Fire & Steel

by C. R. May

  TWENTY-SIX

  “What do you think, Thrush?”

  Hemming blinked the grit from his eyes and stared to the West. “I think that it is.” He exchanged a look with his eorle and the first smile that morning began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “It's still a fair distance away but it looks like smoke to me.”

  Eofer dug his weorthman excitedly in the ribs as his eyes moved back to check on the enemy. “It looks as if they have noticed, too!”

  As they watched, a horseman spurred his mount across to the eastern side of the clearing and sat tall in the saddle as he scanned the distant horizon. The land rose gently towards the tree line there, and the Jute shielded his eyes as he peered west. Suddenly he tugged at his reins and cantered across to the place where the white horse banner snapped in the breeze. Eofer gave a low chuckle as he went. “It looks as though our friend over there agrees with us!”

  Men in the Jutish shield wall were beginning to crane their necks as the news spread through their ranks, and moments later a pair of riders galloped away from the rear of the army and disappeared back along the path which led toward The Oxen Way.

  As word spread among the exhausted men in the English burh and they began to understand the situation, Eofer watched as their faces turned and broke into smiles as the electrifying idea that the day might not be their last on Middle-earth began to take root.

  As indecision gripped their leaders, the men in the leading ranks of the enemy shuffled away beyond the reach of English spears and awaited their king's response to the new threat.

  Eofer's mind raced. He knew that the attacks in the West could very well be the salvation of his own force, but equally he knew that he had drawn King Osea and his household warriors to an ideal killing ground. He knew that he must act to keep the king and his finest men away from the army in the West. Every moment that he could hold some of the finest fighting men in the kingdom on this insignificant field would be of inestimable value to Icel and his ravaging army. He turned to his duguth as ceorls moved between the men in the wall with well-earned skins of ale.

  “We need to keep them here as long as possible. I am going to challenge their champion to a fight between the armies.”

  The men of his hearth troop turned their faces to him in shock. Thrush Hemming was the first to find his tongue. “No, you're not.” He pointed down at Eofer's swollen wrist. “How can you fight such a man when you can barely wield a weapon?” Eofer winced as Thrush suddenly shot out a finger and prodded the red and purple swelling. Spearhafoc knew a few of the cunning arts and she had managed to reduce the worst results of the earlier shield strike by using a poultice of spit-sodden leaves. It would be enough to enable her lord to continue to swing a sword and handle a spear, but they all knew that the limitations would soon show in a prolonged struggle against a bear shirt.

  Eofer determined to overcome their protests as he hefted his spear and exchanged a look with Oswin. “You remain here with the hildbeacn. Plant it firmly in the soil of our enemies. If they break through use your spear and keep the flag flying for as long as you can. Remember,” he smiled grimly. “If you die well, you may get the chance to learn from the word master himself in Valhall.” Oswin nodded wearily, but his eyes were bright. “I can recite my poem in the hall of heroes just as well as Eorthdraca, lord.”

  Imma Gold suddenly cut in. “I'll do it.” Eofer and Hemming both protested but the duguth was adamant. He shrugged. “Only a fool would fight between the lines with that injury, lord, and you have never been a fool before. Your wrist will hold up in the shield wall against regular warriors but you know as well as I do that a warrior of reputation would spot any weakness in a heartbeat and exploit it mercilessly. The men are in a hard enough place as it is,” he said, “without watching their eorle being diced up before them.” As Eofer sucked his teeth at the admonishment Imma turned to Hemming. “You are weorthman, your place is at your lord's side, especially in a situation like this. Besides,” he winked mischievously at his friend, “we all know that I am the better man in a fight.”

  The wail of a war horn pierced the air and they looked across at the Jutish host as their leaders began to dress the ranks for another attack.

  “It looks as if they have made their decision,” Imma said, “they want to finish us quickly and be away. If we give them time to think, they will realise that they have enough men to leave a force to pin us here and ride west at the same time. I need to go now.”

  Before Eofer could protest, his duguth had hefted his shield and spear and shouldered his way into the ranks of the fyrdmen. “Come on, Oswin,” he called over his shoulder, “come and watch a hero fight. You can craft a verse and make me an eorle.”

  The youth looked at Eofer and the thegn nodded. “Take the dragon flag but leave my own banner with Spearhafoc,” he said with a jerk of his head. “Hurry.”

  As Oswin frantically searched out Spearhafoc, Eofer called Grimwulf across.

  “Feeling sprightly?”

  “Never better, lord,” he said with a wry smile. “I never thought that I would look back with fondness to the night that I was shipwrecked, but it just might happen today!”

  Despite the bone-aching weariness he felt Eofer gave a snort and pointed to the west. “You see the tree line there? Do you think that you could make it into the woods before the horses ride you down?”

  “Easy, lord.”

  “Good, when Imma and Oswin have their attention I want you to make a break for it. Follow the river to the West and find the ætheling. Tell him what is happening here.”

  Imma had already left the safety of the shield wall, and they watched as their friend began to pace the blood-slick grass between the rival hosts as Grimwulf made his way to the western end of the position. An excited buzz came from both sides as the men realised that a challenge was about to be made and Eofer watched with pride as Imma crossed to the Jutes and stalked the line. The Jutes remained steadfast behind their shields as Imma strode along, pushing against the boards with the point of his spear and clattering the leaf-like blade against the helm of any man who averted his gaze. It was one of the most provocative acts that Eofer had ever witnessed on the battlefield and within moments one of the fiend had taken the bait.

  As Imma shoved against the man's shield he returned the push with a snarl, and the English watched with mounting excitement as Imma paused and backtracked. As he did so he brought his spear shaft across to strike the man smartly across the side of his helm and within a heartbeat they were facing one another, toe-to-toe. As the men of both hosts filled the air with raucous cries of support and encouragement, Eofer watched with pride as his duguth exchanged muttered insults with his foe.

  Hemming leaned close, a pensive look on his features. “I don't like the look of that, something is happening, lord,” he said. “I have a bad feeling about this. Bring the boys back.”

  Eofer raised his brow. “What's wrong?”

  “They don't look as if they are coming down to discuss the rules of the fight,” he said, pointing out a group of men pushing their way through the ranks opposite. “That looks like Jarl Heorogar and his hearth men.”

  Eofer looked and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Hemming was right, it was Heorogar, and despite the distance and the sea of faces which swam between them, their determined movements reeked of aggression.

  Hemming spoke again, his voice heavy with concern. “Call Imma and Oswin back, lord.”

  Eofer's gaze took in the rival armies. Both hosts were a seething broth of stabbing spears and snarling faces as they sought to support their respective champion; it would take a clap of thunder to drown them out. Heorogar and his men were close now, there was no way that Eofer could bring support to their brothers in time. He flashed a look at Spearhafoc. “How many arrows?”

  She dragged her gaze away from the confrontation opposite and looked at him in surprise.

  He snapped out again. “How many? Quickly!”

  The youth's mouth gape
d, but she swung the opening of her quiver forward. “Just one, lord,” she finally blurted out. “I was saving it in case I got the chance of a shot at their king.”

  Eofer snatched the hildbeacn from the girl and pointed with his sword hand. “Put it into Imma's shield, now!”

  She hesitated, unsure if she had heard him correctly, but he snapped out again and his expression left no room for doubt. “Now!”

  As Spearhafoc slipped the bow from her shoulder and nocked the arrow, Eofer looked back. The Jutes in the front ranks were beginning to turn as they became aware of the pushing and shoving behind them, but Imma's shield was still facing the English position and they had a chance. A moment later a rush of air caressed the thegn's ear as the shaft sped away and he watched anxiously as it cleared the heads of Penda and his men by a hand's breadth and thudded into Imma's board.

  The big man took a sideways step at the unexpected jolt to his shield arm, glancing down at the shaft which had appeared there before looking back towards his lord. Even at distance, Eofer could see the look of incomprehension written on his friend's features as he desperately pointed towards the oncoming threat with the shaft of his spear.

  At last, Eofer saw the moment when Imma noticed the jostling at his shoulder as Heorogar and his men approached, and he reacted in an instant as he understood the danger. With one sweep of his arm he brought his spear crashing up into the unprotected neck of his adversary. As the man staggered and his hands went instinctively to his throat, Imma danced back and drew his sword with a graceful sweep as a shocked hush descended on both armies. Oswin had yet to develop the instinctive reactions of a warrior faced by sudden, unexpected danger, and Eofer looked on helplessly as his youth stared about him in confusion. A moment later Heorogar burst from the ranks of the Jutes and the English found their voices again as the jarl plunged his spear into the undefended side of the boy. Oswin spun around to face the English wall, and a dark gout of blood spewed forth as his mouth fell open in a rictus of pain and horror. As the spears stabbed out and the youth slumped to the turf the English looked on helplessly as Oswin bared his teeth in his agony. Despite the pain and fear the boy recalled his lord's instructions, thrusting the banner high until, with a silvered slash, a sword chopped down to sever his arm at the elbow.

  A great roar issued from the watching Engle as their war flag was beaten down into the mud and trampled as the Jutes advanced over the gore-slick lad and came upon Imma. Penda's voice came above the indignant cries of the men of the shield burh, and despite the desperation which he felt at the sight which was unfolding before him, Eofer recognised the value of the man as he roared at his men to keep their formation. Penda knew as well as Eofer that the next few moments would determine whether they survived the day or not. If the English broke and chased the killers, abandoning the relative safety of the burh for a fight in the open, they would be quickly surrounded and cut to pieces. For a heartbeat the front rank of the English wall bowed and splintered as the less disciplined men of the fyrd surged forward, eager to avenge the killing and snatch back the banner of their nation from the hands of its enemies.

  As the war dragon was snatched up and tossed from spear point to spear point over the heads of the jeering Jutes, Eofer watched in dread as Heorogar and his men moved to surround his duguth. The way was still open for his friend to beat a hasty retreat back to the safety of the burh, and he recognised the torment between self preservation and reputation which must be fighting for control of him. Suddenly, Imma glanced his way and a knot of emotion came to Eofer's throat as he recognised the warrior's eyes fix on to the burning hart hildbeacn and follow its staff down to the place where his lord stood with his friends.

  Imma and Eofer locked eyes, and the duguth flashed a fatalistic smile as his mind accepted the only honourable decision available to it. A tangible sense of expectation fell upon the men of both armies as they too came to realise they were about to witness the death of an eorle, a hero.

  Imma was the first to strike. Throwing his shoulder into the boards of his great shield he charged into the Jutes who had gathered to his left, barging them aside as he brought his blade swinging down to take the leading warrior just above the knee. As a bloody arc sprayed from the wound, the man went down, his sprawling form adding to the chaos all around. As fast as a snake, Imma had reversed his sword. Now it was scything out to his right as Heorogar led his hearth troop in to the attack. Surprised by the speed of his lone opponent, the jarl barely had time to swing his own shield across to deflect the strike aside as, stirred by their man's courage and already inflamed by the fate of the war flag and the youth who had held it, the English host roared their support.

  Eofer looked on with a stomach-churning mixture of pride and shame as his duguth fought his final battle. At his side, Hemming sensed his lord's humour and he leaned in and spoke above the din. “You share no part of Heorogar's shame, lord. We needed to keep the king here while our lads burned their lands to the West.” Eofer went to reply but his weorthman anticipated his words and cut him short. “If you had gone down there it would have been you now fighting your last battle. If this Heorogar is so blinded by the need to take the blood-price for his kin that he is willing to lay aside his honour and reputation to kill a duguth, what chance would you have had? If you had fallen,” he added sternly, “either our shield wall would have broken as the men surged forward to take their revenge or the fighting spirit would have deserted them. We've seen that happen before and you know it to be true.”

  The fevered yells which had engulfed the pair suddenly trailed away and their heads snapped back, already certain of the cause. Imma had taken his first wound, a spear thrust to the back of his thigh and, as the Jute tore the blade free Imma staggered as the strength deserted his limb. One of his attackers grew overconfident and Imma's blade shot out to take the man in the throat but the strike had laid him open to a counter attack and it quickly came. The English fell silent as Heorogar's sword stabbed forward to take the Englishman in the shoulder and, as the strength left his shield arm and the great board dropped to his side, Imma called on the last of his vigour to make one final attack. His sword blade flashed silver in the morning light as the eorle struck at the jarl's helm, but his duguth raised their shields to deflect the blow as Heorogar stabbed forward to pierce the Engle's gut. As the swords and spears of the enemy began to rain down on his helpless friend, Eofer searched again for a sign that Icel was near. If Grimwulf hadn't made it through, Imma and Oswin may be merely the first of his band to die that day.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Eofer sighed and pushed Hemming away with his shoulder. “For the gods sake Thrush,” he pleaded, “will you keep still?” His duguth looked sheepish but his shoulders still dipped and his spear arm stabbed out at imaginary enemies. “Sorry, lord,” he answered. “I can't help it.”

  Osbeorn added his voice. “We are going to have to split up, lord. Give the remaining men a strong point to fall back on.” He held the eorle with his gaze. “We can't carry on as we have been. While we are fighting desperately to shore up one part of the wall, another will collapse.”

  Eofer remained silent as he cast an anxious look across his shoulder to the West. The smoke there was thickening, more and more columns rising into the sky until they merged into a seal grey wall. He muttered under his breath and his men looked away, conscious of the weight of responsibility on the young thegn's shoulders. “They must give way soon.” As the noise of battle roared about them, Eofer spoke again. “How far away do you think the ravaging is taking place?”

  Octa grimaced as he worried his beard; “a dozen miles or thereabouts.” He pulled a face as he made a suggestion. “Jelling?”

  Eofer nodded. “It would make sense. Send men to draw off the wasps and burn the main hive while the defenders are away.” The fear which he had tried to push down deep all day returned with a vengeance. What if the ætheling had always planned to sacrifice them here? Eofer was experienced enough in the ways of war to kn
ow that his little band were expendable; it was a real possibility. He suppressed the fear with difficulty. The men looked to him for leadership. If the old hags were hovering about his life thread with their shears he would go to Woden with his head held high. “Unfortunately for us,” he joked, “we were the stick which they used to strike the nest.”

  A rumble of grim laughter rolled around the group as the men there reached the same conclusion as their lord. If the ætheling and his army were still that far away there was little hope that relief would arrive before the desperate knot of defenders were overwhelmed. The Jutes could see the smoke as well as they, and they had attacked with renewed ferocity as they struck back at the only English force within reach, hoping to crush it quickly and move west to confront this new threat which had appeared in their midst.

  Osbeorn spoke again. “Eofer, we can't wait. If we don't go to the fight the fight will come to us, and soon.”

  A last look of regret over his shoulder and Eofer came to his decision. “No, we stick together. If I am going to Valhall, I am taking you ugly bastards with me!” he smiled. “I have an idea which may sow some confusion in their ranks and win us a little more time. At the moment it is too easy for them. A short burst of spear-play at the place of slaughter, and then back for a drink and a rest.” The eorle bared his war grin and his men took heart as he pointed deep into the Jutish host with the point of his spear. “We have yet to avenge our hearth friend. You see that bastard Heorogar?” he snarled. “Let's see if we can send him on ahead. He can tell Woden to tap another barrel so that it is ready and waiting for us when we arrive.”

  The Jutes had pulled back as they exchanged places with the next wave to batter the English cliff, and the thegn inhaled deeply and took the half dozen paces which were all it now required to reach the rear of the shield wall. As Osbeorn and Hemming moved to his sides, Octa tucked in behind as the fyrdmen moved aside.