by Martin Lake
Eohric gave a spiteful look at the woman and her children before turning and hurrying after his brother.
Thorvald cursed. ‘I wish I could sell him into slavery,’ he said.
‘Don’t let Guthrum hear you say that,’ Leif said.
‘Have no fear of that. I will not speak ill of Eohric unless I must. Guthrum knows well his faults but he’s still his brother.’
Leif and Sigurd exchanged a glance and then looked away.
Thorvald gestured to the woman. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Eawynn.’
‘And your man?’
She shrugged. ‘He died a year ago when hunting.’
Despite her thick accent, they could understand her well enough. She reached out and touched Thorvald’s hand. ‘Will you really sell my children?’
‘To your Christ-men. It will be better than to some Khazar whore-master.’
‘And me?’
‘You’re mine. My bed-slave.’
She began to weep. Leif turned away in shame.
NORTHUMBRIA
The army stayed close to the river crossing for a couple of weeks. Ivar was wary of the Mercians and wished to make sure they were not going to attack from behind. He sent spies back across the border and they made their way south for twenty miles without seeing any signs of military preparations. The Mercian king, Burgred, appeared to believe that the Vikings were no longer a threat to his kingdom.
He was right. Northumbria was already proving easier pickings. The army roved west and east for thirty miles, looting every village and hamlet in sight. A few thegns resisted but with laughable forces of a couple of dozen men at most. Those who survived the battle died on gibbets as warning to others who felt themselves courageous.
The land to the west of the Roman Road rose in folds to high hills and bleak moors where skinny sheep and wiry goats roamed. The meat was tough yet tasty and hunting expeditions went out daily. The land to the east was more fertile. The villages had stocks of grain and the earliest crops of kale, cabbage, carrots and onions as well as plentiful supplies of apples. Despite passionate appeals from the villagers, the Vikings slaughtered most of the cows and pigs and fished the ponds dry.
The army moved north as May was ending and settled themselves in a small port town on the River Ouse. Asgrim was sent down the river on a fishing boat to make contact with the fleet. It took two weeks for a favourable wind before it could sail to join them.
Leif and Sigurd joined the throng of warriors gathering on the riverbank. Two miles down river the first of the longships appeared, sails bellying in the easterly wind. A cheer went up from the men. The ships contained food, ale, women and spare weapons. More important, they provided a haven and a better means of escape than the horses they could not bring themselves to love.
The ships drew up and dropped anchor stones. Many warriors waded into the water to help unload them. From the third ship a shrill female voice called out, ‘Sigurd, you big oaf. Come and get me.’
Sigurd grinned at Leif and trotted along the bank towards the ship. Nerienda stood in the prow of the ship, her whores in a gaggle behind her.
Sigurd plunged into the water and held out his arms. Nerienda leapt from the ship, to a great cheer from the men. The rest of the whores showed no such spirit and insisted that the ship be dragged close enough to the bank for them to alight with more dignity. Among them was Aebbe.
Leif approached her with some trepidation. He was still not sure how she felt about him and although she was his slave, to do with as he wished, he wanted more. He took a deep breath and marched towards her.
His heart began to hammer and he felt his face grow hot. She blushed and looked at him shyly. Nothing else she could have done would have made him desire her more. He started to speak but for once his silver tongue betrayed him. He could not manage a coherent phrase.
She took his hand in hers, glanced at the ground and then, after a moment, looked up and stared into his face. The look was challenging, accepting, and yielding, all at the same time. He gasped and gave a feeble smile.
‘Come with me,’ he mumbled.
He led her away from the river to a place he had discovered only a few days before. A little way into a forest there was a small glade, open to the skies. Most of the ground was made up of rough little bushes but a large pine tree had shed many of its needles and here Leif laid Aebbe down.
She folded her arms around him, pulling him close to her. Her mouth reached for his and he felt her tongue tickle his lips. He realised, with a pang, that it was the first time they had kissed. He pulled her closer and closed his eyes, all his awareness on his mouth and hers. He felt an overwhelming desire to laugh but the joy of her kisses prevented him. At last, he could contain himself no longer and began to undo his breeches. She opened her legs and guided him into her.
Now he opened his eyes and stared into hers. He had never realised how bright they were before, like a spring sky in the morning.
She smiled and murmured, ‘This is good.’
He nodded, unable to find fitting words.
Afterwards they lay cradled in each other’s arms. He felt stunned, a master of the world and, at the same time, as inconsequential as a pebble on a beach. He tried to make sense of his feelings but could not. He sighed and decided he would be wise not to try any longer.
She reached out and stroked his hair.
‘I came to realise I missed you,’ she said quietly. ‘On the voyage north we hit a sudden storm and I thought the ship might sink and I would die. It was then that I realised how much I missed you.’
He did not reply but she did not feel concerned at this, knowing he had not the words to answer. He squeezed her hand softly and she stroked his hair more gently still. The sun dappled their faces and life felt good.
On the fringes of the forest a pair of eyes watched them bitterly.
They remained at the camp for another week. Ivar used the time well, feasting the warriors, spending time with all and sundry and debating the next moves with his brothers and the greater chieftains. The followers of each chieftain received gifts, reinforcing their loyalty before the coming battles. A sense of anticipation and excitement slithered serpent-like throughout the camp. Winter was not far off and the men knew that they needed to secure strong quarters for the cold months ahead.
At last, when everyone’s nerves were strung tight, the command to move north was given. Half of the men rode, each with a second horse on a leash behind. The other half of the men took to the ships in order to man the oars and ensure that the ships were no longer reliant on the wind.
Their path followed the bank of the Ouse and eventually they neared the city of York.
Leif rose in his saddle as they approached. Townsfolk were streaming out of the northern gates, terrified by the sight of the longships. Few had ever seen them for no Viking war-fleet had sailed so far inland before, but rumour of them was enough to provoke despair and flight.
Ivar turned to him and laughed. ‘Remark this well, Leif,’ he said. ‘I require a song telling how the brave folk of Northumbria turned tail and fled at the mere sight of our army.’
‘You shall have it, lord,’ Leif answered. ‘I shall not mention that most of those who fled were shopkeepers and their wives.’
Ivar gave him a sardonic look. ‘It’s a good job I like you, Skald,’ he said. ‘You sail very close to the wind. Just be sure you have the skill to avoid coming to grief.’
York was built at the confluence of the rivers Ouse and Foss and the Viking army camped on the spit of land between the two streams. Ancient walls loomed to the north and Ivar and Halfdan eyed them speculatively.
‘The walls are high,’ Halfdan said, ‘and there are many warriors. We’ll lose a lot of men if we attempt to storm it.’
‘We may have to,’ Ivar said. ‘But let’s give them the opportunity to flee.’
‘They’ve had that already but they didn’t take it.’
‘Then let’s give them an
incentive as well. Send horsemen to capture some of the fleeing townsfolk. Men, women and children. And make sure that some of them are wealthy.’
Halfdan grinned. He knew well what Ivar had in mind.
The horsemen returned a few hours later, dragging behind them two score of townspeople.
They were shepherded to the southern wall of the walls where the Vikings had already flung down a pile of long poles, the purpose of which was not clear to the Northumbrians.
Ivar strode towards the walls, making sure to keep out of reach of any arrows.
‘I guess you are all worshippers of the Christ-god,’ he cried. ‘Well I am not. I follow Odin the All-Father and his son, Thor.’
He reached for the Thor hammer talisman about his neck and displayed it to the onlookers on the walls although none could see it from such a distance.
‘You might think,’ Ivar continued, ‘that if I were to execute your friends here, that I would have their skulls crushed by hammers in honour of Thor.’
A cry of rage and horror came from the warriors on the walls and from the townspeople behind him.
‘But I am a civilised man,’ Ivar continued. ‘I shall not execute these people in honour of my god.’
The townsfolk gave a collective sigh.
‘No,’ Ivar continued. ‘I shall execute them in honour of yours.’
He turned towards his warriors who immediately seized the townsfolk, threw them onto the poles and proceeded to hammer long nails through their wrists and into the timber. Then they hauled the crosses up and allowed them to drop into ready prepared holes.
The screams of the victims echoed against the walls. But none of the Northumbrian warriors made a sound. They were too shocked and horrified.
‘I don’t know how long they will take to die,’ Ivar yelled at the Northumbrians. ‘But it will give you something to watch while we make our preparations to come for you.’
CHALLENGING THE KINGS
Leif, Sigurd and Asgrim were amongst the men ordered to watch the walls that night. The agonised cries of the townsfolk hanging on the crosses unnerved them and they were glad they had been ordered to one of the northern gates where they would no longer see them and the noise of their pain would be muted.
‘How long will it take them to die?’ Sigurd asked, averting his eyes as they passed by.
Asgrim shrugged. ‘I’ve seen a strong man last three days,’ he said. ‘The children will be dead by morning at the latest.’
Leif shuddered. He could almost feel the nails through his own wrists and the dreadful torment of the body as it dragged downward. ‘Somebody should put them out of their misery,’ he said.
‘Ivar wants the Northumbrian warriors in the town to see it,’ Asgrim said. ‘He’s hoping it will make them flee.’
‘It would just make me fight the harder,’ Leif said.
‘There talks a man who is a tale-teller, not a warrior,’ Asgrim said with a good-natured chuckle.
‘I doubt I could find words for this,’ Leif said, glancing up at the figures on the crosses. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
They hurried around to the northern side of the wall and were directed to keep watch on the north-eastern gate. They were to go to the woodlands nearby, out of sight of the walls.
Leif looked around. He could just make out other men in the trees to the west of them.
The he groaned. ‘Here comes grief,’ he said, gesturing at the approaching figure.
‘Eohric,’ snarled Sigurd. ‘And he’s coming this way.’
‘Skulking in the bushes?’ Eohric said. ‘Frightened of a few arrows?’
‘Where are you going?’ Asgrim demanded.
‘I asked to be sent over to the southern walls,’ he answered. ‘If it’s any concern of yours.’
‘I can guess why,’ Leif said. ‘You want to listen to the screams of the people hanging on the crosses.’
Eohric did not trouble to hide the smirk from his face.
But then he folded his arms and gave Leif a look of contempt. ‘Was your whore good today, Skald?’ he said. ‘It looked to me that she took you to the forest to bewitch you.’
A feeling of unease slithered down Leif’s back.
‘It’s only envy, Leif,’ Sigurd said. ‘No woman would willingly take such a loathsome youth to bed. Even a slave would cross her legs.’
‘As your brother’s bitch crosses hers around his back,’ Eohric sneered.
‘That’s a poor insult, boy,’ Asgrim said. ‘It shows the girl’s passion. And it proves that, despite your boasts, you know nothing of women or of fucking.’
Leif stared at Eohric. ‘Were you watching us?’ he asked. His voice was taut with cold fury. ‘Did you follow us to the forest?’
‘Why would I do that?’ Eohric answered. ‘I have better things to do. But I saw you being led like a cur towards the trees.’ He laughed. ‘Good dog, Skald.’
Leif stepped forwards, fists bunched, but Sigurd held him back.
‘It’s late to be out, boy,’ Asgrim said. ‘Night will fall and then you might fall a victim.’
‘But not of witches,’ Sigurd said, ominously.
Eohric forced a laugh but he looked alarmed and strode off without reply.
‘You were unwise to threaten him,’ Asgrim said to Sigurd.
‘He insulted my little brother. What else could I do?’
‘As long as you remember that he is Guthrum’s little brother.’
‘There is little love between them,’ Leif said. ‘I have witnessed this.’
‘But they are brothers, nonetheless,’ Asgrim said. ‘The greatest grief a man can know is to slay a man he loves to avenge a brother he loathes. But he will do it, nonetheless. So be warned, both of you.’
They fell silent, each musing on Eohric and how they would might repay his malice without invoking Guthrum’s vengeance.
Finally, as the sun set in a sky grown red as poppies, Sigurd turned to Leif.
‘Has Aebbe bewitched you?’ he asked.
‘Yes, she has,’ he answered. He took a deep breath. ‘But I’m beginning to realise that it’s no bad thing to be bewitched.’
The night grew dark, for the moon was still a crescent. Leif’s eyes began to close and he had to force them open in order to stay awake. Finally, as the moon reached its highest point, he heard a noise in the distance, a long, low creaking sound.
‘It’s the gate,’ Asgrim whispered. ‘They’re coming out.’
Leif raised himself on his elbows and stared towards the walls. By the glimmer of the stars he saw men slipping through the gate and heading to the north.
‘That’s the Northumbrian warriors,’ Asgrim said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’ Leif asked.
‘Where do you think? To kill them.’
They slipped out of the woodlands.
As his eyes got accustomed to the dark, Leif saw that the rest of the Vikings were pursuing the Northumbrians, as relentless as an incoming tide, but silent.
Finally, when the fugitives reached open fields three furlongs to the north of the walls, Halfdan sprung the trap. Hundreds of his men were hiding there and now they rose like ghosts from the earth and barred the Northumbrians’ escape route. Halfdan ordered torches to be kindled, giving enough light for the slaughter work. Then, baying like fiends, the Vikings leapt to the attack.
‘Keep close,’ Sigurd said to Leif. He had no need to say it for Leif had no intention of getting any distance from his brother. Yet he did not fear the sword of any Northumbrian; it was the treacherous blade of Guthrum’s brother which worried him.
The battle was short and vicious. The Northumbrians pleaded for no quarter and the Vikings gave none. In the end, only a dozen Northumbrian warriors remained alive. Halfdan ordered his men to disarm them but let them live.
Victorious, the Vikings marched back to their camp south of the city walls.
Ivar and Ubbe were waiting for them.
‘The rest are dead?’ Ivar asked.
/> ‘Every one of them,’ Halfdan said, proudly. ‘Wolves and crows will feast well tonight.’
Ivar gestured the prisoners closer. ‘Which amongst you will serve as your spokesman?’
The Northumbrians looked at each other and eventually pushed one man forward. He stumbled from his many wounds.
‘I am Ricsige,’ he said. ‘I am Captain of the southern wall.’
‘Was Captain of the southern wall,’ Ivar corrected. ‘Now you’re nothing but a walking corpse.’
The man did not respond, merely muttering an insult before the killing blow which he knew would follow. But instead, Ivar passed him a mug of ale.
‘Drink up, Captain,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to kill you just yet. First, I’m going to bleed your brain dry of all that you know.’
The Viking army moved into the city later that morning. Leif was impressed by the size of it. It was bigger than Norwic, with a fine church and many stone buildings which, although ancient, were still habitable. A large central area contained scores of little booths for the buying and selling of goods. A dozen large storehouses contained grain and salted meats. It would be enough to feed the army for a couple of months.
There were a great many workshops and Sigurd wasted no time in commandeering the finest smithy he had ever seen for his own. A compact house was attached to it, big enough for him, Nerienda, Leif and Aebbe. It felt like a palace to them. Aebbe made it comfortable, bringing warm furs to cover the sleeping platforms, cramming the chests with food and ale, and settling some hens, a goat and a cow in one of the rooms to provide eggs, milk and warmth for the winter.
In the meanwhile, Nerienda laid claim to a large stone building, two stories high, with a small garden in the centre and dozens of small rooms each containing a bed and little else. She was told that it was a monastery, and the small rooms were the cells of the monks, where they slept and spent cold hours contemplating the mysteries of their faith.
‘There won’t be much sleeping here,’ Nerienda said as she explored the place. ‘And the only contemplating will be of the tits and arses of my girls.’
