Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2

by Paul Bernardi

  His calm words had the soothing effect he’d hoped they would. Slowly but surely people began to disperse, to go about their business. Still wary but no longer at the mercy of unfettered panic. As for Thurkill, he felt disgusted with himself. Though he had not lied, he felt he had not been truthful either. Whilst he did not know for certain, was there honestly any other likelihood than it being the past catching up with him? Still, there was no more he could do about that now. Spying Eahlmund up on the wall, he beckoned him down to join him.

  “Friend, go find the brothers, Copsig, and Eardwulf and bring them to my hall. We need to talk.”

  While they waited, Hild pressed him about FitzGilbert. “So how do you know that he has sworn to kill you?”

  “Wouldn’t you if you were in his position? The Normans have a similar honour code to us; they demand a price to be paid for a wrong done to the family.”

  “But that man murdered your sister and aunt. He deserved to die.”

  “I will not argue with you, Hild. Presented with the same opportunity, I would do the same again. My only regret is that I did not make him suffer more or for longer and I care not who knows that. Richard was scum and I did the world a service by ending his life. But none of that matters to Robert. All he knows is that his brother is dead and that I killed him. He was always going to try to even the tally.”

  “So, what can we do?”

  “That is what I intend to discuss with you and the others when they arrive for it affects all of us, especially you.”

  “How so?”

  “What if you are pregnant? You were already the most important thing in my life before, but now you are doubly so. I cannot risk anything happening to you.”

  Hild placed her hand delicately on his cheek and fixed him with her gaze. “I may not be, you know?”

  “Are you sure? My aunt always used to say that a woman knows these things; that she somehow feels different. Do you feel… different?”

  Hild paused. “Well, I have been a little out of sorts, I suppose. My breasts for one, feel heavier, as if they have somehow grown. Have you noticed, husband?”

  Thurkill stared at his feet, feeling his cheeks flush red as he did so. “I…”

  Hild laughed. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. I’ve caught you staring at me when you think I’m not looking. I’m not a fool.”

  “Well, you can hardly blame a man blessed with a wife as pretty as you, can you?”

  He thought it was a valiant attempt to recover some of his lost dignity but Hild was having none of it. “You men are all the same and don’t try and dress it up otherwise,” she sighed. “Always thinking with the contents of your trews.”

  ***

  Thurkill stood facing his companions, seeking some sign of their mood from their expressions. They were sat at a single bench close to the blazing hearth, their faces inscrutable masks leaving him with no clue as to their innermost thoughts. Briefly, he filled them in on what had happened by the river and how he suspected the knights they had encountered belonged to Richard’s brother.

  “I have called you here so that we may talk about what should now be done. If we accept my assumption to be the truth, you can be sure there will be many more than three of them out there.”

  Eahlmund, so often the spokesman for the group, wasted no time in speaking his mind. “I would hope you would not need to ask me, Lord, but in case there’s any doubt, I say we kill the bastard and any that ride with him.”

  It was as if it were a signal to the others as, one by one, they voiced their support.

  Thurkill smiled. “I knew in my heart there would be no doubt, my friends, but things have changed. I’m now lord of this village and have a hundred or so souls in my care as well as yours. Their lives are not mine to squander in some personal feud.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, Lord. My father always taught me that my lord’s fight was my fight, no matter the cause. It is our duty to do your bidding, even if that means to fight and – if necessary – to die for you. In return we benefit from your protection in times of conflict and also from the prosperity that comes in times of peace. I think if you were to put it to them, most would not hesitate to stand by you.”

  Thurkill flopped down in his chair, his head between his hands. “I don’t know, Leofric. I hear the sense in what you say, but my conscience rebels against it. How could I live with myself if these people were to die because of me? It’s not as if the Normans have come here to take the village is it? It’s me they want, just me.”

  “We may not have been here long, Lord, but we are a part of the village for sure. We have built the defences up from the sorry state they were in, we have trained the men to fight so that they can defend themselves. We helped them defeat the bandits just a few days ago. On top of that, some of us are putting down roots here.” He looked sideways at Eahlmund with a grin and a nudge.

  “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible to women. Anyway, you’re one to talk. Don’t think we haven’t noticed you and your brother making eyes at Urri’s daughters, or is it the blacksmith’s trade that interests you now?”

  Leofric laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Well, yes, but does this not also prove my point? We’re part of the family now, we have been accepted into their lives and I’ll wager they’ll want to stand and fight for their lord.”

  Hild sat down next to her husband, taking his hand in hers. “Let’s not look too far ahead, husband. We don’t know yet what awaits us outside the walls. We have seen nothing more than three lone horsemen, two of whom now lie dead for their troubles. Perhaps there are no more of them?”

  “I hope it is so, Hild, but I fear your thinking is wishful. I can think of no reason for Normans to be here other than it being somehow related to FitzGilbert. But one thing you say is true; we don’t know how many are out there and that is my biggest fear. What if there are more than we can resist? I’ll not commit these people to a fight they cannot win. I will not have my last act in this world to be leading these people to their deaths.”

  The silence that followed his impassioned words was broken moments later when one of the wall guards came running into the hall, shouting for him to come forth. “Lord, there are men outside the gates. They would speak with the lord of the village.”

  Thurkill nodded. “My thanks, Wigmund. Please inform them that I shall be there presently.” Turning back to his men, he continued. “Prepare yourself for war, my friends. We will meet whatever awaits with dignity and honour. Show them no fear. Show them what it means to be Saxon warriors. We can strike fear into their hearts if they believe the same fate that met their fellows also awaits them should they not leave this place.”

  ***

  Together, they made their way to the palisade, picking their way through the lines of silent villagers, fear and worry etched on their faces. Climbing the five shallow steps that had been cut into the steep earthen bank, they reached the line of timber posts and looked out over the meadow that stretched away to the distant treeline. There they stood, proud and unflinching, resplendent in helmets that shone in the weak winter sunlight. Each man carried their shield along with a stout ash spear, the burnished blade of which stood a foot higher than their helms.

  Thurkill was reminded of the moments before the battle at Senlac when he had stood shoulder to shoulder with Scalpi and the other huscarls facing the Norman horde. The pride he felt to have these five men alongside him, each one ready to die for him, was beyond reckoning. This is how my father must have felt too, he thought as he blinked away the moisture that had come to his eyes. He allowed himself a moment to survey the scene before him, hoping he would regain his composure sufficiently so that his voice, when he spoke, would not fail him.

  Ranged across the path that led to their gate were what looked to be three dozen or so Norman knights, the same as he had encountered at Senlac and at Suthweca. His heart wavered for a moment. It was a greater horde than he had hoped. And whatever they might think of the Saxons f
acing them, they were no less imposing themselves. Each was arrayed in familiar knee-length mailshirt that was split up the thigh to allow them to move with comfort on horseback, and each was equipped with the long shield that was rounded at the top and which then tapered to a point at the bottom, effectively covering most of the body.

  As he watched, Thurkill could not help wondering if their design was better than their own. It certainly looked as if it would provide greater protection for a man, but would it be as strong in a shieldwall?

  By the looks of things, he had roughly the same number of men available to him, but his villagers were not fighters by trade, unlike these knights. The men of Gudmundcestre could hold their own against thieves and brigands but trained soldiers were another matter. Still, if they held their ground within the walls, what could the Normans do? They had no siege engines and they would lose men to his archers if they tried to batter the gate down by hand. All in all, he felt secure, though he prayed they had no more men hidden in the woods to their rear.

  He cleared his throat. “My name is Thurkill, son of Scalpi, Lord of this village of Gudmundcestre. State your name and your business here or begone.” He hoped his voice sounded authoritative, and that his height and stature would offset his obvious youthfulness.

  In response, a knight from the middle of the pack, jabbed his heels into his mount’s flanks, urging it forward a few steps before pulling back on the reins to bring it to a halt. Removing his helmet, he grinned up at Thurkill, though there was no warmth in it.

  Straightaway, Thurkill recognised FitzGilbert. He had the same mop of dark hair, the same hooked nose and heavy forehead that overshadowed his narrow, dark eyes. The only difference was that this brother had no scar to disfigure his features. So be it then, this man was here to kill him, to take vengeance for Richard’s death. However this played out, Thurkill knew that one, or perhaps both of them would be dead by the end of it.

  “Go and get your father, boy, I have business with the lord of this shit hole. Tell him Robert FitzGilbert, eldest son of Count Gilbert of Clare wishes to speak with him.”

  Thurkill knew the barb was meant to rile him. If FitzGilbert knew who he was then he would know this father was dead. It was a cheap trick to try to undermine him in front of the others or to goad him into some rash response. “I am lord here, Norman. You may speak with me here or take your business elsewhere.”

  FitzGilbert pretended to look surprised, still intent on mocking him. “Your pardon, Lord. I had not expected one so young to have command over others. I see no beard on your chin; is this the new Saxon fashion or could it be that you not yet old enough to grow one?”

  “There are many who could tell you that my sword speaks for me more than my age. At least they could, were they still alive.”

  “Ah, yes. That would include the two men of mine whom you killed earlier today. Or at least, I understand you did for one of them. You had to rely on your woman to take the other, so I am told. Do not fear, though, they have been added to the tally sheet for which I now seek a reckoning.”

  “What ill have I done you, Lord? Your men attacked my wife and me as we went about our business. There was no provocation on our part.”

  “An unfortunate business, I’ll admit. They had orders not to attack, but they saw an opportunity to earn my thanks by ending your life. Misplaced ambition is all it was. Still, no matter, I have more than enough men here, as you can see, and the promise of more if needed, to conclude matters satisfactorily.”

  “I’ll ask one final time. To what matters do you refer?”

  “It surprises me to see you act so coy, Thurkill, son of Scalpi. But if it pleases you then I shall spell it out in words so simple that even a child such as you can understand. You killed my brother. I have come here to seek payment. You are the boy of whom they speak that has but one ear, are you not? I am told that this is what marks out the man I seek. Do you deny it?”

  Thurkill didn’t hesitate; he knew there was no point as the villagers would find out the truth soon enough. “I do not deny it. Your brother was murderous scum who deserved to die for what he did to my family. If you hail from the same litter, then I do not doubt that you also deserve that same fate. Stay here on my land and it will find you before too long.”

  “These are fine words for a pup like you. I had imagined some mighty Saxon warrior had been the architect of my brother’s doom and yet I find a beardless girl in his place. Are you sure it is not your father that I seek?”

  “My father died with King Harold, defending him from you Norman whoresons. He was twice the man you’ll ever be.”

  “And yet he failed to save his lord and was killed in the process. At least there is honour in that, I suppose. But you stand here in his stead, cowardly killer of my kin and now hiding behind these pathetic walls like a craven dog.”

  Thurkill could feel his ire rising but knew he had to keep control. The knuckles on his right hand were showing white through the skin where he gripped the shaft of his war axe with a furious intensity. He knew the others would be experiencing similar thoughts and willed them to maintain their calm demeanour too.

  “I do not go seeking a fight where none is warranted, Norman. Accept the truth that your brother was evil and merely reaped the crop that he had sown. The slate’s been wiped clean and the scales of justice are balanced once more. Go now, or I shall not be held responsible for what comes to pass.”

  Thurkill could see that Robert was beginning to lose patience with their exchange. No matter, he was not in the least bit concerned about that. What worried him more was what would happen next. He knew FitzGilbert would not simply ride away. He had his own honour to consider and could not back down in front of his own men.

  “I can see I’m wasting my time exchanging words with you, Saxon. It would appear that the only language you have mastered is violence. I call on you therefore to be the warrior you claim to be and come out here to fight me. This is the only way to spare your people from annihilation. Stay behind your feeble defences and all will die, whether spearman, old man, woman or child. It matters not to me. Refuse me and I’ll kill everyone.”

  Robert had raised his voice for this last challenge, to ensure that all within the village could hear and would be in no doubt as to the fate that awaited them if their lord did not meet his demands. “I give you until dawn to decide. Choose wisely.”

  With that, the Norman pulled on his horse’s bridle to turn it away from the village. Kicking his heels into its flanks once more, he trotted away towards the trees, his knights following suit behind in ranks of two. Thurkill watched them until they were gone from sight, his mind working over the ramifications of the options open to him. Eventually he stood down from the parapet, calling Eahlmund to his side. “Assemble the folkmoot at sundown. I would address them on this matter.”

  TWENTY - EIGHT

  The atmosphere inside the hall was tense and not at all helped by the smoke that billowed from the hearth fire. It was rare for so many to be gathered in one place, though it seemed to be happening with increasing regularity, what with the trial of Egferth’s killers and now this, altogether more worrying, threat. But Thurkill had thought it important that all should have a chance to hear his words. Then, when the heavens had opened a short while ago, he’d given the order to assemble inside.

  The members of the folkmoot were positioned at the far end near the lord’s chair, while the remainder of the hall was given over to the rest of the villagers. Thurkill sat on his chair next to Hild, waiting for the last few stragglers to settle down. Although his companions remained confident of their support, Thurkill himself was less certain. To chance your life on the throw of a loaded dice was not a matter for any man to take lightly.

  Not willing to wait any longer, Thurkill stood, raising both hands to call for quiet. “Members of the folkmoot and people of Gudmundcestre, I welcome you to my hall. I only wish I could do so in happier times but, as you know, a grave threat now faces the village, the
likes of which has not been seen since the days of the Viking great army almost two hundred years ago. To help decide our response, I have summoned the folkmoot to seek its counsel.”

  A hush fell over the room as everyone absorbed Thurkill’s words. Then, as the most senior man in the village, Father Wulfric rose to speak. “Lord, I think it would help if you were to share all that you know about the position in which we now find ourselves. You have knowledge that is not yet apparent to us all.”

  Thurkill nodded his thanks. Wulfric knew the truth of the matter as he had confessed his sins to the priest on the day before his wedding. Thurkill had wanted to enter into his marriage with a clear conscience before God and so he had told Wulfric about the cold-blooded killing of Richard FitzGilbert. Though the priest had admonished him for the murder, he had absolved him of his sins before later, over a cup of ale, confiding that he too would have done the same thing had he been in Thurkill’s position, God or no God. He knew he had an ally in Wulfric that night, a powerful one at that as the priest’s word carried much weight amongst the villagers.

  So Thurkill told his story, from the time of the battle against the Vikings up to the present day. He left out no detail. He described his father’s death in battle, how he’d watched, powerless, as King Harold was cut to pieces in front of his eyes, how Eahlmund had then found him close to death and had taken him back to his village to recover.

  The villagers listened in awe, for few if any had ever experienced anything even remotely close to what they heard in the hall that night. By the time he came to relate how he had come home to find FitzGilbert in his father’s hall and how the Norman had slit the throats of his aunt and sister without the merest hint of mercy, there were growls and shouts of outrage on all sides.

  “So, as you see, this man’s brother, the man I killed to avenge my kin, has now come for the blood price. But in doing so, he threatens you; he brings the fight to Gudmundcestre and, for this reason, I would hear your mind on this matter.”