by Ceri Bladen
Cynebald walked next to King Alfred. “It is a pleasing sight to behold. So many supporters in these troubled times, Lord.”
Alfred stopped and turned towards him. “Ay, but do you think we will have enough men to beat Guthrum?”
Cynebald shrugged. “There must be gathered about three thousand. And besides, they are fresh into the battle and have fire in their bellies. That is all we can ask.”
Alfred nodded and glanced over his Ealdormen’s shoulder. Something had caught his eye. “Who is that lad over there?”
He twisted his head to look. His eyes narrowed when the young lad looked straight at him. His gut tightened. There was something about him that reminded him of that woman, Edeva. It was the unusual almond shape of his eyes. He shook his head to remove his thoughts. He must be more tired than he thought. “He is just a frumbyrdling, King. Just a young boy growing in his first beard.”
“A strangely handsome lad.” Alfred gave Rosfrith one more look before he tore his gaze away. “Shame he might not live to see any facial hair grow. For, in the next couple of days, we meet the Heathens.”
Chapter 8
Thrimilce (May) 878 – Battle of Edington
Ubba’s gaze darted around the men surrounding him. His back was to his wife. He had a churning in his chest and a thirst he was trying to ignore. Battle awaited them, but it wasn’t that which he feared. It was the safety of his wife beside him. Despite her sureness at being able to confidently handle a weapon, she had never actively taken part in a battle before. This was totally different — weapons and men coming for you from all sides. Although he hoped they would see little of the fighting as their plan was to leave as soon as the action started — so they could slip off to Guthrum’s camp — but this was war and it could all go wrong. His body tensed. He was a fool to agree with this idea in the first place.
“Stop grinding your teeth.”
He looked down on Rosfrith, so small next to him. His nostrils flared with annoyance that he’d helped put her into this situation. “Remember, you are not to engage in any fight, unless you have too. The men and I will protect you.” He noticed her lift her chin. She wasn’t happy with his orders, but he did not care. “If you don’t live through this battle, you will not see your barns again.”
She bared her teeth, and then jerked her head away. “I’m well aware of that. I thought…”
When she paused, he asked, “Thought what?”
Her shoulder’s slumped. “I thought there would have been a way to have contacted Guthrum or someone from his army before now — to find any news on the children.”
He tilted his head. “Did you?” he was confused, for she was not a stupid woman. Mayhap the hope of finding their children clouded her judgment. He rolled his shoulders to dislodge the stiffness there. Regardless of the situation he and his men now found themselves in, no one had come up with a better plan. It was simply far too dangerous for a small bunch of Vikings to be safe wandering around Alfred’s land. “Just stick to the plan. When the commotion of the battle starts, we will progress to the outer area of battle and hopefully, on to Guthrum’s camp. It will be there we will find our children,” – he wanted to add if they are alive – “not here amongst the warriors.”
She nodded.
“But remember, don’t trust any of the men that you have befriended by the fireside, in Alfred’s army. They will turn on you when they realise you are not one of them.” He flicked a glance at Alfred, aloft on his horse. “Never trust a Christian. They pray for peace and rule with the sword.”
His men nodded their agreement.
He turned his attention back to the soldiers, way in front of him. They had created a shield wall. He had been told that Alfred had taken his inspiration from the Roman infantry, ordering the fyrd to place their shields side by side to create a solid wall. Their spears were thrust through the small openings. It was a tactic Ubba wanted to take back to his own battles. He tensed when he heard the sound of Guthrum’s men approach.
“Remember men, we will leave when the battle commences. We will not kill any of our own.”
“This is taking much longer than it should,” Borg shouted to Ubba, his eyes trained firmly on the soldier in front of him. “We should have left by now.”
Ubba couldn’t answer — he was too busy striking down a Viking who attacked him. He ignored the blood pumping from the man’s chest when he struck his blow. In his side vision, he saw Borg finish off his fight, too. His hands clenched on his sword and shield. Despite his earlier promises, now he was caught up in the battle, he did not care who he harmed. Anyone who came near Rosfrith needed to be felled. Once the man on the ground gave his last breath, he had the time to answer. “How were we to know Guthrum would surround us, hindering our escape?” He turned and swung his sword at another warrior who ran for him, sword waving. Unfortunately for the man, Ubba was as deadly with the new weapon as he was with his familiar axe. When he too was felled, he turned to check on Rosfrith. Although surrounded and partially protected by his men, she was still having to fight her own battles. But, contrary to what he’d believed previously, she was not an easy target. His heart swelled with pride. His wife could truly protect herself.
A couple of hours later, Ubba felt his arms tire. The ground in front of him was littered with bodies from both sides. It disgusted him to think he’d had to kill Vikings, but he’d had no choice. They didn’t know who he was in the armour he was wearing – and there was no time to explain. He turned to Rosfrith now the action had quietened for a while. They might not have much time to talk. He knew from experience that the Danes would be back. He bent down to whisper into her ear. “Are you all right, my love?”
She nodded, exhausted.
“I am sorry you had to see this. I thought you would be saved from this sight.” It pained him that she’d just witnessed the true realities of war — innards, dismembered bodies, and blood. “I’m sorry, too, you had to kill our own.”
She gave Ubba a tight smile. “It couldn’t be helped. Although I fear I will not be able to get the sight out of my mind for a while.”
He understood her statement. He wanted her out of there, so he scanned around. Mayhap their plan could start now. “There is a gap,” he said, his tone fiercely low and urgent. He pointed towards the trees, now void of fighting soldiers. “If we can make it there, we can make our way to Guthrum’s camp.”
“Come, let’s go.” Rosfrith looked at the men who had come to Briton with them — the ones which were left.
From his position, far from the fighting, Bard could see they were losing. Where had Alfred summoned all these fighting men from? He surveyed the death and destruction in front of him and, for once, was pleased that they had received the orders to retreat. They had lost too many warriors, today. He was about to turn his mount away when something — rather someone — caught his eye. He squinted. The gait of the giant making his way through the trees could only belong to one man — Ubba Ragnarsson.
My eyes must be deceiving me!
He strained to get a better look. Ay, it was the great man. Of that, he had no doubt — made more noticeable by the small person next to him, who he was so obviously protecting. A frown appeared and he gritted his teeth. Why is Ubba here? And why is he wearing that armour? Is he fighting for the Anglo-Saxons army against Guthrum? Suddenly he had difficulty swallowing. What if he knows about mine and Guthrum’s involvement in taking his children? There could be no other reason for Ubba to come to Briton. He gripped the reins tighter, his knuckles whitening.
What can I do?
Retreat with Guthrum and potentially end up on the losing side? He wouldn’t do that — he hadn’t survived on his own this long to throw it away. He settled the horse, which, sensing his unease, was becoming restless. Or he could take a leaf out of Ubba’s book — cut his hair off and dress like an Anglo-Saxon soldier and join the winning side? He flicked a glance at the floor and the bodies strewn around. There were plenty of spare armour lyin
g around, encasing dead soldiers. He thought quickly. He had heard the Ealdorman of Devon, a man called Odda, had beckoned for arms. Mayhap he might pay the other side a visit? It didn’t bother Bard who he stood next to – as long as he was on the winning team. He squeezed his thighs together and urged his horse away from the battle, and the losing Guthrum, and onto the Cynwit Fort in Cannington Hill. A smirk grew on his lips — but first, he might just have some fun.
Rosfrith shook her head. Her chest tightened and she lowered her chin. “We are too late, Ubba.” Her voice thickened. “Alfred’s army have beat us here. Now we cannot get into Guthrum’s camp.”
Ubba said nothing and scanned the scene in front of them. He watched as the king’s men removed all the food and items that Guthrum’s warriors might be able to capture in a raid, a sortie, to feed or defend themselves. His hands clenched as rage filled him. He was not annoyed by the scene in front of him. It was Bard! He bared his teeth. He had made them come to the camp, too late.
Bard had surprised them while they were navigating the forest. Oh, Bard was too much of a coward to get off his horse, he’d just goaded Ubba, and his men for their appearance, before he laughed and disappeared. Ubba cracked his knuckles. Unfortunately, it had been long enough of a distraction to allow Alfred’s army to chase Guthrum’s back to their fortress. Thór’s teeth – had Bard been sent by Loki to torment him? He drew in a slow, steady breath, wanting to pacify Rosfrith. “It will work out, my love. We will think of another plan. We will not be stopped”
Especially by Bard.
Chapter 9
Thrimilce (May) 878
Chippenham - Inside the besieged stronghold
Guthrum considered the men gathered around his table. He rubbed his corded neck, trying to ignore the atmosphere within the four walls. He had to think logically, not emotionally. “How much food and ale do we have left?”
Wade grimaced. “Not much, enough to last us a couple more days?”
“What about our scouts?”
“Alfred’s men have removed anything useful from the area.”
He nodded tightly, holding back his curse. “Why didn’t someone check how much Alfred had in stock? Why didn’t we get more supplies ready?” His voice was flat and controlled. It didn’t matter that they’d expect to win the battle, hunger was making him ratty. “Why weren’t you ready?” He stared at each man in turn.
Wade gave a small cough. “We did not foresee this, Sire.”
“Clearly.” Guthrum threw his hands up, his emotion finally showing. “So, King Alfred finally wins against us?”
No one dared answer.
He leaned back and tapped his fingers together. “We will ration the supplies, but make sure the warriors receive a little more than everyone else.” He waved his hand. “Go.” After Wade left the hall, he studied the fancy hall and all its riches. He gave a huff. None of these possessions were any good if there was nothing to eat or drink. He scraped his hand over his face before standing and addressing all those who were left. “Do not disturb me until a plan has been formulated.”
10 days later…
“We cannot go on, Sire.”
Everyone within the room watched Wade approach Guthrum — all of them glad they weren’t in his shoes.
Guthrum’s nostrils flared as he gave his second in command a cold look. The room was silent.
Wade pushed his chest out, feigning confidence in front of his Sire. “There is very little left to eat. The warriors grow weaker every day, not to mention the women and children. We were thinking…”
He cut him off. “We were thinking? Why didn’t any of you think before?”
Most took a discrete step back on hearing the ice in his voice and tried to look occupied with something else. They didn’t want any blame.
“Mayhap we let some of the servants and children leave the stronghold?” Wade looked around for support from his fellow Chiefmen – he received none. “Mayhap we make a deal with King Alfred?”
Guthrum shook his head. “Why would he want a deal? He knows we are running out of food. They are his supplies, after all.” He rubbed his beard, tugging at the end. “Nay, we’ll wait. Keep sending out small parties to fight, to show we have strength.” He gave a small snort. “Mayhap Alfred will run out of supplies for his large army first.”
“As you wish, Sire.”
3 weeks later
Edeva stood, pulling her tunic down to cover her modesty. She turned her back on Guthrum. She wasn’t sure if the nausea she felt was from the act she just taken part in or the lack of food. “I must get back to work, Sire.”
“Why the rush? There is no food to serve. We have none left to eat.” There was a pause. “Look at me.”
She swallowed hard before turning around. Guthrum looked serious.
“Edeva, I am to become a Christian.”
Her eyes widened. Perchance the lack of food had affected her Sire greatly? “Pardon, Sire?”
He sighed heavily and stared at the wall, as though in a trance. “I am to become a Christian,” he repeated. He turned back to look at her. “Weren’t you one before?”
“Oh.” She didn’t know how to respond. It was so long she prayed to the Lord for anything – she’d stopped because her prayers were never answered.
“It can’t be too bad,” he continued to mutter, more to himself. “You’ve had a good life.”
She resisted the urge to snort. A good life? If you can call losing your home and family, and becoming a servant — at the beck and call of any Sire that desired, a good life? She watched him wave his arms around.
“It will be the best thing. Alfred wants all twenty-nine Chiefmen to be baptised, too. They won’t like it, but it will be the only way we can survive and carry on. The king has promised, once we have converted to Christianity, and signed the Peace of Wedmore treaty, that we can withdraw to territory under our Danish control.” He patted the straw mattress he sat on. “Come, sit here, Edeva. I need to talk to you.”
She gave him a stiff smile and walked over, being careful to leave a little room between them. She tried not to flinch when he grabbed her hands into his.
“The thing is…”
She felt her stomach clench painfully. Whatever he was going to say, it was giving him difficulty.
“The thing is, as a Christian, what I am — we are — doing will be seen as a sin. We cannot go on with these… relations.”
Edeva felt an unexpected release of tension throughout her body, her head becoming light. She forced herself to stay calm. This was the best news ever. “That is a shame, Sire. I shall miss… our time together.”
He patted her hand. “Me, too. But, I have been told, in the eyes of God, coupling outside of marriage is a sin. And of course, I cannot marry you, regardless of the children you have given me, as you are of lowly stock.”
She bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. “Nay, Sire. I understand.” She was never happier he’d never found out she was born to the Lord of Dunwich.
Patting her hands once more, he stood and turned to her. “I would like you to come to the baptism, as I want women there.” His gaze narrowed. “To stop any violence. But, after that, we will have no more private moments.” He nodded towards the door. “I will leave you for a moment. Compose yourself and I will tell you the arrangements later on.”
She smiled at him, but when he closed the door, she flopped back on the bed. She pressed her hands onto her stomach and shut her eyes. For the first time, in a long time, she finally allowed a real smile to spread on her lips.
King Alfred’s court – Aller near Atheley – June 878
Ubba stood amongst the crowd gathered within Alfred’s main hall at Aller. He tried to ignore the headache that was brewing. He didn’t want to be here, watching Guthrum and nearly thirty of his Chiefmen convert to Christianity. Thór’s teeth! They were not only surrendering — but selling their souls! He would love to stop the ceremony, admit he was one of Ragnar Lothbrok’s warrior sons, the
Chieftain of Ranaricii, but he couldn’t. Instead, he had to mingle with the crowd, dressed in Anglo-Saxon armour and pretend he was thrilled that the king had won.
He gritted his teeth and glanced down at his arm when Rosfrith placed her hand on it. He gave her a tight smile, trying to alleviate her obvious concern for him. His body language was giving his emotions away. Straightening his shoulders back, and masking his emotion – as he often did as Chieftain – he watched the king’s procession enter the hall.
Once they were settled at the front of the room, a horn sounded, and the doors opened once again. Ubba felt the tension crackling in the air and noticed Alfred’s soldiers feeling out their weapons. So, they still don’t trust Guthrum and his men, even after welcoming them into their faith? He shook his head in disgust and watched Guthrum enter the room. He felt Rosfrith squeeze his arm, so he bent down — she evidently wanted to tell him something.
“Ubba, I’m sure that is my sister, Edeva, standing behind Guthrum.” She stood on tiptoes to get a better view. “She looks much older, but I’m sure…” She landed back on her heels, a frown on her forehead.
Ubba’s eyes narrowed and followed the direction she was looking — although he had no idea why he did — for he had no idea what her sister looked like. She had never been shown to Ivar the Boneless when they attacked Dunwich Fortress.
