by C. R. May
Erik cursed. ‘I should have killed the brat long ago,’ he spat, ‘the gods know that I have had enough opportunities. How many men accompanied him?’
The thane’s features became a frown. ‘Forty or fifty? It was difficult to tell King Erik — not only was the sun at their back as they tried to force their way through, there were also riderless horses among them.’ Despite his wound, Cenwulf puffed out his chest. ‘They attempted to hack their way past us, but we kept them out. In the end they had to bypass the village,’ he said as he raised an arm to point, ‘down there, to the West. That was an hour after dawn, although a lone rider followed on an hour or so after that. We would have ridden to the earl’s hall, but with raiders in the area I had to look to the safety of the families here before I went chasing off over the hill with the able bodied men.’
Erik noted the hint of shame in the man’s voice and moved to lay his fears. ‘There is no blame attached to yourself or your men, you did well to deny them passage through your village; who knows what destruction they would have caused had they got through. As for the lone rider, he was one of my scouts. If it is Dyfnwal we seek, the bastard will be looking to cut the corner before taking the old road across the moors to get home by way of Cumbraland. How far away is the road from here?’
‘Only five miles,’ Cenwulf replied. ‘Follow this track north and it will lead you directly to it. With your permission King Erik, I will send out riders to muster the fyrd as I recover the body of my earl and his friends.’ The thane fixed his king with a look of determination as he went on. ‘Even if I arrive too late to witness the death of my lord’s killers, I should like the satisfaction of gazing upon their corpses.’
Erik replied with a curt nod. ‘You would be welcome — no leader ever complained that his army was too large.’
Recognising the figure of the king and thankful that they would be spared a fight against such overwhelming numbers, the shield wall barring the way ahead had quickly broken up, and Erik guided his mount aside with a tug on the reins as he glanced at the position of the sun. It was already the third hour, he was at least a couple of hours behind the men he wanted to kill. ‘If I am to catch them I need to keep moving,’ he said, clicking his tongue to urge the horse forward. ‘I have left two men with the dead back at the hall. Have the Christians buried at the church here, and I will attend to the heathen upon my return.’
Erik rode forward, past the lines of grateful men and into Hindrelag itself. The usual gawping faces staring from open doorways and he was through, the king urging his horse into a gallop as the path ran directly across what would have been a field of sun kissed barley only a few months before. Away from Hindrelag the fields gave way to woodland, and as the trees crowded in and the shadows lengthened it became a simple thing to follow the tracks of the invaders as the pathway turned muddy. Twin hills channelled the track as Erik led the army northwards, and as the gradient increased the trees drew back once again to reveal the figure of Mord on the skyline ahead. Erik urged his horse up the final slope, and as the men of York spewed from the greenwood behind him he reined in and pointed to the West. ‘That way?’
The scout nodded. ‘Yes, King Erik — we are chasing fifty armed riders from Strathclyde led by Dyfnwal.’
Erik nodded. ‘Yes, I know. We were told their identity by Cenwulf Thane back in Hindrelag. How far ahead are they?’
‘I left them resting at a place called Bogas, but the conditions hereabouts make them difficult to track.’ The scout cast a contemptuous look at the surrounding countryside. ‘The moors are too open with barely a tree,’ he explained, ‘and I was forced to leave the road and use what cover I could find — dips, gullies and the like. Luckily they do not appear to be in too much of a hurry, the majority of the time I was observing them they were riding at little more than a walking pace.’
Erik’s eyes flashed. ‘I had hoped as much. If they had had any idea I was in the area they would not have gone ahead with the attack — this time of year they expected that I would be keeping snug and warm in York. Now they are making for home on tired mounts, without an inkling that I am on their trail.’ Erik’s mind was working as he spoke, and he seemed to recall the name of the place where Dyfnwal and his men had camped from the last time he had ridden the road — on his way to rest up at the big Roman fort at Hreyrr before the battles at Haydon and Corebricg. ‘Bogas?’ he said. ‘Is that the place with the stone bridge?’
Mord nodded. ‘That’s right lord. The English call it that because the bridge is bow shaped. There are a couple of huts and the remains of a smallish fort, nothing grand, just folk eking out a living offering food and shelter to passing travellers.’
‘And how far away are we?’
‘About ten miles, but most of the route is through patchy woodland so we can use the road for speed without fear of being spotted. The final few miles will be in the open as the path begins to climb up towards the summit, so we will have to assume that we will be in for a tail chase once their guards see us coming.’ Mord sighed. ‘I wanted to stay and trail them, but I couldn’t be sure you knew who we were facing. Once they reached a stone sett road they could have gone in either direction without leaving any trace, and with Hauk now swinging from a bough we lost our best tracker in the fight at the earl’s hall last night.’
Erik slipped a silver ring from his forearm and handed it across to the scout’s obvious surprise. ‘Humility is a Christian trait,’ he said, ‘and I don’t recall seeing you at any service I have endured, but tail chase or not they are weary men riding tired horses. We shall run them to ground long before they can reach the western dales, avenge our friends, and feed the carcasses to the crows.’
In the short time it had taken for the scout to make his report the rest of the army had made the roadway, and Erik wheeled his horse as they fell into line and issued a curt call to battle. ‘A short while ago they were resting ten miles ahead of us,’ he snarled. ‘We outnumber them three to one, so bring to mind the sights which met us back at Regenwold’s hall and leave none alive.’ By the time the words were out his horse had turned full circle, and Erik threw back his heels as his huskarls rode to his side. Before the crash of hooves on stone could drown it out Erik thrilled to the sound of his battle banner snapping free from its ties, and as the column picked up speed and the trees closed about them once again the greenwood quickly became a blur.
Within a short time the woodland began to thin, and despite the steepening slope Erik urged his horse to make an extra effort as he sought to bring the murderers beneath the blade of his axe before they could escape. As the trees fell away behind him the gradient increased again, doglegging to the south as it traversed the hillside before straightening out once more to head for the summit now clearly in view. Erik cursed as the turn sapped the momentum from his ride, and his worst fears were confirmed within an instant as the blare of a warning horn drifted down from the heights above. The sound came again as he reached the turning point, the yip-yip-yip more urgent now as the upslope filled with his men, and Erik tugged at the reins as the road changed course for a final time to run the last mile to the bridge.
In the clear now Erik reached back to retrieve a javelin from its carrying place, raising his eyes to catch a glimpse of the enemy as the first wisps of smoke were teased from the lodges at Bogas by a freshening wind. The leading men were clearly in view half a mile ahead, crouched forward as they urged tired mounts into a gallop, but closer still Erik thrilled to the sight as the last of the raiders gained the approach to the bridge and the first lick of flame began to show at doors and windows. They were obviously the men who had been ordered to fire the buildings before they followed on, and Erik shifted the weight of the spear in his hand as he grasped the chance to bring a horseman down despite the distance. Erik’s arm went back the instant he found the point of perfect balance, and a moment later the breath exploded from him as he channelled all of his strength into the throw. The king was already reaching for another as t
he javelin flew true, but as he watched the point of the spear began to trend downward and he knew it would fall short. Moments later the blade of the weapon was striking the setts a glancing blow, skipping along the ancient surface in a welter of sparks before disappearing into the grass at the roadside. The attempt had not gone unnoticed by the enemy horseman, and Erik watched with satisfaction as the rider bringing up the rear looked back, the pale oval of his face betraying his fear even at a distance.
As the last of the enemy cleared the apex of the bridge and dropped from sight, Erik led the men of York past the aged ramparts of the old Roman fort and through the burning buildings of Bogas. Scattered about the bodies of the inhabitants lay like bloody rags, but Erik’s horse paid them little heed, barely breaking its stride as it picked its way between them. With the settlement behind him the land steepened again as it approached the bridge, and higher now Erik could see that Dyfnwal and his raiders were little more than half a mile ahead.
But if the change in tone told him that he had gained the bridge, the sight which met his eyes as he crested the high point caused the king to gasp in horror. Certain in their minds that they could never outrun the pursuers on weary mounts, the rearguard had turned back to face down death rather than be hacked to pieces from behind as they fled. Taken by surprise, Erik instinctively hauled on the reins as the wall of shields appeared before him blocking the exit to the bridge, and he let out a curse as the horse struggled for grip on the slippery setts. An instant later horse and rider were going down, and it was all that Erik could do to snatch his leg away as the animal crashed on its side and began to career towards the enemy. The points of their spears were less than a dozen paces away, beyond them the grim faces of men who knew they were about to die, and Erik knew that he would have to act quickly if he were not to beat them to Heaven or Valhöll. The torso of his horse had begun to spin as it careered onward, and Erik pulled his knees into his chest as he waited for the rump to come around. The moment it did so his feet shot forward, and as he felt his slide towards certain death begin to slow his hand had already found the grip of his sword. Erik drew the weapon in a flash, opening his body as he prepared to fight back, but even as he did so a glimpse was all it took to show that his horse had already started the killing. Spinning like a top the beast had crashed into the defenders, bowling men aside as it crashed through their ranks, and as Erik looked on a flailing hoof shot out to shatter a skull with an audible crack!
A heartbeat later Erik’s world darkened as his guards swept over and around him, and as the clash of steel replaced the clatter of hooves the king scrambled to his feet. Bodies appeared at his side as the rest of the men dropped from their saddles to rush to his defence, but as he prepared to lead them in a charge Erik saw that he was already too late. With their last-ditch defence shattered by Erik’s horse, the men of Strathclyde were now reduced to fighting singly or in pairs as the king’s veteran guardsmen chased them down. Helgrim Smiter was moving among the fallen, his bloody axe blade rising and falling as he stove in the skulls of those who had been crushed or thrown aside by the skidding horse. As the last defenders fell and his mount finally regained its feet to trot aside Erik stomped forward, bellowing his orders as he went. ‘Somebody get my horse — and the rest of you remount,’ he cried with a sharp look. ‘Every moment we spend here allows the enemy to draw further away.’
Back on his feet and with the way ahead clear, Erik was able to see the carnage which the horse had caused among the enemy defenders for the first time. Several bodies lay twisted and broken, and bloody streaks on the roadway led to the place where one of the men had been pinned beneath the body of the horse as it slid across the setts. The horse had quickly recovered from its ordeal, lowering its neck to pull at the roadside verge now that the fighting had ended, and Erik rushed across as he sought to chase down the fleeing king of Strathclyde and his gang of murderers.
Erik cursed as he ran his eyes over the wounded beast. Raw flesh glistening in the pale light of a northern winter day showed where patches of skin had been pared from the horse’s flank, and further down the belly strap hung by a thread where the weight of the horse had ground it against the roadway. Even if the animal was still up to the chase there was little chance that the saddle would hold together, and his eyes flew to the raiders’ horses as he raged at his luck. Kolbein’s words of warning back at the hall came to mind, but the die was cast whether Óðinn was with him or against him, and he was about to throw himself into the saddle when Ragnfrod appeared and dropped down at his side. ‘Here father,’ he snapped, ‘take my mount. A king needs to be seen to lead, and this old nag will never keep up. Besides, horses are not without feelings — they have looked on as the men they knew and trusted were chopped to pieces before them, and he may not be prepared to give his all for his master’s killers. Your horse looks a bit battered, but I doubt there is anything badly wrong with him. I will check him over while one of my lads replace the saddle with this one — it will only take a short while, and we will follow on.’
Erik grabbed the reins, hauling himself into the saddle as Sturla rushed over to transfer the king’s weapons from one horse to the other. Glancing down Erik spoke to his son as he prepared to ride. ‘So, you know what a horse is thinking now eh? That must be more Christian wisdom.’
Ragnfrod smiled as he slapped the horse on the rump. ‘Common sense father — get going, the army is waiting for you to lead them. I will catch you up as soon as I can.’
Erik clicked his tongue, guiding the horse across to the roadway as his huskarls threw themselves onto the backs of their own. Within moments the soft thud of hooves on grass changed back to a stony clatter, and as Erik’s body craned forward and his heels went back the horse sped away. After the zigzag which had caused them so much trouble when they exited the tree line Erik was pleased to see the road ahead ran as straight as a spear shaft towards the distant summit, and as the horse flew westwards he screwed up his eyes as he attempted to pick out the fleeing men of Strathclyde against the muted tones of the hillside. Instantly he had them, the raiders a ribbon of gaudy colour less than a mile ahead, and although his own horse was still gathering speed he could already tell that he was gaining on them.
Erik lowered his head, hugging the horse’s neck as he sought to gain every advantage in speed that he could, and as the hummocky outlines of a drumlin field flashed by to either side he snatched another look. To his great joy the wild ride was about to reel in the last of the raiders, and with the gradient increasing as they approached the summit the gap was narrowing with every passing moment. As the first fugitive came within reach Erik drew his sword, ready to strike, but at the very moment he unleashed the blow the rider threw a rearwards glance. The look came just in time, and if the horseman had been slow to realise how near the enemy had come his reactions were whiplash fast, and Erik’s powerful sword strike became little more than a glancing blow as the man ducked and squirmed from its path. Erik reversed the sweep as the horse thundered past, the blade whistling as it cut the air, but although he missed again a snatched look told him that his opponent’s deliverance had been brief as the rider was engulfed by an avenging Norse army.
Witnessing the fate of their countryman the riders ahead were urging their horses on, gruff voices in a foreign tongue and the crack of the lash making plain their desperation, and Erik brought his blade up as the next enemy came closer. The sword flashed again, and there was no mistake this time as Erik felt the blade drive through mail, leather and woollen undershirt to cleave muscle and backbone. As the foeman crumpled and fell away with a yell Erik raised his gaze, desperate to see how close he had come to the man he wanted dead most of all. But if he had thought the day almost won the sight that met his eyes came as a shock, for the rampart of Hreyrr Camp — a dark line against the lighter clouds beyond only moments before — was now black with men.
24
Svinfylking
Dyfnwal and his guardsmen were already coming within arrow
range of the fort’s defenders, and Erik spat a curse as he wheeled the horse to the right and came to a halt. Within an instant he was ringed by his huskarls, and as Sturla Godi carried the king’s war banner to his side a ring of shields was drawn tightly around the body of the king. Experienced eyes were already scanning the walls of the old marching fort as they measured the scale of the threat, and Helgrim Smiter spoke as the rest of the army left the roadway to deploy to the rear. ‘I make it one hundred and forty manning the walls, plus a further forty or so remaining with the column.’ He spat his contempt for the numbers opposing them. ‘If that is supposed to be an ambush, they might be in for a shock when we get among them.’
Kolbein added words of caution. ‘Who can say if what we see before us is all the spears they have? Not only could an army be forming up within the fort itself, why are they there at all?’ Erik listened as the veteran went on. ‘There are too many to supply remounts or meet the king and escort him home, so why not take the whole lot down to burn in Regenwold?’
Thorstein chipped in with a reply. ‘Because they would never have crammed so many horsemen into a small space like Regenwold’s courtyard. They were in hostile country, they needed to be in and out before they were spotted, and fifty men were enough to do the job.’
Erik listened in as his men offered their opinions, but time was against them and his mind made up. Aware that precious momentum was bleeding away from his attack with every passing moment, the king made his decision known. ‘Everything you say, for and against an attack, is good advice and you have my thanks. It is true that I am not the same man who was the first over the walls of Dublin, but if age has dulled my senses and chipped away at my strength my heart remains that of a Haraldsson. The truth is that if I had not listened to Gunnhild and brought along more men than I intended, we could not have pursued them at all and their plan would have met with success.’ Erik turned to Kolbein and winked. ‘Maybe Óðinn can wait awhile yet to add our little company to his army of heroes.’
