destruction by the fires set by Cuthred and his men.
‘I think you played the more cunning trick,’ Cuthred said to Ulf.
‘If they salvage half their fleet they may pack up and leave,’ Ulf answered. ‘If all are destroyed their rage will be terrible.’
‘I set fires in only half, as you ordered,’ Cuthred said. ‘They’ll have enough to make their escape.’
He bent and peered at Ulf’s side. ‘You’re bleeding badly, Ulf. You must get the wound seen to.’
Ulf protested but Cuthred lifted him in his arms as if he were a child.
‘Take charge,’ Ulf said to one of the King’s-thegns. ‘I’ll return in a moment.’
Ulf opened his eyes and saw Rebekah. She placed her fingers on his lips to silence any questions.
‘Do not fear,’ she said. ‘Edward is unharmed.’
Ulf heaved a sigh of relief.
‘And the enemy?’
‘Much of their fleet has been destroyed and Dag has retreated to his encampment.’
Ulf gnawed his lips. ‘I’d hoped they would take the remaining ships and leave.’
‘They may do yet. Do not trouble yourself for the moment.’
He struggled up on his elbow and groaned. ‘How bad is the wound?’
‘It’s better than it looks,’ she said. ‘The thrust was clean. In fact you did more damage cutting the stock of the spear.’
‘Will I be able to fight today?’
She shook her head. ‘You must rest. In any case, it’s close to sunset. There will be no more battles today.’
He sighed and allowed her to spoon some broth into his mouth.
He slept through the night, the potion she had made sedating him, sending him into a dreamless, healing sleep.
When he woke next morning he felt strong and well. But as soon as he moved he realised that the wound had taken its toll.
Gingerly he placed his feet on the floor and pushed himself upright.
Rebekah saw him from the doorway and rushed towards him. ‘Foolish man,’ she cried. ‘You won’t be able to fight today or for many days.’
‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘But I can go to the walls and see what’s happening.’
She started to argue but then decided against it, realising she could not stop him. ‘Then let me get someone to help you,’ she said. ‘You will not be able to manage the steps to the battlements unaided.’
She returned a short while later accompanied by a burly butcher with strong, muscular arms. Ulf felt like a child as the man half-guided, half-hauled him towards the stairs.
Every st
ep of the climb was agony but at last the butcher got him to the top.
Cuthred and Edward were leaning on the wall, looking towards the river. Ulf stepped towards them.
They gazed through the morning mist at the Viking fleet. Many ships were still smouldering, damaged beyond repair. The hulks of a dozen or so lay like dead things on the river bank.
‘We’ve destroyed about a third,’ Cuthred said. ‘I hoped it would be more.’
‘No matter. It has discomforted them and means they no longer have complete control of the situation. Even now, Dag will be anxiously pondering his next move.’
Edward reached up and touched Ulf’s arm. ‘You saved my life,’ he said. ‘I am forever in your debt.’
‘Princes and kings are never in men’s debt,’ Ulf answered. ‘I swore to protect you.’
‘And you did.’
WARHOST
April 885
Ulf rubbed his eyes and stretched. He felt a tug in his side as he did so but no more. It was three months since the spear thrust and the wound had healed well apart from an occasional irritating itch.
Holdwine smiled and pointed towards the town.
‘Our Dane has proved a good teacher,’ he said.
At the far side of the cathedral Ketil traded sword strokes with Edward. The Dane was still weak from his shattered leg but he could teach useful tricks and tactics.
Despite his injury, Ketil had fought against his countrymen a number of times. They had resumed their attacks a week after the fire had destroyed so many of their ships. But the weather grew even worse with savage snowstorms and cold so bitter that men were loath to hold the metal of their weapons.
Eventually the attacks petered out. The last attack had been at the beginning of March, a month before. It seemed that Dag had decided on an easier path to victory. He intended to starve them into submission.
Cuthred approached and squatted down beside him. ‘We’re down to the last few score sacks of grain,’ he said.
‘Can we cut the ration further?’
Cuthred shook his head. ‘The women and children are like bones. Two of the priests have died already and a third looks set to meet his maker.’
In the depths of winter, Ceolmund had decided that the priests should donate much of their ration to his flock. All did so gladly but they were paying a deadly price. Ceolmund himself looked like a ghost.
‘So we can hold out a few more weeks?’ Holdwine said.
Cuthred nodded.
Both men turned towards Ulf. Although Holdwine still commanded the King’s-thegns, and Ceolmund ruled the townsfolk, leading the defence of the city had, by some inexplicable process, fallen to him. He had not chosen it, did not want it. But, because it had never been formally given to him, he found he could not refuse it.
He closed his eyes. What to do? Holding out for two more weeks would only delay the inevitable. But if he surrendered, what would happen to the city and its people? He had few doubts of the savagery which would take place. Their enemies must have grown increasingly bitter at the way they had been denied. Their revenge would be swift and cruel.
He turned towards the Viking camp and froze.
‘What the hell’s that?’
He pointed to the south. Smoke or perhaps a dust cloud was rising in the sky.
Holdwine shaded his eyes. ‘What is it?’
Ulf shook his head. The three men watched in silence. The rest of the warriors on the walls did the same.
The cloud grew denser and moved ever closer. Ulf screwed up his eyes and peered into it. And then he saw. A mass of men were striding from the south, heading towards them.
He turned towards the Viking encampment. They too had seen the approaching host. They cheered and yelled in their excitement, some mounting up to ride towards the approaching host.
‘Vikings,’ Ulf said, bitterly. ‘Reinforcements for Dag.’
Viking armies rarely dispersed which meant they were able to travel across country in winter. It was one of their great advantages over the Saxons who struggled to rouse a fyrd from hundreds of isolated villages and hamlets.
And now a mighty host was coming to make certain of their destruction.
Ulf’s warriors watched the approaching army in silence. The Vikings, however, cheered and yelled. A few hurled insults at the Saxons, making crude signs of cutting throats.
Ulf cursed aloud.
‘Do you think we could sue for peace?’ Cuthred asked.
‘Perhaps,’ Ulf answered. ‘The bastards always want an easy victory.’
But he knew that his words offered little real comfort. Even if Dag accepted their surrender it would mean slavery or worse for the people of the city.
‘With these reinforcements, they have no need to bargain,’ Holdwine said. ‘We can’t man the walls against such numbers. We’ll be overwhelmed.’
‘We might still be able to bargain,’ Cuthred said.
‘Aye. But it will be one where they win everything and we lose all.’
Ulf gave no answer for he had none. Then he gripped Holdwine by the arm.
‘Edward,’ he whispered.
Holdwine looked horrified. ‘You can’t think to bargain with his life?’
‘Of course not, you fool. I’ve just realised that Theobald will identify him to the Vikings. They’ll kill him for certain.’
Holdwine looked stricken.
‘We have to save him,’ Ulf said.
‘Yes,’ said Holdwine. ‘But how?’
‘We could disguise him,’ Cuthred said. ‘As a woman perhaps.’
‘The Vikings will take the women as slaves or concubines,’ Holdwine said. ‘They’ll soon realise he’s a boy.’
Then he recalled that Rebekah and Inga would suffer the same fate. He cursed his own stupidity and mouthed a silent apology to Ulf.
‘Let’s concentrate on saving Edward,’ Ulf said, brusquely.
‘Could we sneak him across the bridge?’ Holdwine asked.
‘The Vikings are on the far bank,’ Cuthred said. ‘Even if he got across they’d hunt him down on the road.’
Ulf seized him by the arm. ‘Disguise him as a priest. I’ll tell Ceolmund he must buy the freedom of his priests using church treasure.’
‘But won’t Dag just take the treasure and enslave the priests?’
Ulf cursed. ‘You’re right. But there must be some way.’
Yet in his heart he doubted they would find one.
He turned towards the approaching army to see how much time they had left. He noticed something strange. Dag’s men had fallen silent. Some were pointing towards the army, others gesticulating wildly. And then they began to run. A number headed towards their ships, others towards the wooden stockade.
‘Alfred,’ he heard voices rage. ‘That bastard Alfred is here.’
His gaze flew to the approaching host.
There, yes, there, he could just make out the Wyvern standard of Wessex. And galloping behind it were a thousand mounted warriors.
The Saxon host swept up but did not pause for an instant. They fell upon the fleeing Vikings, slaughtering all who had not reached safety. Hundreds of men fell to their swords. Only when none were left standing did Alfred call a halt and walk his horse towards the gate.
The men on the walls went wild with joy.
Ulf bellowed, ‘Bring Edward to the main gate,’ and raced down the steps.
He reached the ground as Inga and Rebekah hurried over with Edward.
‘We’re saved,’ Ulf cried. He nodded to the gate-wards and they threw open the gates.
There, sitting astride his horse was the king. He looked stern, grim and exultant. Ulf pushed Edward forward and Alfred gasped.
‘What are you doing here?’ he cried. He leapt to the ground and threw his arms around his son. ‘I thought you were safe in Canterbury.’
Edward shook his head. ‘We came three months ago, we just managed to get into the city. We kept the heathens at bay, father, we kept them at bay.’
/> ‘And you’re unharmed?’
Edward nodded and took hold of Alfred’s arm. ‘The city would have been taken if not for Ulf.’
Alfred reluctantly dragged his eyes from scrutiny of Edward’s face. He beckoned Ulf over.
‘You led the defence?’ he asked.
‘I did,’ Ulf said. ‘But I would not have succeeded except for the courage of others.’
Alfred embraced him. When he pulled away, tears were streaming down his face.
‘Thank you, Ulf,’ he said. ‘I am forever in your debt.’
Two horses clattered through the gate and their riders, Edgwulf and Wulfric, leapt to the ground.
‘I thought you were in Canterbury,’ Edgwulf cried.
‘I wish I was,’ Ulf said, with a grin.
‘You have a gift for being in the thick of trouble, lad,’ said Wulfric.
‘It’s as you taught me.’
Wulfric laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
Edgwulf glanced at Edward, nodded grimly, and then turned back to Ulf. ‘How many heathens are there?’ he asked.
‘Two or three thousand. We’ve killed many these last few months but other bands have joined them.’
‘Are they Guthrum’s men?’
‘One small band arrived from East Anglia a few days ago but most of the army are not from Guthrum.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Ketil says so.’
Edgwulf eyed the Dane thoughtfully. Ketil stared back at him, unblinking.
‘He would say that,’ said Wulfric suspiciously. His hand strayed to his sword.
‘I trust Ketil in this,’ Ulf said. ‘He has fought at our side with great courage.’
Alfred gave the Dane a little nod of acknowledgement.
‘Besides,’ Ulf continued, ‘I know who these Vikings are and who leads them.’
‘Tell me,’ rasped Alfred.
‘They are from Francia and beyond, a coming together of many different bands and armies. They’re led by a man called Dag, the half-brother of Hæstenn.’
‘Hæstenn,’ Alfred said, his brow furrowing. ‘I seem to know that name.’
‘He was the man who captured me,’ Ulf said. ‘The man who attacked the Emirate of Córdoba, sacked Rome and now rules the lands north of Paris.’
