‘Not here, but—’
‘Who am I?’
‘Vali, prince of the sword-Horda,’ said Bragi.
‘Whose son am I?’
‘Authun, lord of battle.’
‘Then respect me and call to arms. Call to arms!’
Bragi shrugged but took a horn from his belt. One of the endearing things about the old warrior was that he was almost permanently dressed for a fight. He even carried his helmet with him much of the time, though he drew the line at wearing his byrnie. He had been known to take his shield if he wasn’t going far, however.
Bragi blew three blasts on his horn, then walked into the hall and started rousing the men. At first few believed him and thought it a prank but, urged on by Vali, they stumbled outside and saw the beacon burning. That was never lit as a joke. Up on the hill another one answered it. Behind that, they knew, would be others, calling the men of the farms down to defend the shore.
Vali looked at what he had. Forty men, or rather boys and grandfathers, some still half drunk. He shouted and kicked at them to arm themselves. Hungover and red-faced, they opened chests in the hall, taking out weapons, padded jackets, a couple of byrnies and helmets. Shields and spears were found in a separate storeroom. Men stumbled and tripped as they pulled on their gear, clattered into each other as they reached for the weapons.
‘Sails!’ shouted Bragi from outside. Despite being clearly very drunk, the old man had his byrnie on and had taken up two spears, one stout and long, the other shorter and thinner, for throwing.
Vali didn’t bother putting on a byrnie, though he had a right to one. He grabbed a seax, a shield and a helmet, and gave them all to Bragi.
‘Shield wall at the top of the hill, the Hogsback, on the cart track at the side of the copse,’ he said. ‘They won’t get round the back of us through the wood, not in a hurry anyway. Have these for me there behind it. Put five archers in the woods and tell them not to fire until I give the order. Nothing as the enemy advance. Nothing, do you understand?’
‘Yes, lord, but will they come to the top of the hill? Surely they’ll plunder here and be gone.’
‘They have berserks aboard. They’ll come,’ said Vali. ‘I’ll ensure it. Our only chance is to fight them there. Get to the hill and set your wall, though be ready to receive me - I’ll be coming through it at speed.’
Bragi had been amazed when Vali appeared with the wolfman. He was even more amazed at the transformation in him now.
Hogni and Orri appeared from the hall.
‘Ah, Horda - good men,’ said Vali. ‘You’ll go with the archers into the woods to cover the front of the shield wall. You’ll see that they do not fire until my command. Then, and you’ll know the time, you’ll attack the enemy from the back.’
‘Yes, lord.’ Hogni and Orri were too hungover to argue, to point out that they were veterans of five raids each. Anyway, Vali was a prince. In battle, that is what princes are for, if nothing else - they give the orders.
The longships were closer now. They could hear the baying of the berserks, the sound of them beating their shields and their bodies, the oaths to Odin and the curses on the enemy. The voices were indistinct, but if you had heard the chanting before you would know what it said.
‘Odin!’
‘That means fury!’
‘Odin!’
‘That means war!’
‘They speak our language, sir,’ said Orri.
Bragi shook his head. ‘Look at the ships; they sit so shallow in the water. These bastards are Danes - their ships do no more than kiss the waves. I saw them at Kaupangen. They’ve hired a few pirates from near here, no doubt, but these are Danes.’
Vali turned to his band. ‘I am Vali, son of Authun the White Wolf, plunderer of the five towns, peerless in battle. As the prince here, I assume command, as there are no princes of your own to lead you. There are three ships there, eighty warriors at least. It is beyond us to fight so many. Yet we will make them pay so dear a price for what they take that they will curse the day they set sail for our shores. Until I arrive at the top of the hill, Bragi is in command. Offer a prayer to your gods and tell them to prepare to receive you.’
Bragi nodded and beckoned the men after him. They streamed through the village, women, children and dogs chasing after them.
Adisla woke at the commotion. She looked around her. She had slept in the open, a borrowed cloak over her, and her hair was wet with dew.
There was shouting and screaming and the smell of fire. Children were wailing, men and women crying out. She looked over to where Vali was marshalling his force and then out to sea. Three sails. Chanting. She knew what was coming. So did the wolfman. For the first time he strained against his bonds.
She had heard what Vali had said: they were all to die. It seemed wrong that someone who had lived his life so free should die tied like a pig for slaughter. She took the bag from Feileg’s head.
The first thing the wolfman saw after Adisla was Vali. He let out a low snarl of such fury that Adisla stepped back. Feileg had remembered the face of the sleeping man and guessed who had taken him prisoner.
She looked at him. ‘I intend to let you go,’ she said, ‘but first you must swear that you will not harm me or mine.’
‘I will protect you. I will serve you.’
‘Swear it, on whatever gods you have.’
‘I swear it on the sky and the land,’ said Feileg.
‘Then this is the only service I require of you: that you will not harm him, my love, who brought you here,’ said Adisla. ‘I hold you to your oath. Can you keep it?’
‘Yes.’
She took a knife from her belt and cut through his bonds. The ships were closer now, the men almost individually visible. She sawed and cut. The wolfman was bound at the hands and at the neck. No one noticed what she was doing in the panic. Eventually he was free.
Feileg stood, moving like an old man getting out of bed.
‘Now go. You are in danger from both sides. Go!’
‘I will stay with you.’
‘No,’ said Adisla. ‘I forbid it. Go. You swore me your service now do as I say and run.’
The wolfman stared at her. In some ways he reminded her of an animal, a dog, craning its head in curiosity at hearing an unfamiliar sound.
‘The wolfman is free, sir!’
‘Adisla, stay still; I’m coming!’
Vali was a bowshot away but coming towards them at a run, a seax in his hand. The wolfman saw his advance and bared his teeth.
‘Your oath!’ said Adisla.
The wolfman took her by the shoulders. ‘I will not forget you,’ he said.
And then he kissed her - a child’s kiss, no more than pushing his lips into hers - and was gone. Adisla was rigid with shock as Vali arrived at her side.
‘Adisla, are you all right? How did he get free? Are you all right? Darling, are you all right? Where is Drengi? Where is he? Where is your betrothed?’
‘I think he went with the other men to the hill.’
Vali frowned. ‘Well, he should be looking for you. You should be his first concern.’
‘What shall I do?’
‘Go to the farm and get your mother out into the fields. You must hide - you know the places. I’ll look for you when it’s done.’
Adisla hugged him and for the first time in her life understood the feelings of the women on the quayside as they wished their husbands off to war, and she knew what a man wants at such times - not reminders of the love he’s leaving, not adjurations to keep safe or wishes for luck. A man in battle needs courage, no thought that his death will inconvenience or upset anyone but himself. So Adisla kissed him and said the traditional parting words from a wife to a warrior setting out for battle.
‘Kill a hundred of them for me.’
He nodded, squeezed her to him and then let her go.
‘Run,’ he said. ‘Run for your life.’
She did, tearing up the hill towards her farm.
Feileg was delaying the landing and that gave Vali time to act. He had no idea where Forkbeard stored his treasure - that secret was known only by a very few people indeed - but in the hall there were enough fine cups and wall hangings to suit Vali’s purpose. He tore a couple of hangings down and wrapped as many of the metal plates and cups as he could inside them. Then he tied them loosely and ran outside. He knew the berserks would follow him simply if he taunted them but he wanted to give the rest of the warriors a reason to chase him too.
Now he really could see the enemy clearly. The longships were only a short distance from the shore and parallel to it. The warriors were screaming, howling like wolves and roaring like bears, some jabbering incoherently, some even fighting each other. Berserks, definitely. Vali swallowed. Good. That was what he wanted.
The ruddermen now evidently decided that one wolfman, no matter how magical, would not stand in their way. Turned by their oars, the prows of the boats swung towards the shore. Picking up the pace, the rowers sped the longships in to attack.
The wolfman had done what he wanted, given Adisla more time to get away. Now he too ran, and Vali was the only one left in the settlement, just a couple of scouts watching him from up the hill.
He waved to them and they waved back. He got onto his horse, swinging the clanking bundles up beside him. It wasn’t easy to balance the load but he managed it, dropping a couple of plates as he did so. That didn’t matter; in fact, it was all to the good. Vali wheeled his horse towards the shore, trotting towards the onrushing Danes.
A couple of berserks couldn’t contain their desire to get at him and leaped into the water, half drowning as they tried to stay afloat without letting go of their weapons.
Vali turned the horse side on to the approaching boats and screamed at them, ‘Too late, you cowards. Can’t you see? Forkbeard’s treasure is flying from you!’
A few arrows flew from the nearest longship and Vali instinctively pulled back on the reins. Not one arrow struck him but the animal took fright, staggering sideways, bucking and kicking him off. Vali landed in the water and the tapestries spilled open, showering cups and plates into the sea. The clatter spooked the horse even more and it bolted.
A roar went up from the incoming boats. Vali was badly winded but had no time to recover. He gathered up what he could in his arms and staggered up the beach towards another horse.
Behind him he heard a heavy crunch as the ships grounded.
‘Odin, slayer! Odin, madman! Odin, war-drunk! Odin! Odin! Odin!’
The berserks didn’t even stop for the plates and cups, just charged at him. Vali made the other horse, untied it and mounted. He had one silver cup left from the hoard he had bundled into the tapestries. He raised it towards the berserks. As he did so, he saw a familiar face. At the front of the charge was a massive man in a white bear skin, a cleft right down the front of his forehead. It was the berserk who had killed the monks, Bodvar Bjarki. He had a throwing spear in one hand and the huge iron rattle in the other. So now he was their leader.
It had been three years and Vali was a stronger man than he had been then, but he reminded himself of his plan. Still, he called to the berserk: ‘Remember me, you half-witted coward? Have you come to pay me for my slaves you killed?’
The berserk heaved the spear at Vali but the prince dropped his head flat to the horse and it sailed over him.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to require a little more than a spear. That can’t be worth much, even after we’ve scraped your shit off it.’
The berserk became even more enraged, charging up the beach without drawing his weapons. Vali was sorely tempted to ride him down but reminded himself that he had faith in the merits of organisation and a cool head on the battlefield. One of the reasons he’d given his gear to Bragi was that he didn’t even want the option to fight. This battle, he thought, would be won in the mind, like a game of king’s table, and he had to stick to his plan. He urged his horse a little way up the hill and then turned to see what was happening. The more sober warriors were disembarking, and he saw the banner of Haarik, king of the northern Danes of Aggersborg - the black dragon. As he’d thought: Danes fronted by local berserks. He wondered if the berserks had suggested the raid. No time to think though. He kicked the horse off at a fast walk, careful to stay out of range of the spears but not far enough away so he couldn’t be seen.
He heard the shouts behind him.
‘We will have your blood.’
‘Catch him!’
Good. He had their attention. Already Forkbeard’s hall was burning but the berserks were chasing him. Would they lead the rest of the raiders? He stopped as he left the settlement, holding up the cup again. He saw the man holding Haarik’s standard point at him, then a group of around forty warriors began to follow the berserks up the hill at the trot.
He rode away, the taunts of the enemy at his back. The most dangerous part of his plan was about to unfold. As he approached the woods he had to let the berserks catch him. He dismounted and held up the cup.
‘Cowards!’ he shouted. ‘Cowards!’ There was no point in finer insults on the battlefield; they would not be heard. The horse panicked and ran off. Now Vali had no means of escape. He would succeed or he would die, he knew.
A scrum of six or eight berserks was following Bjarki up the hill. They were near and a couple of spears thudded into the bank beside the track. Vali turned to see them screaming and posturing, pointing at him and howling. They’d stopped following, though. Vali pulled one of the spears out and threw it back, heaving it far too far as the heat of battle filled him. Never mind, he’d achieved his goal. The berserks came charging after him again.
He ran as fast as he could, aware that he was in a narrow sunken lane and that the advantage he hoped to give to his own force could now work against him, cutting down his scope for weaving and giving his enemies a clear target.
He was lightly dressed, but so were the berserks. They were bigger, heavier men though, and he was faster than them down the lane. Another spear thunked into the track beside him, then a hand axe hit him on the back, but luckily not with its cutting edge. He knew they were close - the effective range of the axe was nowhere near that of the spear. He hoped the shield wall would be in place as he came to the crest of the hill.
It was, thirty men in four ranks crammed tight into the lane. It was then he realised he had nowhere to go. He didn’t want to tell the wall to part because he wasn’t sure it would close again in time. He glanced behind him. The berserks were no more than twenty paces away.
‘Spears down!’ he shouted, sprinting towards the wall.
Bragi was at the front. He slapped down four or five spears so they were pointing at the ground.
Vali pulled one last effort from his legs and ran flat out. Then he spotted a tree root sticking out from the bank and veered towards the side of the lane. He hit it with one foot and thrust himself up over the heads of his men, missing his footing on the bank on the way down, crashing into the back rank and sending three men tumbling.
‘Spears up!’ shouted Bragi.‘Spears up!’
The men levelled their spears as the berserks came loping and howling towards them. One of the boys at the front fainted at the sight of the enemy. The men behind pulled him back by the legs. Vali’s sword was nowhere but there was no time to think about that. He shoved on his helmet, snatched up his shield and bundled forward through the line, moving to fill the gap. It was tight-packed at the front, no room to swing a weapon, which hardly ma
ttered as Vali didn’t have one.
‘Spear! Spear!’ shouted Vali, but no one heard him. He’d have to make do with just the shield until he got a chance to find his seax or another weapon. He gripped the straps behind the boss tight in his fist. Bragi could actually punch with a shield but Vali had never got the knack. The point, said the old man, was not to swing it but to drop your weight behind your hand in a quick jolt, the whole forward movement being no more than the width of a fist. He’d regularly seen Bragi fell men with the move for a bet when the old man was in drink, and now he wished he’d tried harder to learn the trick.
The women and the children behind him were screaming, the berserks were howling, his own men were shrieking curses and clattering their weapons. The noise alone was dizzying. The back rank, though disordered by Vali’s arrival, got some missiles away. Two spears, a hand axe and a couple of rocks flew towards the enemy. A spear took a berserk in the leg and, though he tried to run on, he was hopelessly encumbered. As the butt end of the spear dug into the bank, he screamed, stumbled and fell. The axe missed and the rocks too.
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