Spear Havoc 1066

by C. R. May

  The man laughed and waved as the vessels drew apart: ‘strange catch!’

  Æthelric turned back and addressed the expectant crew. ‘You all heard that. We have a chance to hurt them before they even reach our coast, we must take it. Our duty is clear — we attack!’

  ‘Look, there it is again.’

  Æthelric eased himself alongside the watchman, raising a hand to grip the forestay as he stared out into the darkness. The world was as dark as slate, with only the luminescent flicker of the breaking waves to indicate the junction between the cool air and the colder waters beneath. The English thegn squinted and concentrated where the man had indicated, but still he could see nothing. He was about to suggest that the lookout may have been mistaken when the sea fell away as the Brimwulf crested a wave. A point of light winked in the distance before disappearing as the ship nosed down into the next trough, and he made a suggestion as Eldred came up to see. ‘A star?’

  The ship master shook his head and sniffed. ‘Unlikely lord, I have barely seen one all week.’

  Æthelric nodded in agreement, it had been a foolish suggestion but he was at a loss to think what it could be. ‘Could it more fishermen?’

  Eldred shook his head in the gloom. ‘Not at this time of the year. They sometimes fish at night in the winter when the waters are colder — cod appear hereabouts and herring shoal, but not until November.’

  ‘A warning beacon on land then?’

  The steersman looked back at Æthelric, and the thegn could see the man’s teeth shine dully as he smiled. ‘Doesn’t look like one, lord. If you ask me, I would say that we have found at least one of them.’

  Away to the East the first signs of the dawn washed the horizon ash grey, dulling the mysterious light a little more with each passing moment. As the men dressed and armed for battle, Æthelric ordered the sails lowered and the masts of the English ships unstepped and stowed amidships to lower their profile. Every moment they remained unobserved carried them a pace nearer, and with the wind against them but the current running in their favour the rowers conserved their strength, easing the ship southeastward as the steady flow swept them down to what they were sure now was the enemy.

  They had hugged the coast of Sussex, making good time as they sped northwards the previous evening. Æthelric knew the sight of a flock of English sail on the horizon would send the Norman fleet scurrying for the shelter of the beaches and harbours of William’s ally the count of Boulogne, so he had used the following wind to race ahead. As the white cliffs near Dover came up on the larboard beam Eldred had led the ships out into the Straits, fanning out into a skirmish line as they backtracked in search of their prey. Dusk had found them in mid Channel, and he had drawn the ships of the flotilla together until they were within hailing distance. Now, as the light of the new day approached and the upper works of a magnificent longship came into view he called on them to close up again. If the fisherman from the day before had run his errand the remainder of the English fleet would be following on somewhere out there in the dark, but even half-crewed fifty ships’ companies stiffened by butsecarls should be enough to give this Norman upstart a fright.

  As they drew closer and the sun finally broke free of the earth the hull of the enemy longship came into full view, and a buzz of excitement ran through the crew of the Brimwulf as it became clear that this was no ordinary vessel. The ship was large, surely too large to be anything other than that of the duke himself, and as the butsecarls gathered in the bow and prepared to lead the attack Æthelric drank in the beauty of her form. The hull of the ship was painted in alternating lines of blue and yellow from the sheer strake to the waterline, while above it a sail of matching colours had been shortened the night before as the ship held her station and waited for the rest of the fleet to come up. The fact that this must be the foremost vessel only served to reinforce the ship thegn’s hopes that they had found the enemy leader, and as the returning sun clipped the horizon a flash of gold at the mast top set English hearts racing. A brace of flags flew there, the lions of Normandy billowing in a brisk southerly: but it was the flag which revealed itself a moment later which confirmed that they were bearing down upon the duke himself. A golden cross on an ivory field the colours shone as they caught the light, and Æthelric turned to the steersman at his side and fixed him with a look. ‘That is the papal banner, the one our spies have reported the duke has been parading before his army to steady the waverers.’ He made a fist, slamming it into a palm as he fought to remain calm. ‘It would appear that God Almighty disagrees with the judgement of his representative on earth, and has delivered the pretender into our hands.’ His eyes flashed, revealing the excitement within. ‘Lay me alongside steersman, and we shall do His work.’

  As Eldred trotted off to do his duty Æthelric returned his gaze to the ship ahead. To his amazement there was still no sign of life aboard the Norman vessel, and as the sun climbed higher and the visibility improved he saw to his surprise that the ship appeared to be completely alone.

  The thegn’s bemusement only lasted a moment before he realised with a jolt what must have occurred during the night. Eager to take advantage of the prevailing wind following a summer spent penned within the rivers and estuaries of his homeland, the duke’s ship had raced ahead. Naturally he would be sailing the finest vessel on the seas and the others had struggled to keep up. That was why the ship flew a beacon at its mast, to regroup, and that was why they had still not been spotted by the crew who would be scanning the southern horizon, anxiously searching for the rest of the fleet as the daylight revealed their plight.

  Lower in the water with their masts unstepped and to the west of the Norman ship, Æthelric realised that his own ships would appear as indistinct shadows in the gloom, and he urged the rowers on with a sweep of his arm as he strove to close the gap as quickly as possible.

  With a last look around the ship thegn unhooked his battle helm from its carrying strap at his side, easing the cold steel onto his head as the first sign of movement appeared ahead. A Norman crewman was scampering up the mast, fighting his way past the billowing flag to extinguish the now redundant lamp in a hiss of steam, and Æthelric watched for the moment when he would cast a look their way. A heartbeat later it came, and the Englishmen aboard the Brimwulf laughed aloud when they saw the slack jawed panic of their enemy as he set eyes upon the English ships for the first time.

  They were close enough now to hear the seaman’s desperate cry of alarm, and Æthelric hefted his shield and spear as he moved forward into the bows and prepared to lead the butsecarls over the side.

  A line of faces appeared along the wale on the enemy ship, the horror in their expressions turning to shock as an arrow flew in to punch the first to fall that morning backwards onto the deck, and as another volley drove the Normans back Eldred laid the Brimwulf alongside with an expert sweep of the big paddle blade. The moment that English oak grazed Norman the ship thegn was over the side, forcing his way past the line of shields which lined the flanks to land on the decking with a crash. Even before he had recovered his balance Æthelric’s shield was sweeping around to cover his head and body, and as the rest of his men thundered onto the deck to either side he risked the first glance towards the stern. With the sail shortened he had a clear view aft, and he forced down his disappointment at the sight which met his eyes as he began to move forward into the attack. Out beyond the sternpost the horizon was now a-brawl with sail as the remainder of the invasion fleet took advantage of a following wind to close with their leader, and Æthelric realised that if he was to gain the victory which was so vital for his nation he would have to move fast. His best troops were with him, the butsecarls already fanning out across the deck as they sought fighting room to swing their deadly axes, and Æthelric broke into a trot as he attempted to close with the enemy before they could organise a defence in depth.

  A dozen Normans had already formed themselves into a line amidships, and lifting his gaze the Englishman could see scores
more donning helms and snatching up weapons and shields as he rapidly closed on them. Within a few paces he was throwing a shoulder into the back of his shield as he reached the Norman shield wall, and an instant later they met in a bone jarring crash which rocked him back on his feet. Æthelric drove forward, jabbing his spear back and forth as he sought an opening, but the wallowing deck sapped his momentum and the Normans stood firm. A spear blade glanced off the shoulder of his mail shirt, and Æthelric dropped the point of his own, stabbing downwards as he searched in desperation for the breakthrough with would carry him closer to the duke. Within moments he was rewarded as he felt the point of the blade slide into flesh, and as the man before him began to stumble a powerful push into the rear of his shield sent the Norman sprawling to the deck. Æthelric stepped smartly into the gap, finishing off his opponent with a spear thrust to the throat before he could recover. Leaving the spear in the gore the ship thegn moved the hand across to draw his sword, but even as he rejoiced in his victory the sight which met his eyes caused him to check his stride.

  The Normans had recovered quickly from their surprise, and little more than a spear’s length before him a solid wall of mail clad knights barred the way. A helmeted head flew across his line of vision and he knew that the butsecarls had finished off the rest of the advanced guard, and as the thegn wormed his way between the deadly barbs and brought his sword crashing down on the steel dome of a helmet, a thunderclap of noise told him that the axemen were already battering the shields to either side.

  Æthelric peered above the rim of the shield as he raised his sword arm to stab at enemy faces, his eye line the only vulnerable spot between the steel of his helm and the mail coif which protected his head and neck; but even as he looked he began to despair at the quality of the men who now stood in ranks between the men of the Brimwulf and the man they must kill. The distinctive slurp of an axe blade pulled from flesh reminded him to withdraw his head, and as the follow-up strike hissed by inches from his face Æthelric took a backwards pace and then another to give the shield wreckers more room to work.

  Beyond the reach of Norman spears for now the Essex thegn threw a look to either side as he sought to judge how well the fight was going. Off the larboard beam another English ship was about to disgorge a host of fighters, but like his own they consisted mostly of shipmen with a handful of butsecarls, no match for the battle hardened knights who crammed every inch between the mast and the figure of the duke near the stern. He took another rearwards pace, lifting his chin to peer out beyond the gilt cherub which graced the stern post of the duke’s ship, and a knot of fear tightened in his guts at the sight which greeted his eyes. The Norman fleet, a line of sail on the horizon only a short while before now smothered the sea, the bow waves sparkling in the morning sunlight as they pounded north to rescue their lord. Seeing the approaching danger the rest of the English ships were moving to come between them — but the wind was gusting in their faces, and with no time to step their masts they were creeping southward under oar power alone.

  The first of the newcomers from the English ship had reached his side now, and despite their desperate straits Æthelric sketched a weary smile as he saw that they were led by his old friend Skapti Egilsson from the Thurrock. As that ship’s butsecarls rushed forward to support those from the Brimwulf, Skapti shook his head. ‘We are not going to make it,’ he cried above the roar of battle. ‘The Norman ships will sail around our lads and leave those following on to finish them off.’ He plucked at Æthelric’s sleeve. ‘Order the men back to the ships, we have done all we can. Carry the news of the invasion back to the king in London, and he can set about recalling the army and march to defend the coast.’

  Æthelric looked back towards the fighting. Despite the reinforcements the butsecarls were making no headway against the packed defence, and it must be as clear to Norman eyes as English that they just had to hold their formation and the fight would soon be won. Æthelric was about to bow to the inevitable when an idea came to him, and he moved his head closer as he yelled above the din. ‘Get the crewmen back aboard the ships, and then form the butsecarls into a defensive arc around the place where you boarded.’ Skapti’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could open his mouth to speak Æthelric snapped again. ‘Do it quickly, and we may still have a chance.’

  As Skapti moved off Æthelric began to flick the wooden decking up away. Every ship leaked water, even those newly constructed for an invading duke, so the wooden decking had to be made removable to give easy access to the waters sloshing about in the bilges below. This time however the Englishman had the very opposite in mind to baling. As the first boards came away the sour smell of green oak wafted up from below, and the thegn shook his head as he saw just how newly cut the wood used to build the ship really was. It was true he reflected as he stepped down into the dirty brown water lapping the keelson, the Normans really had forgotten their Viking roots. Streaked by tanning, the oak strakes which clad the hull already looked to be straining against the nails which fixed them to the ribs, but the roar of victory in a foreign tongue drew his gaze away as the order to retreat passed like wildfire among the crewmen and they fled the fighting. Æthelric watched as the butsecarls moved shoulder to shoulder, drawing swords and short seax for the coming close order work as they shuffled back towards his position.

  The sight of the fleeing seamen was too much for Norman discipline, and the front ranks broke free to skewer and hack at any head or back they could reach. As he had hoped the thrill of the chase overtook the Norman knights and most veered left to attack the crew of the Brimwulf rather than face the grimmer prospect of confronting the still formidable looking block of butsecarls, and Æthelric cupped a hand to his mouth as he called out to two of his own. ‘Oslac! Wulfric!’ Recognising his voice above the din the pair turned his way, and Æthelric indicated that they join him with a jerk of his head. ‘More axe work,’ he yelled as they stepped down into the bilges. ‘Hack out as much as you can between each rib.’ As Oslac and Wulfric set to, Æthelric reached out to grab an axe from the deck. Several of the butsecarls had already fallen that morning but there was still more than enough to put up a fight, and he took comfort in the fact as he started to believe that his ploy would succeed.

  Æthelric gripped the haft and swung, thrilling to the sight as the very first stroke sent a chock of the soft green oak spinning away. As he raised the axe to swing again Oslac was crying out that he was through, and the thegn shouted a reply as his axe chewed another wedge from the hull. ‘Keep going — we need to scuttle her before help can arrive!’

  The Norman knights had finally realised the danger, and Æthelric snatched a glance as they renewed their assault on the butsecarls whose heels now teetered on the very edge of the drop. He pushed the picture from his mind as he swung again and again, and within moments he was rewarded by a sudden surge of seawater. The water level was rising fast, the depth of it now drawing the power from the strike, and Æthelric spun around to hack at the side strakes as the longship began to settle. Before he was through the vessel gave a lurch, and as he was thrown to one side Æthelric thrilled to the sight of a great upwelling of seawater cascading onto the deck. As the angle steepened and knight and butsecarl alike began to slide down the slope, Æthelric leapt up to the deck and looked outboard. The closest Norman ships were still half a mile away to the south with the English flotilla snapping at their heels like angry hounds, and switching his gaze back to the stern he saw that the tightly packed defence was now a chaotic brawl as seaman, knight and duke alike tumbled past the mast. Æthelric bellowed a command as the duke’s ship dipped her bows into the waves and seawater poured across the wales. ‘Save yourselves lads, back to the Thurrock!’

  A quick thinking crewman there had tossed a rope across to the nearest butsecarl, and Æthelric made a grab for his belt as the planking of the deck began to shift beneath their feet. The Englishmen formed a chain with the hafts of their axes as they began to scramble over the sheer stra
ke of the Thurrock to safety, pausing only to stab dagger and seax blade into the faces of those Normans who tried to cling to them in their own desperation. As he was hauled aboard Æthelric rolled onto his back, staring in wonder as the hull of the enemy ship rose to the vertical and began to slip beneath the waves. Perched at the highest point now the golden cherub which graced the stern post now resembled a weather vane, and as the Essex thegn scrambled to his feet and the last of his men were dragged aboard, they watched in awe as the magnificent vessel pirouetted beneath the heavenly messenger before disappearing beneath the surface in a vaporous pall.

  A shocked silence had descended on the men of the Thurrock now that their enemy had gone, but Æthelric was already on his feet, his eyes searching the waters for any sign of duke William. Weighed down by their armour the knights and men at arms were already on their way to the bottom, but the Norman crewmen were clinging to flotsam and there was no room for mercy in his heart that day. Twenty yards away, beyond the men now struggling in the water, the crewmen on his own ship Brimwulf were walking her mast upright as the need to escape Norman vengeance overtook any feelings of pity for men about to die; Æthelric called out for the seamen on the Thurrock to do the same as bowmen lined the wales to finish off the Norman survivors. Away to the South the other English ships were beginning to detach themselves from the fight as they too saw the fate of the duke’s ship, stepping masts and setting sails as they turned their bows for home.

  Caught up in the enormity of the moment the hand that rested on his shoulder gave him a start, but he turned to see the smiling face of Skapti Egilsson and scoffed at the words which followed. ‘You have a famous victory Earl Æthelric.’