Gods of War

by C. R. May

  Their senses sharpened by the closeness to danger, every bush or stunted tree became a foeman as their shadowy forms hardened from the whiteness which surrounded them. Unable to increase the pace, despite the desperate need, Eofer led them a score paces onto the grassland before swinging back to the East. A shallow dip emerged before them and he held out a hand to halt their progress, turning to beckon Spearhafoc forward. The girl padded up, and he moved his lips to her ear as she listened intently. ‘You are the smallest and lightest here. I want you to check the hollow ahead for any signs of opposition.’ He squeezed her arm and threw her a wink of encouragement as he drew his head back, and the men stood as still as any stone as the Briton melted away. An anxious glance at the skyline confirmed that the night was almost spent, but he forced himself to remain calm as they waited for the girl’s return.

  After what seemed an age she reappeared, hurrying along bent double, and they all knew instinctively that they were in serious trouble. Spearhafoc came up and Eofer lowered his head as she whispered into his ear. ‘Horsemen lord, mounted warriors. I counted a dozen, but I caught a brief glimpse of others on the far side of the path as the mist thinned for a moment.’ He nodded that he understood and went to move away, but the girl tugged his head back. ‘I wasn’t finished,’ she snapped. Eofer stifled a snigger despite the danger of the moment. He had seen men killed for such a show of disrespect towards a thegn, but her self-confidence was an important part of what made her such a valuable addition to his hearth troop and he caught the twinkle in Hemming’s eye as he bent his head. ‘They are not the local farmers and landowners,’ she breathed. ‘They are high class warriors, maybe even king’s huscarls. They wear only the finest of everything and their arms are heavy with rings. But,’ she whispered softly, ‘the dip in the land ahead takes a dog-leg to the right between us, we should be able to get past them if the gods are with us and this mist holds a little longer.’

  Eofer nodded that he understood. ‘You have seen the lie of the land, you lead on. Walk at a steady pace but don’t run unless you see me pass you; if you do, run like the wind!’ he quipped. ‘Mail shirts, buckles and scabbards are not the quietest when you are on the move and we cannot afford to make any noise.’ He turned back and splayed both hands, making the universally understood sign for ten before pointing at the waiting girl and scooping his hand to indicate the dip ahead. They nodded that they understood that the girl was leading them through, as the first faint jangle of metal carried from their left. The Danes were close, too close, and the first traces of grey were entering the sky to the East as Shining Mane galloped closer. There was no time to discover an easier route, they would have to take a chance or fight their way back to the ship whether the riders ahead were huscarls or farmer Bjorn and his neighbours.

  Satisfied that all were set Eofer nodded at the girl who moved forward, melting into the ground as she stooped to cross the lip of the gully. Eofer was a pace behind her, picking his way carefully down a slope made slick with dew. A small watercourse burbled at the base, and they stole stealthily across the stony bank and began to climb the far slope. A horse snickered softly and Eofer started, gripping the shaft of his spear a little tighter as he realised just how close these Danes must be, but Spearhafoc had already made the lip on the far side and she bent low to disappear from view. Eofer was a heartbeat behind and within moments they were across, the other members of his war band scurrying away from the trap without a backward glance.

  Eofer flicked an anxious look at the skyline and was shocked to see that the eastern horizon had been transformed into a splash of pink. The day was upon them, and he increased the pace despite the danger. It was, he estimated, still a good half mile to the beach and the Hwælspere must now be in full view of the watchers on the cliff top. As if to confirm his fears a petal of flame flickered on the uplands as the coast guards set the warning beacon, and Eofer cast all thoughts of caution aside as he broke into a run. ‘That’s far enough lads, we need to get back to the ship before the horse Danes realise what is happening. Get back on the path, quick as you can!’

  Within a few paces the trail was before him and Eofer slowed to a jog, moving aside to let the youth through as the duguth clustered protectively about their lord. He recognised the bemusement at his actions writ large on their faces, and Eofer explained as they jogged along in the youngsters’ wake. ‘I know that it’s humiliating running away, but Spearhafoc said that there were more riders at the far side of the path.’

  He looked across to Hemming and saw that the explanation had still not done enough to smother his sense of unease, and he listened as his weorthman put their feelings into words. ‘We could creep up and take them from the rear, lord. They would be squinting inland into the murk, dead before they even knew we were there.’

  Eofer shook his head as he explained. ‘She also said that they were dressed like huscarls. Now I don’t mind fighting against the king’s retainers, the very best men that the Danes can put into the field,’ he added, ‘but we don’t know their actual numbers so there is a good chance that we could be overwhelmed and die to a man.’ He threw them a look to emphasise his final words. ‘We were not sent here by the king to burn a few farms and kill a few of their fyrdmen, we were sent to draw as many of their best warriors away from the West that we can. It looks as if we are succeeding, so we will have to swallow our pride for now.’ He flashed them a grin as their expressions softened. ‘Be proud that we have the king’s trust,’ he added, ‘and don’t worry. There will be enough Danes left for us when the time comes, even for you Thrush!’

  The mist was already visibly dissipating as the first cries carried to them from their rear. It could only mean one thing, and Eofer increased the pace as his duguth cast anxious glances behind. The cry was taken up as the track began to dip, angling off towards the East and safety. The pathway steepened as it neared the beach, hugging the side of the Combe before flattening out as the first welcome sounds of the sea reached their ears. The youth had gained a choke point where several boulders had tumbled down from the cliff face above, halting and forming a loose shield wall as they awaited the arrival of their hearth brothers. It was a sound tactical move, and Eofer acknowledged it as the sound of hoofbeats began to fill the air.

  ‘Who drew up here?’

  They all looked across to Finn who swallowed nervously, but stepped forward all the same. ‘I did, lord.’

  Eofer pushed harder. ‘Why? I told you to run.’

  ‘Horsemen will channel into this space and suddenly be confronted by a rubble-strewn narrow. The gully tapers here to a dozen paces, and half of that is taken up by the stream and its rocky bed, it is ideal for a defensive position.’ Finn jerked his head up at the grassy banks which climbed away to each side. ‘I thought that Spearhafoc could use the height advantage to pick off those on the end of any shield wall which came against us. A few men could hold them here while the others made the ship and escaped, it’s only a short distance across the beach. I sent Grimwulf to tell Eadward what is happening.’

  Eofer nodded as the others swung into a defensive line across the narrows and the sound of horses rolled down upon them like an onrushing tide. Thoughts of a disorganised dash across the strand came into his mind and he recognised the value of the lad’s thinking. A strategic withdrawal was all very well, but a panic-stricken scramble through the surf was another thing entirely. He could never look the survivors in the eye again if they scattered before the Danes like startled hens. ‘You did well,’ Eofer said as the youth cast anxious looks across his lord’s shoulder for approaching horsemen. Most men running before a foe, whether mounted or not, rarely retained the presence of mind to take in their surroundings, much less curb the headlong flight and throw together a hasty battle plan. It was not the first time that Finn had impressed him on the raid, he was fast becoming an important member of the troop, they would talk again; if they survived.

  Eofer handed his spear and shield to Finn as he drew Gleaming with a
flourish. ‘Here,’ he smiled, ‘take care of these until I return.’ Before the surprised youth could reply, Eofer had pushed through the defences and was trotting back into the mist. A glance across his shoulder told him when the English position began to grow indistinct, and he moved to the side of the gully and paddled into the icy water. A quick look confirmed to him that he was perfectly placed, twenty or so paces inland of the fallen rocks, and he swept the sword back and braced as the sound of onrushing horses filled the air.

  A flash of colour and they were upon him, and Eofer swept the blade in a low powerful strike as the first panicked riders saw the obstacles which barred their progress and attempted to rein in the dashing steeds. Gleaming whirred across to take the leading horse at knee level, biting through the joint and emerging in a mist of blood as the animal pitched forward to bury its face in the scree with a sickening crash. Driven on by their riders and the thrill of the chase, the following horses stood little chance of avoiding the mayhem and within a heartbeat the floor of the gully was a tangled mass of screaming horses. Most managed to stay upright, but a few fell to add to the madness of broken riders and thrashing hooves as the Danish charge, an irresistible tide of muscle and bone only moments before, came to a bloody halt.

  Eofer leapt among them, his sword striking to left and right as the Danes struggled to their feet. A huge warrior, his arms bright with rings of gold and silver, lay dazed and bloodied before him. Their eyes locked, and the Englishman saw the panic there as the man realised that he would never bring his spear across to ward off the oncoming blow before it arrived. In a last desperate act the man threw up an arm, and Eofer’s blade sent the limb spinning to the track in a fountain of blood as he trod on the Dane’s chest and launched himself at the scrum. The sea of bodies hardened into a snarling face as another Dane came on, the point of his spear flashing in the light of the returning sun, and Eofer dodged aside as he began to fight his way back to the safety of his own hedge of spears.

  Two men, quicker to recover than their hearth mates stood shoulder to shoulder, barring his way, and Eofer saw the look of triumph on one turn to shock and incomprehension as the point of an arrow emerged from his mouth. Shocked his friend faltered, and Eofer lowered his shoulder, barging the warrior aside as a powerful voice began to rally the attackers. The Danes were recovering fast, and Eofer dealt the wounded horse its death blow, stooping to open the belly with a sweep of his blade as he ran the final few yards. Leaving the track awash with blood and the pink-blue ropes of horse guts, the eorle turned back to face his attackers as the English shield wall opened up to gather him in with a roar of defiance. He felt the reassuring press of friendly bodies all around him as his shield and gar were passed through from the rear, and he gripped the handle gratefully, swinging his shield up into position as he couched the stout spear and braced to meet the attack.

  Hemming spoke at his side, his voice calm and measured. ‘Are we making a break for it while we have the chance, lord?’

  Eofer ran his eyes across the men gathering beyond the eviscerated shell of the horse which separated them. He could now see the gruff voiced Dane who he had heard rallying his men as he fought among them, and he watched with interest as he pulled and pushed his men into a wedge. The mist was clearing away by the moment, and the thegn made a quick calculation as he weighed up the rapidly dwindling options which were still open to him. He shook his head as he reached his decision.

  ‘No, I am tired of running, we fight here. We are in a good defensive position and the dead horse will break up any charge.’ He exchanged a glance with his weorthman and snorted as he saw the look of joy there. ‘If we are to break our fast in Valhall, I will not turn up at the doors with a wound to my back.’

  The Danes had assembled in their hog snout and they brought their own shields together with a crash, roaring with battle joy that they finally had the raiders who had evaded them for so long at bay. Eofer took the last opportunity to relay his orders as the men beside him tensed before the onslaught.

  ‘Finn!’

  ‘Yes, lord?’

  ‘This was your idea, come forward and stand on my left hand side.’

  ‘Yes, lord!’

  Octa took a pace to the left and the youth stepped smartly into the breach. If anywhere was safe in the front line it was to the left of the leader. Protected by his lord’s shield, sword arm and experience in battle it was nevertheless far more dangerous than the rear ranks, and every man there would know that the boy would be judged, not only by the Danes and the gods but by his lord and the more senior members of the hearth troop. Fight well and survive the push of shields and he had taken a giant stride towards becoming a duguth.

  Eofer called again. ‘Crawa!’

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘Raise my battle flag and stand to my rear. Let’s let these Danes know that they are in for a fight.’

  A shout filled the gully and Eofer knew that the moment had come. ‘Stand firm,’ he said, his voice level and calm. ‘Youth, wait for an opening and stab, just we like we practised.’

  The Danish wedge approached the carcass of the horse and paused as the leading few slid across the animal’s great ribcage and waited for those following on to shuffle across to rejoin them.

  The English began to beat ash shafts on shields, the age old battle cry of their people rising into the cool dawn air as the fiend cast anxious glances their way lest the chant preceded a charge of their own.

  ‘Out!…Out!…Out!’

  Thrush Hemming turned his head aside, crying out above the noise. ‘We should have rushed forward and used the body as a bulwark, lord,’

  Eofer shook his head without taking his eyes from the Danes, hastily reforming their wedge only twenty paces before them. ‘The path is too wide Thrush, they would have outflanked us with ease. Besides,’ he added with a jerk of his head as the Danes continued to pour across, ‘that outcrop would get in Spearhafoc’s way, I saw it when I was up there. She would not have been able to rake them from the hillside and I was loathe to lose that advantage.’

  The Danes were across and moving forward slowly, the tip of the formation aimed directly at the English leader. Eofer looked above the rim of the ord man’s shield and saw the calm stare of a veteran there beneath a helm of chased and polished steel. Twin garnets shone dully from the eye sockets of a silver boar which crowned the warrior’s helm, and Eofer dragged his eyes away to watch for the moment he knew was upon them. The instant that the Dane’s body swelled as he sucked in air to make the battle cry, the English eorle mirrored the action. With a roar to Woden the Danish leader launched into a run, and a heartbeat later Eofer yelled into the rapidly shrinking space between them. ‘Now!’

  The English cry to the Allfather resounded from the grassy banks as the shield burh took a pace forward and threw their shoulders behind the big boards. The Danish leader, backed up by his own scrum of warriors, hit Eofer like a thunderbolt, driving him back as the eorle grimaced with effort and pushed back for all his worth. The youth slammed into his back as the thegn scrabbled for a grip on the rocky path, lending their weight to the push, but the line was bowing ominously, ready to break. The Danes sensed victory, braced, dug in and drove again, but Hemming was there and Eofer was pummelled as the big duguth stabbed and stabbed over the shields like a maniac. The desperate counterattack brought down one Dane and then another, and the pressure on the centre eased for a heartbeat as the men fell away. A heartbeat was enough, and Eofer worked his own spear through a gap in the wall, sawing the shaft back and forth as men howled and roared all around him. As the point bit into flesh he worked the blade, worrying the Dane’s mail shirt until the links gave up the unequal struggle. Blood ran, and Eofer felt the shaft of his spear go slick as he shoved and pushed: the men reformed around him and the English wall held.

  The first rush had failed and the Engles felt the pressure suddenly ease as the Danes too recognised the fact and took a pace back, the rear of the wedge widening as more attackers
arrived to bolster the flanks hoping for more luck there.

  Eofer risked a glance over the rim of his shield and saw that the boar-helmed man was still in place, upright and apparently unharmed, and he gave a snort of recognition at the man’s fighting prowess; he had seen the dancing wolf warrior plate above his left eye and he had expected no less.

  With a roar and a crash like thunder the lines came together again as the Danes renewed the assault, but Eofer knew that the huge body of the disemboweled warhorse had saved them for now, robbing the attack of its momentum. Eofer threw his shoulder into his shield, pushing again, driving the Dane back as the place of slaughter ebbed and flowed. A quick glance down told the eorle that Hemming’s two Danes lay like bloody wrack at the high tide mark, but no English seemed to have fallen in the opening attack and he grunted with satisfaction and stabbed again. A waft of air kissed his cheek as an arrow flashed by, and Eofer threw a look to his left as the foemen battered the line. A pair of Danes had scaled the bank and were almost upon the Briton. Hunkered down behind their shields the warriors were preparing to skewer the girl as they edged along the shelf, and Eofer saw the moment when she loosed her final shaft and gambolled down the bank out of harms way.

  A cry brought his head snapping back as the Danish leader came again and the ash shafts jabbed and probed. The pressure was beginning to tell as more and more Danes crossed the horse barrier to add their weight to the push, and Eofer felt Hemming make a space to draw his sword across his body as the shield wall began to pivot. The English left was beginning to curl back upon itself as the flank there was turned. More and more Danes, free now from the danger of Spearhafoc’s arrows, were feeding along the slopes of the gully. In moments they would be outflanked and the killing would begin in earnest. Eofer began to despair as he took a pace to the rear, opening up a small space of his own in which to draw Gleaming. If he could draw them away the Danes would most likely ignore the others, enabling them to escape back to the ship.