The Day of the Wolf

by C. R. May

  The priest nodded that he had.

  ‘Then lay their necks upon it,’ Erik said as he heft Jomal. ‘And I shall close the circle.’

  16

  The Fox is Flushed

  With the orb low in the southern sky the sunlight chased the shadows from even the most wayward nook, streaming in through the open doors to paint the gable end with its glow. Erik prowled the margins as the men made their case, picking at a wedge of cheese as he listened in. The rind was as tough as old boot leather, but every morsel was precious on campaign and the king worked it around his mouth as Thorstein rose to speak.

  ‘I say we attack,’ the big man growled. ‘Make ready for the march tonight, leave before dawn and our mounted men will reach the enemy while they are still half asleep.’ The huskarl ran his eyes around the group as he looked for support. ‘Even without Oswulf’s army and Regenwold’s detachment we still have more than five hundred mounted men with us, and we can send word to the earl to rejoin us as we ride. That will give us a force of eight hundred mounted men, more than enough to pin the Scots in place while those on foot make their way to the battlefield. We know that the Sudrey jarls are less than fifty miles away, and the Orkney men near the Moray Firth and marching south.’ Thorstein ran his eyes around the group, seemingly at a loss to see that there could be any hesitation in taking up his plan. He turned his face to a fellow huskarl, opening his arms wide as he made a final plea for support. ‘Helgrim, you must be of the same mind? We have trudged north for months, and here we are within a few miles of the man we came all this way to kill. Tell them to grasp the opportunity, now while it is there, or we shall have to return next year to hunt the man again and things may not go so easily. With a full year to prepare a defence he will be ready, and may well spring a surprise or two of his own.’

  To Thorstein’s delight his friend agreed. ‘Yes, we have to kill Mael Colm this year. Who knows how long the southern English will be led by a weakling? What if king Eadred recovers, or dies? With more time to plan, what if our old friend Olaf Cuaran takes advantage of our absence in the North next year to mount an invasion of his own?’ He paused to swallow a mouthful of ale, before flicking a look across to the place where Erik was washing the last of the cheese from his mouth with a draught of his own. ‘Thorstein is right, lord,’ he said. ‘We must attack.’

  Keen to hear the views of his most trusted men Erik had withheld his own lest he sway them either way, but as he prepared to share his thoughts the man whose rede he was beginning to value above all others rose to say his piece. ‘What do we know for certain? What more do we know now of the whereabouts of Mael Colm, that was hidden from us when we arrived at this place?’ Harald Eriksson looked about those seated around the hearth and gave a shrug: ‘nothing…’ Before anyone could counter he spoke again. ‘All we have to go on is the word of two young fools, men who thought it would be an easy thing to sneak into camp and kill the king of Northumbria in the middle of his army. What if they were expected to fail and were being used by Mael Colm to bait a trap?’ Erik watched proudly as his son began to reflect his own fears. ‘You both say that king Eadred is weak and ailing, but his kingdom is as strong as ever, rich in silver and men. If the southern English decide to spend a little of that silver paying for an army from Dublin or for a Viking fleet of their own, we are a month’s forced march from home — by the time word reached us York would have already fallen, we shall all be landless wanderers and my father shall be a sea king once again.’

  Harald’s wisdom had driven some of the fire from the pair, and Erik watched with satisfaction as the men gathered around the hearth nodded their heads in agreement. Harald opened his mouth to speak again, but the words caught in his throat as the doleful note of a signal horn carried to them from the watchtower outside. Erik tossed his drinking horn aside, making for the doorway as the sound trailed away. Already on the high point of the settlement it was only a matter of moments before the king was scurrying up the ladder, and as he reached the platform the lookout raised an arm to point northwards. ‘The Vindalfr is in sight lord,’ the watchman reported as Erik came alongside him. ‘And she looks to be in a hurry.’ Erik looked out to sea. The Wind-Elf was leaping the waves, clouds of spray necklacing her prow as the bow rose and fell, and Erik watched with mounting excitement as the crew of Gamli Eriksson’s ship worked the braces to capture every breath of wind. Helgrim had joined him on the small platform, and the pair, king and huskarl exchanged a look as the rest of the flotilla rounded the headland and the voice of the lookout told-off their prow beasts one by one: Langháls — Skelfa — Hestr — Skær...

  Helgrim spoke as the man rattled off the identities of the longships. ‘Gamli is not one to run around like his arse is on fire for no reason, Erik. It must be the news we have been waiting for.’

  Erik nodded. ‘Let us get down to the strand.’ He threw the lookout a parting instruction as he began to descend again. ‘You know my son’s fleet well, that is why you were entrusted with this duty. Keep your eye on the sea beyond the headland, but don’t forget to look for any sign of riders inland. We have our own patrols out, but it pays to be sure. If any ships or horsemen appear that you don’t recognise send a runner to tell me straight away.’ Erik was through the hole in the platform before the man could reply, and in moments he was back on the ground. The others had abandoned the hall by now, bunching at the foot of the ladder as they waited to find out what the signal horn had indicated. Erik reported what they had seen as Helgrim dropped to the ground at his side. ‘Gamli is returning,’ he said, ‘and by the look of it the Midgard Serpent must be on his tail.’ Erik indicated the little riverside settlement beyond the town walls. Men could be seen lining the brow of the earthworks, peering northwards as news of Gamli’s mad dash spread. ‘Let us get down to Stroma. Hopefully my son’s council can help us decide whether we march the army up to Fetteresso, or begin the long haul home.’

  A well-trodden path connected the hilltop settlement of Celurca to the more rough and ready trading port of Stroma, and Erik cast a wistful look at the sea as he walked. The sun was westering now, dusting salmon-pink shards over a rack of iron-grey clouds. The waves surged and seethed, spurting where they broke over rock or skerry — even in summer the sea here could be broodier than a mare in heat. With the treasury in York full to overflowing following the victories of the last few years, he had had no need to raid for almost the first time since he had left Norway; no longer a young man at first it had seemed a boon, but as the months ticked by and he had kicked his heels in the King’s Garth, Erik had come to realise just how much ships and the sea had become a part of the man he was. For a moment he wished his crowns away and he was back on the beach, that first night out of Thorir’s hall in Nausdal. The faces floated into his mind then, some still vivid in the firelight: Anlaf Crow; Ulfar Whistle Tooth; Skipper Alf — others cobwebby and indistinct as the relentless march of time dimmed his memory of them. And the ships: Reindyr; Bison; the Skipper’s skei Fjord-Ulf and his own ship Isbjorn, long gone now — her back broken racing a whale! Erik chuckled at the memory, the sound breaking the spell and causing his sons and guards to cast him quizzical looks. He shrugged and snorted, pulling a threadlike smile. ‘Ghost ships and dead men…’

  His reminiscing had eaten up the time it took to walk the quarter mile which separated the two camps, and Erik raised a hand to acknowledge the chants of the men lining the earthen bank as he came into its shadow:

  Blóðøx! — Blóðøx! — Blóðøx!

  Men were rising to their feet as he entered the compound, brushing mud and grass from breeks and tunics as they watched the king pass, and soon Erik was at the waterfront, the soft pad of foot upon earth changing to a clatter as he mounted the boardwalk and gazed out to sea. The king’s hirdmen Grettir and Gunnar were there, the brothers dipping their heads as he passed, and they tacked on to the throng following on as Erik made his way to the end of the landing stage. Erik threw an instruction over his shoulder as he
went. ‘Rustle up food and drink for the crews. They will not have had much time to eat if they have driven their hulls hard all the way down the coast.’

  When he looked back the Vindalfr was in sight, the sleek hull heeling as she came about on the starboard tack; shields wedged tight in their racks caressing the waves — the Tents of Battle; Wound Moons; the Clouds of Óðinn of the skalds. Erik watched in admiration as the sail was brailed, the spar rattled down the mast, and oars slid proud of the hull to row the ship home. In the shadow of the land the longship was picked up by the incoming tide, and as the lookout in the prow kept a practised eye out for sandbars and floating debris another crewman swung a line to take soundings in the unfamiliar waters of the river mouth.

  With the great woollen sail safely stored amidships and the snarling beast head stowed lest they unsettle the landvættir — the land spirits of the Norse or the wulvers and kelpies of the Scots — Erik was able to search the faces on the steering platform, and an involuntary smile spread across his features as he caught sight of his firstborn for the first time in months. Gamli had spotted him in return, and the grin which flashed bright in the sunlight set the old king’s heart racing as the ship began to turn its prow to the bank. A flash of colour to seaward, and a quick glance to the East showed where the snekkjur were coming about, the little ships bounding the waves as they pointed their own prows to the river mouth and followed on.

  In what seemed little more than an eye blink the Vindalfr was before them, and Erik smiled to himself as Kolbein came up to cast a critical eye over the skill of the styrisman as the big paddle blade was worked, the oars withdrawn and the larboard strakes kissed the quay. Ropes were tossed to willing hands, and as men ashore tied them off a gangway clanked on the quayside. Gamli was first off, and Erik looked proudly on as he bounded down the boards. His boy looked every inch the seafarer, from the crow feet around his eyes to the salt spray on his breeks, and Erik took up a kingly stance as his son drew up before him. ‘Hail Erik Haraldsson, King of Northumbria, overlord of the Orkneys, Shetlands and Sudreys,’ the lad began. ‘I bring you great news father.’

  Erik pushed down the temptation to tell him that he had received information of the whereabouts of the king of Scots; of the uprising in Moray and the call to arms at Fetteresso. There was glory enough to share. Gamli continued as his oath sworn Hoskuld and Svan hurried ashore and came forward to support their lord. ‘Mael Colm has been in the north, suppressing a rebellion by Cellach of Moray.’

  Erik nodded. ‘We have heard whispers, but our source was…’ He hesitated, as he searched for the right words to describe the unlikely informants. ‘Let us just say that they would have said anything by the time the final toe came off.’

  Gamli’s eyes widened in surprise. Pitiless torture was not his father’s way, but Erik shrugged it off. ‘It was not my doing, but we needed to know.’

  The thunk of wood being driven into wood carried across to the pair, and the mood lifted again. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the welcome sound of ale barrels being tapped. Disembark your men and we shall share what we know over a horn or three.’ The crowd parted to allow father and son to pass, and Erik looked on gleefully as Gamli and Harald embraced. The other Erikssons joined in the ruckus and Erik left them to it, exchanging grins with his guards as his wolf cubs yammered and yelped. A cart had been manhandled onto the dockside as Erik had awaited the arrival of the Vindalfr, and he was pleased to see that men were already piling the wagon bed high with bread, cheeses and oatcakes; off to the side several barrels were now tapped and ready to slake the thirst of travel weary seamen. A quick look over the heads of the others told Erik that the smaller ships were preparing to run ashore a little further down the strand, and Erik gave instructions to the men there as he filled the first horn. ‘Wait until the shipmasters are ashore before you allow the crews to touch the food. They will ensure that every man receives the amount which reflects his worth.’

  Gamli had extricated himself from the ruck, and Erik handed the horn across as he turned to fill another, thought better of it, and heaved the barrel onto his shoulder. ‘Come,’ he said as he shifted the weight and held on tight. ‘Let us go aboard your ship; with the snekkje beaching themselves downriver it is about to get rather busy — the deck of a skei is the perfect place to share our news away from the crowd.’ Erik indicated that the men who had followed him down from Celurca tag along with a movement of his head, and his spirits lifted another notch as he walked the plank and stepped aboard a ship for the first time that summer. As the king set the ale barrel upon a coil of rope the others trooped aboard, and Erik handed each man a full cup as they dragged the crew’s sea chests into a circle and took their places. Gamli waited until they were settled, and on receiving a nod from his father the king, he began to share his news:

  ‘A week ago we were raiding along the southern shore of the Moray Firth when we were hailed by one of Arnkel Torf-Einarsson’s ships which had been sent out to waylay us. It seems that our friend the king of Alba had struck north, surrounded the hall of the laird of Moray one night and burned him in for his support of a rival claimant to the throne. The Torf-Einarsson brothers and their army of Orkneymen were within sight of the flames, and assuming it was the work of our own fleet which they had seen from the hills that day, rushed to join us. When they got there they not only discovered the truth of it but also the laird’s son, a man called Crinan, who had been returning from a hunt and survived the attack. The son was able to tell them not only that Mael Colm had issued a summons for the northern levy to meet him at a place called Fetteresso on his return, but that the king himself was only a few hours ahead of them.’

  Erik worried his beard as he listened in, and he inclined his head as he made a comment of his own. ‘We had been told of the king’s journey north but were unaware of the outcome. We also had word of the muster at Fetteresso, but your confirmation is more than welcome. Can we assume that the Orkney men are attempting to overtake Mael Colm before he reaches safety?’

  Gamli nodded. ‘Yes, father — and they have been joined by the men of Moray and the new laird.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Erik said. ‘With my own kinsmen and an avenging son on his tail, Mael Colm dare not let the pace drop for a moment. When he does arrive back, he and his men will be exhausted.’

  Erik ran his eyes around the group as Gamli topped up his drinking horn, and was unsurprised to see that Harald was clearly itching to ask a question of his own. Erik nodded his assent as Gamli regained his seat. ‘We have heard that this Fetteresso is twenty miles or so to the north of here. You have been up that way, can you tell us anything of it?’

  Gamli smiled. ‘Not only did we slow our sprint south just long enough to spy out the coastline, we overtook a fisherman who was keen to keep his head upon his shoulders in return for a description of the lie of the land.’

  The men beamed and shared a look. This was just the type of information they needed if they were to head off Mael Colm and stop him going to ground. Gamli revelled in the moment before a look from his father set him off again. If Mael Colm had been chased south for the best part of a week, even on blown horses he must be nearing his destination. There was no time to lose.

  ‘Fetteresso is situated within a maze of river courses and marshland a few miles inland from a small fishing village known as Stonehive. It’s the ideal place to gather an army if there may be opposition nearby — the clans can assemble in dribs and drabs but the pathways are too small to mount a major assault. The only north-south road worth speaking of is the very same one you used to ride here. It continues northwards, passes through Stonehive and then follows the coast along an old drover’s causeway across the marshes. Assuming that the Scots know that they are being pursued by the Orkneymen, this is the fastest and most likely route they will take.’

  Helgrim cut in. ‘Well, that is fine. If there is only one road surrounded by marsh, all we have to do is cut that road and wait for him to fall into our lap.’

&
nbsp; Gamli remained silent, and Erik glanced across and pulled a face: ‘but, there is more…’ He was not to be disappointed. ‘But there is the fortress at Dun Foither, just to the south,’ his son continued. ‘We had a good look from the sea on our way here. It is built upon a rocky promontory, precipitous, practically a sea stack, and if Mael Colm gets in before we can cut him off, well,’ he said gravelly, ‘we will never get him out.’

  Erik ran his eyes around the group as Gamli’s words sank in. ‘If we are to give ourselves the best chance of killing our foe, we will have to move quickly. I will leave the levy men here at Stroma to await our return, and send word to Regenwold to join us if he can. Harald,’ he said, ‘search out Olvir and Mord — have them ride out and find him. The rest of you prepare yourselves for a hard ride — we leave within the hour.’

  17

  Dun Foither

  The horsemen drew rein as the fortress came into view, and Erik shifted in the saddle and let out an involuntary groan. ‘If he is in there,’ he said finally, ‘I will set up camp and starve the bastard out — even if it takes all winter.’ Helgrim shot him a look of surprise. ‘Do you think that is wise lord? You may well find that the price you pay to take Mael Colm’s head will be the crown of Northumbria. As Harald said back in Celerca, Eadred of Wessex, Olaf Cuaran or some other sea wolf is likely to take advantage of your absence from York.’

  Erik pulled a roguish smile. ‘I said that I would raise a siege here, not that I would be the one prosecuting it.’ The smile widened into a grin. ‘I would appoint someone in my stead, you know,’ he said with a wink, ‘a trusted huskarl or the like.’

  To Erik’s surprise the suggestion was not met with the look of horror he had expected, and he listened in as Helgrim took up the threads of the idea. ‘It could work,’ the huskarl mused. ‘While we have the manpower to hand, use the York levies to throw up a bank and ditch; leave a strong force here when the others return south, and resupply them by sea.’ The pair looked to the East. Before them the solid blackness of the rocky outcrop dominated the view, but to either side wide sandy bays stretched away to north and south. ‘Down there is the perfect place to beach a ship — they could bring in food and news from home while rotating the men to relieve boredom and help to keep disease at bay. We will need to keep a longship or two here, despite the winter weather,’ he said with a frown, ‘to stop the defenders bringing in supplies or even taking the king out.’ Helgrim’s eyes widened and he snorted. ‘We would look bloody silly then!’