“Yet you two lived.” Harold sneered.
“Our duty was to you, Lord. We had to try to save as many men as we could so that we might yet defend the city.”
“And just how many of my brave Englishmen did you save?”
“We led just over a thousand back to Eoforwic. By the end of the day a few hundred more had also come in singly or in small groups. Many were wounded and all were exhausted, but I would say that those that are able to fight again number just over eight hundred.”
Harold was visibly shaken. “So many lost?” He slumped down with his head in his hands, contemplating the path he must now take. “I came north without my full army as I had to move fast but also because I had to leave numbers in the south in case of need. I had hoped that together we would be strong enough to force the Norse back to their boats.”
Eadwine, perhaps keen to regain some lost ground, dared to speak up once again. “Lord King, from what we saw at the ford earlier, you still have a mighty host. Surely it will be enough to put the heathen to flight?”
Harold seemed to have forgotten he was angry with the younger earl.
“Yes, but it is not enough, I fear, to force them to surrender. We will have to fight and place our trust in Almighty God to deliver us victory.”
Silence descended once more as Harold paced up and down, deep in thought. Other than the low murmur of the army settling in for the night, there was little to be heard. A few of the assembled lords glanced at each other, their faces etched with worry. With the loss of the northern fyrd, their chances of victory had diminished considerably. Eventually, Harold stopped mid-stride and turned back to the group assembled round the fire.
“Where are the Norsemen now, exactly?”
“Back with their ships, drawn up on the banks of the river at a place called Riccall; about a day’s march from here.” Morcar then bowed his head in shame. “After the battle, they said they would return in three days to take hostages; one hundred and fifty sons of the best families within the city, else they will sack Eoforwic and slaughter everyone within. With so few men fit enough to fight, we could not hope to defy them. We are to bring them to a place called Stamford Bridge, mid-way between the city and Riccall.”
Harold considered this information for a while. “Stamford Bridge, you say? If I am right, those three days expire tomorrow?”
“Indeed so, Lord,” Morcar confirmed. “The chosen ones are ready to leave Eoforwic at dawn.”
Harold turned his back to the fire, a look of excitement and anticipation spreading across his face. “Well, I say we go meet them, but we give them more than they bargained for.”
“What’s on your mind, brother?” Leofwine rose to his feet, his face breaking into a grin as his mind leaped ahead.
“In their minds, the Norse feel secure. They have won a great battle, taken Eoforwic and demanded tribute. But, they do not know that we are here, eh? So rather than sending them hostages, I will send them my army instead. With luck we will catch them unawares and make them regret ever coming here.”
“Is that wise, Lord?” Gyrth was ever the more cautious of the siblings. “Should we not negotiate a settlement? You said yourself that our numbers are not sufficient to guarantee success.”
“Wise be damned! We have no choice, Gyrth. We do not have the strength to force them to surrender; our noble brothers here have seen to that. And I will not spend hard-earned English coin on bribing these Norse scum to go away. I need all the money I have to face the Norman bastard next year, should he come. No, let us be bold and make use of this chance the Lord has given us to achieve a great victory. Let us not forget we have an even greater enemy to the south, Would William not shake with fear when he hears of our great victory here. With luck he may even decide to put aside any thoughts of invasion.”
Gyrth nodded in acceptance. “What are your plans then, brother? We should act now as there will be much to do this night if we are to be ready.”
Harold laughed, his tone more good-natured now that his path was clear. “You’re right as ever, Gyrth. Send word that we march to Eoforwic at dawn.”
“Why so, Lord?” Leofwine asked. “The enemy is to the east of the city.”
“For two reasons, Leofwine. First, we link up with the remaining men from Morcar and Eadwine’s fyrd; we will have need of them, I think. Second, we can then take the road east from the city which will be quicker.”
“Also, that way, we will approach the Norse from the direction from which they expect the hostages to come?”
“Exactly, Scalpi. You are not just a big dumb brute after all; you also have a brain hiding up there under that shaggy thatch of yours. If we arrive along the road from Eoforwic, it may help to buy us time to get close to them before they realise who we are. With luck we will fall on them before they work it out. Right,” he clapped his hands together. “Enough talk. Be about your business.”
***
“What’s it like, father?”
Scalpi yawned. “Eh? What’s what like?”
“Battle.”
The older man rolled over on to his right side so he could face his son, fidgeting with his cloak as he did so, to make sure the thick woollen folds covered him as far as possible. Despite the day’s warmth, there was a definite autumnal chill in the air; the clear night sky doing nothing to prevent the heat from escaping.
“Can’t you sleep, son? It’s been a long day and you need to rest before tomorrow.”
“I can’t. There’s too much going on in my head.”
Scalpi grunted and raised himself up on to one elbow, his grizzled features illuminated in the last flickering flames of the camp fire. “I remember I was the same before my first battle. It’s natural to feel scared.”
Thurkill sniffed. “I’m not scared.” He was grateful for the shadows, though, so his father could not see his cheeks redden. “I just want to know what it’s like to be in a battle, that’s all.”
“I meant no insult in my words, son. Mark me, though; a little fear is a good thing. It keeps you sharp and you will need all your senses about you if you want to come through the battle unscathed. The man who tells me he has no fear of battle is either a liar or stupid.”
“What was your first time like?”
“I don’t recall a lot about it, if I am honest. I could not have been much older than you are now. All I remember was that I had no idea what was going on. I seemed to be stuck in the middle of a heaving press of bodies, mostly standing, but many underfoot also, either dead or dying. It was all I could do to stay upright. First lesson I was taught was to stay on your feet at all costs; for once you were down, there’s no way you’re getting back up. You’ll either be trampled to death or someone will stick you like a pig you as you lay there defenceless. In all the time I was there, I’m not sure I landed a single meaningful blow. And I’m certain,” he chuckled at the memory, “I didn’t manage to kill anyone that day.
“But, don’t worry, son. You’re well trained – unlike I was, I should mention - and me and the rest of our lads will be there to look out for you too. God knows your aunt will have my guts if I let anything happen to you.” As he finished speaking, Scalpi reached over to give Thurkill a playful cuff round the head. “Now get some sleep, or at least shut up and let me get some.”
Thurkill lay on his back staring up at the sky, mulling over his father’s words as he watched the stars. With only the wispiest of clouds scudding across an otherwise clear night sky, he could see hundreds of them spread across the vast expanse of blackness above him. It took him back to his childhood when he and Edith had loved nothing more than to lie on their backs counting stars in the meadow behind Haslow on a warm summer’s night. He wondered what life would bring him, should it not end tomorrow of course. If God saw fit to spare him, what would be his destiny? He knew there were other, far off lands out there; he had seen many a merchant at the king’s court and he often found himself wondering whence they had come and what it was like in their homela
nd. Some of them had dark skin, brown like an otter or bear. Others were almost as dark as the night sky itself. Having spoken to a few of them, they’d told him it was so hot where they came from that the sun had changed their colour. At first he had found this hard to believe and had long assumed they were making fun of him. They even claimed that it rarely if ever rained. How could that be true? Surely it rained there almost every other day just like in England?
Whatever the truth of it, he hoped one day to see such far-off places to find out for himself. No sooner had that thought entered his mind than he felt a pang of guilt. He could not abandon Edith. He’d sworn an oath to protect her for all time, even should she marry and have a family of her own. He would have to put thoughts of travelling to foreign lands out of his mind. Duty came first.
He glanced over to where his father lay and saw that he had long since fallen asleep. His breathing, now slow and regular, was comforting, reassuring even. It made him feel like he was back at home in their hall where they often slept close together by the hearth. Despite his father’s advice, though, he doubted he would sleep at all tonight. Tomorrow would be his first taste of battle. Tomorrow he would, for the first time, face a man who would be trying to kill him.
FIVE
25 September, Tadcaster
“Come on, you lazy-arsed pig. It’s time to kill some Vikings.”
Thurkill groaned, rolled over and opened one eye. His father was up and already shrugging his byrnie over his shoulders, shaking it down into place along his arms and legs. The metal gleamed in the early morning sun, the result of Aga’s hours of scouring and polishing in readiness for just such a day.
Despite everything, he must have dropped off for at least a short while. The fug in his head, however, suggested it can’t have been much more than an hour or two, but anything was better than no sleep at all, he supposed. Grunting with the effort, he pulled himself to his feet and wandered over to where an open barrel stood next to one of the supply carts. The grass under foot was sodden with early morning dew and he could feel the damp seeping through the leather of his boots as he walked. Shedding his heavy cloak, he dunked his whole head beneath the freezing cold water before standing up to shake his shaggy mane, cascading water in all directions to the loud complaints of those nearby. The sharp, stinging sensation helped to clear his head but he still felt groggy. He balled his fists into his eyes to try to clear the sleep from them; they felt as if they were buried in sand.
Yawning heavily, he trudged back to where they’d been sleeping, using his cloak to dry off his hair as much as possible. His father was already strapping on his sword and looking round to collect his spear and shield. “Hurry up, son. If you’re quick there’ll be time to get some food. I hear they have eggs and porridge on the go.”
“Gmmmph”, the sudden thought of food caused Thurkill to retch. He’d felt queasy since waking but had put it down to a lack of sleep, but this was something else. Clapping his hand over his mouth, he rushed away from the camp to a nearby clump of bushes. As he ran he realised with horror that his bowels were also demanding immediate attention. Dear God, he prayed, let me get behind those bushes before it’s too late.
A while later, he stumbled back into the camp, still clutching his guts. Scalpi stood waiting for him, hands on hips, shaking with laughter. “I guess you’ll not be wanting breakfast then? Still, that little clear out should help. Nothing like a good shit and a puke to make you lighter on your feet in battle, eh?”
“Father!” Thurkill hissed. He was already embarrassed and did not want everyone around to know what he’d just been through.
“Ha ha, don’t you worry, boy. Everyone goes through it one time or another. It’s natural. In fact, you’re one of the lucky ones; you’ve managed to get it out of the way before we fight. It’s much worse when you need a shit in the middle of the battle, I can tell you that for nothing.”
Thurkill doubled over in pain again, holding his stomach, “I’m not sure that’s the end of it yet. It feels like the world is trying to escape from my arse.”
Two more trips to the bushes later, Thurkill was finally dressed and ready. Together with the rest of Harold’s huscarls, they were now formed up ready for the march to Eoforwic. His guts were still doing occasional somersaults but at least he felt he had it under control now. Being active helped; it took his mind off his anxiety. His father had been right, he realised, once things were up and running you felt much better.
It promised to be a warm day. The sun was climbing steadily, warming the land as it went, burning off the early morning dew. There was no breeze and the shockingly blue sky was devoid of all cloud. When the sun finally did reach its peak, he thought, they really would be sweating like oxen pulling at the yoke. Ever the leader, his father had warned all those in earshot several times now: “Drink plenty, lads. If you get too thirsty you’ll be too tired to fight and then you will die. Don’t worry about needing a piss; you’ll be losing so much through sweat there’ll be nothing there.”
Before long, they were on their way, following Harold’s standard – the fighting man of Wessex – that was held aloft for all to see. The king rode at the front with his brothers. Behind them came their huscarls, Thurkill and his father in a place of honour in the second rank. Though mounted, they travelled at walking pace as they were now accompanied by the bulk of the northern fyrd who marched on foot.
Though the day was getting steadily warmer, the men were still fresh and well supplied with water. Spirits were high as the prospect of battle grew ever closer. The thought of catching the Norsemen unaware gave the men an extra spring in their step. Here and there, snatches of song were belted out lustily, interspersed with jests and insults thrown about good-naturedly. Many had not been in these parts before and men looked around them with the excitement of children at the new sights and sounds around them.
They reached the city just after midday. If any had been concerned about the reception that awaited them, they need not have worried. Though they might have taken against Harold’s rapacious brother, Tostig, that enmity did not seem to extend to the king. Many hundreds of Eoforwic’s inhabitants lined the walls of the city, waving and cheering as the army approached. The fyrd came to a halt fifty or so paces outside the southern gate, where Harold, his brothers and a number of their senior lords dismounted and went forward on foot. They were met at the gate by Eadwine and Morcar who had returned earlier to make arrangements for their arrival. Behind the two earls stood a group of young boys; in their teens mostly by the looks of them, Thurkill thought, many of them the same age or even younger than his beloved Edith.
Harold strode straight over to the group, embracing each of the earls in a show of warmth and respect for the benefit of the townsfolk. “Who are these fine looking children?” he smiled, tousling the hair of the nearest boy.
Eadwine stepped forward. “Lord King, these are the hostages that were demanded by Harald Sigurdsson. They were due to be sent to the Norsemen today as a guarantee for the safety of the people of Eoforwic.”
“Yes, but what are they doing here like this, as if ready to leave? There is no need to send hostages now that I am here.”
“Yes, Lord, but they wanted to greet you all the same, to give you thanks for their deliverance.”
Harold smiled broadly and held out his arms to encompass the assembled crowds. “My loyal people, what sort of king would I be if I could not protect your children? We have hastened here from Lundenburh to deliver you from the ravages visited upon you by the Danes and - with God’s help - we will bring the invader to heel and make them rue the day they invaded my kingdom.”
A great cheer greeted his words. Amid the tumult, Scalpi cupped his hand round his son’s ear and spoke as loudly as he dared. “This is a welcome omen, son. Harold has never travelled this far north; it was thought that he and his family were not well liked here. To see him welcomed like this is wondrous indeed. It is a sign we may yet carry this day.”
Thurkill was
less convinced, “I guess when you have a horde of marauding Norsemen on your doorstep it’s easier to put aside any other feelings.”
His father grinned before punching him playfully on the arm. “Who taught you to be so cynical? It surely cannot have been me. Come on, enjoy the moment. The people are cheering us and great deeds will be done this day. Let us fight together, you and me, side by side and pray that we bring honour and glory to our name.”
Scalpi then turned to face the rest of the huscarls, drew his sword and thrust it into the air. “For God and for Harold. Let us drive these pagan bastards back into the sea. Let us burn their boats and make them swim back home!”
***
They stayed in Eoforwic no longer than the time it took to take on more water, eat a quick meal and for the remains of Eadwine and Morcar’s army to join the king’s host. They were about to leave when a scout came galloping up to Harold, jumping from the horse’s back almost before it had stopped and running the last few yards to where the king stood. Panting heavily, he knelt to make his report. “Lord, I come from the bridge at Stamford.”
“Well met, friend. What can you tell me of the Norse strength and disposition?”
The scout could barely contain his enthusiasm. “The fools. It is God’s will that they be destroyed this day.”
Growing impatient, Harold barked. “Explain yourself properly, man. Unless you now claim to be a great war leader, just give me facts.”
“Forgive me, Lord. Excitement clouded my judgement. The Norse are drawn up west of the bridge. It looks like they are getting ready to move closer to Eoforwic.”
“Hmmm, this side of the river, you say. And about to move further in this direction?” The scout nodded, still breathless from exertion.
“And why do you believe them to be fools? It is not a description of our enemy that I readily recognise.”
Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2 Page 4
