by Griff Hosker
Orm watched his son race off and prayed to Odin that he would do well. Orm still had the disgrace of the escaped captives to face once they returned to Hjarno-by; if his son did well then the Chief might consider that as mitigation when handing out his punishment. The other way would be for a brave or heroic deed from Orm but he did not think that this village would give him the chance.
Snorri and his men had made food time from Eabrycg although Gurt and his men were out of breath with the unexpected exertion and struggled to keep up with the Tencteri. Snorri reported to Chief Trygg while their allies gathered their breath. “We had good fortune.”
“About time!”
Snorri shrugged, the Norns were the Norns, and you could not fight against them. “We found a ship laden with iron; we sent it to the other ships. All the other goods we took. There was little silver and no gold but we did find the black stone and much timber. We put it all on the ship.”
“You have done well Snorri. The ship was indeed a gift from the gods.”
Gurt had got his breath back. “The ship is mine you agreed, you just wanted the sword.”
Trygg turned to the red faced pirate and his mouth opened in the grin of a wolf about to devour its dinner. “We will see, Gurt. In this land you have to earn what you get and fight to keep what you have. When we return to Uiteland we will discuss who owns what.”
Gurt knew he was outnumbered but there were more of his crew with the boats. It would be likely that Trygg would suffer more casualties. He would bide his time. The chief was right, it did not matter and was not a problem until they came to Uiteland. Now their fortunes and their fate were bound together. He nodded his acquiescence.
The two boys came racing back. “The gates have just opened and there are but five sentries. We counted thirty people but there may be more inside.”
“You have done well Sigurd and Ormsson. You may well become warriors this voyage. Now go around the village and wait a thousand paces up the river. Watch for any who come down and try to escape.” The two boys scurried off delighted to be given another chance to prove themselves.”Gurt you take your men, follow the boys and you approach the village from the far side. Snorri take the north side. I will take this side. Attack when you hear me attack.” He turned to Gurt, “You must make sure that no-one escape along the river. Even if you are too late to attack the village you will stop and kill all the refugees.” Gurt nodded. He did not mind if Snorri and Trygg’s men suffered all the casualties.
The warriors who trotted up to the walled village were not worried. The last time they had come there they had easily taken it and this time would be no different. In contrast the people who had rebuilt and re-settled the hill top refuge had never imagined that it would be assaulted again. Refugees from other places had migrated to this place for its river, its hill and its walls. They were determined that they would not suffer again. The new headman had told them all that, once the land had dried out, they would deepen the ditches and raise the heights of the walls. It would become a second Morbium. As the silent barbarians crept up to the walls the ditches were still shallow and the walls not repaired. The headman’s promises were as empty as the wind and the people were going to pay the price.
The one lesson they had learned was to keep the gates closed and a sentry upon the walls. The young man who had the dubious honour of watching the river could barely get his words out as he saw the mailed and armoured demons flooding up from the river. “We are under attack!”
Those few men who had weapons raced to get them. The women hid their children where they could and then picked up anything which could be used as a weapon. They had heard what had happened on the last raid and were determined that they would not end their days as slaves. There was one woman and her child who would not become slaves because she was going to leave. Deadra had hidden with her son Aed, the last time the raiders had come. All of her family had either been taken or killed. There were just the two of them left and she would survive. She saw that the western gate was ajar and she grabbed her young son and ran as fast as his eight year old legs could manage towards the west. They slipped out and she rolled them down the bank, beneath the elder trees and bramble bushes to land under a willow tree next to the river. Back in the village an eagle eyed villager closed the gate and they prepared for the attack. Deadra and Aed ran along the bank until they heard the noises in the bushes above- it was more of the enemy. They lay there shivering in fear as Gurt’s band tramped towards the fight.
Trygg’s band had the hardest task for the hill curved gently upwards, sapping legs unused to walking. Had the villagers had arrows then the attackers would have fallen like wheat to a scythe but as it was they were able to make the top easily. The gate was always the weakest point and, leading a wedge of warriors, Trygg hurled himself at the already weakened wooden gate. The weight of fifteen burly barbarians, with armour and shields was too much for the gate and it disintegrated before the force. Once inside it was a repetition of Eabrycg once more; this time with Trygg’s men satiating their carnal desires. By the time Snorri and Gurt broke in there was no-one left alive and they searched for the few meagre possessions left by a village twice destroyed.
The path by the river curved in a long loop and the mother and son made good time for at least a mile and then they struck disaster. The heavy rains had flooded the flood plain and the path they were following was under water. They would have to cut across the open fields to the upper path half a mile away and there was no cover. All the while they did so they would be clearly visible. Deadra had no choice and they began to run as quickly as they could across the muddy, slippery fields. As they ran, her son constantly stopping to wait for his mother, she kept glancing over her shoulder for any sign that there were warriors in pursuit. She had to pause at the bank which led to the path as she could not catch her breath.
“Are you ill mother?”
“No son. Just tired.” She grabbed her son by the shoulders, “If anything happens to me then you must leave me and tell the people lower down the valley that there are raiders.”
The boy shook his head, “I could not leave you.”
Deadra gave a sad half smile. “It I tell you so then you will have to leave me but fear not for if you live then I shall live in your heart. Now promise me.” Unable to speak the boy nodded his unspoken promise. “Good. Now help your mother up this bank.”
Trygg was impatient for his men to finish their examination of the village. He had known they would not be enrichened by the raid; that was not the point. He wanted their presence on the river to be hidden from the Romans and those higher up the valley. He felt a thrill of excitement run down his spine. He was about to venture further up the Dunum than he had before. It was all new territory to him but it was also dangerous territory. He knew that there was a Roman fort somewhere up the valley but he knew not where it was. He was a cautious chief and he signalled for Snorri. He took him to one side. “Have Harald take eight men and the goods we have acquired. Tell him to return to the ships and then bring one back to here.”
Snorri threw him a curious look. “Just one?”
“We cannot afford more of our men away from the attack and I do not trust these women Gurt has brought. No, one boat will be enough should we reach here and find we need a speedy departure. Tell him to face the boat down river and moor in the middle.”
When Snorri returned and nodded that his instructions had been given the chief roared. “We leave now! From this place onwards we are in danger from many enemies. Do not let your guard drop for an instant and remember- no prisoners. Snorri, scouts out.”
Snorri ran up to Sigurd and Ormsson. “You two come with me. We are the scouts. “The two boys puffed up with pride, they were to be scouts and not just that but scouts with the chief’s right hand man. Like two hunting dogs they sped off along the path. Unlike Deadra they did not plunge down the bank but kept to the escarpment. The sharp eyed Sigurd saw that the path disappeared into a new lake and pointed t
o the right where there was another, lesser path. When Snorri reached them he nodded. “Good lad. You will make a good scout. Now on.”
The two boys were younger than Snorri who was heavily armed and they made good time. They could see, from their high vantage point, that the river took a large loop away from them but came back to them a mile along. They trotted on, both pleased that they had saved their warband a mile of worthless walking. Ormsson shielded his eyes against the thin, cold, winter sun. They would have just as couple of hours of daylight left. They knew that they would have to seek a camp soon for the nights were still cold.
It was Sigurd who saw the woman and the boy some way ahead. While Sigurd kept his eye on her Ormsson ran back the hundred paces to Snorri. “There is a woman and a child. They are heading west.”
Not wishing to waste breath Snorri ran up to Sigurd who pointed them out. He was not sure if the two boys could take the woman and the child and so he led them. “We have to catch those two. Follow all my instructions. When I tell you go left and right of them and we will surround them.”
Deadra had hoped that the Mother was with her and that she and her son would find sanctuary. She knew that the nearest farm was over a mile away but she began to believe that they would escape and then, glancing over her shoulder, she saw three men pursuing her. One was clearly a warrior from his axe and helmet. They would soon catch them and she took a momentous decision. She pretended to stumble. When Aed came back she said, “I have hurt my leg you must leave me.”
“No!”
She pointed behind her. “See, they come!” Kissing him she pushed him down the trail and, as he tearfully ran away, she stood and plunged down the bank to the river. She would at least draw off some of the pursuers.
Snorri saw the women run down the levee. Two of them would follow her. The boy was small and Sigurd could follow him. “Sigurd, follow the boy, Ormsson with me.”
The woman had her son’s survival in her heart and she ran across the muddy fields as fast as she could. She stumbled once and, as she rose, picked up the small branch brought there by the floodwaters. She ran straight for the river. Behind her she could hear her pursuer’s feet sloshing ion the mud. She could not know it but Snorri was slowing, weighed down by his weapons and it was the boy Sigurd who was closing. The bank of the river rose, three paces before her and she turned and swung the branch like a club. Sigurd had almost been on the woman and was not expecting the blow which cracked into the side of the head. He fell like a stone. Deadra ran up to the bank and along the muddy riverbank. It was there that her good fortune deserted her. Just when freedom beckoned, she slipped on the bank and fell into the swiftly flowing waters. Her exhaustion, her heavy clothes and her inability to swim all conspired to quickly end her life and the brave Brigante mother slid beneath the black and icy waters praying that her son survive.
Aed was angry and that anger gave his feet and legs extra energy. He had watched, with his mother, when the raiders had come the last time and he knew what they did to women. He knew what they would be doing to his mother and he wanted to run back and stop them but he had promised his mother and he would live and he would warn everyone of their danger. The trail suddenly dropped ten paces down a steep bank. Already slippery with the mud he barely controlled his descent as he half ran and half slid down the slope. As he ran on he did not know that he had just made the path a deadly slide of shiny mud.
Ormsson was proud that he would be the one to capture the boy who he had seen was but a little younger than he. He was not gaining on him yet but he knew that he would. When he came to the slippery bank he kept running. His feet were swept from under him and he went into the air to crash on his back. The gnarled knob on the tree trunk smacked into the back of his head and, for a few moments he lay there, blacked out. When he came to he gingerly stood and came down the bank holding onto the branches and bushes to the side. He set off once more in pursuit but the energy had been knocked from his legs by his fall.
As night began to fall Aed began to believe he had escaped. He had seen no lights of any buildings and he knew he had to find somewhere to rest. They would be following down the path and he took a bold decision, he would cross the river. They could not follow him across water. He made his way down the bank to the river. Many trees and branches had been washed along in the floodwaters and were caught up at the bank. There was still enough light to see across the river and, selecting a broken branch big enough to move and, hopefully, support his weight he pushed out into the icy waters. The chill took his breath away and the current began to carry him downstream, towards his pursuers. He kicked hard and the tree began to drift across the river. His leg action directed the floating lifeline and he suddenly felt mud beneath his feet. He scrambled up the bank and rolled into the bush which afforded him a hiding place. He watched the path on the opposite bank and saw his pursuer, now just a single boy who ran along the path. Aed held his breath as the boy paused where he had plunged off the path but then relaxed as he carried on. He waited a few moments and then, leaving his lair headed south, away from the river.
Snorri and his two scouts looked shamefaced when they reported that a boy had escaped them. Sigurd’s face showed the marks of the blow but he would not boast of it as it came from a woman. Trygg’s face hid the anger he felt but it would do no good to berate his scouts in front of the others. It was but a boy and they had achieved much already. The valley was now ripe for their plunder; the sleepy settlements would soon feel the wrath of the men from the east.
Chapter 17
The raiders found the small farmhouse soon after they gave up the search for the boy. The palisade which they found was to keep their animals enclosed rather than intruders out. The extended family of the grandmother, son, wife and five children made a good living close to the river. The regular flooding of their river side field fertilised the earth and it yielded a healthy crop. They had managed to keep alive many of their animals through the harsh winter and the farmer was already anticipating an increase in their numbers. Sadly all that ended when the hungry and tired warriors exploded into the quiet of their hut. Trygg left his men to it and he wandered to view the land to the west. Inside the females, regardless of age were all ravaged and then killed. The males all died mercifully quickly. Even as Trygg watched the sunset and the river snaking along westward to its source high in the hills, vaguely visible in the distance, the animals were being slaughtered to provide sustenance for the victorious easterners.
Gurt joined Trygg, “We have had a successful day. Are all your raids as successful?”
“I think that in all my visits to this land I have lost but ten warriors. I plan well and my men know what they are doing.” In another man Trygg’s words would have sounded boastful but Gurt had come to realise that this chief was very careful and he was learning a great deal.
“Snorri tells me that this is new territory for you.”
“Aye. “He pointed to the river glistening red in the setting sun. “But the river flows from the west, you can see it shining in the distance. If we follow it up then we can make our escape easily.”
“The ships could get as far as this place easily.”
“True and tomorrow we will send some warriors back to bring up another two ships but remember that the men we use to bring the boats cannot fight and we do not know yet who or how many we face.”
Behind them his warriors had lit a fire and the smell of roasting meat began to fill the air. Gurt glanced at the numbers of warriors. Perhaps Trygg was being over cautious. To his eye they had plenty of men and the opposition thus far had been pathetic; one boatload could have taken both villages. He sniffed the air appreciatively. This might be a land to visit regularly, without his allies. Now that he had one visit he would no longer need the Tencteri.
******
The recruits found muscles they had never used before as they stiffly climbed out of their tents. Many sported healthy blue bruises, marks of honour from their falls and their blows. T
he crisply frozen ground cracked underfoot as they began to saddle their horses. Marcus was already in the gyrus mounted and surveying the young recruits as they struggled to mount.
When they were all before him in their temporary turmae the decurion addressed them. “Yesterday we learned to charge, halt and withdraw; all necessary and useful skills. Today we learn vital skills.” He took a javelin in his right hand galloped hard at the man sized target erected at the far end. He rode to within thirty paces, hurled the missile and spun around to return to the awestruck recruits. He did not need to turn around to see that he had hit the target, it had only been thirty paces and it had been not been a difficult throw. He had wanted his men to have an attainable target and he hoped that they would all achieve some success to give them confidence.
“The vital skill we will learn is to charge, throw and retreat. Firstly we will just charge in turn and throw. Once we have achieved the feat of hitting the target every time we will learn how to do it effectively”
One recruit raised his hand. “Sir, don’t we use swords?”
“Good question and yes we do but the enemy you will be fighting will always outnumber us, they are, generally skilful swordsmen and we need to whittle them down and demoralise them before it comes to swordplay. When we ride we have three javelins each. Two of them are to throw in controlled volleys, the third you use as an offensive weapon; you stab down with it like a spear. Only when you have used that do you draw your blade.” The recruit with the question started to raise his hand again, “The javelin gives us an advantage as it is longer than the swords of our enemies. By the time we use the sword we would hope that they would be ready to flee. When you chase a routed barbarian warband your sword comes in to its own. The only way they can escape is by lying on the ground and, eventually, we will train your horses to trample men lying prone. That is for the future. Each turma has ten targets each. I will be watching.”
