They set off at no more than a fast trot. It made no sense to tire the horses out too soon; they might need their strength before long. They decided not to follow the river too closely for this was the most direct route and the one the Normans would surely expect them to take. Instead, they struck further south, skirting the still smouldering ruins of Redding on their left, until they picked up the old Roman road that headed south west from Lundenburh to the coast.
By now the sun was low on the horizon, presaging the onset of night. Not wanting to be found close to the road, Thurkill led them a few hundred paces along a narrow path that took them further south into a small close-knit copse of beech and alder. It was far enough from the road to shield them from prying eyes, and yet close enough that they could see any who passed that way. They tethered the horses to the trees that were furthest from the road, making sure the mast beneath their hooves was plentiful amongst which they could forage aplenty.
Following a brief meal of the remains of the fruit and cheese they had grabbed from their market stall, the five of them settled down for the night. With no fire to warm them, they huddled as close to each other as possible for shelter from the breeze and to share what body warmth they had.
Thurkill took the first watch, taking up a position with his back up against a tree which, whilst a few paces back from the edge of the copse, allowed a sweeping view of the road in both directions. As he sat there, willing himself to stay awake, his thoughts turned to Hild. Eardwulf would have reached the city a few days ago and he hoped he had managed to send news to her about the army that had now crossed the Thames and stood poised to descend on Lundenburh. In his heart he did not know whether Edgar’s army would survive the coming onslaught. And then who knew what the Normans might do to the city and its inhabitants were they to be victorious?
Would Edgar try to defend the city or would he march out to meet them on open ground? Thurkill wondered what he would do were it his decision? It was hard to know in truth; he was no strategist after all, just a fighter, albeit a good one, with a fire in his belly that would not fade until the every last Norman whoreson had been killed or sent homewards.
His thoughts were cut short by a tug on his sleeve. Looking up in a state of mild panic, he saw Leofric leaning over him. It must be time already to change the watch and yet it seemed he had only just sat down.
“Get some sleep if you can, Lord. We’ll wake you come the dawn.”
“My thanks, friend. It’s quiet here. With luck it will stay that way.”
TEN
A hand on his shoulder shook him awake. Instinctively, he grabbed for his seax which he always kept within reach.
“Hush, Lord. Enemies afoot.”
He recognised Leofgar’s voice in the darkness and let go of the knife. It was still dark, the only light coming from the thinnest sliver of moon. He reckoned it would be some hours yet before the first flush of dawn crept over the eastern horizon.
Stifling a yawn, he whispered. “Whither?”
“Yonder.” He followed the direction of Leofgar’s outstretched arm, which pointed back up the road along which they’d come the previous day. In the distance, he could see small pin pricks of light against the black canvas of the night. Two, or was it three? It was hard to tell this far away.
“Fires, Lord. Three of them by my reckoning. They sprung up not long since.”
“An enemy you say? How many would you reckon?”
“Who else would be travelling in the dead of night and have the balls to go about lighting fires? Three or four men to a fire would mean ten to a dozen, I’d say.”
Thurkill nodded in agreement. “Wake the others, Leofgar. But quietly. We must leave without delay. Hopefully they’ve settled down for the night and don’t know of our presence close by. With luck we can fool them.”
They walked the first couple of miles. It was too dark to ride safely; a horse might easily break a leg. Leaving the copse behind them, they struck out east across open meadows. Thurkill would have liked to have re-joined the road, but with the Normans on their trail, it was a risk they could not take. It irked him though for he was desperate to be back with Hild. His place was there, protecting her, not walking through a meadow in the wrong damned direction.
A few hours later, they reached a narrow stream, where they halted briefly to let the horses drink and to replenish their own skins. In the distance, the first signs of the new day were beginning to show as the horizon was lightening little by little. Thurkill doubted they would see much sun, though, as a thick, forbidding bank of cloud had rolled in, sealing off what little light had come from the moon.
With both horses and men refreshed, Thurkill gave the order to mount up. As the darkness receded with every step, the danger of a horse missing its footing was much reduced. At last, Thurkill patted his mount’s neck, glad to be on her back once more with the prospect of much quicker progress to be made. He was not familiar with the land through which they rode, but he reckoned that they would soon come across another road leading to the city. He knew many roads led there, like the spokes of a wheel connected to its hub. It was only a matter of time before they found one.
It was close to midday when he was finally proved right. Creating a steep ridge, they found the road in the valley below. It was not as wide or as well-kept as the last one but it still had the look of Roman engineering about it, stretching off into the distance, hardly deviating from its rigid course. Thurkill smiled to see it for he knew that Lundenburh and Hild lay at the end of that road.
“Lord!”
Twisting round in his saddle, Thurkill saw Eahlmund, ashen-faced, staring back down the slope. Looking past him, he saw what had caused his friend’s outburst. No more than two miles back, a small group of horsemen - surely the same as those whose fires they had seen last night – were riding hard, pushing their horses to close the gap between them. Thurkill did a brief count; ten. They were outnumbered two to one. They could not stand and fight, at least not for now. They would have to try to outrun them or else be slaughtered.
As he watched, he saw the lead man point in their direction and give a shout, the echoes of which reached him faintly on the wind. They had spotted their quarry. Immediately, they urged the poor beasts to even greater efforts with vicious looking jabs of their heels into their flanks.
“By the Devil’s hairy scrotum, how did they get so close?”
“God alone knows, Eahlmund, but we must stay ahead of them. Come on!” Without waiting to see if they followed, Thurkill yanked his mare’s head back round and surged forward down the slope towards the road. He had no idea what he was planning to do. He did not even know if they could outrun the enemy. Could he really hope to reach Lundenburh ahead of them?
At first the gradient helped, lending speed to their flight. But after a short while, the ground became uneven forcing them to slow the horses for fear of injury. As often as he could, Thurkill glanced back to keep track of the distance between them, all the while wracking his brains for some sort of plan. If they could try to match the pace of their pursuers, they should stay ahead for a good while, perhaps even until nightfall which was only a few hours hence at this time of year. Darkness would help even the odds for sure.
The thudding of their horses’ hooves filled his ears. His thighs ached with the strain of keeping a tight grip, while every joint vibrated with the jolting motion of the hardy little beast as it pounded its way over the grass, ears flattened by the wind. Thurkill’s long flowing hair flicked at his face as the air rushed past them, forcing tears from his eyes. He’d lost count of the number of insects he’d swallowed as he sucked great gulps of air into his lungs.
Reaching the road, Thurkill looked back for perhaps the sixth or seventh time. And now, finally, he saw the enemy. They had reached the summit, pausing for a moment to allow their horses to recover following the sharp ascent. By his reckoning, the gap had not closed much, if at all. But the glimmer of hope that rose in his heart was dampened by the knowl
edge that the Normans’ stronger horses would give them the edge on the road.
“What’s the plan, Lord?” Eahlmund spoke in breathless gasps, his face red with exertion.
“We keep going as best we can. With luck we will reach Lundenburh ahead of them, but if all else fails, we hold them off until the sun goes down. Then we stand and make a fight of it somewhere that suits us.”
“I’m not sure I like the odds.”
“Neither do I, Eahlmund. But the least we can do is take as many of them with us as we can, if we cannot escape them.”
His friend did not reply, but the look on his face told Thurkill all he needed to know.
They set off down the road, pushing their horses as hard as they dared. At first they seemed to keep an even distance ahead of their foe, but as soon as the Normans reached the road, they began to close with alarming speed, just as they feared. With the wind coming from behind, Thurkill could hear the shouts of encouragement with which they were urging each other and their horses on to yet greater efforts. They knew they were going to catch their prey. It was like sport for them, like hunting wild boar in the forests of Normandy.
Scanning the road ahead, Thurkill’s heart jumped as he saw a dark smudge on the horizon. It was hard to be sure but he felt certain that it must be the start of a great forest, perhaps even the western edge of the Weald which stretched from the Kentish coast all the way almost to Hampshire. If they could get in amongst the trees, they might yet be able to lose their pursuers or at least slow them down. It was time to make a decision. Looking back once more, he could see that the enemy was even closer than before. That settles it, Thurkill thought. There’s no way we can outrun them, not unless their horses drop dead from exhaustion.
Thurkill gave the order. “Head for yonder trees. We’ll make a stand there and use the land to even the odds a little.”
Leofric growled. “Good. I’ve had enough of running. It’s time to make the bastards pay.”
Whether he was scared or not, it didn’t show and Thurkill was grateful for the show of defiance as it helped embolden the others. He was under no illusions, though; it would be a miracle if any of them were to survive. The thought of these brave men’s deaths weighed heavily on his mind. It was a responsibility he knew he would never get used to.
“I’m sorry lads. I had hoped it would not come to this. I would understand it if any of you wanted to use the cover of the woods to run. You might not make it, but it might increase your chances.”
Eahlmund’s response was immediate. “Bollocks, Lord. You don’t get to kill them all by yourself.” A chorus of approvals greeted his words. Thurkill found himself humbled with pride. They might not be the best-trained warriors but what they lacked in skill they more than made up for in heart and determination.
“To the trees, then, and be quick about it.”
They swerved off the road, hitting the tree line a good thirty lengths ahead of their pursuers. Immediately, Thurkill felt his hopes rising. The trees - whilst closely packed together - were not so dense that they hindered their progress too much. Their small, sturdy ponies had no difficulty twisting and turning through the trunks, whereas he knew that the much larger beasts behind them would be more severely hampered.
Although it gave them an edge, Thurkill did not for one moment believe it would be enough. They would have to stand and fight sooner or later. But the trees would, at least, win them time to find a place suitable for an ambush. It would be the only way to swing the odds in their favour.
They trotted on in single file, Thurkill at the front, looking left and right for inspiration. All the while he listened for signs that the Normans might be getting closer. The soft earth under foot meant that they had no hope of losing them; the trail would be plain as day despite the growing gloom.
And then he saw what he’d been looking for. The path suddenly dove down into a narrow gully winding its way between a series of boulders that rose up to about the height of two men on either side. The gully was short - no more than fifty paces long - but the height of the rocks meant that there was no way out until you reached the end. It was as good a place as they were likely to find. Holding up his hand to halt the others, Thurkill barked out his commands. Time was critical; they had to be in position well before the Normans arrived.
“Leofric, Leofgar get yourselves up on top of those rocks on that side. Eahlmund and I will do likewise here. Eopric, take the horses and tether them out of sight down the path and hurry back here with your spear and shield. I need you to block the end as best you can so they cannot escape. Don’t put yourself in any unnecessary danger, though. If it looks like you’re going to be overwhelmed, get away from there as best you can.”
Leofric grinned; the thrill of the impending fight animating his face, masking any fear he might have felt. “What would you have us do, Lord?”
“Grab rocks. When they are all within the gully, we’ll take out as many as we can with them before dropping on them with our knives. It’ll be tight down there with not much room to manoeuvre, so swords and shields are pointless. It’ll be dirty work, lads. You’ll have to stick them up close; close enough to feel their breath on your skin and to smell their shit as they soil their braes in fear. Can you do it?”
“Aye!” They answered as one.
They had to move fast; they could already hear their prey forcing their way through the undergrowth, cursing and shouting as they came. As instructed, Eopric ran off, leading all five horses off into the trees. The rest of them seized what rocks they could find before scrambling their way up the boulders.
In his rush to complete the climb, Thurkill scuffed his shins at least twice before breaking a nail as he missed a hand hold, the sharp pain almost causing him to cry out which would have given away their position. He reached the top, just in time. From where he lay, with Eahlmund just to his right, he could now see the line of horsemen approaching the gully.
To his relief they appeared to be unaware of the impending threat. Doubtless, they assumed the Saxons would simply keep on running ahead of them. He allowed himself a thin smile, the plan appeared to be working so far. Lifting his head a little, slowly so as not to alert the enemy with any sudden movement, he glanced over to the other side to check on the two brothers. Sure enough, they were ready and waiting, focussed on the enemy below with wicked looking lumps of rock clutched in their hands.
The Normans were close enough now for Thurkill to hear their voices. Though he could not understand what they said, their tone betrayed no anxiety. Perhaps this might just work, he mused. At last, the rearmost horseman entered the gully. All the while, Thurkill prayed they would not be discovered. They were so close that one slight noise, one careless scrape of blade against stone, would be enough to give the game away. Finally, it was time. Leaping to his feet, he yelled “Now!”
All four men stood and hurled their rocks as hard as they could. At that range, they could not miss and nor could helmets save their victims. Each missile found its intended target and soon four men lay sprawled on the ground. With good foresight, they had targeted the men at front and back, so that the six still ahorse were now boxed in, unable to go forward or back in the narrow confines of the rock formations. The horses at the rear were unable to turn, whilst those at the front found their path blocked by Eopric standing behind his shield, spear point thrust ahead. It was a better result than Thurkill could possibly have hoped for. Panic was beginning to set in among the six remaining soldiers as they twisted this way and that, trying to sight their enemy. It was time to end it.
“Finish it, lads. Slaughter the bastards.”
They needed no encouragement. Their blood-lust was up, drunk on their early success and eager for more. Releasing their seaxes from their belts, each man, steadied himself for a heartbeat before jumping down onto the men below.
Thurkill timed his leap to perfection. With his knife reversed in his right hand, he landed on the back of the horse closest to him, simultaneously plunging h
is blade into its rider’s exposed neck. Blood fountained from the wound, drenching his face and arms. The soldier screamed briefly before crumpling to the ground.
Casting around to gain his bearings, Thurkill saw his next target and just in time. One of the remaining knights had drawn his sword and was using it to urge his horse forward as best he could in a desperate attempt to escape the gully. In his path stood Eopric, whose complexion had turned as white as the snow that fell in winter. To his credit, the young lad stood his ground, though he must have feared for his life. The smell of blood and death had panicked the horse, its eyes staring with wild abandon and its nostrils flaring. Like its master it, too, was desperate to be away from the carnage.
Thurkill knew he could not reach the man from where he was. But he had to do something; the next few seconds could determine Eopric’s fate. He urged the horse forward, raking its flanks with his heels. But the poor animal was wedged fast between the rock wall on its left and another horse to its right. Reluctantly, Thurkill did the only thing he could; he stabbed down into the other horse’s flank. It was not a deep cut - he did not want to injure the animal too much - but it was enough to achieve the desired result. Whinnying in terror, it surged forward, kicking back with its hind legs to clear itself a path.
As he hoped it would, Thurkill’s own mount took fright and followed its lead. With an unlooked for stroke of luck, the wounded beast then careened into the soldier’s horse, causing him to lose balance just as he was about to bring his sword down on Eopric’s bare head. It was now or never, Thurkill knew, he would not get another opportunity. He launched himself at the Norman, not caring whether he managed to stab him. Even if he could just knock him to the ground, then Eopric would be saved.
He took the man full in the back, forcing him out of his saddle. Thurkill held on tight to him as he fell. As they tumbled to the ground, Thurkill was vaguely aware of a cry of pain but he had no time to wonder whence it came, for the Norman was now snarling at him, writhing to be free from his grip.
Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2 Page 32
