‘I’ll be needin’ to send another man to warn the king,’ the Earl thought, on the verge of panic. ‘He must be stayin’ away from the west…he must na come.’
Both the Earl and the Ealdorman followed along utterly astounded. It would have taken many men and months to drive the Danes from the Hill on their own…if they were even successful. Harden, who was younger, ran ahead in his excitement.
They entered the Countisbury Hill Stronghold and carefully made their way through the rubble that was once the main gate. Directly beyond the shattered opening lay hundreds of dead Vikings, some intact, some in gruesome pieces.
“Holy Father!” Harden yelped and covered his mouth in an effort to keep down his lunch…he failed.
The captured prisoners huddled on the far side of the large courtyard, clearly terrified, and warily eyeing the strange man-demons that now stood guard over them. The wounded were being treated where they lay if their wounds were severe, the rest were moved to the north side of the courtyard. Per Dr. Rice’s orders no one removed their helmets, and no one would in the presence of the Danes. Most of the prisoners did not look up as they entered, but a few did and were relieved to see both the Earl and the Ealdorman...at least they were men. Most of the Danes were still praying, the women were crying, as were a few of the younger men…boys really. A tall, broad man with flaming red hair sat near the center of the prisoners and watched as the Earl approached, a look of relief on his face. All the healthy prisoners were cuffed with plastic ties, their hands secured behind their backs.
“Ye have joined with these Devils eh Anglish?” the large man asked in his own language, his eyes darting to the nearest demon. He half expected a loud and instant death for his flippancy, but the strange beings around the Anglish did nothing.
“Ye name?” the Earl asked and felt a wave of power course through his body, though to be truthful he was still trying to control his own fear and awe of these strange men. He hated the flat slate faceplates on the helmets and wished the soldiers would remove them…but they didn’t and the Earl was not going to insist. ‘These strangers must be tamed,’ he thought. He must learn their secrets...such power could indeed make Kings.
“Ubba of Fyn.”
“Ubba the torch?”
The man gave a devil’s smile. “Yah…if ye wish.”
The Earl repeated his answer in English for the Devils. Ubba raised an eyebrow, wondering what kind of devils these were that could not speak Danish...obviously they were English devils, and were not sent by Thor as they claimed to be. This at least gave him some peace of mind.
“Ye be the leader of these Danes?”
“Yah. I vas da leader,” he answered, and again the Earl translated.
“Vhat kinduf devils ye be dat cant speak Danish?” Ubba asked in a fit of bravery. No one answered him; instead they moved off a ways and began conversing with the Englishmen. Ubba sat still, wanting to learn all that he could, though he knew it was likely a waste of time, at any moment he expected death to plummet from the heavens and take him.
“Do you think the Danes could sail a ship back to their own land with so few to man it?” Peebles asked the Earl, who gaped at him in horror.
“Na!” The Ealdorman interrupted, suddenly angry. He was grateful to the strangers for capturing these invaders but to just let them go was the height of folly. “We’ll na be lettin’ these heathen go. They must have a reckonin’ for the townfolk Pilton...and for many others.”
Peebles frowned and glanced over to Sir Æthelred, but he could instantly tell that he would get no help from the Earl.
“Come,” he finally said and they made their way back out sight of the prisoners. The General took off his helmet, and rubbed his face thinking. He did not want to kill the prisoners, nor did he want them killed. He’d seen enough killing in his day, and he thought their deaths would be unnecessary. The Danes were defeated, and these at least would be chased out of England. That was the main goal.
“We have beaten the Danes here,” he said finally deciding on the tack he would take. “And we will beat every Dane on English soil.” The two noblemen just looked at him, hoping these strangers were truly on their side.
“I’d like you to let these Danes go free,” Peebles finally said getting to the point, and immediately he saw the faces before him go hard.
“Na!” the Ealdorman said his face twisted in anger. “These Danes kill and kill and kill me own people. They na be goin’ free. They be for the fire.”
“Yah,” the Earl agreed. “Tis na the time to show weakness or ye be bringin’ the whole of the Danes down on us.”
The General shook his head. “These Danes were not defeated in the normal way. How long would it have taken you to drive them out?”
The Ealdorman was quiet, still angry, but the Earl was beginning to get an inkling of what this tall stranger had in mind. “Two moons if luck was with us...and many men. Mayhap never,” he finally admitted.
“These Danes were routed, killed in one afternoon and we lost no men. They will tell others what happened to them. Do you think they will be eager to come back?”
“Na,” the Earl agreed with a slight smile, and after his anger subsided a bit the Ealdorman finally agreed.
“Ye may let the others go, to be warning the others, but Ubba of Fyn will stay and face the fire for his people’s crimes,” the old man demanded, his serious manner in stark contrast to his usual easy going, quick to laugh, demeanor.
“Fine,” Peebles replied, his voice becoming hard. “His death is on your head then, and he’s your prisoner. We will have no part in it,” he added and began to walk away.
“Skawps!” a frantic yell echoed from the ramparts above. Peebles glanced up and then immediately put on his helmet. Seconds later an M18 opened up on full automatic, firing hundreds of rounds a minute. The General’s heart sank in his chest, fear gripping him.
“Gardner...” he yelled running back to the courtyard, looking for the stairs which led to the walls above.
“Treadway...cease fire,” The General heard someone yell...possibly Corporal Hernandez, but the firing continued.
“Sir,” Gardner reported from overhead, “all is clear, repeat all is clear. Treadway is firing on the Earl’s knights.”
“Computer identify Peebles code 357, deactivate Private Treadway from IWS,” he said quickly, and almost instantly the firing stopped.
“Skawps!” Treadway yelled again still depressing the trigger, still trying to fire, but Corporal Hernandez, who had pulled his own helmet off, grabbed Treadway by the shoulder and yanked off the man’s helmet. By now Colonel Lemay and Captain Hersey were there to help. Treadway’s gaze flickered from man to man. He was clearly panicked and wondered just what was going on with his friends and fellow soldiers.
“Skawps!” he repeated, but this was heard only by those surrounded him since he was cut off of the IWS.
“Killian,” Lemay said at once. “Get up here now...this man needs a sedative.”
“Captain Gardner,” Peebles said. “Are there any injuries?” he asked a sick feeling in his stomach.
“Hard to tell, Sir. But I think not. They were out of range when Treadway opened up, but I can’t be sure. They’ve scattered all over the countryside,” Gardner said then added. “He scared the hell out of me as well.”
“Aye,” Peebles answered finally beginning to relax somewhat, and he heard nervous laughter over the airwaves. He looked about and saw the Earl and the Ealdorman staring at him questioningly.
“Slight mistake,” he explained, then with his helmet still on, he signaled for the two local noblemen to follow as he moved back to the prisoners.
“Ubba of Fyn,” he said in his deepest voice, trying to sound very impressive. “Ye now be in the hands of the Ealdorman of Somerset.” The Earl translated.
Ubba’s expression did not change. He expected to die.
“The rest of ye...begone!” Peebles added but for several moments no one moved. It was only at
the insistence of the Ealdorman and the Earl that the shocked Danes realized that they were to be set free by these devils and allowed to board their ship for home. Suddenly, they were up and gone, the women rushing about in their midst.
Though all the women were English, they went willingly. They would be killed for dallying with the enemy if they stayed. It mattered little to the locals that they were raped and beaten countless times before their spirits finally broke and they settled in with the Danes. There was no forgiveness for betrayal, no matter how much suffering was behind the act.
For such a small crew, the Danes had their vessel ready for departure in record time. There were ten men in all that were completely free of injury, and eleven others whose wounds were superficial and would heal quickly. The rest were out of action and Peebles knew that most would eventually die considering the amount of medical knowledge of the day. The Danes left, without a backward glance for their leader Ubba, who looked on stone faced as they launched and moved out into the shallow bay. Several of the American soldiers watched through high magnification as the boat bobbed through the waves. They were shocked when the Danes began to dump their wounded into the sea.
Several started to protest but the Ealdorman just shook his head.
“Yah, at least they kept the women,” the Earl added with a grunt, then realized that they probably needed the women to help man the oars.
“We’d have killed them yet if they’d dumped the women,” Colonel Lemay replied with a scowl and yanked his helmet off. Ubba stared at the man in complete surprise.
“They be men,” the Viking leader said and shame washed over him. Lemay ignored him and walked off. The Earl also ignored the man, but the Ealdorman pushed him to the ground and he fell hard, unable to use his hands to break his fall.
“They be men...and ye be for the fire,” Æthelnoth spat with glee, feeling very satisfied when his enemy’s face went blank once more.
§
The rider pounded through the gates of Maiden Castle in Winchester a full twelve hours after the Earl of Mercia had ordered him on his way. He pushed three horses to the limit and as he pulled to a stop in front of the inner stables the fourth was blowing hard.
Nagby, the Earl of Mercia’s top messenger, was well known in Winchester. He spent most of his adult life on the road between Oxford and Maiden Castle. He was the best, or so he thought. Many considered Three-Toes, the King’s top rider to be better, but he had the ugly habit of killing his mounts. Nagby took great pride in the fact that through all the years and miles of road, only three horses had ever died beneath him, and one from a bad heart. Hell, the beast only ran a mile before it squealed, tossed Nagby into a ditch, and dropped dead right in the middle of the road. That one could hardly count against him. Nagby knew horses; he could speak to them with only his thighs. He could sense their strength through his backside, which he liked to brag was the firmest in all of Angland, and he was more than happy to give a handful to any lass that doubted his boast.
The guards stepped aside just as Elhert, the castellan appeared.
“Need to see the king straight away,” Nagby explained and held up a sealed roll of parchment. Elhert nodded and led Nagby through the maze of corridors and stairways.
He was shown into the King’s council without introduction and limped, legs and back sore from his travels, to King Alfred. Nagby bowed low, handed the King the parchment and then was unceremoniously ushered out, his job complete until such a time as the King composed a response.
Alfred did not even wait until the messenger was gone. He checked the seal absently and then ripped open the parchment. He read silently, Asser and Helmstan, his two top advisors, looked on anxiously. Ealhswith, the Queen had been bored to the point of sleep, but was now wide awake and watching her husband closely. There were strange rumors coming from the west…an invasion by the faery people, if the common talk could be believed.
Alfred read slowly and carefully, and then reread the message once more before glancing up.
“Tis true,” he finally spoke. “Sir Æthelred tells of a small army of strange men invading Somerset and takin’ up with me Ealdorman Æthelnoth.”
Asser frowned, for it was well known that Æthelnoth was very loyal to his King, after all he was the first Ealdorman to come to his aid when all looked lost against Guthrum.
“We should move on the Lizard at once,” Helmstan said, but the man was overly aggressive and always looking for a fight…but then he was verily good with the sword and spear, an accomplished warrior, if a somewhat challenged diplomat.
Alfred frowned.
“M’lord,” Asser, a Welch monk and good friend, interjected. “I suggest caution. Tis said the Boneless has sailed from East Anglia and is camped on Wight; tis well known his brother Ubba has a hold down on the Lizard.”
Helmstan coughed loudly to show his displeasure but Asser ignored him and continued.
“The west is most likely a trap.”
Ealhswith held her breath, curious as to what her husband would do. Alfred was a contradiction, at times he was thoughtful and cautious but when the situation warranted he transformed into a lion.
The King remained circumspect for a long moment and then glanced up. “Tis a curious thing, the Earl reports that the strangers…Ammericaans he calls them, have na the look of the Boneless and his men, and they be all afoot.”
“A foot?” Helmstan asked with a frown. “If’n they be afoot how did they get so deep into Wessex?”
“Aye,” Alfred replied, wondering much the same thing. “Æthelred too calls for caution,” he continued and nodded at his friend Asser. “We will wait for more news,” he added, his judgment final. But he turned to Helmstan. “Send riders down to Christchurch…we need to know if Ivarr is truly on Wight,” he added, placating his more warlike advisor.
§
It was after dark before the knights of Somerset regrouped and approached the area around the Stronghold, and they only did this after Sir Elid rode in first. Once he was in safely the others followed. The General had a powerful radio transmitter placed atop the highest point on the Stronghold in an attempt to communicate with Major Thane back in Athelney. It took several hours to assemble and by that time there was a large fire burning downwind two hundred yards to the south of Countisbury Hill. The locals were burning the bodies of the dead Danes, since they did not have the right to a Christian burial. The majority of the soldiers stayed well away from the fire, and sympathized with their buddies who’d drawn the nasty detail of aiding the locals. To a man, none of them could stand the smell of burning flesh; it brought back terrible memories of those horrid, early days.
“Peebles to base,” the General said through the transmitter in his helmet. He was standing on the ramparts of the Stronghold, just below the large antenna array and looking out over the darkened landscape. The fires burning the dead illuminating the fields nearby, and overhead a large, nearly full moon was peeking out from behind fast moving night clouds before being quickly hidden once more.
“Base here,” Thane answered back immediately.
“Objective taken...no casualties.” He reported and a cheerful roar filtered through his helmet’s speakers, testifying that the entire camp was present. The men left behind had undoubtedly been on edge the entire day waiting for news, since the reception on the GBF turned spotty during the battle.
“Congratulations General,” Thane replied, smiling down at Ellyn, who stood by his side. The Lady Merwinna was in camp, as were many locals, peasants and high born alike.
“Thanks...monitor the store Major. We’ll stay here the night and then swing over to Pilton tomorrow morning. We’ll probably visit Crook; a small village Sir Æthelnoth says is on the way back. Expect us around 1600 hours or so. We’ll report in if running behind...out.”
The crowd around the command tent immediately erupted with more cheers, and Merwinna joyfully ordered the celebration to begin. Matt, who was as happy as anyone, quickly pulled aside his officer
s and insisted on doubling the guards. He even positioned the sentries himself, ensuring that all the remaining hummers were arranged to cover every possible way into the camp. Everyone else was free to socialize, but he set up quick relief for those who’d drawn guard duty so that everyone would have a chance to join in the fun. There were a good many local men about, most being refugees from Pilton or huscarls, peasants, or stable boys, but it was the soldiers from the future who attracted the attentions of nearly all of the ladies present.
It did not take long before someone appeared with an instrument, and then two, and then three, so that music quickly filled the air. Most played lutes, or flutes, but there was also a small horned instrument which reminded Matt of his own days long ago with the clarinet. John Garraty also joined in, playing the guitar, though not nearly as well as Goldstein, who was off at the moment killing Danes.
Many of the soldiers were dancing, or at least trying to learn. They were completely open and danced with noble women and peasants alike. Word quickly spread among the eligible ladies in the vicinity that the strangers did not necessarily prefer noble over commoner, that, plus the fact that the men showed all members of the gentler sex great respect and adoration, attracted the women-folk like nothing else. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was girl of five or a elderly matron of fifty, the men always reacted with a strange kind of reverence for any female, comely or not. Needless to say, the strange soldiers were very, very popular with the female locals, of course it didn’t hurt that they were all very large, in excellent shape and smelled absolutely divine. Compared to the local men, nobleman or commoner, the soldiers stood out starkly. At the moment the women outnumbered the soldiers by a healthy margin, but that was not something any of the soldiers seemed to mind in the least.
The Lady Ellyn monopolized Major Thane however, and showed him many of her favorite dances. She kept him very close with knowing smiles, and fleeting touches. It was obvious to all that she was quite taken with him, something even he could sense. He was worried that she was so young, and that his time here could end at any moment, but he loved to talk with her, learning of her life and her world. She was beautiful, and intoxicatingly different from anyone he had ever known.
The Temporal Knights Page 19
